nerd!gojo x popular!model!reader
!!disclaimer!! will include major mentions of fling!sukuna x reader, smut, fluff, angst w/comfort.
you were his most well kept secret, scrolling your instagram for hours on end, collecting each and every magazine that you'd ever featured in, satoru was obsessed with you, the gorgeous goddess who just so happened to go to his university. what happens when he sees you struggling to reach a book in the library and plucks up enough courage to finally go up and talk to you? how will the resident bad boy sukuna disrupt his fever dream come true?
the old campus library felt like a different world, ornate woodwork climbing up the walls, interrupted only by tall leaded-glass windows that caught the soft amber glow of autumn. outside, the trees were aflame with color, copper, rust, deep crimson, and their reflection danced on the polished floors. inside, the air was quiet and thick with the scent of time, yellowed pages, candle wax, and the faintest trace of dust that even the best-kept secrets couldn’t shake.
this was satoru’s sanctuary. dim corners, forgotten shelves, long tables where no one noticed if you stayed for hours. it was the one place he could be invisible. which is why his heart damn near exploded when you walked in.
you didn’t belong here, not in the best way. you were all shimmer and gloss, y2k fantasy made flesh, swishing through the hushed aisles like you were on the catwalk of a juicy couture fever dream. pink cheetah-print mini skirt, rhinestone hair clips catching the library’s warm light, a bedazzled phone clutched in one hand and a louis vuitton pochette tucked under the other. your heels made the kind of clack that had half the students peeking over their books.
and gojo? he saw everything.
he watched as you scanned the shelf, rising up on your tiptoes, your acrylics fluttering helplessly just inches from the book’s spine. of course it had to be the top shelf.
of course no one else was around.
gojo adjusted his glasses, heart hammering in his chest. his fingers hovered over his laptop, still stuck on line 43 of an astrophysics assignment he stopped understanding twenty minutes ago.
he’d memorized every one of your photos, every cover shoot, every tiktok q&a where you smiled that same glossy smile.
but this? this was real. this was his chance.
the goddess of his screen, right here in the dusty old sanctuary he never thought you’d step foot in, struggling to reach a book that he was tall enough to grab without even trying.
clearing his throat almost as a way to prepare himself, he closed the lid of his lap top and stood.
his palms were sweating. he wiped them on his jeans as subtly as he could, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to escape. every step felt unreal, like he was glitching through a dream he wasn’t supposed to be part of. he could hear the faint squeak of his sneakers against the hardwood floor, echoing too loud in the silence, like the library itself was watching him with bated breath.
you didn’t notice him at first, too busy tiptoeing, a pout forming on your glossy lips as your fingers swiped at nothing but air. your pink mini rode a little higher as you stretched, glittery charm bracelet jingling with the effort, and satoru had to drag his eyes back up to your face like a gentleman. his throat went dry.
he cleared it quietly. “uh—need some help?”
up close, you were somehow even more perfect. highlighter catching on your cheekbones, the faint scent of candy and designer perfume floating around you like some kind of spell. your eyes met his, confused for a split second, then amused. not mean, not mocking. just… curious. like you were trying to place him. like maybe he was a page you’d never noticed before.
“errr, yeah,” you said, with a breathy little laugh that made his stomach flip. “not built for reaching stuff that high.”
he blinked, then smiled, nervous but trying to play it cool. “lucky for you, i majored in tall.” you laughed again even though it was kind of dry, real, sparkly, light. and satoru swore he’d never heard anything more perfect in his life.
“you’re funny,” you said, stepping aside to give him room. “what’s y'name, hun?” he froze for a half second. she’s asking your name, idiot, say it!
“gojo. i mean, satoru. gojo satoru. either one. or uh. both, at once.” he winced. smooth satoru, real smooth. you just tilted your head, smiled like you didn’t mind at all, and watched him pluck the book down with one easy reach.
“thanks, but satorus too long, and i hate calling people by their last name.” you said, cradling the book in your arms like a purse dog. satoru's eyes widened like he was surprised you'd say that so outright. he cleared his throat and runnned his neck. "oh, i see... what would you like to call me then?" he said bashfully.
“hmm. toru, ill call you toru." you said lazily chewing whatever pink gum you had in your mouth.
he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “toru... it's sounds good on your tongue- i mean! in your mouth- holy shit wait, that's not what i meant to-.”
you cut him off with a loud giggle, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth once you realized you were in a library, not that it did much to muffle the still continuing melody.
his brain short-circuited.
he was sure of it. neurons fried. circuits blown. oxygen? never heard of her. because you were standing there, laughing like he was actually funny, like this wasn’t a scene straight out of one of his most unhinged daydreams.
you gave him a look, amused, playful. god, he was dying. his soul was ascending like a cartoon ghost floating up from his body.
you shifted your weight, resting one hip against the shelf. the fluorescent light overhead made the rhinestones on your bebe cami sparkle. you tucked the book under your arm like it was a designer clutch and popped another bubble of gum, watching him with a kind of lazy, feline curiosity.
“so,” you drawled, “what’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone in a dusty place like this?”
pretty. you called him pretty.
“i, uh—” he coughed, adjusting the frames on his face, trying to stall while his brain caught up. “i like… books?”
you laughed again. it was dangerous, the way you looked at him like that. like he was adorable. like he wasn’t wearing a hoodie with digimon on it and sneakers he hadn’t replaced in three years. like he wasn’t the guy who built computers in his dorm for fun and had a separate folder of your magazine covers saved on his hard drive labeled “for science” even though no science was involved.
“you’re cute,” you said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious.
and satoru? satoru was gone.
he stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, face flushed a gentle pink that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. the air was suddenly thick. too warm. too sweet. it smelled like your bubblegum perfume and fall leaves and something else he couldn’t name, something that made his chest ache.
“y-you think so?” he asked softly, stunned.
you tilted your head again, hair bouncing. “don’t be weird 'bout it, 'course i do.”
he felt his knees weaken. he had to stay calm. say something cool. say something flirty. you’ve practiced this in the mirror for god sake!
“you’re, uh—” he tried, mouth dry. “you’re like… really symmetrical. scientifically speaking. your face, i mean. p-perfect proportions.”
you blinked at him, stunned for half a second before giggling again.
“are you trying to flirt with me using the golden ratio?”
“oh my god,” you said, biting your lip. “that’s actually kinda hot.”
he almost moaned at your flirty tone.
he was talking to you. you. the girl whose instagram he checked religiously, zooming in on every new post like it was a secret message just for him. he knew what your favorite lip gloss was. he knew you preferred oat milk. he’d bought three different issues of vivi just to see the full spread of your beach shoot, and had one of them hidden in the bottom drawer under his spare laptop cables. the girl he had fucked his fist raw to.
you were standing right in front of him, telling him he was hot for quoting fibonacci.
this couldn’t be fucking real.
“do you, like… study fashion or something?” he blurted out, trying to keep the conversation going.
he couldn't lose this opportunity.
“not that you need to. you look like… like you walked out of a y2k time capsule, but in a cool way. like, the hottest- i mean coolest way.”
you grinned, chewing your gum thoughtfully. “nah. i'm in marketing. but i do part-time modeling gigs. keeps my followers happy. and my bank account.”
'oh, i know.' he thought, but smiled like he didn’t. like he hadn’t memorized your last seven ad campaigns and tracked the rise in your follower count every week.
“that’s really cool,” he said instead. “you’re, like, really good at it.”
you raised a brow. “you’ve seen my stuff?”
he panicked. “uh. once. maybe. a few times. like… it came up. on the internet.” he cleared his throat.
you smirked. “just came up, huh?.”
he felt the heat rush to his ears. “i… no… maybe.”
you stepped a little closer, still grinning, glossy lips curving like you knew exactly the effect you had on him.
“it’s okay, toru,” you whispered conspiratorially. “i'm fine with hot guys like you looking at my stuff.”
he snorted, loud and awkward, then clapped a hand over his mouth. your laughter followed, softer this time, almost sweet. you didn’t seem like you were judging him. if anything, you seemed like you were delighted by how much of a mess he was.
you leaned back against the bookshelf, flipping the book’s cover open lazily. “what were you working on, before i came over and distracted you with my tragic lack of height?”
he glanced back at his table, his laptop still open, screen filled with half-written code and tabs full of equations.
“just… homework. physics stuff. not super interesting.”
you hummed. “oh wow physics! you really are a genius? not some nerd poser or something?”
“or something,” he said with a sheepish grin.
you eyed him again, like you were scanning him. tall. gangly, but in a model-off-duty kind of way. platinum white hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. piercing blue eyes behind round glasses that only made him look more ridiculously pretty, like a gorgeous professor with no idea how hot he actually was.
you popped another bubble. “you're hot toru, y'know that?”
he groaned, covering his face. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you nudged his arm with your elbow. “in an endearing way, though.”
his heart did a full backflip. she’s flirting with me. she’s actually flirting with me. this isn’t a simulation. this is real.
he was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way your perfume lingered in the air. the soft click of your nails against the book cover. the scuff on your pink heels. your lip gloss glinting like a disco ball every time the light shifted. his eyes trailed down to the perfect curve of your tits, god what he would give to cop a feel for just a secon-
“so,” you said, as casually as if you were asking for the time, “you gonna ask for my number or just keep eye fucking me like that?”
“i—I wasn't- i was gonna-,” he stammered, clutching the edge of the bookshelf for support. “i just didn’t know if, i mean, you’re, like, you. and i’m just—”
you raised an eyebrow. “you’re toru.”
“my toru, if you play your cards right.”
he was dead. buried. emotionally incinerated.
“uh—can i—yeah—your number, please. definitely. like. right now.”
you pulled your phone from your purse, bedazzled case catching the light like a chandelier. “here."
he shakily took your phone.
you peeked at it and burst out laughing. “just 'gojo'? that's lame.”
he shrugged, somehow managing a grin. “oh! uh... i guess you'll have to make up the name...”
he saw your lips curl as you typed in a new name. you turned the phone around and he read the contact.
you tilted your head again. “i like you, toru, you're cool.”
he didn’t think anything in his life had ever sounded better.
"r-really? you're like, really cool to-"
"y/n! hurry the hell up or we're leaving without you!"
a foreign voice interrupted the moment, and you looked over your shoulder through the book cases to see sukuna and yuki looking around for you.
"ah shit, sorry toru but i gotta run. parties am i right?"
satoru stammered abit before straightening up and nodding his head quickly like he knew anything about parties. he gulped looking at sukuna, he alone looked 100x more likely to be dating a hot model like you, he was tatted up, smoking hot and oh so boyish. you were hanging out with guys like this on the daily? it made satoru's self confidence waver.
"no, yeah, totally. uhm... it was really nice meeting you y/n-"
"you too toru see yah! i'll text you!"
you replied, fast walking off to your popular friends that seemed to be pretty adamant in you returning quickly.
satoru watched you walk away, heart still pounding in his chest. the weight of the moment, of you, was slowly sinking in.
he stared after you, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching the way you moved—effortless, like a star gliding through space, not a care in the world, completely unaware of the way the whole library seemed to be holding its breath in your presence, just like him. he saw how students whispered as you passed by, you were already back in your element, heading toward your friends. your heels clicked rhythmically against the floor as you weaved through the bookcases.
'she called me toru. she called me toru.'
he could barely wrap his mind around it. you were her. the goddess he’d collected magazines of, the one whose photos kept him up all night, the girl whose life seemed so perfect and out of reach. and you’d called him toru, a nickname only his mom called him.
like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
he felt his pulse racing again, the aftershock of the interaction rippling through him. 'there was no fucking way this was real. it couldn’t be. not in a million years.'
he stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching your figure shrink as you disappeared into the crowd of students waiting at the library exit. a part of him wanted to run after you, but he stayed rooted to the spot, trying to calm his breathing, trying to get his bearings.
