Maneater 🌹

“bet your mouth would look so pretty wrapped around me.” he whispered to nobody, throwing his head back as he quickened the speed of his hand. it was cramping from how hard he was going on himself, cumming hard onto the bathroom wall.

any evidence of an orgasm was washed away by the water that was pouring out of the shower head.

“what a waste.” he watched the cum disappear. it’d look much better painted on your back.

when other neighbors warned you of satoru, urging you to get earplugs, you were confused to say the least. “earplugs? what for?”

“he’s always moaning with a new girl every other week day. we’ve tried putting in complaints but the complex won’t do anything of it.”

“really?  i haven’t heard anything.” which was a lie, partially. satoru didn’t moan to another girl these days that wasn’t you. every whimper and moan that slipped out of his place, spilled into yours. it was cute really, hearing his needy sounds with your name on his tongue after every interaction he had with you.

it was a huge help for you as well. having difficulty finishing, it became easier with just listening to him. your vibrator would touch just right, hand shaking as you moved the wand up and down.

the sudden silence of satoru’s place spread around the building. the fact that he hasn’t brought a girl over in a few weeks raised suspicion and honestly, worried everyone.

“maybe his company is being harsh again.”

“doubt it, he’d still find a way to have sex. something is seriously wrong.”

so they all kept a close eye on him, observing the way his line of sight lingered on your door every time he would leave or enter his place. satoru has been contemplating on returning the basket you had given him since you first spoke. it’s been sitting on his desk for a while now, collecting dust. surely, you wanted it back.

with the help of his black credit card, he filled the basket up with hundreds of roses, leaving it at your doorstep with a small note inside. 

your eyes widened when you reached your door after a long day of work, wondering if you were hallucinating or not. you bent over to grab the basket, reaching inside for the piece of paper. 

“feel like we barely speak other than you babysitting for me & the usual ‘hello’s’ & i’d love to take you out some time if that’s alright.” 

at the bottom read his initials.

s.g

his heart wouldn’t stop beating in excitement upon your acceptance. but since he was satoru gojo at the end of the day, the boy who swore he doesn’t do relationships — has no idea how relationships operate.

“i think ill have.. the vietnamese coffee.” you smiled up at the barista who jotted down your order on their notepad.

“uh yea ill get that too..” satoru stuttered, trying his best to calm down the pressure he was feeling in his pants. he had no idea you have heard him jerking off to you for the past two weeks and even more so that you were doing the same. 

when you spoke, all he could do was nod like a stupid bobble head, memorizing every word you said.

you were both out for a few hours getting to know each other better giving him extra time to figure out which position to have you in by the end of the night.

he knew doggy style would feel the best, but he really wanted to see your face. so, mating press would do it. except, you didn’t go into his apartment after heading back from the cafe. and you didn’t let him into yours.

“alright, good night satoru. thank you again for the date. hope we can go out again?”

he blinked, nodding. “of course. yeah, fuck of course.

with another of your gentle smiles, you leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek before entering your apartment, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

satoru stood there in shock. 

you didn’t want to fuck him? were you teasing him? surely you’d open the door again and allow him to come in so he could fuck you until all you knew how to say was his name.

but you didn’t. 

you made him wait. 

2..3..4 dates went by and the most you’ve done was hold hands as you walked through the mall and kiss each other strictly on the face. his personal favorite was the cheek so he could attempt to move his head to the side, allowing your lips to accidentally graze his.

but whenever he tried this dirty trick, you’d move away just in time. he was growing frustrated. you wouldn’t even kiss him let alone sleep with him!

yes of course he wanted to be yours more than anything but god did he want to feel your body under his.

finally, on the fifth date, you two made it official and the neighbors had a field day with that. for a bit at least.

“did you hear satoru and the cookie girl got together?”

“shut up. don’t tell me that’s the reason we’ve finally been able to sleep peacefully lately.”

“who could’ve seen this-“

“coming! m’cumming!” you whimpered into your bedsheets, tears streaming down your flushed face.

satoru finally had you where he wanted, underneath him sobbing dumbly over his fat cock after finding your toys in your closet. “ha.. so you’ve been playing with these shitty things knowing i needed ya?” 

he coo’ed feeling you tighten around him. “fuck. did ya hear me touch myself every night, hm? you got off on that?” 

your eyes rolled back once he brought your vibrator to tease your clit all while he kept hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. 

“mmm,” he chuckled. “who’s making you feel better huh?” 

“y-you! you satoruuu!” 

his hand that was placed on the small of your back moved to spank your plush ass, adding onto the already existing hand marks. 

“knew i had to have this pretty pussy the second you knocked on my door. i’m mad at you, baby. should’ve knocked on my door for a different reason but hey, least you’re my girl now.” 

he moved your head to the side, smashing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss. “go on sweets. cum.” he ordered.

you didn’t need to be told twice. 

your sweet juices spilled out over his length, body collapsing completely over the bed. satoru slowed his movements, fucking back your orgasm into you before spilling his seed in you. 

“nice and deep.. good girl.” 

his thumb shifted to turn off the toy, throwing it somewhere in the room. his cock slipped out of you making you whine. 

“oh? you want more? should’ve just said so, love.”

his hands grabbed onto yours waist, flipping you over so now you were both face to face. “let’s try this position now.”

With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.

…you’d booked economy.

Economy.

But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.

“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”

…

Don’t worry about it?

You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.

But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.

Your family.

“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”

“—what do you like to eat?”

You blink, lips parting.

“I—sorry…what?”

“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”

Your brow furrows as you stare at him.

…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.

“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”

“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”

Brow knitting, you frown.

He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.

