Where Needles And Lovers Collide , A Sukuna Ryomen Smau

Drop the meewing tutorial NOW👊🏾

₊˚⊹。by expensive tiles and elite gym pools | gojo satoru

wc: 935

summary: you visit gojo during one of his training sessions for his upcoming swim meet.

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns stated, only gendered term is ‘boyfriend’ pertaining to gojo, swimmer!satoru, non-curse au

a/n: wrote this as a lil surprise blurb bday gift for @kedsandtubesocks (but it got longer than expected... oops) i know how much you love your sports aus erika!! also inspired by some swim!satoru thoughts i had a few days ago!

You hear a splash! the moment you enter the doors of the gym pool.

The lanes are empty save for one, vast crystal blue shimmering as it reflects the light passing through the glass ceiling. You don't know much about pool construction, but the tiles here look clean, with each edge perfectly cut to fit seamlessly into the other; the markings of luxury, expensive but simple enough not to distract—

—which is what you shouldn't be doing walking into this exclusive gym pool reserved only for the best of the best, the elite. Top tier professionals.

Ones like your gold-winning pro-swimmer boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.

He's approaching the end of his lap when you settle into a squat in front of the lane he’s on, towel hanging off your shoulders as you cross your arms over your knees, wiggling your toes as you wait. The moment he breaks through the surface, you can't hide the smile on your face.

You haven’t seen him in days. 

Everything about him feels like he was made for this—how the ripples make way to accommodate his breathing, the dips and curves of muscle on his shoulders, flexing; how his fingers glide his goggles atop his head without resistance, smoothly. Even with his hair held back by the elastic, the few wet clumps that fall out still frame his face so perfectly. 

It's unbelievable how your boyfriend can look so much like the water he swims in—brilliant and white like glimmers of reflected light, and clean blue, striking, always glistening the moment your eyes catch his. 

Sometimes, looking at him feels a lot like drowning.

"How did I do?" he smirks, squinting into what would have been a suave wink, if not for a drop of water causing an involuntary eye-twitch. 

He already knows the answer, but you indulge him anyway, "Good, as always."

"Just good?" he pouts.

There's a droplet of water hanging by his lips, desperately clinging as it trembles while he breathes. You know he knows you're looking by the way he runs his tongue over it, taunting. 

You narrow your gaze and shrug, teasing, "Maybe you missed something."

He swims closer to the ledge you're squatting by, palms pressing on tile to hoist himself up. You try not to fixate on the way his triceps flex as they hold him up, but he lives for this kind of attention from you—he’d do anything to keep you looking at him the way you do. 

Half of his left leg remains submerged when he settles himself on the edge of the pool, the other one bent as he tilts his head in mock wonder, “Did I?”

It's your turn to pout now as he pretends not to know what you’re after, and you're about to say something on it until—

"S'toru!"

—you scream, pulled off-balance with your heart nearly dropping to your stomach at the fear of being dragged into the water. Except you aren't, because with a simple tug at the towel around your neck, he's managed to tip you over to fall into his lap, steadying you against his very wet and very broad chest instead.  

You smack his shoulders, mouth agape and eyes wide as you push back to look at him. He looks pleased with himself, almost laughing even as his arms settle on your hips, grabbing the flesh and squeezing.

"Mean," you scrunch your nose, and he chuckles.

"Excuse me," he holds you closer, "who hurt my feelings first?"

You roll your eyes fondly, sliding your hands to clasp at the back of his neck, "Okay, big baby."

"Do you want your kiss or not?"

You glare at him, lips pursed tight, "As if you don't—"

So he does—kiss you, lips soft and a little damp. You can taste the chlorine from the hours he's already spent here prior to you coming, but it's comforting, a taste entirely too familiar that you sometimes find yourself looking for it during the long stretches he’s on break. 

He kisses you because you're right, something was missing, and it's always this same thing.

You smile against his lips before breaking away, heart gleaming like pool water. The moment is tender, soft, touched by the magic of being together amidst expensive tiles and elite gym pools.