'i'll text you' your words rang in his ears.
he fumbled for his phone, eager to check for the message. he knew it wasn’t going to be anything mind-blowing, just a quick “hey” or maybe an emoji, but it didn’t matter. it was something.
his hands shook as he unlocked the screen.
no new messages. his heart sank, and for a brief moment, he was ready to throw his phone out the window. 'don’t overthink it, satoru. it’s just one conversation. stop acting like she’s going to text you back immediately, you idiot.'
he paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind in a complete fog. the sound of his footsteps was the only thing that seemed to ground him, the reality of the library pulling him back from his spiral of thoughts.
'okay. okay, you need to calm down. what just happened is… insane. but it’s not like she’s your girlfriend. hell, you barely know her. but fuck…'
he sat down at the nearest table, pulling out his laptop and trying to force himself to focus. his fingers hovered over the keys, but the words weren’t coming to him. the physics problems blurred together on the screen, the equations meaningless in comparison to what had just happened.
he laughed to himself, a quiet sound that felt a little too much like a nervous breakdown.
'she called you pretty. she said you were hot. and she didn’t run away. she didn’t laugh at you. she just called you cute! god, you’re fucked, satoru.'
he couldn’t stop smiling, even though he knew he was being ridiculous.
'this is real, right? she actually liked me. she didn’t just see me as some… weirdo in the corner of the library. she saw me.'
you didn’t think much more about it after that. after all, you were you, and satoru? well, he was just some pretty nerd who you had a quick flirty conversation with. sure, it was fun, but it wasn’t like anything was going to come of it.
but you couldn’t help thinking about his smile. the way he stammered and blushed. the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours, like he was afraid he might melt if he looked too long. he wasn’t the first guy to be nervous around you, but there was something… refreshing about the way he acted. not like he was trying to impress you, but like he was genuinely just happy to be talking to you.
you were knocked out of your thoughts when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders as yuki walked next to you out of the library.
“took you long enough,” sukuna drawled, his voice low and rough in that way that made heads turn even when he wasn’t trying. his rings clinked lightly as his fingers settled on your shoulder, all casual possessiveness and knowing smirks. “don’t tell me you were actually studying?”
“she was flirting,” yuki chimed in, tugging her black leather jacket tighter around herself. “with glasses.”
“glasses?” sukuna raised a pierced brow, looking amused. “you mean the lanky nerd who always camps out in the back corner like he pays damn rent?”
you gave a lazy little shrug, chewing your gum thoughtfully as your pink acrylics tapped against your phone screen. “y'know him? he’s cute.”
yuki nearly choked on a laugh, slapping a hand to her chest. “cute? you think he’s cute?”
“like, awkward cute,” you clarified, eyes scanning your texts, pretending not to notice how sukuna’s grip subtly tightened. “he called my symmetrical face hot.”
yuki actually wheezed. sukuna just stared down at you for a second, unreadable. “you fuckin’ with him?” you gave him a sugary smile, lips glossed just right. “no. he was just sweet, helped me reach a book.”
“sweet,” he repeated flatly, like the word offended him on a molecular level. but you were already ahead of them, weaving through the quad, your low-rise mini skirt swishing, a little pink blur in a sea of neutrals. you didn’t even need to look back to know they were following you. people always followed you.
you were the kind of girl people stared at. you were the girl. the one in the center of every group pic. the one who got handed aux at parties. the one every guy either wanted or bragged about knowing. and yeah, it got exhausting sometimes. but it was better than being invisible. it was better than being left behind.
sukuna and yuki flanked you like always, your unofficial bodyguards, your chaos and calm. people moved for the three of you like you were royalty. “what’s his name?” yuki asked as you all approached the parking lot. she was already pulling her keys out, ready to drive you to the party.
“satoru,” you said absently. “but i’m calling him toru.” sukuna scoffed, you were oblivious to the drop in his stomach.
back in the library, satoru still hadn’t moved. his brain kept replaying the moment you said his name. toru. he never knew two syllables could make him feel like his chest was going to explode. and then your friends had shown up. those friends.
satoru had locked eyes with the pink-haired one for only a second, but it was enough.
he was tall , broad-shouldered, ink running down his arms like artless declarations of rebellion, slick black piercings catching even the dimmest light of the library. he had a cigarette tucked behind one ear like it was an afterthought, like he didn’t even need it to look dangerous. his shirt clung to him like it didn’t dare wrinkle. his stare was deadpan, half-lidded and bored, like he’d already sized satoru up and decided he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to speak.
his eyes said it all, 'i’ve done things your virgin brain can't even fathom. i’ve had her in ways you’ll never even understand.' satoru felt small, smaller than he had in years.
this guy, sukuna, looked like the kind of man girls wrote warnings about in their diary. the kind your friends begged you to stay away from but you never did. he looked like he lived in red lights and black leather and bad decisions. like he didn’t even need to try to get a girl like you. like he already had.
he looked like the kind of guy you did date.
satoru’s fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous impulse to hide himself behind his sleeves. behind his hoodie. behind something. anything. 'they’re probably just friends,' he told himself. but the words didn’t land. not really.
not when you were surrounded by people like that, cool, popular, hot in a way that didn’t come from filters or good lighting but from raw, lived-in confidence. people who belonged in glossy polaroids, in afterparties, in stolen moments behind closed doors.
he thought about the way you’d laughed at his dumb jokes, called him toru like it was something soft and special. how you’d looked at him like he was something worth looking at. but it didn’t change the fact that he was stammering and akward.
meanwhile, sukuna probably had you pressed against a wall the night before, hand on your throat, like he owned you. satoru blinked down at the ground, heart clenched, throat dry.
what if he does? what if you weren’t just flirting? what if sukuna was the one you called when the party ended? the one who got to see you undone and bare and real?
the image hit him hard, a flash of you in someone else’s bed, laughing the way you had in the library, except it wasn’t for him this time. he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, but the thought had already burrowed in.
'you’re not her type.' and god, wasn’t that the worst part? because he wanted to be.
he wanted to be everything you liked. everything you needed. but standing there in that hoodie with his backpack half-zipped and his heart in his mouth, he wasn’t sure he even belonged in the same room as you.satoru dropped his forehead to the desk, groaning softly.
'get a grip. you’re spiraling. again.'
but he couldn’t help it. not when he’d spent the better part of his freshman year zooming in on pictures of you on the cover of “tokyo street glam.” not when he had a folder on his phone labeled “math notes” that was really just full of screenshots from your instagram stories.
you were his secret. his guilty pleasure. the one girl he let himself obsess over even when he swore he didn’t do that anymore. and now? you were real. not just real, but you’d talked to him. you’d liked talking to him. he finally lifted his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, still slightly fogged from the heat of his own forehead.
'snap out of it, satoru. she’s not a fantasy anymore. you met her. she smiled at you. she gave you her number. that has to mean something.'
his phone vibrated. his whole body went rigid he snatched it up off the table so fast he nearly dropped it.
[new message: unknown number]
xxx xxx xxx: heya toru :)
his mouth dropped open a little. he just stared at the screen, like it might disappear. like it was a mirage. his fingers hovered for a moment, then tapped quickly.
and then, as fast as he could, he threw his phone face-down on the table and physically shoved his chair away from it like it might explode. his heart pounded. his ears were ringing.
'holy fucking shit she texted you.'
he let out a shaky breath, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and scrubbing them over his face.
“he texted back,” you told yuki, holding up your phone lazily.
“he’s probably combusting in that dusty ass library right now,” she grinned, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “you just turned that boy’s world upside down.”
you blew a bubble, letting it pop slow. “good.”
“you gonna see him again?” you shrugged, but your smile betrayed you. “depends. maybe.”
yuki eyed you. “you like him.”
from behind, sukuna made a low noise of disapproval.
back inside, satoru was still buzzing. his fingers hovered over the keys, unsure what to say next. he wanted to impress you. to be funny. to be hot. but mostly, he just didn’t want to blow it.
he checked your profile again, he didn’t mean to. it was just instinct now. all your selfies, your campaign shoots, your y2k party outfits, the way you always looked like you stepped out of a dream and into a flashbulb.
your most recent post was from a few minutes ago where you snapped a photo of you and yuki getting ready for a frat party. 'of course.'
the alpha phi frat house was already buzzing by the time you and yuki pulled up. the thump of bass-heavy music vibrated through the ground, mingling with the distant chatter and laughter of students spilling out onto the lawn. fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, while the scent of alcohol and pot hung thick in the air.
you stepped out of the car, your mini dress hugging your curves perfectly. your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was a flawless blend of early 2000s glam and modern chic. yuki, ever the contrast, sported a sleek black ensemble, her dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner giving her an edgy allure. as you made your way through the crowd, the familiar faces of your inner circle came into view.
choso was the first to greet you, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in hand. his long, dark hair was tied into two high ponytails, and his deep-set eyes held a quiet intensity. choso was the enigmatic artist of your group, often lost in thought but always present when it mattered. despite his reserved nature, he had a soft spot for you, often sketching portraits of you in his notebook.
“y/n,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“heyy cho,” you replied, giving him a quick hug. “still acting all edgy brooding in corners?”
he chuckled softly. “y'know it.”
nearby, suguru lounged on a couch, his long black hair tied back, revealing a perfectly sharp jawline and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he raised his glass in a silent toast as you approached.
“y/n, always a vision,” he drawled, his voice deep, sexy and smooth as silk.
“awe how sweet of you. not sleeping with you tho, sorry!” you shot back, smirking.
suguru was the charismatic leader, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit. he had a way with words and a confidence that made him irresistible to many. your relationship with him was flirtatious, filled with playful banter and lingering glances.
"that's too bad, pretty."
shoko, the group’s resident medical major and drunkard, sauntered over with a bottle in hand. her short hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“y/n! shot?” she offered, already pouring two.
“you know i can’t say no to you, girl,” you laughed, clinking glasses with her.
shoko was the life of the party, always ready with a drink and a sarcastic comment. she balanced her wild side with a deep loyalty to her friends, always there when it mattered most.
sukuna, ever the token bad boy, leaned against the wall, his tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. his pink hair was tousled, and his eyes followed you as you moved through the room.
he gave you a once over and approached you, slinking an arm around your waist and hooking his head down to inhale you're perfume with a groan.
sukuna was your on-again, off-again fling, the tension between you two palpable. he exuded danger and allure, and while your relationship was complicated, especially with his tendency to be extremely unloyal, there was no denying the chemistry.
you giggled before pushing him off and working your way further into the party, dodging bodies as you progressed.
nanami stood nearby, his tie loosened, a drink in hand. he offered you a nod, his expression as stoic as ever.
“y/n,” he greeted simply.
“nanami, letting loose tonight?” you teased, leaning against his side looking up at him. “as much as i can,” he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he dipped his drink.
nanami was the responsible one, always the voice of reason. he kept the group grounded, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to the chaos. maki zen’in, fierce and unapologetic, approached with a confident stride. her athletic build and sharp eyes commanded attention.
“y/n, looking sexy,” she complimented, giving you a nod.
“maki, you look so fucking hot.” you responded.
maki was the strong, silent type, her loyalty unwavering. she was someone you could always count on, both in and out of a fight.
as the group settled into their usual banter, yuki leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes, capturing their attention.
“guess who y/n was flirting with today?” she announced, drawing everyone’s attention. the room quieted slightly, all eyes on you.
you shot her a sideways glance and felt for the phone in your pocket, remembering you needed to text a certain someone back.
“a nerd,” yuki continued, grinning.
sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.
“a nerd?” suguru echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“yeah, glasses, stammering, the whole 9 yards,” yuki elaborated.
“he was cute,” you defended, shrugging, about to hit send on the message you were about to send satoru when sukuna interrupted.
he scoffed, pushing off the wall.