“That—that can wait. We need to—”

“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”

Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—

“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”

Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.

…when did he get so comfortable?!

“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”

Your lips purse.

“I dunno. Being…”  But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”

His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.

“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”

You sputter into your water.

“Baby?”

You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.

“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”

As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.

…asshole.

Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.

You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.

…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—

“Hey.”

Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.

“Are you… nervous?”

“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”

Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.

Fuck.

It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.

“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”

His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.

It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.

Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.

By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—

“…better?”

His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.

“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.

Oh…

He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.

Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…

Ten hours was a long time.

Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.

It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.

“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”

You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”

And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.

“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”

Later… yeah. Later.

But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.

So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.

Now.

“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"

“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”

The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.

Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.

“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.

No.

No, no, no.

“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"

It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.

…why the hell is she here?!

You were supposed to have more time—

“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”

Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”

The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.

Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.

…great.

Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.

“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”

She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.

Oh, right.

So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.

…good to know there's a line somewhere.

“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”

Your body goes rigid.

Oh no. Fuck no.

Anything but that.

Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.

“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”

Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…

“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”

…

Wait.

Did he just say Gojo?

As in—

Your boss’s family?!

No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.

Nothing comes out.

“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"

Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”

“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”

And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.

You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”

Fuck...

Get it together.

Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.

“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”

“—sorry ma’am, no.”

Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.

You blink, because Satoru is pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. When his fingers smooth gently through your hair, your breath hitches as he tips your chin up.

“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”

There’s a hitch in your breath

Oh.

So… you’re not invisible?

As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.

He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.

“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”

Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.

The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.

“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”

And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.

By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.

It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.

…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.

But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.

“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”

“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.

“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”

Oh...

Right. That.

“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”

And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

Yours doesn’t move.

“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”

You don’t say it like a question.

…is it a question?

Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”

You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.

He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”

Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”

He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.

So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.

“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"

“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”

And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”

You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.

Damnit.

You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.

…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?

“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”

His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”

The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.

And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.

Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.

Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.

Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.

All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.

…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!

With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—

“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.

“Making myself comfortable?”

…

That explains absolutely nothing.

Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”

“Yup. I do.”

He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.

Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”

Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.

“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”

And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.

For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.

“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.

You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.

…

Or trying to.

You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.

Ugh…

Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.

“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.

“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”

“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”

Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”

You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”

The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.

…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?

He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.

Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.

“Come up here,” you blurt.

…

Silence.

“Wait… huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.

“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”

…

He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.

“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”

You cover your face with a groan.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”

“—yes ma’am.”

He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.

…too still.

All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.

“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”

Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”

He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”

Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.

A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”

The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.

“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.

The mattress dips.

“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”

…

Fake.

Fake boyfriend.

The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…

“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”

He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”

“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.

You blink into the dark.

“Wait. Sorry… what?”

A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.

Is he… pouting?

The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”

Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.

“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.

“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.

As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.

Beautiful.

“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"

The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.

…yours.

And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.

But…

Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.

And his frown is instant.

“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”

The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.

His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”

“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”

“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...

Why?

Why does he have to look at you like that?

You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”

Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.

Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.

a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭

sukuna had been fighting since he was fifteen and filled with a rage even he couldn’t understand. 

toji found him bloody outside a convenience store after some older guys tried jumping him for gambling money. 

it was clear they didn’t get the money but sukuna took that fire in his gaze out on them. 

sukuna still recalled the way toji looked down at him, droplets cascading down his sharp features and dark hair, damp cigarette hanging from his mouth while blood dripped steadily from sukuna’s split brow. 

“you fight like an animal,” toji began, taking a drag of his fading cig before tilting his head at the salmon haired boy, “what if i told you that you could beat the shit out of guys every day and get paid for it?” 

a fucking dream is what that was. he gets to utilize his anger and he could finally get out of his father’s house. 

how could sukuna even say no? 

somehow, it turned into this. 

years later, ryomen sukuna had become the name whispered through underground rings across the city. not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because he was cruel. 

there was something deeply unsettling about the way sukuna fought. 

controlled, almost lazy sometimes. like violence came so naturally to him that he didn’t even need to think about it. 

people feared men who fought emotionally. 

they feared ryomen sukuna more because he never did. 

most nights, he fought beneath screaming neon lights while crowds chanted his name loud enough to shake the walls. 

they bet on him like he was a sure thing and fuck, did he get a shitload of money from it. 

he’d leave each night, beaten and bruised with a duffel of cash hanging off his shoulder.

he was living the dream.

that was until he arrived home, in his apartment downtown, and sat in silence while somebody else’s emotions bled quietly into his chest. 

a girl he’d never met yet somehow knew like the back of his hand, all too intimately. 

he knew she liked coffee because of the bursts of energy he’d feel during mornings where he usually slept in because his fights usually carried into the night. 

he knew she did yoga often because his muscles weren’t as sore as they would get when he was younger and god knows it wasn’t his doing. he didn’t stretch nearly as much as toji nagged at him to. 

he also knew that she despised him. 

that one was obvious. 

their bond always sharpened after his fights. her irritation sat bright and hot beneath his ribs every time he came home bruised and bloody. 

sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between his own rage and hers. 

maybe they were more alike than he thought. 

truthfully, sukuna didn’t know how to do things any differently and frankly, he didn’t care enough to. 

he hated this whole soulmates shit. why would the universe ever pair two people together with the utmost certainty that they were perfect for each other?

and what fucking masacre did this girl commit to be bonded with him of all people? 

violence was the only thing sukuna had ever been good at and he wouldn’t change that for anyone, especially some girl who was almost a mere figment of his imagination. 

he did that sometimes. pretended that he was a non-existent and that he was merely hallucinating her. 

non-existents made up a very small part of the population and they were essentially humans who didn’t have soulmates. like toji was. 

lucky bastard. 

sometimes sukuna believed toji was lying because he’d get this distant look on his face some days, kind of like himself when he felt his own soulmate torment him. 

so maybe he was a late bloomer? 

either way, he was in a better situation than sukuna was. 

