Synopsis : Satoru Gojo Being A Simp For You Wearing A Cute Dress :3 Contents: Pouty Gojo, Fluff, Fluffedy,

Please, for the love of god, please don’t be this person. No matter how long it’s been since an update, no matter how many unfinished stories are sitting on their account, no matter what - do not be this person.

Not only is it insanely rude, but you also do more damage than you think be being such a self-entitled ass about something someone created for free and for fun. “This author” can see what you say.

RIP decency indeed.

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchids because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, and full of tides , like Todoroki said, which you’ve spent the day reading about. Unlike lakes and winter ice skating, the ocean has a taste. Salt and decay. It tastes unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

“I won’t.”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip sends icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy brown eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruises of your shoulder protest every paddle you force out of them and go much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his Captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle. Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks.

“What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that from you too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stable duty? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you dragged yourself from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes your distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchids because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door. Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down without a fight in front of the only red door in the hall. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Small. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter, with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. A month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Save it– just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Kirishima the naif.”

“because nothing gets past the Champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his Captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the Champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, such horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

“I hate you.” You smile in anguish.

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair, "c'mon, Captain."

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured through abandoned ego, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawler @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifuji @mmmaackerel @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @dududubebo @falling4fandoms @katanaski @babitchsuki @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @madmayo @bakugouswh0r3 @heart-of-haunt @zukowantshishonourback @420mitskilover @ultracrii @nochuonii @carrobrumbrum @bkgthinker @chandiewashere @sleezy-axeriix @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @king-shimura @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @scryarchives @ltadoriyuujl

couldn't tag for some reason :,( pls check your security settings!

thanks for the tag lotus ! so sorry im late <;/3

He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the way his stomach tied into knots. “It was nice to see you around, Sukuna,” Gojo grins, but it holds a dangerous glint. “But hey, it was fantastic seeing you again.” Sukuna rolled his eyes red eyes with a grumble, but he fell silent as Himiko eyed him as she passed, Gojo’s arm a bitter reminder that she’s not his – and he doesn’t have a chance at redemption; not like deserved one anyway.  As she passes, the speakers blare a song, almost as if fate was mocking him, heck he barely stood a chance the moment Gojo Satoru walked in with his arm around Himiko’s shoulders. Kali Uchis’ voice rings through the venue, the upbeat tempo a sickening reminder of his failures. ‘Why can’t you see you’re dead to me? Just leave it be, you’re dead to me.’

and that should be it!

no pressure tags - @cheriiyaya @rrairey @tinkerbelle05 @cindol @thomae + anyone who wants to join !

tyty for the tag, @emelkae!

rules: post the last seven sentences you've written, then tag seven people.

this was actually never supposed to see the light of day (didn't even make it out of my notes to a doc lmao) so no title for this

How long until he himself is slain in the name of peace across the nation and finally laid to rest in waters marred by his own blood and for once not that of others? Surely the blood should be gone by now. But he can feel it, splashing up to his shoulders. Pouring down his lungs. He is wading in it. How much blood is on his hands? Too much.

open tag ofc!! buuuut for the challenge rules i'm tagging: @perpetualcynicism, @minhxiao, @frankenjoly, @legend-of-cupcake, @thirdleaflogic, @cocrante, @airbluest

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝! 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

featuring. sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. sukuna wanted a son, but got a daughter instead (he's smitten for her shh), sukuna is modern af bye he knows how to use a phone ok, reader is called "wife", ooc sukuna bye

note. ok listen, i've been having a girl dad sukuna brainrot lately. and i even gave out a req to @rrairey (u go check out her works rn) — but i just had to write something about girl dad sukuna jsjdksjks it's on my mind 25/8 and i can't stop unless i actually write abt him (i'm lying, he's still going to be in my mind bye).

girl dad! sukuna who initially wanted a son but when he finds out he's going to be having a daughter instead, he didn't know how to feel. he thought that if he had a son, he could at least play "rough" with him. it's sukuna, he doesn't know what soft is.

girl dad! sukuna who has to secretly watch tutorial videos on the most random thing like "how to play nicely with your daughter" or "how to be nice to your daughter". but also searches up for things like "easy hairstyles to give your daughter for beginners", when your daughter isn't even born yet.

girl dad! sukuna who hates to admit it but he's pretty worried about having a daughter. finally shoves his ego down his throat and comes up to you to talk about it, and you encouraged that he's going to be a good father — but still, he's worried.