“i’m getting another drink,” he muttered lowly, disappearing into the crowd.
the group exchanged glances, the tension palpable.
“well, that was dramatic,” shoko commented, taking another sip.
choso snorted abit and suguru just shook his head.
you rolled your eyes, but a small smile played on your lips. sukuna fucked around with all kinds of girls, what gave him the right to get all pissy? you didn't really like him like that anyways, he just knew how to fuck...
you watched sukuna’s retreating figure push through the crowd, jaw locked, shoulders tense. he didn’t even glance back.
you waited a beat. maybe he was just being dramatic. maybe he’d cool off and come back and pretend like nothing happened.
and something about that made your blood boil.
“i’ll be back,” you muttered, not really addressing anyone in particular.
yuki gave you a knowing look but didn’t stop you.
you slipped past sweaty bodies and neon-lit walls, the music thudding behind you like a heartbeat as you pushed open the sliding glass door to the patio. it was colder out here. quieter. sukuna was leaning against the railing, cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers, jaw clenched tight like he was chewing on all the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t.
you stood a few feet away, arms crossed.
“you always do this,” you said softly, voice sharp in contrast to the quiet. “get weird whenever someone else so much as breathes in my direction.”
he didn’t turn around. just took a slow drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air like it was supposed to calm him.
“so now you’re into nerds?” he said, voice flat. you scoffed. “is that really what you’re mad about?” he glanced over his shoulder, eyes flashing. “i’m not mad.” you stepped closer, irritation prickling under your skin.
“bullshit. you stormed out like i cheated on you or something.” he turned fully to face you now, arms spread slightly like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
you laughed, bitter and tired. “exactly. we’re not together. so why the fuck do you care?”
he looked at you then, really looked. and for a second, something flickered in his expression, hurt? jealousy? possession? it vanished almost as quickly as it came.
“i don’t,” he said coldly. “you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”
“then why are you acting like this?”
he stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. “because you act like you don’t care, like it’s just casual, and then go around flirting with other guys like it’s a game.”
“you sleep with other people all the time.”
“yeah, but i don’t shove it in your face.”
“i wasn’t trying to shove anything—” you snapped, taking another step forward, “—you just can’t stand not being the center of attention.”
his eyes narrowed. “and you can’t stand the idea that someone might not want you.”
that one stung more than it should have.
you blinked, lips parting, breath catching in your throat for half a second. then you swallowed it down and stared right back at him.
he smirked. “you already did.”
you rolled your eyes and turned, ready to walk back in, to let this whole thing rot where it stood. but then—
“he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” he called out, venom laced in his voice.
“maybe not,” you said sweetly, “but he doesn’t talk to me like i’m disposable.”
sukuna didn’t say anything, jaw tight again, eyes unreadable.
you stepped back. “enjoy your drink.”
and with that, you left him there, cigarette burned down to the filter, staring at your back as you disappeared into the party.
you stalked your way back into the party, turning heads as you walked. you navigated back to a some what secluded couch and sat down trying to calm yourself, and think. and maybe, okay, definitely, text that nerd.
you reached for your phone that had been vibrating on and off all night in your purse. as expected, a few dms, a couple mentions from the party, sukuna had liked one of your thirst traps from last week, typical, but it was the one message that you'd received a few hours ago that made your heart do a weird little flip.
you [12:47am]: u still up nerd?
you paused. stared at it. then hit send before you could chicken out.
you rolled onto your back, biting your lip, phone clutched to your chest.
the reply came way faster than expected.
toru 🫦 [12:48am]: im always up for you
you stared at the screen, mouth open.
“what the hell,” you muttered, smiling like an idiot.
you [12:49am]: that was smooth toru. didn’t know you had game
toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i don’t. im literally panicking rn
toru 🫦 [12:49am]: i had to rewrite that message like five times. you don’t wanna see the first drafts
you [12:50am]: ok show me the deleted ones
toru 🫦 [12:51am]: i think one said “yes i am awake haha as a human does” and then another one just said “gulp”
you [12:51am]: stopppppp LMAO
you [12:52am]: that’s so cute it’s disgusting
toru 🫦 [12:52am]: glad i could repulse you into liking me? i think?
you [12:53am]: don’t get cocky bud ur just some cute guy i met
toru 🫦 [12:53am]: you think i’m cute?
you laughed again, your cheeks a little warm despite the hour.
you [12:54am]: you’re literally the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen
toru 🫦 [12:55am]: oh my god
toru 🫦 [12:55am]: you’re just saying that
you [12:56am]: i’m not lol. you looked so good in the library today. like… ridiculously good
toru 🫦 [12:57am]: i was sweating so bad. i think my shirt was sticking to me. you looked like a dream tho. a bratz doll kinda dream
you [12:57am]: i am a bratz doll. kinda my whole label lmao. yk what i really like?coffee. speaking of!
you [12:58am]: wanna get some tomorrow? 1pm ish? bluebird café?
your finger hovered for a second before you sent it.
across campus, in a dorm room cluttered with textbooks, half-eaten candy, and his favorite hoodie tossed over the back of his desk chair, satoru gojo was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.
he read the message once.
and then he launched himself face-down into his pillow and let out a noise somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal.
“yes,” he whispered into the sheets. 'yes yes yes fuck yes.'
his thumbs scrambled to reply.
his response came in seconds.
toru 🫦 [12:58am]: yes. yes. yes pls
toru 🫦 [12:58am]: i mean yeah sounds cool lmao
he immediately smacked his forehead. sounds cool?? what was wrong with him?? you were literally the hottest person he’d ever seen and he was texting like someone’s nervous little cousin.
you [12:59am]: ur such a loser
toru 🫦 [12:59am]: ur such hottie
he stared at the screen after sending it, heart pounding. he could still see you in that tight little outfit from earlier, that confident swing of your hips, your glossed lips twitching when you called him hot, like you already knew what that did to him.
and god, what didn’t it do to him?
he was so far gone. the way you talked to him, like you were toying with him. like you knew he’d let you. like you knew he’d beg if you asked nicely enough.
he shifted on his bed, adjusting himself under the sheets with a hiss.
you had him half-hard from just a few texts and a smile.
you [1:00am]: wear a shirt like you were wearing today again. the tight one. pls. for science.
toru 🫦 [1:00am]: yes ma’am
toru 🫦 [1:00am]: but only if u promise to sit close to me
toru 🫦 [1:00am]: like. real close
you bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck and down your legs.
you [1:01am]: i was gonna sit in ur lap anyway?
gojo made an honest-to-god whimper.
toru 🫦 [1:01am]: brb. passing away. dying. deceased. funeral tmrw before coffee
you laughed into your hands, locking your phone as the giddiness spilled over.
you didn’t know why you were getting all hyped over this guy.
he was awkward. kind of dorky. always blushing.
just an awkward guy with a pretty face.
you were already dressing to impress. already picturing how he’d react when you leaned in close, lipgloss shining. already planning which perfume would drive him crazy.
except your pulse wouldn’t slow down, and your smile wouldn’t fade.
meanwhile, sukuna stood on the patio still, cigarette ash crumbling between his fingers, the cold air biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. all he could think about was the look in your eyes when you told him off. the way your voice didn’t even shake. the way you walked away like he didn’t matter. like he was just another hookup who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.
he dragged the smoke in deep, holding it in his lungs like it might cauterize the part of him that still gave a shit. but it didn’t. it never did.
you always did this. wormed your way under his skin like a parasite. made him feel things he swore he didn’t have in him. and every time, he let you. like a fucking idiot.
you weren’t his. he wasn’t yours. that was the deal. and he liked that. needed it. no strings. no expectations. he fucked, you moaned, and then you went home. clean. efficient.
you had the audacity to smile about some four-eyed loser in a cardigan. to say he was cute, cute, in front of everyone like you weren’t the same girl who’d been choking on his cock last weekend, mascara dripping down your cheeks, begging him to keep going even though you were shaking.
and now? you were giggling over some soft-spoken virgin with library dust in his hair?
he could see it. this “toru” guy blushing like a fucking idiot when you touched his arm. stuttering through compliments. looking at you like you hung the stars. and worse—way worse—he could see you liking it. eating it up. letting yourself be doted on like you were something sweet and fragile.
you were a brat. a tease. a bad girl in a tight dress with too much lipgloss and not enough shame. sukuna knew that. he liked that. you weren’t soft. you weren’t gentle. you were fire and sharp teeth and split thighs. that’s what he fucked. what he owned.
and now you were giving that soft shit to someone else?
he got the real you. the parts no one else could handle. the parts that needed someone like him. the late-night chaos. the bruises you didn’t want to explain. the shame-soaked mornings where you wouldn’t look him in the eye.
that nerd didn’t know you. he didn’t know the mess under the makeup. the desperate texts at 2am. the neediness that bled through every time you swore you didn’t care.
you didn’t get to act like you were someone new. like you were pure now, just because some pretty boy batted his lashes at you in the nonfiction aisle.
he scoffed under his breath, flicking the dead cigarette into the grass and watching the embers scatter.
this wasn’t supposed to matter. none of it was supposed to matter.
you were hot. you were cool. and he thought if he kept it physical, kept it casual, he wouldn’t get sucked in.
but there you were. invading his thoughts, ruining his night with one stupid, flirty smile at someone else.
you shouldn’t get to do that.
he dug into his pocket for another cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.
he was spiraling and he knew it.
hated how you’d crawl into his head without even trying. hated how you made him feel sixteen again, jealous, stupid, insecure. hated that you didn’t even ask him to stay. hated that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to.
and he really fucking hated the idea that you’d text that guy tonight.
maybe he was texting you back right now, saying something dumb and sweet like you looked really pretty today, and you’d eat it up because that was the shit you liked now, wasn’t it?
and sukuna would be out here, sucking down his second cigarette, pretending it didn’t gut him.
“fucking hell,” he muttered, tossing the second one too.
he stared up at the night sky, jaw locked, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he could force the feeling down if he just stood still enough.
but it sat there anyway, heavy in his chest.
you were slipping away from him.
and he didn’t even know if he wanted to stop you.
he walked back into the house like he hadn’t just spent twenty minutes outside trying not to feel things. the bass of the music hit him first, pulsing through the floorboards, drowning out whatever was left of his pride. he grabbed another drink just to keep his hands busy. he didn’t even know what it was, probably something sugary and cheap,but he needed something to hold so he wouldn’t punch a wall.
he spotted yuki first, dancing near the kitchen with shoko and maki, drinks in hand, glittering under the soft lights strung along the ceiling. he didn’t bother looking for you at first. he told himself he wouldn’t. told himself it didn’t matter.
but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the room like they always fucking did.
sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, grinning down at your phone like it had just told you the funniest joke in the world.
he didn’t have to guess who you were texting.
the look on your face said it all. soft. dreamy. your glossed lips tilted into a little smirk, teeth poking through as you bit back a laugh. your fingers moved fast, typing something with a kind of excitement he hadn’t seen in you in a long time. not with him. not for a while.
you never looked at your phone like that after fucking around with him.
no, you usually ghosted him the next day, like you needed to forget it even happened. like he was something you regretted once the high wore off.
but now you were sitting there in a tight little dress, glowing from the inside out, because some nerd made you smile with a few well-timed texts.
he clenched his jaw, setting his drink down before it cracked in his grip.
fuck his stupid glasses.'
fuck how easily he got your attention after one day.
he took a slow breath, trying to shake it off. he wasn’t going to be that guy. the clingy one. the bitter one. he had girls. options. people would kill for a night with him and he knew it. he didn’t need you. he never did.
but goddamn, it felt like you were the only thing he wanted in that moment.
he forced himself to move, leaning back against the counter, trying not to watch you as you texted.
you glanced up once, eyes sweeping the room, and you caught him. just for a second. your smile faltered, and you looked away fast, back to your phone, back to 'toru.'
sukuna’s stomach twisted.
he swallowed hard and looked away.
suguru came up beside him, handing him a new drink. “you look like you’re about to rock someone's shit.”