“your girl’s pissed again?” toji commented dryly from where he leaned against the boxing ring ropes, head tilted with a knowingness sukuna hated. 

toji was the one sukuna had to confide in because who else did he have? 

when he was overwhelmed as a young teenager about his soulmate, toji would be the one he would reluctantly go to. the older man had taken him under his wing, so yes, he did trust him more than anyone. 

he also knew that toji cared about him in his own fucked up way. 

sukuna’s knuckles ached tonight, phantom annoyance curling beneath his skin that didn’t belong to him. it was her. 

probably studying somewhere in the city while silently wishing death upon him. 

the thought almost made him grin. 

throughout the years, pissing her off became a hobby of some sort, though he knew she didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did. 

“at least you know she’s got personality.” toji stated once more as sukuna finally stopped punching and turned to shoot the man a glare. 

“shut the fuck up.”

toji huffed out a laugh, “god help you both when you finally meet.”

the thought made sukuna freeze momentarily. 

it was almost sad. 

usually, at least from what sukuna knew, people usually couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates. 

then there was sukuna, filled with dread at the mere idea. 

sukuna hated even talking about the bond. 

he hated how aware he was of her. 

because despite everything, the distance and never seeing her to begin with, she felt woven into him already, like a haunting. 

some nights, when his insomnia clawed violently at his nerves after fights, he’d feel her wrap her arms around herself beneath warm blankets god knows where. 

and sleep came easier those nights. 

he couldn’t explain it and truthfully, he didn’t like to think about it. 

he hated talking about her because the truth was ugly. 

that he didn’t particularly hate her. which is exactly why he knew meeting her would ruin everything. 

naturally, his solution was to sabotage everything which is why he started to sleep around with non-existents whenever he got the chance. 

and he knew what it did to her. 

good. he hoped it made her despise him enough to never want anything to do with him, whether they meet now or twenty years down the line. 

sukuna didn’t want anything to do with her. 

∞

you hated downtown on friday nights. 

it was always too loud and all too crowded. 

neon signs bled into rain-slick streets while bass-heavy music spilled from every open doorway along the block. 

girls stumbled across sidewalks in tiny dresses and tall heels, drunken laughter cutting through the humid summer night air while taxis lined the streets endlessly. 

the city looked beautiful after dark, but you still wanted to be everywhere but here. 

“stop looking at people with that judgy look of yours.” shoko muttered beside you, nudging your shoulder lightly as the three of you crossed the street.

“i’m not judging, i’m just looking around…” you defended with a huff as you hugged yourself protectively, little kitten heels clicking against the pavement. 

“you are judging,” utahime confirmed, “it’s your classic disgusted and glare-ey look.” 

“well excuse me, you’re the ones who brought me to crackhead-ville.” you glared at the two girls as shoko rolled her eeys before hooking her arm through yours anyway. 

she pulled you towards the entrance of yet another overcrowded building downtown.

apparently, tonight’s party was being held somewhere above an abandoned old bar. or beneath it. 

either way, something you found entirely too ominous but you were too distracted when shoko was explaining to actually disagree. 

your soulmate had spent the entire evening restless beneath your skin. not angry but worse. 

aware. 

you felt him constantly tonight. 

a steady pulse of adrenaline humming through your bloodstream that didn’t belong to you. 

your chest had felt tight since leaving the penthouse, some strange tension settling low in your stomach like your body was anticipating something before your mind could catch up.

it was unsettling. 

you blamed the lack of sleep, or rather, you blamed him. you blamed him for it all. 

“ew, ew…” you muttered as shoko pulled you through the door into what you could only describe as chaos. 

warmth and noise hit you instantly. 

bodies crowded wall to wall beneath flashing lights while music shook violently through the floorboards. 

cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the open windows somewhere deeper inside the space. 

you physically recoiled. 

“oh my god,” utahime muttered beside you, laughing softly at the expression painting your features, “you look horrified.” 

“i am horrified!” 

shoko snorted, “rich kids.” 

you threw her a glare before the three of you squeezed through the crowd until you reached a quieter section tucked near the back of the room. 

a curved leather couch sat half-empty beneath dim red lights, thankfully far enough from the speakers that your skull stopped vibrating the second you sat down. 

you exhaled deeply, chest deflating as you blinked up at your friends who were looking at you with amusement. 

“drinks?” utahime questioned as shoko nodded eagerly while you merely hummed, shoulders tense as you gazed around the sea of bodies. 

utahime disappeared toward the bar while shoko took a seat beside you, the leather beneath you sticky in a way that had you shuddering, sitting at the very edge of the couch. 

fuck, you hated this and you couldn’t explain why. 

yes, you hated parties in general but you just felt wrong. 

“you’re being weird tonight.” shoko observed, eyes narrowed on your tense figure. 

you frowned faintly, “i know…i feel weird.”

your skin felt like it was buzzing, chest vibrating in a way it usually wasn’t. 

it wasn’t necessarily bad, but simply off. 

you felt your soulmate more than ever tonight, you were almost hyperaware. 

he felt electric. 

every emotion coming from him felt sharper somehow, close enough that you could almost mistake them for your own. 

your pulse kept jumping for no reason. 

fuck, you hated this. 