"ryo, you're worried about what exactly?" you asked the male, brushing his hair.

"not being a good father." he replies, leaning into your touch with a big frown on his face, grumbling under his breath slightly about how embarrassed he is to be so fragile in front of his own wife.

"baby, you're going to be the best father."

although your words were supposed to be encouraging, and he did feel a bit of burden lift off of his shoulders — the male still couldn't help but to worry about his unborn daughter.

girl dad! sukuna who complains about your pregnancy cravings and how his daughter is a weird baby. despite that, he will go out of his way to get you what you wanted, not caring if it was two in the morning, or five in the morning. he will get it for you and your growing daughter inside your belly.

girl dad! sukuna who grows anxious when your due date was inching closer. he took a break off from work and devoted his time to look after you, especially since you were walking for two right now. even if you did tell your husband that you were fine — he still thinks it's his job to look after you and your daughter.

"damn it brat, stop moving so much. you'll hurt yourself," he gently tugs on your arm, directing you to the couch, "what'dya want?"

"sausages and blueberry jam . . ." you tell him nonchalantly, missing the look of disgust on his face.

". . . just stay there." he walks a few steps before turning back, "don't move."

girl dad! sukuna who watches labor videos only to focus on the husbands and what they were doing in it so he could try to take notes and searches for what he should get ready for labor, or if he could do anything as a husband for his wife during labor. the results didn't ease his worries — they added up his worries. like adding fuel to the fire, the internet tells him that giving birth was the second most painful thing after getting burned alive.

girl dad! sukuna who already thought of names for your daughter and even buys things for her. telling you that he'd be out to grab a few things and then coming back with a crib set, toys, or even a baby walker. he even got a baby strap for both you and him to use, picking out the most random motives like skulls and fires.

"ryo, why did you pick that motive?" you asked, eyeing the baby strap that had white skulls all over.

"our daughter will like that. i know it." he retorts.

girl dad! sukuna who looked as calm as a cucumber but internally panics the most when your water broke. he grabs the bag that he had packed, following a youtube tutorial and helped you get into the car so that the both of you can finally drive off to the hospital. he holds your hand tightly along the way, showing his worry as he "tries" to follow driving laws (which he ended up driving past the speed limit and had to get a ticket in the hospital).

girl dad! sukuna who had to pay a ticket as you were tended in a hospital room (you didn't know about this and he didn't tell you about it so you won't worry). the doctor telling both you and him that the labor procedure will have to wait up to a few hours as they proceeded with "watchful waiting" after they checked on the baby's condition and yours so they could see if it was safe for you to give birth normally.

girl dad! sukuna who waited those long hours with you as you laid on the bed, telling him how nervous you are. and all the bad possibilities that could happen (he searched that up too), he tells you to stop saying those kind of things. sukuna wasn't angry — he just didn't want you to stress so much, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb to soothe you. he didn't let go until the doctor came back to finally do something.

girl dad! sukuna who was inside the delivery room with you, even after telling you that he won't come inside a few months ago. holds onto your hand (which you were holding onto tightly as the procedure goes on for hours), he winces — but he didn't care about his hand right now, he only cares about you and his daughter. brushing your hair lightly, mumbling out hushed praises to you (unknowingly, it just comes out), wipes away your sweat with his bare fingers and pressing kisses onto your face every single time he feels your hand clenching around his.

"jus' a bit more, pretty." he whispers, kissing your knuckles multiple times before moving on to kiss your forehead, "a bit more."

girl dad! sukuna who almost bursts into tears when he heard the loud cry of your daughter, but blinked his tears back. peering slightly at your worn out face. he tells you how he's proud of you (spoiler: he hates it if you reminded him about it in the future).

"y'hear that? you did so good, pretty. 'm proud of you," he clung onto your hand, grazing his thumb over your forehead as a smile adorned his face, "she's here, baby."

girl dad! sukuna who couldn't hold his tears back when the nurse suggested skin-to-skin contact with the father. he wasted no time tugging his shirt off to hold his little bundle of joy, nestling her in his arms — unknowingly letting a few stray tears of joy out as he coos down to his newborn daughter.