“i might,” sukuna muttered, taking the cup.
“you know she’s not yours, right?” suguru said casually, like he wasn’t cutting sukuna open with the truth.
sukuna didn’t answer. he didn’t have to.
“just saying,” suguru added, sipping his own drink, “you act like you don’t care, but every time she entertains someone else you look like you’re about to commit a felony.”
“she’s not like that with me,” sukuna said quietly.
“yeah,” suguru said, looking back at you, “and maybe that’s the problem."
he hated that look on your face.
soft. sweet. like someone actually deserved it.
like he hadn’t just had you moaning into his neck a week ago.
“unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, jaw twitching. he pushed off the counter and made his way across the kitchen, bumping past some guy in a letterman jacket hard enough to make the drink in his hand slosh. the guy looked ready to say something, but one glance at sukuna’s expression shut him up.
the fear. the respect. the control.
and now here he was, second place to some awkward little library rat who probably still asked his mom how to do laundry.
you weren’t even that special. not really.nat least that's what he told himself.
you had a pretty face, sure. tight body, knew how to use it.
but god, were you exhausting.
always wanting to “talk” after. getting weird if he didn’t text back fast enough. acting like he owed you something when all you ever were was convenient.
it wasn’t his fault you caught feelings.
it wasn’t his fault you mistook a few orgasms for meaning.
and now? you were all smiles and fluttery lashes for some guy who’d probably cum in his pants if you so much as kissed his neck.
he laughed, bitter and mean, dragging a hand through his hair.
you’d be bored in a week. two, tops.
guys like that didn’t know what to do with girls like you.
he knew how to make you fall apart. knew how to get under your skin, pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know you could make. he’d ruined you for other guys, he was sure of it.
and yet there you were, looking like he didn’t exist.
looking like he never even mattered.
he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the cup aside like it disgusted him, then stalked toward the hallway without a word to anyone. if he couldn’t have your attention, he’d find someone else’s.
you weren’t the only hot girl at this party.
and if you wanted to pretend he didn’t matter?
he’d show you just how easy it was to forget someone.
even if it tore him up inside.
he was good at pretending.
you lock your phone, the ghost of a smile still clinging to your lips, cheeks warm as you sink into the couch cushion. the room buzzes around you, low bass, clinking drinks, scattered laughter, and for a second, you forget where you are. all you can think about is the way satoru types like he can’t get the words out fast enough. like he’s trying to hold your attention before you disappear.
you tuck your phone into your purse and push yourself up, brushing your hands down the sides of your dress. no use staying curled up in the corner when the night’s still young and the liquor is just starting to hit.
“finally decided to rejoin the rest of us?” suguru calls as you weave through the crowd toward the kitchen.
“was that you smiling at your phone like a puppy?” choso adds, lifting a red solo cup to his lips with a grin.
you snort, accepting the tequila shot suguru passes you. “shut up.”
“no, really. that was some schoolgirl shit,” choso teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “who’s got you blushing like that, huh?”
you shoot him a look as you throw the shot back, the alcohol burning a slow, sweet trail down your throat. “nobody.”
“mhmm,” suguru hums, not buying it for a second. “not like you to be giggling like that, especially not when sukuna’s in one of his moods.”
you shrug, licking a little salt from the back of your hand. “he’s always being weird.”
choso raises his brows. “you good with him?”
“why wouldn’t i be?” you say, a little too quickly.
they exchange a look but don’t push it. instead, suguru downs his shot and offers his hand. “come dance.”
you let him pull you onto the living room floor, the music thudding loud enough that it vibrates through your heels. choso joins, the three of you falling into a loose rhythm, spinning and swaying under the hazy glow of the string lights. suguru’s hands find your waist, steady but never greedy, while choso twirls you around with a flourish that makes you laugh.
it feels good, easy. warm bodies, familiar faces, and the distraction you didn’t know you needed.
you let go for a little while. lose yourself in the music and the alcohol and the safety of your friends’ touch. suguru dips his head to murmur something that makes you laugh, choso pretending to swoon dramatically in response. you throw your head back, laughing harder, spinning until the room blurs
and then your eyes land on him.
he’s leaned against the far wall, and he’s not alone.
there’s a girl tucked into his side, long legs, shiny hair, tiny black dress, and she’s all over him. her hand drags a lazy line down his chest, and he just stands there, smirking like it’s nothing. like she’s nothing. like you’re nothing.
his fingers ghost along the hem of her dress, drifting lower with zero subtlety. and still, he doesn’t look at you. not even a glance. not even a twitch.
you pause mid-step, not frozen exactly, just… confused.
because wasn’t he the one who got all tense when he heard you talk about another guy? wasn’t he the one looking pissed earlier, jaw tight, eyes sharp, when yuki teased you about your little crush? wasn’t he the one who always acted like he hated when you gave anyone else your attention, even though he never wanted to claim you outright?
your stomach doesn’t twist, it just sinks, low and slow. not with jealousy. not with hurt. more like: what the hell is his problem?
you keep moving. force your body to flow with the music again as suguru slides behind you, hands warm at your hips. you’re still dancing. still laughing. still here. but your mind keeps circling back.
it’s not that you expected anything different. not really. you and sukuna were never official. never had rules. never had to check in with each other. but still… there was always a tension, a pull, something unspoken between the two of you that made it feel like no one else could come close.
and yet, here he is. practically letting that girl climb him like a tree. acting like you didn’t spend last weekend tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t tell you just days ago that you made his head spin.
you down another shot when suguru hands it to you, nodding in thanks. it burns going down, but it keeps your face smooth. keeps your smile intact.
choso leans close, voice low in your ear. “you good?”
you hesitate. nod. “just don’t get him.”
he follows your gaze. sees the way sukuna is still letting that girl grind against him. the way his hand now fully cups her thigh.
“he’s being a dick,” choso says plainly. “you know that, right?”
“yeah,” you murmur. “i just don’t get why.”
suguru cuts in, quiet and even. “because you scare him.”
“he doesn’t get to control how you feel about someone else. and it’s killing him,” suguru says. “so he does this. acts out. pretends he’s unbothered. he’s not.”
“but like…” you glance over again, brows furrowing. “if it bothers him so much, why go hook up with someone right in front of me?”
“because he’s immature,” choso replies. “and stupid.”
you exhale, a short breath through your nose. “yeah. that checks out.”
it doesn’t hurt, not exactly. it just leaves you feeling weirdly hollow. like something unfinished is hanging in the air between you, something you were never allowed to name.
you pull away from the guys with a small, grateful smile. “i’m gonna go outside for a sec.”
you nod. “i’m fine. just wanna clear my head.”
you step out onto the porch, letting the chill air wrap around your bare arms. your heart isn’t racing. your hands aren’t shaking. but your mind won’t stop running laps.
you’re not mad at sukuna for messing around. you never expected monogamy from him. but you are mad, maybe a little, for the double standard. for how he acts like it’s betrayal when you even mention another guy, and then turns around and grabs the first girl who bats her lashes at him.
it’s not jealousy. it’s not heartbreak.
you deserve more than someone who only wants you when it’s convenient.
toru 🫦 [2:07am]: i can’t stop thinking about u
you smile a little. softer now. gentler.
toru 🫦 [2:08am]: u looked so pretty tonight btw. i saw your post on instagram!
you [2:08am]: ur sweet. i needed that.
you don’t even have to wonder about his intentions. satoru makes you feel wanted without playing games. without dangling affection like a prize. he doesn’t try to make you jealous. doesn’t punish you for being desirable.
he just likes you. for you.
toru 🫦 [2:09am]: good. i’ll remind u in person tomorrow :)
you laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. light and real and unfussy.
maybe that’s the difference.
with sukuna, it’s always been messy. volatile. a push-pull you never had the rules for. he likes you, but only when it hurts. only when he’s the one making the rules.
it feels easy. like you could be soft without having to apologize for it.
you slide your phone back into your purse and square your shoulders.
you’re not gonna let sukuna take this night from you. he doesn’t get to own your attention. not anymore.
you head back inside, head higher than before.
the night isn’t over yet.
you’ve got a date with a boy who looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
and maybe, for once, that’s exactly what you need.
satoru stood outside the bluebird café, adjusting his tight black shirt that showed off his sleeper build perfectly, for the fifth time. his hands were shaking slightly, heart thudding in his chest like a drumbeat. it wasn’t the coffee date that had him nervous. it was you.
you had that effect on him, on everyone, really. the thought of seeing you outside the chaos of the library, outside of that brief, awkward interaction where he’d fumbled through every word, made his stomach twist.
he’d told himself he was going to be cool, collected. he could do this. it was just a coffee date. no big deal. he’d gotten through way worse. but none of that had prepared him for how his breath caught every time he thought of how you’d looked in that stupid skirt and that ridiculous attitude that was so effortlessly attractive.
you were the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a music video, the kind who could walk into a room and immediately make every other girl look like they were wearing the wrong outfit. and every guy would look at you with that same dumb, slack-jawed expression.
satoru shoved his hands in his pockets, adjusting his glasses, and forced himself to open the door. he didn’t have to look around to know you were here. he could feel your presence. the tension in his shoulders had already relaxed, just the thought of your energy pulling him in like a magnet.
when his eyes found you—fuck. it was like a punch to the gut.
you were sitting at the corner table, like you owned the place. of course, you did. you had that undeniable “i’m too cool for you, but i’ll let you look” kinda vibe.
you wore a tiny denim skirt that was, to be frank, barely even a skirt. a rhinestone-studded top that clung to you in all the right ways, and those chunky platform heels that screamed “diva.” your lips were glossy and full, glistening under the soft café lighting, and your hair was perfectly messyx just enough to look like you’d rolled out of bed, but still looked like a million bucks.
satoru’s breath caught in his throat.
his eyes drifted lower, watching how the hem of your skirt just barely grazed the edge of your thighs, how the way you moved your hand to adjust your drink made his brain short-circuit for a second.
your eyes locked with his as he approached the table, and for a second, time stopped. you smirked, that damn smirk that sent a rush of heat straight to his chest. he could feel his body temperature rise, and before he could stop himself, his brain ran through a dozen inappropriate thoughts at once.
fuck. you looked so gorgeous. he wasn’t prepared for just how gorgeous. his mind ran through a series of scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for public spaces, none of which helped the fact that his heart was now hammering in his chest like a jackhammer.
you were so… confident. he hated it. no one should have that much power over him, especially someone who he was almost two times bigger than.
“hey,” you greeted, your voice a little too smooth for his liking, like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him. he could see the way your eyes roamed over him, amusement dancing in your gaze. you probably knew exactly what you were doing to him.
“hey,” he managed to say, sitting down across from you, trying to act normal, trying to ignore the way his thoughts were spiraling.
you leaned forward slightly, your fingers wrapping around the cup of iced tea you had already ordered as you took a sip, a slow, deliberate motion that only made things worse.
“so, i see you listened,” you teased, your lips curling into that seductive smile. “that shirt looks so hot on you, toru.”
satoru flushed, already regretting that he had let you get under his skin so easily. but when you looked at him like that, eyes gleaming, lips glossed and soft, he couldn’t help it.