“is it devils dick?” shoko casually asked as your eyes closed momentarily. 

how would you explain that it was both yes and no. 

yes, the bond felt different tonight. 

but no, it wasn’t muscle aches or phantom pain you were feeling on his end, though you didn't want to speak too soon. 

it was a friday after all. friday nights usually meant bruised ribs by saturday morning. 

“oh my god, guys!” hime stood before you, handing shoko her drink before placing a water bottle in your hand, “everyone’s saying gojo and his crew are gonna be here!” 

your eyes rolled gently, very much aware of utahime’s obsession with those random illegitimate fighters. 

underground fights happened constantly throughout the city. 

illegal betting rings buried beneath clubs and abandoned buildings, violent enough that respectable people pretended they didn’t exist despite everyone secretly knowing otherwise. 

your father even told you how known politicians and well known figures even placed bets they hid from the public.  

and lately, there was one name that everyone kept talking about-

“do you think sukuna would show up?” shoko questioned, eyes wide with excitement, taking a sip of her cherry vodka as you looked between the two girls. 

ryomen sukuna. 

you’d heard it constantly from utahime the past few months. 

uathime, shoko, sora and percy often went on double dates to these underground fights you had zero interest in. 

you were very much used to fifth wheeling alongside your friends, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was rooted in the prospect of spending the night in a filthy underground boxing ring riddled with people and violence alike. yuck. 

still, amongst all the fighters utahime gushed about, ryomen sukuna seemed to be the most known. 

the undefeated underground fighter with pink hair and a snake tattoo across his shoulders and collarbones. 

people were terrified of him just as equally as they were obsessed with him. 

“percy says sukuna knocked his opponent unconscious in under thirty seconds last week!” shoko stated, taking another sip as utahime nodded frantically. 

“he’s insane!” utahime gushed, “like, gojo is obviously a show off and just cares about the clout he gets but sukuna? he’s terrifying…”

utahime continued, you were sure. you could see her mouth moving but you didn’t-couldn’t register the words she'd uttered. 

the world around you turned hazy, just enough to feel like everything slowed in a way that definitely wasn’t normal. 

your heartbeat stopped, not metaphorically, but physically. 

a sharp wave of adrenaline crashed violently into your chest hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs. 

you went still, every muscle in your body tightening instinctively. 

you could see both of the girls leaning towards you, brows furrowed in concern, mouths moving and uttering words you knew were dipped in concern. you couldn’t hear any of it. 

you swallowed hard, eyes darting up and around you, as if a siren was luring you towards the crowd, come to me, come, come. 

fuck, were you drugged or something?

your heartbeat stuttered painfully beneath your ribs, once, twice then again. 

you felt like you’d been dropped underwater while everyone else remained above the surface. 

the bond felt raw and entirely too overwhelming.

it felt like standing at the edge of something life-altering, like your soul had recognized something before your mind could catch up to it. 

for the first time since you’d first felt your soulmate, he didn’t feel far away. 

you had grown used to the idea of him, something intangible and not truly real. 

merely a ghost haunting the edges of your nervous system, phantom bruises in the middle of lectures and an adrenaline rush at three in the morning. 

he was the deep-seated exhaustion that riddled your body but didn’t belong to you. 

but this felt real. close enough to touch. 

the sensation crawled slowly beneath your skin, winding around your ribs like invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter until you thought you might choke on it. 

the realization hit your bloodstream like a drug. 

he was here, you knew it. you could feel it in your bones. 

your eyes darted towards the door that had swung open, summer air rushing inside alongside four figures dressed almost entirely in black. 

the first thing you noticed was height. 

they all carried themselves with the same dangerous sort of confidence, the kind that came from men who had never truly feared consequences before. 

one of them had snowy white locks, the tallest of the bunch, bright enough to catch beneath the flashing lights, sunglasses balanced lazily across his nose despite the fact that it was nearly midnight. 

another stood beside him, quieter with shoulder length black locks with stretched gauges in his ears and sharp eyes that swept across the room once before settling into bored indifference.

the third one was shorter than the rest but still tall, black locks in two spiked buns with a joint resting between plump pink lips, eyes hooded in a way that exposed that joint not being his first of the night.

they were all attractive in a way that felt almost unfair and dangerous. 

people moved out of their path without being asked. 

your eyes turned to the one trailing just a step behind them and your breath caught so violently, it hurt. 

the salmon colored locks gave him away. 

ryomen sukuna. 

tattoos curled dark against tan skin disappearing beneath the collar of a black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders. 

even from where you stood, you could see the dried blood and bruises across his knuckles. 

he looked nothing like what you’d imagined from shoko’s descriptions. 

and simultaneously, exactly like it too. 

something deep inside you snapped taut, your stomach dropping. 

you could tell he was dazed too, jaw locked and eyes blinking at a slow pace, eyes looking around the sea of bodies. 

the soulmate bond surged so hard beneath your ribs, you physically recoiled, fingers gripping the edge of the leather couch. 

oh god. no, no, no.

oh my god…

“oh my god,” utahime whispered beside you, though unlike you, she sounded impressed rather than horrified. 

shoko looked moments away from passing out entirely. 