"oh, you're so pretty, little one." he cradled her gently against his bulky arms, sniffling softly. he was so gentle — different from how he used to be, his eyes soft and watery as he affectionately stares down at his now sleeping daughter.

girl dad! sukuna who slept on a chair by your bed when the doctor told you that you'll be allowed to go home once your body is fit again, he didn't care that he didn't have a bed to lie on. he was just there, prepped in a chair as his fingertips touched your wrist near the IV injection on the back of your hand. making sure he didn't touch the transparent hose. and his eyes darted back and forth from your resting form and his daughter who was now all warm and bundled up inside a bassinet. making sure that the both of you are resting well even if he was barely able to open his eyes fully.

girl dad! sukuna who carried all your bags and your daughter's car seat with ease while leading you down the hospital hallways and to the car. helping you buckle your seatbelt and making sure that his daughter is going to be safe and sound during the ride home, prepping up the car seat like he learned, giving his daughter a light kiss on her head before closing the door.

girl dad! sukuna who tells you to rely on him every time his daughter wakes up in the middle of the night — he won't let you get up, gently tugging you down onto the bed and tucking you underneath the covers before leaving to tend your daughter without any other words. as if his daughter is the most fragile thing in the world, he carries her into his arms and hushed her softly, nuzzling his nose onto her head, trying to get her back to sleep.

"shh, baby, mama's tired right now . . . go back to bed." he whispers, kissing her small forehead.

girl dad! sukuna who offered to shower your baby for the first time after two weeks upon arriving back home (under your watch of course), as you filled the bathinette with warm water — sukuna was cradling her in his arms, swaying his body side to side. and when you tell him the water's ready, sukuna prepped his big hand behind your daughter's small head so the water won't go to her face and began cleaning her. concentrating, he wets his finger and traced it over his daughter's face, making sure she's not frightened. and once he's done, he cupped his hand and scooped some water to wet her hair, rubbing her head lovingly.

girl dad! sukuna who's personality did a somersault ever since you were pregnant with his daughter. turning soft and more clingy, he has your daughter strapped to his chest. and will tell you that he's got it every time his daughter cries or ruined her diapers, he's learnt it all thanks to other great dads on youtube.

girl dad! sukuna who was even more ecstatic than you are when his daughter said her first word, which was of course "mama", he didn't care that she didn't say "dada", he focuses on the fact that his daughter had grown so much to be able to say her first word. tells your bundle of joy how proud he is of her even if she probably doesn't understand her father.

"maa..ma."

sukuna who had his eyes on the television immediately darted to his daughter who was in your hold, his lips were slightly parted as he tries to process what just happened, "did . . . did she . . ?"

when you confirmed his question, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your head before kissing your daughter's head, muttering out a, "papa's proud of you, baby."

girl dad! sukuna who treats both you and your daughter like the most precious beings in the world. he. spoils. you. both. to no end, coming home from work with a present for the both of you. mostly food for you, and a toy for your daughter. you just know [daughter] is going to grow up spoiled by her father.

girl dad! sukuna who spoils your daughter rotten. and ever since her first steps — he's been going out with her to no end, of course going out as a family of three. holding your daughter's chubby little hands as he guided her down the street, earning coos from strangers all around him.

"good girl, that's right . . . left and right." he said softly, watching [daughter] walk slowly, still a little wobbly.

girl dad! sukuna who gets a little emotional when your daughter has her first birthday — because, it's been that fast? he tries not to cry, i swear. but silently slips inside the bathroom and lets a few one out before coming out like he didn't just cry over his daughter growing up too fast. he swore it was just yesterday that he was in the hospital.

girl dad! sukuna who will with no shame, participate in tea parties with his daughter once she's known enough about it. you'd call them both down for dinner and when they didn't, you decided to be the one to approach them inside [daughter]'s room. and there he was, sitting on the floor, to his left and right were [daughter]'s stuffed animals and your daughter was sitting across from sukuna with a silver tiara on.

"this looks fun," you chuckled, eyeing them.

"mama! tea party?" [daughter] beams out at you, you walked over to them and carried your daughter into your arms, "mama, no tea party?"

"after dinner, baby. okay?"

sukuna has no shame in it. at first, he did try to decline his daughter, telling her that she should ask you instead, but your daughter looked so crestfallen that he just has to accept — which turned out to be a daily thing now. a tea party.

girl dad! sukuna who will be his daughter's experiment subject to trying out make ups. he's a little skeptical (lies, he's very skeptical), but it's not like this is the first time he's had make up put on his face. he's had his fair share of you trying to put make up on him, but this was a toddler doing it and not a full grown adult. but he couldn't say no, so he just submits to his daughter and lets her modify his face and clips on cute hairclips to his hair.