“thank you, you look stunning.” he muttered, his voice suddenly rough. his mind was already back to thinking about what he’d seen when you smiled like that, the way his body reacted in ways he definitely shouldn’t have let it.
he couldn’t help but imagine what you would be like in his bed. not that he’d ever say it out loud, but the thought haunted him. could he make you beg for him? could he make you moan his name like you probably did for that pink haired guy you were with at the library? would you let him pull you closer, your breath hot and needy as he kissed you until you couldn’t think anymore?
god, he hated that you could make him think about these things.
satoru shifted in his seat, trying to seem nonchalant but his body betrayed him. “thanks for asking me to come along, didn’t know you were the one to make moves, especially not on boring nerds like me,” he said, a cocky grin finding its way to his lips despite the growing ache in his chest.
your eyes narrowed, amusement twinkling behind them. “i like that you know your place,” you said, the words light but with an edge, as if daring him to challenge you.
he shifted in his seat again, fighting the urge to lean forward and test the limits of that challenge. “trust me,” he said, “i know exactly where i stand.”
you laughed, low and sweet, and he almost lost it right there. his hands gripped his cup tightly, knuckles white, as he tried to focus on anything but the way your lips curved when you smiled. you were dangerously close to being everything he wanted, and he hated it. hated that he wanted you so badly.
by now you two had fallen into comfortable conversation.
you laughed at something he said, something dumb and not nearly as clever as he wanted it to be, and satoru thought he might melt into the floor. it wasn’t just the sound of your laugh, though that alone could wreck him; it was the way your hand rested casually on the table between you, your fingers brushing his every now and then like it was nothing. but to him, it felt like everything.
you tilted your head, giving him that soft little smile that made him feel like you saw right through him.
“you’re adorable when you’re trying so hard to be smooth,” you said gently, voice lilting like a secret between friends. your tone was sweet, not mocking, but it still made heat crawl up the back of his neck. “like, you’re actually pulling it off. just barely.”
satoru smirked, covering up his absolute internal collapse with a shrug. “i don’t try. i am smooth,” he said jokingly, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his foot was tapping under the table from nerves. “this is just my natural charm.”he said with a big goofy smile.
you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, elbows on the table. your lips curved into the softest, most devastating smirk. “oh? so you’ve accidentally been giving me bedroom eyes this whole time?”
you giggled and reached over to lightly pat his chest, like you were soothing him after delivering the most casual, lethal blow. “relax, toru. i think it’s sweet. guys like you don’t usually give me the time of day.”
he blinked, stunned. “guys like me?”
“you know,” you said, like it was obvious, “the smart, weirdly-pretty ones. the ones who don’t realize they’re hot because they’ve been sheltered their whole life.”
he stared at you, utterly ruined. “you really think i’m hot don't you? keep on saying it. not that i mind.”
“oh, baby,” you said with a little laugh, “you don’t get to sit across from me all soft and shy and pretending not to stare at my lips, and act like you don’t know the effect you’re having.”
but your voice softened again, gentler this time, like you could sense he was hovering right on the edge of overload. “you’re really sweet, toru. funny, too. i like how you get flustered when i push you a little.”
he tried to summon a coherent response, but his brain was short-circuiting. you were too much, kind and confident, beautiful and bold, and now you were complimenting him like it was nothing?
“i—uh—yeah, no, i like you too,” he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. “a lot, actually.”
you smiled at him, soft, fond, and then stood slowly, adjusting your mini skirt with deliberate care. your sweater slipped a little off one shoulder and you didn’t bother fixing it. you let his eyes linger.
“so listen,” you said casually, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “i have this little shoot i need to do for a brand deal tonight. just a few instagram shots. nothing crazy. cute little set, fluffy lighting, all that.” you tilted your head again, voice syrupy sweet. “you good with a camera, toru?”
he blinked. “uh… i mean, yeah. i guess? i’ve done some stuff for the yearbook.”
“perfect.” you smiled like a cat who’d just caught something in her claws. “i think you’ll be really good at capturing all my... angles.”
“you wanna come by?” you asked, already typing something into your phone. “you can help me out. i’ll feed you. and maybe after… i’ll let you pick which photos i post.”
his mouth opened. no sound came out.
you looked up and smiled, soft, radiant, but still with that glint of mischief behind your lashes. “unless you’ve got better plans than coming back to my place and watching me pose in a juicy couture set?”
he almost knocked over his drink standing up.
“great,” you said brightly, as if you hadn’t just set his entire nervous system on fire. “i’ll text you my address. bring your hands. i might need help adjusting.”
and with that, you leaned in, kissed his cheek so softly he thought he imagined it, and walked out, hips swaying, head high, leaving him to sit there, stunned and overheating, wondering how the hell he was supposed to survive whatever came next.
satoru was still in his seat, mouth parted slightly, the ghost of your kiss burning on his cheek like it had been stamped there. his hands trembled around the now-lukewarm cup of coffee he hadn’t touched since you started chatting and proceeded to ruin his entire internal equilibrium.
you were gone. walked out like it was nothing. like you hadn’t just asked him, him, to come back to your apartment and help you take instagram photos, like you hadn’t just tilted your glossy mouth toward his skin, kissed him soft and sweet and unearned.
was he dead? was this a near-death hallucination? maybe the universe was punishing him for all those nights he zoomed in on your thirst traps at 2 a.m. with trembling fingers and a blank expression, whispering, “jesus christ,” to no one like it was a prayer.
you were god. you were everything. and you’d just invited him over like it was casual. like it didn’t undo months of fantasies. years of longing. this was not how it was supposed to happen. he was supposed to pine forever, secretly. obsess quietly.
his phone buzzed, and when he fumbled for it, his screen lit up with a new message.
you [3:14pm]: here’s my address. text me when you’re outside. :) come over sometime later, yeah?
satoru almost dropped the phone.
you [3:16pm]: don't forget to bring your handsss!
he rubbed a hand down his face, cheeks flushed, ears burning. his brain was running at 200mph, playing reel after reel of every single post you’d ever uploaded. every grainy mirror pic, every behind-the-scenes video, every thirst trap with the caption “don’t text ur ex, text me instead <3”—which he had once seriously considered replying to with “ok” before deleting it like a coward.
you were chaos incarnate, dripping lip gloss and destruction. the human embodiment of the for you page and he’d liked every post. every single one. anonymously. pathetically. from the dark corner of his bedroom, dim blue light glowing against his glasses as he muttered things like, “she’s unreal. she’s actually not real. they made her in a lab.”
he’d saved your bikini pics. zoomed in on the brand tags like a freak. reverse searched your lipstick shades. bought the magazines you were featured in, yes, plural. he had a stack of them in a drawer under his bed like some kind of teenage dirtbag, some with his computer cables in his drawer.
pages dog-eared, his favorite ones burned into his memory. one of them had a spread where you wore this ridiculous rhinestone bikini on a beach, holding a dripping popsicle with your tongue out, and he was still not okay from that shoot.
satoru stared at your text like it was written in gold. like it would vanish if he didn’t cherish it hard enough.
he groaned. out loud. in public. attracting a confused glance from the barista cleaning the counter. he stood up fast, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder like a man on a mission.
by the time he was outside your apartment door, his palms were damp.
you lived in the bougiest building on campus, the kind of place with gold-trimmed elevators and a concierge who looked like he’d sooner tase someone than let them loiter. satoru had to buzz up, which was another level of humiliation he hadn’t mentally prepared for.
you answered with a playful, “be right there,” and he swore your voice alone could short-circuit his brain. when the door finally opened, he almost blacked out.
you were in a tiny zip-up hoodie, baby pink, cropped at your ribs with juicy scrawled in rhinestones across the back, and the tiniest matching shorts he’d ever seen in his life. you were barefoot. you looked like a trashy 2000's supermodel. like an ashanti music video vixen. like someone who’d ruined countless men’s lives just by biting their straw.
“hey, toru,” you said, sweet as sugar. “you brought all of you, right?”
he swallowed hard. “i brought all of me.”
you giggled and tugged him inside by the wrist.
he nearly tripped over his own feet entering your place. the air smelled like vanilla and something dangerously flirty. your apartment was exactly how he imagined it: mirrors everywhere, pink lighting, framed photos of you on the wall. a vanity covered in makeup. pink fuzzy rug underfoot. was that… a pole in the corner?
he tried not to stare too hard as you sauntered across the room, hips swinging, grabbing your phone and ring light.
he noticed how you kicked a hoodie that looked way too big to fit you under your bed discreetly, he managed to read 'kappa' printed on the back. wasn't that sukunas frat? he was pushed out of his head by the sound of your voice.
“so,” you drawled, throwing a wink over your shoulder, “you’ve stalked my instagram enough, you know my angles, right?”
satoru’s laugh came out strangled. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally.”
he did. he really did. he knew exactly how you posed, how you tilted your head just slightly for selfies, how you arched your back just a little for those mirror pics, how you gripped the waistband of your juicy pants like it was the most natural thing in the world to drive men to insanity with a pose. he’d studied them. like they were scripture.
you sat down on your velvet couch and grabbed a tube of gloss, reapplying it with a pout. “you nervous?”
“no,” he lied. “i’m... i’m excited. yeah. i’ve always wanted to see the magic happen live.”
“oh, baby,” you purred, “you are the magic.”
he made a noise. an embarrassing one.
you tossed him your phone and struck a pose, leaning back on your palms with your knees spread just slightly. “go on, toru. get my good side.”
you didn’t have a bad side.
he fumbled with the camera app, trying to focus on anything besides the way your tank top stretched across your chest, the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, the glint of a belly button ring catching the light.
“you’re shaking,” you teased.
“mm. i’ll be the judge of that.” you repositioned, crawling forward on your hands and knees across the couch like you weren’t trying to end his entire life.
“toru,” you said sweetly, “are you blushing?”
you laughed and flipped your hair over one shoulder. “you’re so cute. i like you.”
he was going to die here. he was going to drop dead in your living room with nothing but his own frantic, horny thoughts and your body burned into his retinas.
you held out a hand. “gimme. i wanna see.”
he passed you the phone with trembling fingers. you scrolled through the shots, nodding in approval. “these are actually good. like, really good. i’m impressed.”
“thanks,” he said, voice cracking. “i, uh… do some photography stuff on the side. for class.”
“mm, bet you do,” you said, not looking up. “bet you’re good with your hands, huh?”
he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.
you glanced up, expression sweet and wicked. “you okay, toru?”
“you look like you’re gonna combust.”
you leaned back into the couch, phone in your lap, and studied him with that same soft-lipped smile. “you’re adorable,” you said, voice quieter now. “all that brainpower, all that quiet nerd energy, and you’re sitting here losing your mind over me in shorts.”
he groaned into his hands. “can you blame me?”
you laughed. “not at all. i like it. you make me feel powerful.”
he peeked through his fingers, helpless. “you are powerful.”
you tilted your head. “then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”
he sighed dramatically. “because i’m in your apartment. you just crawled across a couch like a centerfold. i’ve seen your instagram stories like, eighty million times. i subscribe to the magazine you’re on the cover of. and now you’re here. being cute. and sexy. and funny. and calling me toru like we’re... like this is normal.”
your expression softened, something real flickering behind your lashes.
“toru,” you said, and this time it was less teasing. more intimate. “you really like me?”
he nodded. “kinda obsessed with you, actually.”
you smiled. slow and sweet.
then you got up, crossed the room, and straddled his lap before he could blink.
maybe sleeping with satoru is what you needed to make your conscience stop thinking about sukuna and that bitch at the party earlier.
his heart nearly fucked itself over.
you cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “good,” you whispered. “because i kinda like you too.”
you grinned. “well. i liked you in the library. i love you with a camera in your hands... my own personal photographer.”
you shifted on the couch, camera forgotten in your lap, as you studied satoru’s face, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that gorgeous white hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. you looked like a vixen straight off a low-res 2004 myspace album, lips glossy, attitude filthy-sweet, thighs barely crossed. he was already unraveling.
“okay toru,” you said, voice dripping in something syrupy, slow, and dangerous, “i think we’re gonna start with something a little more… intimate.”
his mouth went dry the moment you pulled out the velvet rope. pink. soft. sensual. his brain blanked.