“that’s him!” she breathed out quietly. 

you couldn’t answer, breath stilling and hands trembling. 

because sukuna had stopped walking.

fuck, the realization came slowly enough to feel cruel. 

maroon eyes met your own and the room around you dissolved entirely. the music became muffled noise, lights blurring and the crowd disappeared.

all you could see was him. him. him. him. 

he was all you could see, feel and you knew all he could see was you. 

sukuna felt it the second he stepped through the doorway. 

you. 

the bond snapped violently alive beneath his skin hard enough that his entire body locked for half a second mid-step. 

he almost thought someone had drugged him until he remembered he hadn’t even drank anything yet. 

then what was this feeling? 

his eyes locked on yours and he felt the most alive he’d felt in his life.

something even the ring and the violence couldn't offer. 

there you were, all too pretty and wide eyed. 

he barely heard gojo speak beside him anymore, the lanky man rambling on about some idiot from last week’s fight who apparently called him out on twitter after. 

sukuna ignored him completely because across the room sat a girl staring at him like she’d seen a ghost. 

and in some ways, he was your ghost. 

he haunted you and lived under your skin in ways he was sure you didn’t appreciate in the slightest. 

his soulmate. 

years of phantom feelings crashed together all at once so violently, it almost made him sick. 

because the realization hit him harder than he’d anticipated and yes, he had anticipated this. 

the moment he’d meet his soulmate. 

well, he dreaded more than anticipated it. 

it hit him hard because he realized that he knew this girl. 

sukuna had never met you, yet, he bet he knew you more than the two girls hovering over you. more than fucking anyone. 

you were the girl whose stress bled into his bones during finals week, the girl who wrapped her arms around herself at night and somehow lulled him to sleep from miles away. 

you were real. 

and you looked soft. 

that was the first thing he took note of. 

soft skin, soft wide eyes, soft pink shimmery gloss coating your plush lips he recognized only through phantom warmth he’d felt against his own skin before. 

his soulmate was a pretty little thing, so pretty it almost made his chest ache. in your tiny skirt and halter top.

far too fucking pretty to belong anywhere near him. 

“sukuna?” 

choso’s voice cut through the haze faintly and sukuna snapped out of it, gaze finally leaving hers to glance at his friend who tilted his head towards the other side of the room. 

sukuna resisted the urge to glance at you as he made his way across the room.

fuck, fuck, fuck! 

this couldn’t be happening, this was a fucking nightmare. 

just as he made it across the room, he felt it. 

warm fingertips brushing his own skin despite his hands at his sides. 

his pulse stuttered once. 

his gaze snapped to yours once more and your eyes widened instantly when you noticed his hand drift to his neck where your own hand was resting. 

slowly and carefully, sukuna lifted his own hand. 

his fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw, a barely there touch. 

yet, across the room, your breath hitched sharply as warmth bloomed against your own jawline seconds later. 

not imagined or coincidence. it was all real, so so real. 

your stomach twisted violently. 

oh no. no no no no. 

shoko was gazing at you, “what’s wrong?!” 

you couldn’t answer, eyes stuck on a pair of crimson that held you hostage.

her eyes narrowed as both her and utahime followed your gaze before catching sukuna’s eyes on you. 

then they both looked between you both a total of five times before realization hit. 

“wait,” shoko whispered harshly, hand shooting out to grip your arm, “WAIT.”

utahime’s jaw physically fell open, “holy shit…”

your heartbeat pounded so violently, you thought you might faint right then and there beneath the flashing red lights.

what you despised most is that it made sense. 

of course it was him. a violent and dangerous underground fighter, fuck, that explained everything so perfectly.

if fate was a person, you’d have her by the neck right now. 

because sukuna was still staring at you, as if he knew you already and perhaps, he did. 

then horrifyingly, he smirked. 

and suddenly, you understood exactly why the entire city feared ryomen sukuna. 

sukuna moved before he could really think about it, jaw clenched but determined.

one second he stood on the other side of the room and the next, his body was already weaving through the crowd toward you like the bond itself had wrapped invisible fingers around his spine and dragged him to you. you. his soulmate. 

people moved instantly to let him pass. 

you took note of that immediately. 

you noticed the way conversations died around him, the way bodies shifted out of his path and nobody dared touch him, even accidentally. 

it was fear, you realized. people feared him. 

the recognition made your stomach twist. 

“oh my god,” shoko whispered harshly beside you, nails digging into your arm, “he’s coming over here!” 

“i can see that.” you hissed back faintly, though your voice barely sounded like your own. 

fuck, you should leave. you should absolutely leave. 

except, you couldn’t move, body drilled to where you sat, frozen in place while ryomen fucking sukuna rossed the room toward you like some predator chasing prey. 

closer and closer and closer. 

until suddenly, all his 6’4 glory was towering above you. 

your breath caught embarrassingly hard. 

up close, he was worse. 

taller than you’d imagined and broader too. 

there were faint bruises scattered along his jawline beneath the dim lights, on the very spot that you woke up feeling sore. fresh cuts healed across his knuckles. 

and his eyes, god, they looked at you with the same recognition burning through your own chest. 

sukuna looked down at you for a moment too long. 

fuck, you were even more ethereal up close. 

that thought hit him first and annoyingly hardest. 

his pretty little soulmate sitting curled into the edge of a leather couch looking at him with wide doe eyes, almost expectantly with a mix of fear and restraint. 

“hey.” 

his voice slid down your spine like smoke. 

low, dangerous and rough in a way even your mind couldn’t conjure up.

fuck, was this really happening?

your throat tightened instantly, “hi.”

the word left you horrifyingly softer than you’d intended and sukuna’s lips twitched at the sound. 

your voice was his favorite sound, instantly. 

“um,” shoko hummed, eyes wide as she shared a glance with utahime, “we’ll give you two a second.”

you almost wanted to yell in protest, but the two girls were already shuffling away, shooting you encouraging looks. 

as you glanced up at the dangerous man once more, you felt your heart still in a way you hadn’t ever felt before. 

not in fear or apprehension but calm. 

he made you feel calm, your body stilling and quieting in a way you hadn’t expected. 

regretfully, fuck, you despised it, but when that gentleness overcame you and you looked up at him…

his disheveled pink locks, his handsome rugged features and his dark eyes, all of it was him. 

and you felt stupid for trying to deny that this man was your soulmate. 

who else would it be? 