"mama mama! look at papa," your daughter cheers, pointing at sukuna. and you laugh, carrying your daughter before approaching the male who was sitting down on the floor in the living room.

"you look pretty, ryo."

"i feel pretty, my little girl did it to me." he rolls his eyes before grabbing a mirror to look at his face.

eh, not bad.

girl dad! sukuna who drops his daughter off for the first day of pre-school, telling her that she should punch anyone who messes with her (thankfully nobody yet). and gets a bit emotional again as she walks inside the building, his eyes going glassy watching her skip inside her new chapter.

girl dad! sukuna who's overprotective when it comes to his little girl. a trip to the park was a daily routine for his family — and believe me when he has eyes everywhere for his little girl, if anyone was bothering her, he would have no fear on finding out who their parent was. taking matters into his own hands, leaving the children out of it. as much as he wanted to confront the kid for bothering his little princess, he knew the parents had the most fault.

"your boy has issues. the next time he lays his hand on my girl, i will come for you." he said to the boy's father before walking back to you.

the boy and his father never came back to the park after that day.

girl dad! sukuna who watches his daughter grow from a small girl to an eight year old in a matter of what felt like a week. he swore yesterday she was just babbling out her first word, and the next thing he knows, she's got a "boyfriend" at school? oh, boy.

"you don't have a boyfriend." he mutters out, eyeing his daughter.

"yes i do have a boyfriend," your daughter replies back with her soft voice.

"no."

the banter continued until your daughter ended up in tears, and sukuna had to force himself to say that she indeed had a boyfriend in school. he's upset that she's growing up too quickly, but at the same time — he's proud of his little girl.

girl dad! sukuna who finds out you were pregnant with a second child, who turned out to be another girl. and he was still as loving and caring like he was with his first daughter, this time, he had a helping hand to take care of you.

"mama has a baby in her belly, so you can't be too rough on her, okay?" he baby talks his eight year old daughter like she's still a small baby — he softly caresses your clothed stomach as he speaks to her.

girl dad! sukuna who had to see his first daughter cry over her new "soon to be" born baby sibling. thinking both you and him were not going to love her anymore — and his heart breaks, because why would he not love his princess anymore?

"hey, hey, why're you cryin'?" sukuna tucks [daughter]'s hair behind her ear as she lets out a few fat tears out of her eyes.

"mama and papa will still love me, right?" she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

sukuna pulls the young girl into his embrace, holding her with one of his arm as he wipes her tears with his other, "'f course mama and i will still love you, you're our princess."

girl dad! sukuna who proudly watches his big girl now approaching his newborn daughter and her sister, eyeing the baby with such an innocent glint in her eyes. oh, and big girl? doesn't matter, to sukuna, your first daughter will always be his little girl.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

thanks for tag cinny <33

current fave songs

— yes or no - jungkook

— attention - newjeans

— akari - soushi sakiyama

— smitten - leanna firestone

— would that i - hozier

no pressure tags <3 : @saelestia @cheriiyaya @ladyth @yunymphs @tinkerbelle05 @littlekidsteve

thank you for the tag @sweetl4mb <3

current fav songs.

1. if you think im pretty - artemas 2. work - iggy azalea 3. kryptonite - 3 doors down 4. two of hearts - stacey q 5. high by the beach - lana del rey

no pressure tags: @dizzyntrr @lacysturniolo @gwenlore @mattscokewhore @solutopia @sturnioloshacker @stvrlighttgabss @ihrtchris @sadfury @coqvttes @renqiisnce @ghostywispe @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @intriq @bearrbug @niyizh @mattsnymphette @rootbeerworshiper @lovings4turn

( OO1 ) ★ unwarranted assumptions , sukuna ryomen

featuring. sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing, college! au, sukuna and yuuji are twin brothers here lol, sukuna might be a lil ooc here (he's in love, he just doesn't know it pls spare him omg). // wc: 3.5k

ENTRY ( OO1 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"how do i know if i'm in love with someone?" "you want to kill everyone who gets near them." "oh, shit."

tag: @rrairey milov, ily for participating in this mwah mwah, @sad-darksoul, @sweeneyblue1 , @idkuluka, @colorful-happy-shit

sukuna and yuuji were quite the opposite. the only thing they share is their looks, and their love for basketball. that's about it. on one hand, we have itadori yuuji—the younger twin— who has a passion for basketball, is the campus' sunshine, and is always friendly to practically everyone.