“yeah,” you smiled, casually, like you weren’t turning his entire nervous system into static. “i want you to tie my wrists. loosely. make sure i can still move my hands around.” you leaned forward, offering your arms like it was a fucking privilege. “think you can handle that?”
no. he absolutely could not. but he still nodded, taking the rope with shaking hands. his fingers brushed your skin as he looped it around your wrists, and that alone had his dick twitching in his jeans. he swore under his breath.
'she smells like vanilla and heat and fuck me,' he thought, looping the velvet. 'i haven’t even touched her properly and i’d die for her right now.'
you let your arms fall back, raising your bound wrists over your head in a pose so casually provocative that his mouth parted on instinct. the rope pulled tight just enough to bite. your top slid higher, barely covering anything. the whole scene looked like it belonged in a magazine he would’ve hidden under his bed in high school, and now it was real. in his lap. begging to be remembered.
he swallowed hard. 'i’m gonna wet dream about this forever.'
“you look ravishing,” he whispered hoarsely.
“do i?” you teased, tilting your head. “want to see more?”
you let one strap of your tiny rhinestone top fall. then the other. and when you pulled it down just enough to expose one perfect breast, nipple glossy from a layer of shimmer lotion.
you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
his brain short-circuited.
'holy shit holy shit i’ve jacked off to pictures of her and now she’s half naked in front of me and i’m not gonna survive this.'
the shutter snapped and he wasn’t even sure if his hand had moved. he took another, then another, each frame of your body more brazen, more artful, more his.
you arched under the dim light, toes pointed, eyes lidded. your lip caught between your teeth as you said, “these ones… they’re only for you.”
his heart fucking stopped.
“they’re not going online,” you added sweetly, glancing up through your lashes. “no other one of my fans gets to see me like this. just you, toru. my number one fan."
he clenched the camera harder, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and thank the gods for whatever good karma led him here. 'only me. fuck. fuck. she’s mine.' even if it was just for tonight. even if it was only temporary.
you shifted again, slowly opening your legs as you lay back, balls if your heels digging into the cushions. the hem of your panties, bright pink and sparkly barely clung to you. he could see the outline of everything. and then you stretched, arms over your head, making your stomach tighten and your tits rise beautifully, rope still binding you just right.
“toru,” you breathed, eyes locked on his, “do you want to see me take them off?”
'god yes. god fucking yes. i want to see what’s under that glitter. i want to taste it. i want to ruin her. fuck.'
he nodded. “yeah,” he rasped. “please.”
your fingers slipped under the waistband slowly, deliberately, dragging the panties down your thighs with an elegant arch of your spine. and he watched, stared, like it was the last thing he’d ever see.
“don’t worry,” you said, tossing them onto his lap. “these aren’t for instagram either.”
his cock throbbed. it was unbearable. it was heaven.
he took more shots, each one filthier than the last, legs spread, lips parted, bound wrists clutching the edge of the couch as you moaned softly for him. you looked like you belonged in a pornographic museum. like a goddess on her throne letting her chosen mortal worship.
'she’s gonna kill me. i’m gonna nut in my jeans like a fucking loser. oh my god.'
you sat up, resting your chin on his shoulder while he adjusted the camera. “you okay?” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear. “you’re breathing kinda heavy, baby.”
'call me baby again and i’ll fucking bark.'
“just… warm in here,” he muttered, cheeks red, voice strained.
you smiled and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “poor thing. want a break?”
he looked down at you, your chest still bared, your body shining with light, legs folded in perfect lazy confidence. “you think i could survive a break?” he asked, voice lower now. rougher.
you laughed. soft. wicked. “fair point.”
then you took the camera from his hands, placed it on the table, and straddled his lap in one easy motion.
“no more pictures,” you said. “now you can just look.”
his hands flew to your waist on instinct, gripping you like you were the only real thing in the universe. and honestly, to him, you were.
'how did this happen? how the fuck did i go from jacking off to her tiktok thirst traps to having her in my lap, tits out, moaning my name?'
you cupped his face, voice softer now. “you okay?”
you leaned in and whispered, “do you want to touch me?”
he nodded again, too fast.
you smirked. “then do it. but be gentle. i like being handled like i’m expensive.”
“you are,” he said instantly, voice ragged. “you’re the most expensive thing i’ve ever touched.”
you kissed him for that. deep and filthy and grateful. and as he dragged his palms over your ass, up your waist, over your bare chest, he was already gone.
and somewhere in the back of his hazy, lust-soaked brain, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
and if you ever asked, he’d burn the whole world to keep them safe.
you gasped into his kiss as his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. his breath was hot and ragged, mixing with yours in the close air of your living room. you felt the curve of his mouth against your neck, the brush of his stubble as he nipped gently at your skin.
'he’s so warm,' you thought, sliding your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft white strands. 'and he’s mine, right here, right now.'
he moaned low, almost lost in the feeling of you beneath him. you’d taught him how to pose you like a goddess for the camera; now he was learning how to worship you in real time. his hand slid up your back, then lower, fingertips grazing the top of your panties still bunched around your thighs.
“you know,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with want, “i’ve wanted this for so fucking long. i don't even think this is real.”
you smiled against his skin, tugging at his hoodie so you could slide it off his shoulders. “i can tell,” you purred. “i promise i'm real toru. real and all yours right now.”
he lifted his head to meet your eyes, those pale blues shimmering with need.
your laugh was soft, sultry. “oh, baby,” you said, rolling your hips against him, “i wanted you before i knew your name.”
his pupils dilated, and he swallowed hard. “fuck,” he breathed. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you cupped his face, thumb brushing his lower lip. “only if you want me to,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, your tongue brushed his, and he groaned, hands fisting in your hair.
'holy shit,' he thought, 'this is real. she’s here, wanting me, touching me.'
you pulled back, slipping off the last barrier, his jeans, until both of you were just skin and heat. you guided his hands to your body, showing him where to touch, where to press, encouraging him with soft moans and glowing praise. every direction you gave him made his confidence soar, made him believe he could be the one to make you melt.
he paused, looking into your eyes. “i… i want to make you feel good,” he said, voice husky. “really good.”
you smiled, heart swelling. “then show me, baby.”
he nodded, then bent to kiss you again, this time more tender, more deliberate. he let his palms roam your body, over your breasts, down your waist, skimming the curve of your hips. you pressed into him, encouraging him, letting him know just how right it felt.
'he’s so gentle' you thought. 'so respectful. and so fucking good with his hands.'
you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “toru,” you gasped, “fuck me.”
he hesitated only a moment, surprised by your boldness, and then he was inside you, filling you in slow, delicious thrusts. your breath caught, and you clutched his shoulders as he moved, your rope-bound wrists sliding free in the heat of the moment.
“shit,” he groaned, chest pressed against yours. “you’re perfect.”
you arched against him, closing your eyes. “yeah… perfect for you.”
his pace quickened, fueled by your praise, your soft encouragements, your needy gasps. every time he hit that sweet spot, you cried out his name, and it sent a thrill rippling through him.
'my name on her lips…' he thought, 'this is everything.'
you rode him hard, matching his thrusts until both of you were breathless, skin slick with sweat and sheen of your own arousal. you held him tight, panting, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
“let’s finish the shoot later,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with satisfaction and warmth. “right now… just us.”
he kissed you back, slow and tender, and you felt his body tremble. “just us,” he echoed.
and in that moment, tangled together on your couch, every magazine cover, every instagram scroll, every stolen fantasy he’d ever had of you crystallized into this single, perfect reality, warm, messy, intimate, and wholly, irrevocably yours.
you were now tucked beneath the folds of your plush throw blanket, legs tangled with his, head resting against his bare chest as the glow from your salt lamp bathed the apartment in a hazy, honeyed light. his arm was slung loosely around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. satoru had never been this close to someone, physically, emotionally, and his brain was still catching up.
you were real. warm, beautiful, half-naked and still glittering from the camera flash and sweat. and now you were curled into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“you okay?” you murmured, voice soft, a little breathy.
“am i okay?” he huffed a quiet laugh. “i just lived out the most insane fantasy of my life, and now i’m laying here with the hottest girl in the universe like it’s normal.”
you tilted your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded and mischievous. “hottest girl in the universe, huh?”
“scientifically proven,” he said, smug but still pink in the cheeks. “objectively. you broke the hotness scale.”
you giggled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, slow and sweet. “you’re so dramatic,” you whispered against his skin.
his heart thumped. he wanted to keep you here forever, in this little soft bubble that smelled like your body lotion and sounded like your quiet laughter. but instead, you stretched like a cat against him, bare legs brushing his, and said, “so…”
he blinked, brain short-circuiting again. “so?”
you propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him with that glittery, effortless confidence of someone who knew she had him wrapped around her finger. “there’s a party tomorrow night,” you said casually, tracing patterns on his stomach. “you should come.”
satoru blinked. “a… party?”
“mm-hmm. like, a real one,” you teased. “not like a dungeons and dragons meetup or whatever you nerds do.”
“hey,” he laughed, “first of all, rude. second of all… are you serious?”
“dead serious,” you purred. “it’s at suguru’s place. it’ll be mostly my friends. you’ll meet everyone.”
satoru’s stomach dropped a little. your friends. the one he saw with face tattoos and designer sunglasses and mysterious piercings in places he couldn’t guess. the ones who always looked like they just stepped out of a campaign ad for a luxury fashion line. the ones who probably wouldn’t even look twice at him if he wasn’t draped in your attention like an accessory.
“won’t they think it’s weird?” he asked before he could stop himself. “me being there.”
you raised an eyebrow, amused. “why would it be weird?”
“because…” he swallowed, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “i’m not exactly in your league.” you sat up, straddling his waist now, your eyes burning into his. “toru,” you said, serious, “don’t ever say that again.” his breath hitched.
you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “you’re sexy, smart, and you make me laugh. you made me nervous. so if you’re coming to the party, you better show up like you belong.” he stared at you, stunned. “you were nervous?”
“duh.” you smiled. “you were wearing that little tight black shirt and looking all hot and mysterious. i thought you’d ghost me after coffee.” he buried his face in your neck, groaning. “i literally thought i was going to faint when i saw you in that skirt.”
“good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “i wore it just to fuck with you." he moaned dramatically, pulling you closer. “you’re evil.”
“and you like it.” he couldn’t deny it. you were fire and silk and sugar and bite, and he was hopelessly addicted.
“so?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “you coming to the party or what?” he nodded, breathless. “yeah. fuck it. i’m coming.”
you grinned. “good. bring your charm, toru. my friends are gonna love you.” you said it like a promise, not a possibility. like he already belonged.and for the first time in a long time, he almost believed it.
group chat: the pretty committee
(you, yuki, choso, suguru, shoko, maki, sukuna, nanami, shiu)
you ✩ [9:43pm]: kappa mixer on saturday night. i’m bringing a plus one btw
yuki 🧃 [9:43pm]: oh?? do we know him or is this another random model-slash-dj you found at pilates
you ✩ [9:44pm]: neither. it’s toru. the library one
choso 🥀 [9:44pm]: wait toru?? like. satoru gojo??
maki 🥋 [9:45pm]: the one you said looked like he types in html for fun?
you ✩ [9:45pm]: he does. it’s hot
shoko 🚬 [9:45pm]: you’re bringing your nerdy little fantasy to the mixer? this is big
you ✩ [9:46pm]: we’re just friends. chill
suguru 🐍 [9:46pm]: uh huh. just friends who take steamy photos together and then go silent for six hours. got it.
you ✩ [9:46pm]: not steamy. artistic, and how did yk i only told yuki 😭🙏🏼
shoko 🚬 [9:46pm]: mm. “artistic.” sure.
yuki 🧃 [9:47pm]: oops... anyways please tell me you at least warned him that sukuna might bite
you ✩ [9:47pm]: he’s a big boy. he can handle it
maki 🥋 [9:47pm]: he survived a coffee date with you, he can probably survive a frat party
nanami ⏳ [9:48pm]: just tell him not to drink anything suguru hands him. that’s the only advice that matters
suguru 🐍 [9:48pm]: excuse me?? i’m a generous host
shiu 🕷️ [9:49pm]: generous with what. vodka or trauma?
you ✩ [9:49pm]: okay but actually. be nice to him
suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: i’m always nice. he’s cute. nerdy. polite. kinda like nanami if he still had joy in his eyes
nanami ⏳ [9:49pm]: i can leave this chat
suguru 🐍 [9:49pm]: no you can’t
choso 🥀 [9:50pm]: sukuna? you good?
sukuna ⚡ [9:51pm]: fine. just didn’t realize we were inviting groupies to my frat
choso 🥀 [9:51pm]: man. come on
maki 🥋 [9:52pm]: this is why we can’t have nice things
you ✩ [9:52pm]: gojo's not a groupie. he’s literally a person. y’all will be normal or i swear to god
sukuna ⚡ [9:52pm]: no one said anything. it’s your life. do what you want i ain't pulling up i'm busy
you ✩ [9:53pm]: thanks. i will.
suguru 🐍 [9:53pm]: and the drama begins before the drinks are even poured. we’re so back
shoko 🚬 [9:53pm]: love when the pregame starts in the group chat
shiu 🕷️ [9:54pm]: should i bring popcorn or bail money?
you ✩ [9:54pm]: anyway. toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.
meanwhile, sukuna was scowling at his phone. he stared at the last message you sent, thumb hovering over the screen like it was taunting him.