But you should have known better than to trust your pro-swimmer boyfriend, Gojo Satoru—full-time athlete, and part-time the most insufferable person you’ve ever met.

Because with the way his arm has been wrapping itself inch-by-inch around your waist, he's managed to shift his body back to face the pool, only to dump the both of you back in the water, together.

"Satoru!"

He laughs, voice carrying throughout the gym. You grumble about still having your slippers on and he dives under to get it off you, throwing it to the side when he emerges. 

"Race me!" he ducks to the other lane, sliding his goggles back on before shooting you a thumbs up.

And you’d think this silly of him, really, because this is your back-to-back-to-back gold-winning pro-swimmer boyfriend asking you, a survival swimmer at best, to race him—but you can tell this is his cover for you. 

You’d get in trouble if anyone caught you here in the first place. His schedule's been tight lately, locked down with the need to focus for his upcoming swim meet. Being focused meant no distractions, and you being the worst of them all meant less time spent with you, too. 

Still, he'd insisted that you come today, so.

You can't technically be a distraction if you're going to 'train' with him anyway, right?

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

ー draculaura . . . ☆

títulos dos destaques aqui!

pfp: peculiardork on instagram.

you & me,, always forever ^__^ ♡ 🍮 ๑ バカ !!

• DON’T REPOST!!

I can't pay this month's rent prank on my boyfriend!sukuna

You leaned against the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through your phone while Sukuna towered by the stove, shirtless as usual, making breakfast. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms flexed with every movement, the sheer size of him making the spacious kitchen feel small.

You smirked, the mischievous idea popping into your head. It was time to mess with him.

“Hey, babe?” you started, trying to sound unsure.

“Hm?” he grunted, not looking up from the pan as he flipped the eggs with precision.

“So... I can’t pay my share of the rent this month. I’m really sorry,” you said, putting on your best apologetic voice.

The spatula stopped mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just... don’t have enough this month,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Things are tight, you know?”

Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and then he straightened to his full, intimidating height. The sight of him—looking thoroughly offended—would’ve had anyone else running for cover.

“Tight?” he repeated, his deep voice dripping with incredulity. “What the hell do you mean ‘tight’? Since when have you ever paid rent?!”

You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, I thought maybe I should start contributing, but—”

“Contributing?!” he barked. He threw the spatula down with a clatter, crossing the room in two long strides to stand right in front of you.

You looked up at him, blinking innocently, while he glared down at you, his massive frame practically eclipsing the light. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone sharp. “You think you need to contribute? To my building? The one I OWN?”

You shrugged, barely containing your laughter. “Well, yeah...”

“Y/N,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “You’ve never paid for a single thing in your life. Not rent, not groceries, not even the goddamn Netflix subscription. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re struggling to pay the water bill?”

You blinked again. “How much is water?”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, running a hand through his pink hair like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You wouldn’t last two seconds paying bills. Why the hell would you even say something like this?”

“I just feel bad sometimes, you know?” you said, tilting her head to look up at him.

His expression softened for half a second before he snapped, “You feel bad?! Woman, do I look like I need your rent money?!” He pointed to himself. “Do I?!”

You shook her head, her lips twitching.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. He placed his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you between his arms. “Are you in trouble? Huh? Do you need money? Tell me right now, or so help me—”

“I’m not in trouble!” you laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s a prank!”

Sukuna froze. “What?”

You were laughing so hard you could barely get the words out. “It’s a prank, babe. I was messing with you!”

The room went silent except for the sound of your giggles. Sukuna just stared at you, blinking slowly, his face unreadable. Then he took a step back and ran his hands over his face with a groan. “Unbelievable. I just had a damn heart attack, and for what? For a prank?!”

“I’m sorry!” you said, still laughing.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out the window,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. “You’re driving me insane, woman.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and grabbed your face, pulling you into a searing kiss that left you breathless. His lips were rough, his grip firm, and the sheer intensity of it made your toes curl. When he finally pulled back, you were left staring up at him, dazed.

“For the record,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours, “you’re never paying for a damn thing. Got it?”