on the other hand, we have sukuna ryomen—the older twin, just by twelve minutes— who also has a passion for basketball, is "considered" as one of the campus' scariest person, and is never friendly to everyone.

the two however, stuck to each other like glue. walking around campus with one another, like two peas in a pod, they did everything together. it's no longer an odd sight to see them both together — it is pretty weird if one is here, and the other is there.

despite their contrasts in personalities, the two were popular. being star athletes, constantly winning trophies for the campus, and climbing up in fame. hell, even people from different campus would drop by just to meet the two at times, it's funny.

"hey, great job on the match, yuuji."

then there was you. a friend of yuuji — the two of you met during the first semester, and have been good friends since then. however, you never really talked to sukuna. the only thing you both have exchanged were short greetings, and eye-contacts.

you had a cinch that the older twin doesn't particularly like you; but that was just your assumption. you didn't know the truth. this sole assumption was the only thing that made you cease contact with the male. in all honesty, you find him rather . . . well, intimidating. the aura he sets off was just, unsettling. so you just assumed that sukuna doesn't like you.

sukuna finds you rather, amusing. how you would only congratulate his younger brother, and not him as well despite him being next to his brother. how you would throw your gaze away the moment your eyes met his. how you would bow your head down a bit whenever you both exchanged greetings. he didn't understand why you were so intent on doing all that stuff, and so he assumed that you weren't fond of him.

the male wanted to question it, but really — it would be weird for him, and for you. so he never actually done it.

see? assumptions are such fucking party-poopers. i mean, if only the two of you had come to both of your senses and just talked instead of assuming things about one another, where you think sukuna hates you, and sukuna thinks you hated him.

"why do they do that?" sukuna finds himself asking his brother, yuuji. elbow nudging yuuji's arm lightly.

"i need names." yuuji replied back before averting his gaze to the side, watching his twin brother staring at something— or someone intently. yuuji looks over to what sukuna was so focused on, smirking lightly when he saw you in his own vision, "are y'talking about y/n?"

sukuna lightly grunted, leaning back onto the chair rest. his eyes finally ripping away from you, who was currently throwing laughs and giggles amongst your friend group.

"yeah, them. why'd they do that?" sukuna parrots.

"do what, exactly?" yuuji retorts back, leaning his cheek onto the palm of his hand, sighing out in triumph; trying to figure out where this conversation will go.

"avoid me, but not you." yuuji pops a small smile, lightly elbowing his brother's side, "what?"

"do y'like them?"

like? sukuna didn't like you. he just finds your attitude towards him amusing, and . . . maybe you confuse him a bit at the difference on how you treat yuuji and him. but sukuna would never say that to his brother, he'd never hear the end of it, he just knows it.

"like? psh, you've gotta be kidding me. i was just fucking curious about their behavior, you brat." he pushed yuuji away lightly before burying his face into his arms, heaving out a loud sigh.

yuuji chuckles, "brat? you're only twelve minutes older than i am," he sings out in a teasing manner.

sukuna swore he just finds you amusing. at first.

so why does it pisses him off that you ran to his brother's side after a match and handed him a bottle of energy drink, and not him. murmuring out strings of curses, he felt like an absolute buffoon, standing beside yuuji — drenched in sweat, using the hem of his jersey to wipe the dribbling sweat.

while yuuji had all the glory. getting a small cute, teddy bear motive handkerchief from you, an energy drink, and a congratu-fucking-lations.

"yeah — that buzzer beater was totally amazing, yuuji. congrats on winning again! not that i've ever doubt you or the rest," you complimented, and hearing 'the rest' coming out of your mouth, for some reason; pisses sukuna off even more.

the older twin swerved his shoes on the court's floor, letting his soles let out a screech as it rubbed against the shiny surface of the floor. earning both yours and yuuji's attention.

"y'alright?" yuuji asks, popping open the bottle cap of the energy drink from you. and the sight made sukuna ball his fists in annoyance — god, he didn't even know why he was feeling like such.

"yeah. 'm gonna head to change," sukuna mutters out, hesitantly turning away to leave.

and the moment he turns his body away, sukuna could hear the vivid voices of both you and yuuji exchanging goodbyes. and before he knew it, yuuji was walking alongside him, "are you really okay? you look like you need to let out a fuse."

sukuna answered with a soft hum, his eyes narrowing as he continued on walking to the locker room. still angry, frustrated, and annoyed all at once.