'toru’s coming. wear something cute. try not to scare him off.'
like he needed the nickname shoved in his face again. like he hadn’t already figured out you were letting that four-eyed pretty boy get his hands all over you. not that he’d said anything. not that he had a right to. not anymore.
you weren’t his. not officially. not really.
but you had been, in every way that mattered. in the way you used to climb into his lap without asking, drunk on vodka and power, whispering all your filthy secrets into his ear. in the way he could make you beg with just a hand on your thigh, in the way your eyes used to flick toward him at every party even if you showed up with someone else.
he used to be the one who got under your skin. the one you’d crawl back to after breaking someone else’s heart. the one you’d come to when you were sick of boys and needed a man.
and now? now you were bringing some soft-spoken, glasses-wearing, overachieving fucker to the mixer like you were introducing him to the family. like he was real. sukuna exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone on the bed.
he already knew who he was. satoru. the honors student. the tutor. the sweet one. the one you flirted with at the library just to prove you could. sukuna remembered watching it, how your voice dipped lower, how you tilted your head when you asked for his number, the way you said toru like it was already a pet name.
and now you were texting the group chat like he was coming to the damn cookout. it shouldn’t have bothered him. it wasn’t supposed to. he had girls on rotation. he had no shortage of hookups. but none of them were you. none of them had that glint in their eye, that attitude, that stupid, intoxicating mix of gloss and venom and sugar that made him feel like a rabid dog just for wanting a taste.
he lit a cigarette and opened your instagram.
he didn’t even have to search. you were at the top of his stories. you always were. he watched the one you posted two hours ago. a link to your new post, a perfectly captured album of you. a cropped hoodie. thighs out. caption: 'might delete later.'
he stared at the photo like it owed him something. your smudged lip gloss. the slight indent of a ring on your finger where you’d been playing with your jewelry. the shadow of someone in the background 'was that him?' no, just a lamp.
he swiped back to your page. all those tagged posts from yuki, suguru, choso. none with gojo. not yet.but he was coming. he’d be there, saturday night, in your orbit, breathing your air, looking at you the way everyone did, like you were the sun, and maybe, just maybe, you’d start looking back.
that’s what scared him. not that gojo liked you. but that you might like him back.
he took another drag and let the smoke burn in his lungs longer than necessary, jaw tight as he exhaled. fuck it. he could play it cool. he always did. he’d smirk, talk shit, wrap his arm around someone hotter, louder, easier. make sure everyone saw. especially you.
pretend it didn’t bother him when your eyes skipped right over him in a room. pretend it didn’t fucking matter that you hadn’t come back.
like none of those nights meant shit. all that time you’d spent in his lap, tugging at his chain and moaning his name like it was gospel, just so you could turn around and let some floppy-haired loser in a tight black tee take your fucking instagram pictures?
you traded him in for someone soft. someone polite. someone who probably apologized after cumming too fast. he scoffed, tossing the half-finished joint onto the ashtray with more force than necessary. pathetic.
sukuna leaned back on the mattress, bare chest rising and falling slow under the dim red lights, smoke curling above him like it was trying to fill the silence. the room felt empty. stupidly empty.
he thought about texting you. something slick. something cruel. maybe 'hope he doesn’t cry when he finds out where that mouth’s been.' or 'you always go for the ones you can control, huh?'
but he didn’t. just sat there, jaw grinding, thumbs still, screen glowing back at him. eyes sharp. chest tight with that ugly kind of jealousy he swore he’d grown out of.
you were his first. you were supposed to stay that way.
the uber pulled up to the kappa frat house which was the furthest frat from campus. the sun dipped below the horizon long ago, casting the sky in a warm, dusky glow. gojo sat in the backseat, watching you re-apply your gloss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. he glanced over at you again, radiant as ever, your lips curled into a soft smile as you scrolled through your phone.
“you okay?” you asked, sensing his nerves.
“yeah,” he replied, voice a little too high-pitched. “just… a lot of people, you know?”you chuckled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “you’ll be fine. they’re just people. my people, but still.”
he nodded, trying to steady his breathing. the memory of the night before flashed in his mind, your body pressed against his, the way you whispered his name, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. it felt surreal, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.
“last night was… amazing,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours.
you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “it was,” you agreed. “but tonight’s about fun. let’s not overthink it.”the car came to a stop, and you both stepped out, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the street. gojo took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses.
“ready?” you asked, offering your hand. he took it, fingers intertwining with yours. “ready.”
as you walked up the steps, the door swung open, revealing a sea of faces. conversations halted, eyes turning to the two of you. gojo felt the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the curiosity. “who’s that?” someone whispered.
“is that her new guy?” another murmured. he swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back. you squeezed his hand, grounding him.
“ignore them,” you whispered. “they’ll come around.” you led him through the crowd, past familiar faces and curious stares, until you reached a plush couch in the corner. you both sat down, the noise of the party fading into the background.
“see? not so bad,” you said, leaning into him. he smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “yeah. not so bad.”
as you chatted about the party, your friends, and the latest gossip, gojo couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. with you by his side, the world seemed a little less daunting.
you’re halfway through your drink when you spot them weaving through the crowd, choso and suguru, side by side, both dressed in their version of “casual” which somehow still looked like a fashion campaign.
choso in a black sleeveless mock-neck that showed off his tattooed arms and a single chain glinting against his collarbone. suguru, laidback and smiling, with his hair tied low and a fitted shirt open at the chest like he’d just walked off a yacht.they zero in on you immediately, and you can already see the glint in suguru’s eyes.
“well, well,” he says as he gets close, his voice warm, teasing. “so this is the mystery man.” satoru stands to greet them, and you watch choso’s brow lift ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting him to be… that tall. that broad. that annoyingly good-looking.
“hey,” satoru says smoothly, extending his hand. “satoru. thanks for not jumping me right away.”
choso grins, shaking his hand, then clapping his shoulder with a kind of quiet approval. “we only beat up assholes,” he says, and then adds, “you’ve got a solid grip, man.” suguru’s eyes flick between you and satoru, clearly amused. “you been holding out on us,” he tells you, then turns to satoru again. “you always look like that or is this a special occasion?”
“this?” satoru gestures to himself, cocking a brow. “i’m barely trying.” you snort into your cup. he’s cool as hell on the outside, but you know better. his knee was bouncing a second ago and he keeps fiddling with the ring on his thumb.
“seriously though,” choso says, leaning back against the couch, sizing him up again. “did not expect you to be built like that. what the hell do you do?”
you glance at satoru, who flashes a sheepish grin that doesn’t match the cocky tilt of his voice. “freshman year i got into boxing,” he says. “figured if i was gonna be a nerd, might as well be one that could take a hit.”
“or give one,” choso mutters, clearly impressed. “you’re cut.” suguru raises a brow in appreciation.
“not anymore,” satoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. “haven’t had the time. but yeah, i trained for like, two years. gym in shibuya. coach was an ex-mma guy. real psycho, made me spar with dudes twice my size.”
“you won?” choso asks, grinning.
“got knocked out once,” satoru says with a shrug. “but i broke a guy’s nose, so. fair trade.” suguru whistles, clearly amused. “you’re full of surprises."
“oh, he’s full of a lot,” you murmur, sipping your drink again, and satoru shoots you a look that’s somewhere between mortified and turned on.
“so you two…” suguru gestures between you vaguely, like he doesn’t want to say together outright. “what’s the vibe?” you stretch lazily, one leg over the other, and smile. “friends,” you say lightly. “he’s been helping me shoot some things for instagram.”
satoru’s mind flashes, vivid, bright, to the way your hand had pulled his to your waist the night before, the flash of your camera catching the outline of your lingerie, the way you’d whispered just for you in his ear as you pressed your chest to his. he can still smell your perfume on his shirt. his fingers twitch just thinking about it.
“instagram,” suguru repeats, mouth quirking. “uh huh.”
“we get along,” you add, and it’s almost too soft. too real. “he’s sweet.” satoru stares at the amber in his glass, willing himself not to combust. sweet. how the fuck was he supposed to keep it together when you called him sweet like that, like he was a boy you actually wanted to keep around?
choso nods slowly. “he’s got a good vibe.” suguru hums. “solid energy. confident without being a dick.”
“yet...” choso adds, shooting him a warning glance.
satoru just laughs. “don’t worry. she’ll keep me in check.”you lean into him slightly, your thigh brushing his. “he’s already well-trained,” you murmur, just loud enough for choso and suguru to hear. suguru lets out a low whistle. “damn. it’s always the nerdy ones.”
“it really is,” choso agrees. “they bottle that shit up for years and then one day just, boom. thirst trap worthy.”
“he could literally crush a watermelon with those thighs,” you say dreamily, mostly to mess with satoru, and he almost spills his drink.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, laughing through the mortification. “you’re gonna give these guys the wrong idea.”
“what idea?” choso grins. “we’re just bonding.”
“team-building,” suguru adds.
“hazard training,” you say, with a wink. satoru shifts a little closer, brushing your arm. “you guys always this intense?”
“you should meet sukuna,” choso says dryly. you go still for just a second, but it’s nothing you let show. satoru feels it anyway, the way your fingers tighten slightly on your drink.
“he’s not coming tonight,” you say casually. suguru raises a brow but doesn’t push. instead, he turns his attention back to satoru. “so what’s the goal, man? you trying to get into modeling too or just vibing in the deep end?”
“i think he’s already in too deep,” choso mutters. satoru shrugs, keeping it chill even though he’s fully sweating under his hoodie. “just hanging out. making memories. flexing for the grid.”
you laugh, leaning into his shoulder like you can’t help it. “you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you say, voice low and fond. he turns to look at you, and there’s a flicker of something quiet in his eyes. “so are you,” he says softly. the pause that follows is short, but not empty. then suguru claps his hands. “alright. drinks?”
choso’s already standing. “i’ll grab tequila.”satoru watches them go, the easy way they navigate the crowd, like they belong in every room they enter. and somehow, they’d made him feel like maybe he did too. you turn to him, smiling, eyes glinting under the low lights. “see? not so bad.”
“yeah,” satoru breathes. “not bad at all.”
“i’m gonna go get us drinks,” you say, hand brushing satoru’s thigh as you stand. “tequila or beer?”
“uh—tequila?” he answers a bit too fast.
“that’s what i thought.” you wink, and just like that, you’re off, hips swaying through the crowd like you own the place. maybe you do, in a way. everyone watches you go. including satoru.
once choso and suguru return the nudge his shoulder friendly.