“Got it,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

<><><><><> <><><><><><><>

Later that day, you posted a short clip of their interaction online, the internet exploded to say the least.

“NOT HIM BEING OFFENDED THAT SHE EVEN MENTIONED RENT.”

“That kiss at the end??? Ma’am, are you alive?”

“He looks like he eats nails for breakfast but acts like her stress is the enemy. I need this.”

“WHO LET THIS MAN BE SO BIG AND SO SWEET AT THE SAME TIME???”

“He looks like he could throw her and the fridge out of the house, but instead he kisses her like he’ll die without her???”

“No, but the way he said, ‘Do I look like I need your rent money?’ with his whole chest? That’s a MAN.”

“He’s got big ‘pays the bills without letting you lift a finger’ energy. And I mean ALL the bills.”

“This man is built like a WWE champion, but the only thing he’s body-slamming is the stress in her life.”

“He’s definitely rich-rich. Like, ‘owns the whole building and forgot about it’ rich.”

“Imagine pranking the kind of man who doesn’t even look at the price when he buys stuff. Brave.”

“He looks like he’ll fight anyone who even breathes wrong around you. Please prank him again; we need more content.”

It didn’t stop there. People started creating memes:

A still of Sukuna glaring down at Y/N with the caption: “When she says she can’t pay rent, but you literally own the entire block.”

Another image of him pointing to himself, yelling, “DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED YOUR RENT MONEY?” paired with, “Me when my broke friends try to Venmo me for $2.”

すきっちゅおぺれーちょん！

LOOK AT HOW THE HAIKYUU COVER ART HAS CHANGED OVER THE YEARS IM GONNA BE SICK THEYVE GROWN RIGHT BEFORE MY VERY EYES

. ୨ৎ ⠀ ʚ Lacitos y moños  ݂    ๑     ꪆ

"I'm already gone, so why not save yourself?"

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ⭑.ᐟ A SERENE CELEBRATION, MERRY CHRISTMAS

A younger Bakugou Katsuki had always been certain of his future. At 26, he’d be a man with it all: a nice house, a career as the undisputed Number One Hero, happily married, and maybe, just maybe, a little brat on the way. That was the dream his teenage self clung to—the vision he worked tirelessly to acheive.

At 26, Bakugou stood in the middle of your shared apartment, arms crossed and staring at the half-decorated Christmas tree with a deep scowl. Strings of golden lights glimmered around the tree’s branches, lengths of ribbons are accompanied by shimmering with faux flowers, and ornaments—carefully chosen by you—hung delicately in place.

The problem? The color scheme.

“What’s wrong with red and gold?”

“It’s boring,” Bakugou grumbled. “We do red and gold every year.”

“It’s classic!” you argued, turning to face him fully. “And it matches the rest of the apartment’s decor!”

He narrowed his eyes. He could not believe that he’s having this conversation with you right now.

“We could try something new for once. Like silver and blue.”

You gasped, clutching an ornament like he’d just insulted you personally—even cursed your entire bloodline and ancestors. “Silver and blue? Are you trying to make our tree look like a corporate lobby?”

“It’d look cooler than this,” he shot back, gesturing vaguely at the warm-toned ornaments. “This looks like something out of a cheesy holiday catalog.”

“And what’s wrong with cheesy?” you challenged.

Bakugou opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t actually have anything against cheesy—hell, he secretly loved how excited you got during the holidays. But arguing about it? That was part of the fun, if not a branch of his quality time as a love language.

“Whatever,” he muttered, grabbing a red bauble and hanging it perfectly on the tree. “You’re just scared to try something new.”

You laughed, walking over with another ornament to decorate with. “And you’re just scared because I’m right.”

As Bakugou worked to string the lights around the higher branches, you began unpacking the remaining ornaments from your storage box. You pulled out a small, slightly worn ornament in the shape of a star and held it up with a nostalgic smile.

“Do you remember this?”

He glanced down from the tree, frowning at the star in your hand. “Should I?”