"y/n told me to tell you congrats, by the way."

sukuna peered over the locker's door and arched a brow, "why couldn't they tell me that themselves, hm?" yuuji chuckles, finding his brother's behavior funny; because when else was yuuji going to see sukuna act like this?

like a love struck puppy, who doesn't know they're in love.

"who knows?" yuuji shrugs, grabbing the hem of his jersey and ripping it off his body — breathing out loudly, using the handkerchief you gave him to dab the sweat on his face.

sukuna eyed his brother, squinting his eyes lightly before doing the same action, minus the handkerchief. while he was doing so, a thought passed his mind.

"how do i know if i'm in love with someone?" yuuji instantly knew who the person sukuna was talking about, but prompted to say nothing about it and just play along.

yuuji pretended to give the question a deep thought before eventually answering, "you want to kill everyone who gets near them."

sukuna stared at his brother for a short while, muttering out a subtle, "oh, shit."

the reaction was enough for yuuji to made his own conclusion, "you like y/n don't you? which explains why you're in such a shitty mood, since they only paid attention to me—"

"okay, shut the fuck up." sukuna blurted out, "so what if i fucking do, huh? it's not like they'd like me back anyways."

sukuna shuts the locker, the loud bang resounding in the almost empty locker room. yuuji broke out into a loud laugh, "there y'go, making assumptions here and there, it's not like you both have ever talked in a normal conversation before anyways. how do you know they don't like you?"

good point.

"what are you going to do without me?" yuuji sighs out exasperatedly, the younger twin approached his brother, sliding the partly (sweat) damp handkerchief into sukuna's grasp, "return this to them for me, and who knows — maybe you'll be able to make a more positive assumption or two after."

sukuna wondered why he was standing in front of you, his hand shoved out, in between his index finger and middle finger was the same handkerchief yuuji had told him to give back to you.

"the brat wants me to give this back to you." he grunted out, his voice deep and unfriendly.

you stood in front of him, blinking rapidly; not knowing of what to say, should you start off with a greeting? or just tell him thank you? or maybe congratulate him for the match?

and so you decided to do all three, in a random order.

"thank you for your win, congratulations, hi." oh, god. the moment he stared at you in plain confusion — or maybe despise, you just wanted to crawl under the ground and die right there and then.

". . . thanks." he slowly murmurs back, waiting for you to grab your small fabric from his fingers, but you never did, "are you gonna take this or what?"

sukuna wanted to punch himself on the face after you flinched at the tone of his voice, your fingers frantically ripping away the fabric from his touch, mumbling out apologies. he didn't mean for his voice to come out that harsh.

the male wasted no more time in turning his heels to walk away, noticing your tense form; instead of a more positive assumption, his assumption worsened from you hating him, to you hating and being scared of him.

". . . bye." he mutters out, walking away with long strides to go find yuuji.

and when he did, sukuna just wanted to use his younger brother as a punching bag. hell, he didn't know why he was so angry at yuuji, and himself. heavy on himself, though.

"woah, what's up with you?" yuuji pushes his brother away lightly, "how did it go? did you guys like . . . at least exchanged phone numbers or not?"

sukuna shook his head, "think they're scared of me." he mutters out, throwing his head back, stressed out.

"is that your assumption again?" sukuna didn't answer him, which confirmed the question. the younger one heaves out a loud sigh that attracted an odd look—more like a glare—from sukuna.

"i wan' to sock your face in so bad," he mutters out condescendingly, eyes boring into yuuji's face; which in a way intimidated the younger twin, of course.

with a nervous smile, yuuji raises both of his hands up in defense, "chill, 'm gonna give you their phone number, maybe y'should ask them out or something."

see, the thing is that sukuna hated texting— in a way, it's like leaving footprints everywhere. he hated all that stuff. call him old fashioned, but you know he has a pretty good point. so he refused blatantly, "no, jus' leave it to me, i'll think of something."

the gods are on his side.