“bro,” choso mutters, following his line of sight. “you’re so cooked.”
“cooked?” satoru repeats, blinking.
“done. fried. beyond saving,” suguru says, grinning. “the way you looked at her just now? hopeless.”
“i wasn’t—i didn’t—” satoru fumbles, then groans. “fuck.”
“nah, it’s cute,” choso says, clapping him on the back. “endearing. like a golden retriever in love.”
“he’s got the hair for it,” suguru adds. satoru sighs, slouching further into the couch as if it’ll swallow him. “is this what you guys do all night? just nag each other in rotation?”
“mostly,” choso says. “but you’re new, so we’re going easy.”
“plus, you’re already getting the invite into the guy circle,” suguru adds, gesturing toward the two men approaching with solo cups in hand. “that’s nanami and shiu.” satoru straightens instinctively. he recognizes nanami from campus, business major, intense stare, kind of always looks like he’s five minutes away from quitting everything to become a lumberjack. shiu, he doesn’t know. tall, dark, lean, with eyes like he’s permanently unimpressed.
“nanami,” suguru greets, casually fist-bumping him. “shiu. this is gojo.”
“the gojo?” shiu arches a brow, handing him a cup.
“uh,” satoru says, taking it. “i guess?”
“the one she’s been parading around all night like a shiny new toy,” nanami says flatly, sipping his drink. “welcome to hell.”satoru laughs nervously. “thanks?”
“ignore him,” choso says. “that’s just how he flirts.” nanami gives him a blank look. “no, it’s not.”
“so,” shiu says, sitting on the edge of the armrest next to him. “you and y/n. what’s the story?”
satoru opens his mouth. closes it. tries again. “we’re just friends.” four disbelieving stares hit him at once.
“got it,” nanami mutters.
“you should hear how she says your name,” suguru adds. “like it’s a little treat.” satoru flushes instantly. “we really are just friends.”
“do your friends usually strip for you in front of a camera?” shiu asks, sipping. “or is that a special bond?” he nearly chokes on his tequila
“jesus christ,” he wheezes. “do you guys have, like, a hazing ritual or something?”
“you passed it,” choso grins. “we just needed to see if you’d fold.”
“and you did,” suguru says proudly. “folded like a lawn chair.”
“i’m so glad i came,” satoru mutters into his cup.
“so is she,” nanami says, not looking up. “she hasn’t stopped smiling since you got here." satoru pauses.
“yeah,” choso says, more gently now. “she likes having you around.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. so he doesn’t say anything. just sips and lets it sit in his chest, warm and blooming.
“by the way, don’t let sukuna get to you,” shiu says after a beat, and it’s the first time the name’s been spoken with any real weight. “i won’t,” satoru says quickly, then—“why would he?”
“because he’s an asshole,” choso says simply. "we love him and all but jeez. he's a handful."
“and because he doesn’t like sharing,” suguru adds. “not attention. not space. definitely not her.”
“wait—” satoru frowns. “were they a thing?” the group goes quiet. nanami speaks first. “not officially.”
“but?” satoru presses. shiu shrugs. “they hooked up. on and off. nothing defined.”
“he never claimed her,” choso says, “but he didn’t want anyone else to either.”
“bingo,” suguru grins. “he’s like if a red flag started a punk band.”
“and she’s…” nanami trails off, shaking his head. “better than that.” satoru feels his fingers tighten around his cup. “is he here?”
“not yet,” shiu says. “but he might show. he’s unpredictable.”
“he’s pissed,” choso adds. “we all saw the group chat.” satoru nods, remembering the texts he peeped over your shoulder to read. groupie. right.
“just don’t take it personally,” suguru says. “sukuna lashes out when he feels cornered. and you’re not doing anything wrong.”
“you like her?” nanami asks suddenly. the question knocks the wind out of him. satoru blinks. “i…”
'do i? yes. obviously. painfully.' he clears his throat. “she’s cool. really cool. and smart. and funny. and like, stupidly pretty.”
“so yes,” choso says, nodding.
“and you’re what?” shiu asks. “waiting for a sign from god?”
“nah,” suguru says. “he’s just scared.”
“i’m not scared,” satoru lies.
“you should be,” nanami says bluntly. “she’s a lot.”
“she’s worth it, though,” choso adds. “if you can handle it.”
“i don’t know if i can,” satoru says honestly. the four of them regard him for a moment. then suguru grins. “well, shit. at least you’re honest.”
“more than most guys around here,” choso agrees.
“better than sukuna already,” shiu mutters.
“he’s not gonna like this,” nanami warns. “you being here. with her.”
“he doesn’t have to like it,” satoru says, surprising even himself. “it’s not his choice.”
“now that’s the energy,” suguru says, clinking his cup against his.
“just don’t throw the first punch,” choso says.
“unless he does,” shiu adds. “then, by all means.”
satoru laughs, tension breaking just a little. he looks around at the group, four guys who could easily have iced him out or humiliated him, but instead welcomed him in like some weird brotherhood of unhinged protectors.
“thanks,” he says. “don’t mention it,” choso shrugs. “we like you.”
“you fit,” suguru says. “somehow.” they all laugh.
your voice cuts through the circle, light and bright as you reappear with a full drink in hand. satoru looks up, eyes softening instantly.
“took forever,” you pout. “you miss me?”
“maybe,” he says, like it’s a secret. “a little.”
you hold the drink out to him. “your tequila, my liege."
“you’re too good to me,” he says, and takes it.
you glance around at the others. “you boys behaving?”
you settle beside satoru again, arm pressing into his, and for a second, nothing else matters.
just the music, the warmth, the way his pinky brushes yours.
just the ease of it, even in the chaos.
just the five of them, chatting and drinking and laughing like they’d known each other longer than a single party.
just you, leaning in with a whisper meant only for him,
“told you they’d like you.”
because for the first time in a long time, he likes himself too.
as the laughter from the group dies down, the tension in the air shifts, subtly but unmistakably. the door to the frat house creaks open, and it’s as if the entire room collectively inhales. gojo freezes, his attention snapping to the doorway. there’s something about the presence that disturbs the natural flow of conversation, something sharp, something unsettling.
a shadow falls across the room as sukuna steps in, his lean form tall and imposing against the backdrop of the house’s dimly lit interior. his eyes sweep over the crowd with the kind of disinterest that only someone as effortlessly menacing as him could pull off. his movements are deliberate, calculated, each step echoing in a way that makes the room quieter, the air heavier.
satoru’s heart skips, though his face betrays nothing. he’s heard about sukuna, of course, the chaos that follows him like a storm cloud, the way he can control a room without even trying. and now, standing in front of him, that reputation feels all too real.
“sukuna’s here,” choso says lowly, voice barely cutting through the tense air. the others shift, subtly bracing themselves, like they’ve been trained for this.
sukuna’s gaze flickers over to your group, locking onto you for a split second. the quiet hum of the party seems to die in that moment, like even the music knows to hold its breath when he enters. then, just as quickly, his attention flicks to satoru.
the tension is palpable, a crackling undercurrent of something no one dares to name. satoru meets his gaze with an unreadable expression, but inside, the nerves coil tighter. his mind races, what is it about this guy that makes everyone shift in their seats? the guy’s presence isn’t just intimidating, it’s suffocating, like being in the presence of something raw and dangerous.
“well, well,” sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, smooth and mocking. “the nerd’s here. funny, i didn’t think you were the type to be at a party like this.” his eyes twinkle with a dangerous amusement, his lips curling into a smile that could easily be mistaken for a sneer.
satoru’s first instinct is to say something snarky, to assert himself, but the weight of sukuna’s presence steals his words. he knows the others are watching, waiting for the first crack to form, the first move in this unspoken battle.
you clear your throat, cutting through the tension. “sukuna,” you greet, your voice light but firm, not giving away anything. “didn’t expect you tonight.”
sukuna’s eyes flick back to you, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable look between you two. it’s brief, but gojo catches it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere. it’s like a silent communication between you and him that doesn’t need words, a silent acknowledgment of something old and familiar.
“i’ve got my reasons,” sukuna says, eyes flicking back to satoru. “but i’m not here for small talk. just wanted to see who your latest… distraction is.” his gaze turns calculating. “is this the guy who’s been making you so ‘artistic’ lately?”
the words hang in the air, heavy and laced with a darker implication. there’s no mistaking it now, sukuna doesn’t just find satoru an interesting figure, he finds him a threat. a challenge. and gojo can feel it, this undercurrent of possessiveness that lingers in sukuna’s words, in the sharpness of his stare.
satoru’s heart rate spikes, but he forces himself to stay calm, keep his composure. he turns toward you, offering a lazy smile, though the back of his neck prickles. “didn’t realize i was a ‘distraction,’” he says, his voice light, though there’s an edge to it now. “but i guess that’s one way to describe me.”
you throw him a glance, warning in your eyes, and for a brief moment, satoru wonders if he’s being too obvious. too bold. sukuna doesn’t like that, doesn’t tolerate being mocked or even challenged, and the dangerous aura around him grows thicker the longer the interaction stretches.
sukuna narrows his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “oh, don’t get cute with me,” he warns, his voice smooth but laced with venom. he steps closer, his presence crowding the space. “you don’t belong here, pretty boy. you might’ve fooled some of them, but i can smell a pretender from a mile away.”
satoru’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his face cool, chin tilted just enough to show he’s not intimidated. “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even know me,” he retorts, voice dropping a little lower.
the tension in the air thickens. suguru and choso exchange a look, both noticing the way things are escalating. shiu, standing a few feet away, flicks his eyes over to you, trying to gauge your reaction.
you step in before things can spiral any further. “sukuna,” you say firmly, your voice sharper than before. “can we not do this here? this is not the time or place.”
sukuna gives you a look, something between admiration and disdain. his gaze flicks back to satoru, but this time, there’s something darker in his eyes. “whatever you say, princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous. “but this one? he’s not what you think he is.”
with that, he turns and makes his way deeper into the party, his presence still lingering like a shadow over the group. the atmosphere remains thick, the tension hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that hasn’t quite burned out.
satoru takes a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that sukuna’s words have left behind. he glances over at you, who’s still standing a little too still, eyes locked on the space sukuna just vacated.
“is he always like that?” satoru asks, his voice low, though there’s no denying the edge of concern there.
you let out a long sigh, turning to face him fully. “yeah,” you say softly, almost apologetically. “sukuna’s a… complicated person.”
“i can tell,” satoru mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. his earlier confidence is slipping, replaced by a twinge of doubt. he thought he could handle this crowd, but sukuna… sukuna was something else entirely.
“you don’t have to worry about him,” you say, your voice softer now. you place a reassuring hand on his arm, and for a brief moment, the world feels a little less heavy. “he just has a way of… testing people. seeing how much they can take.”
satoru lets out a breath, looking at you. there’s something about the way you say it, like you’ve seen this play out before, over and over again. something in his gut tightens at the thought.
but he nods, forcing a smile. “i can take it,” he says, though his voice is steadier than he feels. “but i’m guessing sukuna’s not gonna be my biggest fan, huh?”
you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “he’ll get over it,” you say, but there’s a strange bitterness in your tone. “he always does.”
satoru watches you, trying to read the unspoken words in your gaze. there’s a history there, a tension between you and sukuna that’s thicker than what’s on the surface.
he’s not sure how deep it goes, but something tells him that tonight was only the beginning.
the rest of the night stretches out before them, full of promises of fun and tension, of friendships and unspoken rivalries. but for now, satoru is left with the quiet certainty that his place in this world, your world, is still uncertain. and sukuna? he’s just the first of many obstacles that stand between him and whatever this is with you.
but he’s not backing down. not now. not ever. he was going to have you, even if that meant knocking sukuna around abit.
part two coming soon 👩❤️💋👩