No matter how much he tries to remember, he simply couldn’t recall what made this star so special that you had to ask him if he remembers it.

It’s a star, that’s for sure. A faded one at that.

You sighed, clearly unimpressed by his lack of sentimentality. “It’s the first ornament we bought together. Back when we were... what, eighteen?”

Bakugou paused. It had been a spur-of-the-moment purchase during a rare day off from hero training.

You had somehow convinced him to go with you to wander around a Christmas market, bickering over everything from what food stalls to visit to what decorations looked “cool.” You had insisted on the star, and Bakugou—reluctantly—agreed after a heated argument about which shape of star’s better.

“Are you having a flashback monologue right now?”

That brought out a scoff from him. “Fuck no. Just remembered how you were annoying as hell that day,” he muttered.

“And you were so stubborn, god. You kept saying it was pointless to buy an ornament because I didn’t even have a tree back in my dorm.”

“Yeah, and you said, ‘It's not about the tree; it's about the tradition.’ What kinda cheesy crap was that?”

“It's true, though!” you argued, accepting his hand to place the star gently on the tree’s highest branch. “And now, look. We still have it. And now we can buy all the Christmas trees we could ever want.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

As you continued decorating, the sound of your laughter and playful arguments filled the apartment, giving it a cozy home feel. By the time the tree was finished, Bakugou begrudgingly admitted to himself that it didn’t look half bad—even if it was the same colors as last year, though a decent fortune was spent for it to not be too repetitive.

It’s a good thing his work pays well (you split the cost of decorations equally; he just says that his work pays better even if yours is a lot higher than his).

You stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. “Perfect. Now, onto the Christmas Eve menu. I was thinking we could do something light this year—maybe roasted chicken and a salad?”

Bakugou groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “Salad? On Christmas Eve? No fucking way.”

“What’s wrong with salad?”

“Is your childhood a bland mess to have salad as one of the main foods? It’s boring,” he said, sticking his tongue out at you when you gave him a pointed look. “We should make something warm and filling.”

“Okay, but you’re helping.”

“Since when did I ever leave all the cookin’ to you?”

Now that he’s 26, standing in the modest yet cozy apartment he shares with you, he realizes that dreams don’t always come in the exact shape you imagine.

Sure, he doesn’t have the massive house he once envisioned, but this apartment—filled with laughter, memories, and the faint scent of your favorite candles—is more of a home than anything his younger self could have dreamed up. The framed photos of your milestones, the shelves of books, and even a few of his hero equipment with the tools scattered on his office—it’s all perfect in a way he didn’t know he needed.

And his career? Well, Dynamight isn’t the Number One Hero yet, but he’s close. Close enough that his younger self would sneer but grudgingly admit it’s not bad.

He’s built a solid name for himself, and he’s done it his way. His rank might not be where he wanted it to be at this age, but he’s learned something more valuable than being the best—he’s learned the importance of balance.

The last part of that dream? The wife? He looks toward the kitchen, where you’re humming some off-tune melody, beginning to prepare what Bakugou’s about to cook with for dinner. The sight of you, so comfortable and almost glowing in your shared space, makes his chest tighten.

He must have a heart problem by this point because it comes at him at the most unexpected times whenever he sees you.

No, he doesn’t have a wife yet. But he’s about to change that.

He’s been thinking about it for weeks now.

He’s got the ring—it’s hidden in the drawer under his socks, where he knows you won’t go snooping.

He knows you’ll say yes, but he would be damned if he didn’t admit that it made him a bit nervous. He knows because you look at him the same way he looks at you: like the world would become lighter and easier to conquer as long as you have the other.

But still, he waits.

Not because he’s unsure, but because he wants the timing to be perfect. Not rushed, not forced. He’s learned to be patient over the years.

“Kats, help with cutting the onions, please!”

“Yeah, yeah. Comin’!”

Soon, he’ll drop the question. He’s not in a rush. This is your life together, and it’s not perfect, but it is just right—chaotic, loud, and full of love. And when the time comes, he’ll make sure you know just how much you mean to him.

But you already know that, don’t you?

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