"i guess, we're partners?" you asked him meekly, slipping into yuuji's empty seat since the younger one was away with his assigned partner on the other side of the lecture hall.

sukuna hums, not knowing what else to say. his eyes followed your figure as you dropped a binder on top of the table, though— one thing particularly caught his eyes. the strip of photo that was tucked beneath the binder's transparent cover, he recognized you, your two other friends, and yuuji.

why the hell was his brother there? the male had one of his eyes closed, and a toothy grin; showing off his pearly whites while his fingers are formed into a peace sign. his cheek leaning onto the side of your head.

indubitably silenced, you averted your gaze to his face slightly. seeing that his attention was on your binder, you awkwardly shifted the book away— and sukuna came into his senses, now looking onto the surface of the table.

"uh . . . should we get started then?" you proposed, and he gave out a subtle nod.

the passing half an hour was just plain awkward. awkward is an understatement, you wanted to just walk out on him— but that would be rude. plus, he's actually doing his share of work, and you did yours. only conversing when you both needed opinions on each other's results.

"so," sukuna started, breaking the silence that seemed like had been going on for like . . . forever.

"you like my brother?"

you slowly tilted your head to look at him, blinking your eyes feverishly, "what—? god, no. what? where did that even come from?" sukuna felt the knot in his stomach unknot, a little relieved to hear your answer.

"just askin', since you're both so close." he shrugs, not even sparing you a glance.

"you're assuming." you found yourself chuckling, "jus' because we're close, doesn't mean i like yuuji— i think of him more of a . . . brother figure," you informed sukuna.

"oh." he resounds, "since we're twins, y'think of me as a brother too or is that exclusive for my twin?" sukuna questions, his tone laced with mischief.

rolling your eyes, you answered him in the same joking manner, "exclusive for your twin, not like we ever talked before, y'know?" oh. right, that did shut sukuna up, his silence killing the conversation almost immediately.

his silence domineered over you. it was like he was planning to do something to you right this very moment, until your lecturer calls out that the session was finished (and how the project should be submitted next week during his session).

saved by the lecturer.

"uh . . . well, should we continue this next time then?" you asked him, packing your stationary.

"yeah, sure."

" . . . if you don't mind, can i have your number? for project purposes," jackpot. sukuna took the chance and nodded, using his pen to swiftly write his digits on your binder, "thanks, i'll text you later. bye, sukuna."

once you left his sight, yuuji pops in. grinning efficiently, "i saw that, this must be fate, i can just feel it."

"you believe in that shit? we're just gonna talk about the project." sukuna retorts back, packing his own belongings before swinging his bag strap over his shoulder.

"oh come on, you're smiling. at least your body's honest," yuuji teases, earning an up right smack to the back of his head, "if they ask where you should do the project — say our house."

absolutely not. sukuna thought.

yet here you were, sitting on the floor of his room, scribbling away on a piece of paper as he sat across from you — glancing up from his own paper from time to time, taking a swift look at your focused face before returning to his own.

sukuna couldn't focus at all. he wanted to, really. but he was alone with you in his room, this was a chance for him; to get to know you. he had so much to say, but he didn't know where to start.

yuuji, earlier in the day had even gone out to give him a list of questions to ask you so you both could have a better relationship. sukuna didn't think it was needed, since well, it is sukuna. why would he need a list for?

on the other side, you too, were dying to say something. but the permanent scowl on sukuna's face made you falter even before you could take a whiff of him.

a knock to sukuna's door was all it took for the both of you to stop scribbling, finally taking a good look of each other. and the door swung open, revealing yuuji with a white shirt and a yellow jacket on, he was holding a plate of what seemed to be chocolate chip cookies, "so— how's your project holding up?"

sukuna shrugs, "i guess, it's fine."

yuuji slid the plate on top of the wooden table, grinning lightly, "you guys getting along just fine?" he questions, squatting down.

you nodded, "we're okay."

okay? okay??? well, in a way you and sukuna are both fine. but sukuna didn't feel fine, "guess so."

the dopey smile you had on the moment yuuji entered his room made sukuna think that you didn't feel comfortable enough to be in the same room as he is, alone. and honestly, just the thought of it made his stomach churn in agony — because, why must it be his own brother that he's jealous of?

"well, i gotta go. dig in the cookies, g'luck on the project you guys," yuuji smacked sukuna's back harshly before trotting away to leave the room, mutely shutting the door.

you grabbed a piece of cookie, taking a crunchy bite out of it. marveling in delight.

"are you scared of me?"

sukuna needed to stop with the sudden questions that made your heart leap at least three miles away. widening your eyes a bit, you arched both of your brows, "wha . . . t?"

you stopped chewing altogether, eyeing the male across from you like he's crazy. i mean — if you were to be honest, you were partially intimidated by him and the aura he's giving out.