“i’m sukuna,” he stated lowly, moving to take a seat beside you, leaving an appreciative distance between you, “ryomen sukuna.” 

your name left you softly with a nod. 

as you gazed at each other, the same realization overcame you both. 

even with barely an introduction, you knew each other. 

while sukuna had only fond memories of what you’d done for him, your mind was riddled with poisonous ones. 

this was the man who often trained in the middle of the night, filling you with soreness and a rush of adrenaline that left you sleepless most nights. 

he was the one who fucked other girls knowing what that put you through. 

your heart clenched. 

beyond all those things, he was the one who hugged himself to sleep after that one night of utter hell. 

he was the one who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps left you nauseated and pained in bed. 

as much as you wanted to forget those things, to snap yourself out of the sad patheticness that riddled you, how could you?

how could you when those were the only memories that kept your hope that he wasn’t a total monster alive?

your eyes travelled along his bloodied knuckles, “you get those a lot.” 

sukuna’s fists instinctively clenched at the attention.

“and you burn yourself with whatever you do your hair with at least twice a week.”

your eyes widened instantly. 

“and you get punched like every other day!” 

sukuna’s mouth twitched and you hated how your eyes drifted towards the movement and your heart stuttered. 

“barely.” sukuna stated cooly, a small smirk painting his features. 

your eyes drifted toward him again before you could stop yourself. 

and then you remembered. 

every phantom feeling, every sleepless night and every ache.

all attached to him. 

the violence, the pain, the girls. 

your jaw tightened, "you’re not exactly the best person to be connected to, you know.” 

sukuna’s expression didn’t shift much, still cool, but you felt it. 

the hollow drop in your stomach that wasn’t yours. guilt. 

real and immediate, it almost made you laugh in disbelief. 

of course he felt guilty, he had to know he was a fucking nightmare. 

sukuna leaned back slightly, jaw working once as his gaze flickered away from yours for half a second, “yeah, i bet.” 

your brows lifted, “that’s it?” 

his eyes returned to yours, low and indifferent. 

you scoffed, anger bubbling up so quickly, it nearly startled you, “that’s all you have to say?” 

sukuna let out a breath through his nose, “what do you want me to say?”

“oh, i don’t know,” you let out a sharp little laugh that held not an ounce of humor, “maybe sorry would be a good place to start?!” 

sukuna’s head tilted, “sorry.” 

you stared at him in utter disbelief before a laugh left you once more, this time softer and dripped in something worse than anger, “wow…” 

sukuna’s eyes borrowed, “what?” 

“you’re unbelievable is what!” 

“you asked for sorry.” 

“not like that!” you nsapped, voice rising just enough to have your cheeks flushing, “not like you’re apologizing for stepping on my shoe!”

his expression hardened slightly and you felt it immediately, the irritation beginning to curl beneath his skin. 

ugh, you hated how the closeness made both your emotions so heightened. 

though, you hoped he could feel your rage. 

"an apology isn't gonna change shit. won't make y'feel better either."

his words enraged you even more.

“you have no idea what you put me through,” you continued, voice trembling despite you rbest efforts, “none.” 

sukuna’s gaze darkened, “don’t do that.”

“do what?” 

“act like i wasn’t there too.” 

you blinked at him, something hot and ugly twisting in your chest. 

was he for real? 

“you were there?” you repeated quietly, “you were there?” 

his jaw clenched, “don’t-”

“no, please,” you leaned forward slightly, anger sharpening every word, “explain it to me. because to my knowledge, you were the one making my life miserable while i was the one trying to keep us both sane!”

sukuna looked at you for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching. 

the lights washed over his face in flashes of red, making him look even more unreal than he already did. 

“you think i wanted this?” he stated more than asked and your heart clenched. 

hurt shot through you, your eyes growing glassy against your will because you knew he wasn’t referring to the pain he’d put you through. 

he meant the soulmate thing in general, fate as a whole. 

he didn’t want you.

you bit the inside of your cheek, willing your tears to stay in your eyes before breathing out, “no. but neither did i.” 

silence settled between you then, not peaceful but loaded. 

sukuna could physically feel your hurt and his eyes dropped briefly to your hands where they trembled in your lap. 

your fingers curled instantly, too proud as you hid the movement. 

it was too late. he’d seen it. 

even worse, he’d felt it.

“i didn’t know.” he stated lowly and you froze. 

your eyes flickered up, “what?” 

his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, expression unreadable. 

“at first,” he clarified, “i didn’t know what it did to you.” 

your chest tightening, knowing what he was referring to and his words didn’t soothe you in the slightest. 

“and after?” 

in fact, it made it all worse. 

especially as he said nothing. 

your face fell slightly, all the anger in you cooling into something quieter and melancholic. 

“after, you knew.” 

his gaze remained on you as his fingers flexed once against his thigh, “yeah, i knew.” 

your eyes burned and you hated yourself for it. 

you hated that it still hurt despite knowing already, you hated that hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way the bond never had. 

“why?” you asked, the one word absolutely humiliating as much as it was devastating. 

sukuna looked away first and somehow, that hurt too, “because it was easier.” 

your lips parted faintly, “easier?” 

he lout out a grunt, “if you hated me, you wouldn’t look for me.” 

the words settled between you like something deadly. 

for a second, you genuinely couldn’t speak. 

then you did, “that is the stupidest, shittiest thing i’ve ever heard.” 

hsi eyes snapped back to yours, scowling, “careful.” 

“oh, fuck you!” you hissed lowly, “you don’t get to do that! you don’t get to hurt me on purpose and then act like it was some noble sacrifice.” 

his jaw tightened, “it wasn’t noble.” 

“yeah, no shit.” 

“it was necessary.” 

you laughed once, incredulous, “necessary? well, congrats, you got what you wanted, i absolutely fucking despise you.” 

sukuna’s jaw clenched, eyes glaring at you, “good. because you don’t know shit about me, this saves us both the hassle.”

“i don’t know you?” you shot back, “i know you more than anyone, probably. i know your body hurts more often than they don’t. i know you clench your jaw when you’re mad. i know you can’t sleep because of your nightmares and unless somebody practcially forces your nervous system to shut down, you could go days without it. i know you’re so angry at the fucking world, it makes you so hateful.”

sukuna went still, too still. 

you swallowed hard, eyes burning once more, “and i know that for years, i was the one cleaning up the damage you left behind.” 

his eyes darkened, “cleaning up?” 

“yes,” your voice cracked despite yourself, “me. i was the one hugging myself to sleep because you wouldn’t. i was the one stretching every morning because your body always felt like fucking concrete. i was the one coloring like a goddamn toddler at three in the morning because it was the only thing that made your anger stop choking me!” 

sukuna said nothing and you hated that even more. 

you wanted him to argue back, to answer, to fucking care. 

“do you know how pathetic that feels?” you whispered, “taking care of someone who kept hurting me?” 

his expression shifted, barely, but you felt it again. 

the guilt, even deeper this time. 

sukuna looked at you like he wanted to say something cruel and couldn’t quite manage it, settling with, “you didn’t have to do all that.” 

your laugh came out watery, tears now trickling down your heated cheeks. 

fuck, you felt nauseous, you felt so fucking sick. 

“yeah, i know that now.” 

something passed across his face then, a flicker of pain so quick, you almost missed it. 

but the bond didn’t allow you to miss anything. you felt it bloom in your own chest, sharp and unwanted. his. 

for one terrible second, you almost let it soften you. 

almost. 

because there it was again. 

that tiny, stupid sliver of hope you’d spend years nurturing because it was the only thing that kept you mildly sane. 

the one that whispered that maybe he wasn't all cruelty. maybe there was something beneath all that violence and pain. 

maybe the boy who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps got bad had to exist somewhere inside the man sitting in front of you. 

you looked at him then, through your blurry vision, really and truly looked. 

the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes and the casual arrogance sitting across his shoulders like armor. 

and that hope crumbled quietly inside your chest. 

not dramatically or all at once, but piece by piece, like something old finally accepting it had been dead for a long time. 

utter disappointment filled you then. you should have known better. 

this shouldn't be surprising. 

sukuna had spent years telling you exactly who he was, painting you the worst image of himself and you had hoped it was just that. 

the worst of himself. 

except the worst was all of him. 

sukuna was cruel. not because he didn’t know better but because he did. 

because he’d known what hurt you and decided hurting you was easier than wanting you. 

you swallowed around the ache in your throat, suddenly exhausted in a way a thousand years of sleep couldn’t fix. 

all you wanted was to be home now, cuddled up with ani in your room alone. 

“right,” you whispered, nodding once to yourself. 

sukuna’s brows pulled together slightly, “right what?” 

you pushed yourself to your feet, smoothing trembling hands over the front of your skirt because you needed something to do. anything that didn’t involve looking at him. 

“this was enlightening.” 

his eyes narrowed, “sit down.” 

the command sparked something sharp beneath your ribs, the thorn twisting in your heart. 

you let out a hollow laugh, “fuck you.” 

his jaw flexed, “don’t make a scene.” 

your name left him then and you hated the way your stomach fluttered at the melody of it in his voice. 

fuck, your heart hurt. 

because he was your soulmate. yours.

because some sick, twisted part of you had expected the universe to redeem itself when you finally found him. 

you expected the first moment to feel like every story you’d grown up hearing, witnessed amongst your friends. 

warmth, recognition and relief. 

instead, you were standing in front of the man who had turned your body into a battlefield and your heart into collateral damage. 

“i hope i never see you again.” 

something flickered across his face then and you didn’t stay long enough to decipher it. 

you turned around, the crowd swallowing you almost immediately as you walked away. 

music slammed back into your skull, bodies pressing close as you pushed through them with shaking hands and blurred vision. 

your chest felt too tight, lungs too small for the oxygen your body ached for. 

behind you, you felt sukuna rise before you saw it. the immediate pull.

his presence growing closer and your heart stuttered stupidly. 

some miserable, pathetic part of you sparked alive at the thought before you could kill it. 

maybe he did care. 

maybe he was going to take back all the words he regretted, that he would stop you and apologize properly this time. 

he would say what you’ve been waiting years to feel. 

the thought was so humiliating, it almost made you sick. 

“fuck are you lookin’ at?!” 

you heard his voice aimed at the crowd of people that were watching you both, probably since your conversation on the couch. 

you shoved through the door and stepped into the narrow hallway outside the main room, the music muffling instantly behind you. 

the air was cooler here, damp with rain and cigarette smoke, blue neon bleeding through the cracked windows at the end of the corridor.

you took in a breath like you hadn’t breathed in days, eyes shutting as your heart hammered against your chest, trying to simply process everything that had taken place. 

“hey.” his voice followed you out and you froze, heart stilling. 

stupid, traitorous thing. 

you turned slowly, eyes fluttering open. 

sukuna stood a few feet away, tall and shadowed beneath the hallway light. 

away from the party, he seemed even more dangerous. less like a person and more like a warning your body had spent seven years failing to understand. 

he was an enigma. 

for one breath, neither of you spoke. 

your hope stood there too, fragile and shaking, fucking pitiful. 

waiting. 

sukuna’s gaze dragged over your face once, catching on the wetness beneath your eyes and his expression tightened faintly. 

say it, you thought bitterly. 

say sorry! say you didn’t mean it! 

say something!

his jaw worked once, “no one can know.” 

your brows furrowed, the hope dying cleanly. 

“excuse me?” 

sukuna stepped closer, voice lower now. 

his mouth opened to clarify when his gaze met your own once more. 

your wide glassy eyes. your pretty face that was streaked with tears, your plump bitten lips. 

the little sniffles that left you, making his ribs ache. 

and suddenly, he froze, the words stuck in his throat. 

fuck, he had to get it together. 

“about this.” 

your lips parted faintly, “about us?”

the word us felt absolutely pathetic in your mouth. 

all too soft and hopeful. undeserved, even. 

something in his eyes shifted at the sound of it but it was gone before you could hold onto it. 

“there is no us.” 

oh. you actually felt that one. 

not through the bond, nor as some phantom ache borrowed from him. 

the pain was yours, all yours. 

you laughed once, quiet and disbelieving as you took a small step back, “wow…”

sukuna followed you, taking one step forward as his jaw clenched, “listen to me-” 

“no,” you shook your head slowly, voice trembling, “no, i think i understand perfectly.” 

sukuna’s eyes darkened, “you really don’t.” 

“oh my god,” you shook your head, “i can’t believe i thought-” 

you stopped, humiliation burning up your throat. 

sukuna stared, taking a step closer, his chest now brushing your chin, “thought what?” 

his voice was almost desperate and you swallowed, blinking hard, “nothing.” 

his face tightened and he felt it anyway, of course he did. 

the hope and hurt. 

the fact that some tiny, unbearable part of you had wanted him to come after you because he simply couldn’t let you leave. 

sukuna looked away first as you took a step back. fucking coward. 

“it’s dangerous.” he stated as you stared at the side of his face.

“dangerous?” 

“yes.” 

“for who?” 

his gaze cut back to yours, “for you.” 

you almost laugh but he continued before you could. 

“people know me and if they know about you, they’ll use you. you make me weak.” 

the words landed colder than you'd expected. 

sukuna watched you closely, as if waiting for the fear to register and maybe it did. 

somewhere deep, deep down, but anger got there first. 

“so that’s what this is?” you whispered, tears leaving you without you noticing, “damage control?” 

his silence was answer enough and you nodded faintly, tears burning hot once more. 

“right.” 

“you need to keep your mouth shut about it.” 

you flinched before you could stop yourself and sukuna paused, regret flashing through instantly. 

“don’t talk to me like that.” you stated lowly and his jaw clenched. 

“i’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“oh, how big of you.” 

the hallway seemed to shrink around you both. 

outside, rain tapped gently against the glass. 

inside, bass thudded like a second heartbeat through the walls. 

you looked at him then, this man that fate had tied to you with an invisible string and cruelty dressed up as destiny. and for the first time since you’d felt him at sixteen, you stopped wondering what it would be like to find him. 

because now you knew and god, you wish you didn’t. 

it felt like losing something you’d never even had. 

“is that all?” you questioned lowly, clearing your throat once.

sukuna stared at you, nose flaring and throat bobbing once, “yeah.” 

another piece of you gave out as you nodded, “okay.” 

the word was so calm, it made his eyes sharpen. 

you turned away, walking past him but his hand caught your wirst before you could take  full step. 

skin met skin and the bond went silent, completely and utterly silent. 

no buzzing or aching or distance. 

just him, all warm and real. terribly real. 

your breath hitched at his touch. it was the first time he’d ever touched you. 

sukuna froze too, fingers wrapped around your wrist like he’d touched fire and couldn’t make himself pull away. 

for one second, just one, all the cruelty fell quiet. 

and you felt him beneath it, scared and lonely, wanting and waiting. 

you felt it and you hated him for letting you feel it now. 

slowly, you looked down at his hand then back up at him, “let go.” 

his grip tightened by a fraction, “this is the best thing for the both of us.” 

your face crumpled before you could stop it. 

you pulled your wrist free and this time, he let you. 

“oh, trust me, not having to be stuck with you? i couldn’t agree more.” venom laced your words as sukuna’s expression changed, tightened and you felt the hurt then. 

sharp and immediate and you were glad for it. 

you turned and walked away then, tears streaming down your cheeks and a sob left you as soon as you were out of his vicinity. 

for the first time, the bond didn't feel like a thread pulling you closer…

it felt like noose.

∞

an | was so late with this but had the worst past few days so SORRY! anyways PLSSS lmk what u think cuz i'm iffy abt the direction of this BUT this is lowk my fav thing i've written omg! this is kinda like a prologue pt2, next chapters will deffo be longer! i cannot wait to write more of these two and sukuna's a dick but bear w him ! also each chapter in the masterlist will be titled a song and i recommend listening to it while reading for the vibes 🫡

| Chapters |

1 | Something about you

2 | draws me so close

3 | that it has to

4 | be true.

5 | My hearts light

6 | like a feather.

7 | What's it gonna take

8 | for you to say

9 | four stupid letters?

10 | I know that's

11 | what this is

12 | and I know

13 | you know it too.

14 | For this

15 | is the birth

16 | of something new.

17 | So please

18 | stop being dumb

| @kamiflix | ff status; ongoing | updates; spontaneous |