"i asked if you're scared of me," sukuna repeats, laying his pen down onto the table as he intertwined his fingers together, waiting for an answer.

you nodded, "truthfully, you're intimidating."

oh.

sukuna expected that answer, but why did it actually made his heart throb? as in — the person he likes is actually scared of him, and it broke a little part of him. however, he still has a scowl on his face and his expression unchanged.

"you have this big scowl every time i go around yuuji, and it intimidates me. so i just assumed that you hated me," sukuna blinked, brows furrowing slowly; the creases in between his brows deepening by the passing second.

"what? i assumed that you hated me." he replied, emphasizing on the 'me'. and this time you furrowed your brows, swallowing the bite of cookie you took before and wiping the crumbs off the corner of your lips in confusion.

"what? no, i don't. what? why would you even assume that?" you questioned him, now dropping your own pen onto the table, completely disregarding the project.

"why would i not? y'keep avoiding me like i'm a bad person, so i just assumed that you hated me." sukuna replies.

"i thought you hated me, because you look like you want to kill me every single time, so i just never talked to you, it was pretty scary." you retorted back, shaking your head, the cookie was now a decoration in between your fingers.

sukuna can't help but to chuckle, "so it was jus' our shitty assumptions?"

you hummed, "i guess so."

to say the least, sukuna felt like he was breathing again. yuuji was definitely right about all these assumption things — and he kept in mind that he'd praise the younger twin later (maybe). the sight of you eating a cookie in front of him made him feel a little overwhelmed, now that he got all the hard part done. he felt like he could talk with you now.

"then . . . can i get to know ya'?"

you narrowed your eyes at him, "really? no strings attached?" he raised both of his hands up in defense, shaking his head lightly, "why do you look like you want to kill me every single time then? are you plotting my murder? is this a trick?"

your questions made him pop out a light smirk, "so what if i am, huh?" he teased.

rolling your eyes, you shoved a hand out to him, "since we didn't start off in the right path, why don't we start over? i feel like this is the only appropriate way."

sukuna raised his hand up to engulf yours in his, feeling a light tingle in his chest as you squeezed his hand lightly, "i'm y/n l/n, just call me y/n. cool?"

the male scoffs, "cool. sukuna ryomen, it's only fair if you get to call me by my first name too, so . . . call me ryomen."

"ryo for short. that's your name now," sukuna arched a brow with an amused smile, nodding his head. internally doing a victory dance in his mind as he just got a nickname from you — and yuuji is just 'yuuji'.

a win for him today.

"you're a little smiley today, did something happen between y/n and you earlier?" yuuji asks, pressing the pause button on his controller to face his brother who was laying down on the couch, the corner of his lips tugged upwards.

"i'm ryo now."

"ryo as in ryomen? i mean — that's your name, so? what are you implying?" sukuna stared at yuuji with a lighthearted smile. yuuji is somehow smart to catch up with these kind of things that it sometimes baffles sukuna, "oh, i get it. so, now you both are on first name basis?"

not even first name basis. this is a nickname that they gave me. sukuna sings in his mind, breathing out in content.

"it's a nickname. they gave it to me," yuuji cooed loudly, tossing his controller aside, "y'know . . . i was assuming they didn't like me, and they assumed it was the other way. they assumed i hated them because apparently i looked like i wanted to kill them?"

yuuji pointed his finger accusingly, "see? i was right!"

sukuna rolled his eyes, "that's the first time y'have ever been right, don't get ahead of yourself."

"so — when are you planning to confess to them, hm?"

a light kick to yuuji's side was enough to send him toppling over the couch, whining out in pain, "we just became friends, and y'think i should confess? that can wait," sukuna mumbles out.

sukuna was just delighted that his assumptions were unwarranted.

© IPINVRSE 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

i have rewatched atwow in the cinema and yall better prepare for the neteyam x näytle angst post

dear god please take all of yuji’s pain and give it to my ex

so embarrassing when i forget im checking someone's blog and i start scrolling through and liking and reblogging shit as if it's just my dash. it feels like wandering into someone else's apartment and not noticing and making myself lunch

THE WAY MY FRIENDS SIDE-EYED ME AS I HAD MY MINI BLUSH-FEST

Jaime Reyes: “Come to papa!”

Me, watching in the theater: