｡₊⊹♡: ⋆ Welcome ｡₊⊹♡:

inside, the engine is running. yuuji’s wailing from the backseat, loud and hiccuping cries that only get worse the longer she ignores him. choso, five years old and small for his age, is twisted around in his booster seat trying to shove a stuffed animal into the baby’s hands, whispering frantic little “it’s okay, it’s okay”s that don’t help.

sukuna is still in uniform. dark soccer jersey clinging damp to his back, the team crest stitched over his chest, grass stains streaked across his socks and shorts. sweat runs down the side of his tanned face, mixing with the heat blooming under her hand.

“so you think you’re funny?” she snaps, grabbing sukuna by the front of his practice jersey. “making me sit here while you show off?”

practice ended ten minutes ago.

sukuna doesn’t answer. he never does, not to her. his red eyes stare straight ahead, unblinking.

her grip tightens. “I have two kids in that car. two! and you think doing stupid little tricks with your friends matters more than my fucking time?”

yuuji’s crying spikes.

“look at what you’re doing!” she shrieks, gesturing wildly toward the car like the baby’s distress is his fault. “you stress him out! you’re selfish, just like your father. always needing attention. god!” she exhales like it’s hard to breathe just thinking about his dad, “zero fucking backbone as a man.”

choso is watching through the window now.

sukuna finally moves, just enough to shrug her fingers off his shirt, slow and controlled.

“It was practice,” he says flatly.

the second slap is louder. harder.

“don’t talk back to me.”

a car drives past the lot entrance and slows. sukuna notices it, makes eye contact with a teammate sitting in the backseat. then the car keeps going.

her eyes flick to the snake bite piercings in her step-son’s bottom lip. her lips pull tight in the same familiar disgust as if the two earrings he got a few months ago wasn’t bad enough. “you’re still putting more garbage like that on your face,” her insides twist, “looking like a degenerate.”

she leans in closer, nails biting into his arm. her voice drops, venomous and low. “you think you’re special because you can kick a ball? you’re not. you’re a burden. do you understand me? a burden I didn’t sign up for, but I’m still forced to take care of.”

yuuji is still crying. choso is getting anxious. sukuna stands there, cheek red from the slap, eyes dry, jaw locked so tight it aches. he doesn’t look at her. he does it on purpose, he’d rather get hit again than look at this woman.

the third slap draws the metallic taste of blood blooming where his teeth cut the inside of his mouth.

kaori pulls her hand up again for a fourth, eyes dark and filled with vicious malice towards this thirteen year old boy. her hand shakes as she watches the boy lick his bloody lip, cold. he never reacts…he acts like she’s beneath him. as if! kaori’s anger bubbles over, hot fury leaking from her pores as she heaves, fingers flexing ready to slap him once more. but she catches sukuna’s gaze flick up at the car, at his brothers.

choso is sticking his head out of the car, eyes rimmed red. “mommy! yuu wont stop crying!”

koari’s head whips around, “choso,” she snaps. “what did I tell you about interrupting me—“

“but he’s—“

“choso!”

choso flinches, eyes brimming with more tears. sukuna’s fist clenches, glare finally flicking up to this women. “he’s just a kid,” he grits.

koari turns back to the thirteen year old. her eyes wild and manic. she can see the disgusting bubbling behind his gaze, the scowl on his face.

“don’t you dare speak about my parenting,” she seethes. her face curls into a snarl. “you’re the parasite. sucking my soul, your brothers souls, your fathers—everyone would be better off without you.”

sukuna remains still. thick brow permanently sewn together, glare cutting through her. her teeth grind, hands trembling with more pent up anger. finally having enough of yuuji’s wailing and choso’s fidgeting, she curls her lip, turning on her heel.

“find your own way home.”

the engine roars as koari pulls out of the lot, leaving a quiet sukuna behind. and only when the car is out of sight does sukuna let his hand tremble and hot tears cascade down his cheeks.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK FUUUCK HERRR!!” sukuna screams at the top of his lungs, slamming his duffle bag on the concrete. again and again. and again. the strap rips, flying against the concrete just for sukuna to drop to his knees, fist rising high before slamming it into the duffle. all his pent up rage unleashes on his equipment, however, his shin guards, cleats, and water bottle are used to it by now. ultimately laying under him as he falls on the pavement, burying his face deep in his duffle, and screaming with all his might.

his throat tearing.

——

“you’re lying.”

sukuna sits across from choso. his jaw locked, eyes dead, and muscles tense.

the tv was turned off minutes ago after sukuna finally came home. the blanket lays on the floor after sukuna ripped it off the fifteen year old, who was passed out on the couch. choso frowns, brown hair a mess, and dark circles under his brown eyes.

“I answered you. you can choose to believe me or not—“

“I don’t,” the eldest cuts, arms crossed, biceps flexing with frustration, glaring at his idiot brother. “why’d she give you that money?”

choso frowns, sweat building on his forehead. “I don’t know. maybe go ask her, since you’re the only one that can talk to her.”

sukuna scowls, biting back his tongue. he runs his hands through his hair. choso watches, back slouched against the couch, sweats and tshirt wrinkled from sleep, and one leg tucked under him. he doesn’t say anything. just observes, and quietly prays that sukuna doesn’t know find anything out.

“yuu’s telling me you’re practicing with y’r friends?”

choso’s eyes widen momentarily, sukuna catches it. “yeah…”

“how often you guys practice? yuu’s makin’ it seem like it’s an everyday thing.”

choso shrugs, “we’re workin’ out a new song, and ino keeps fuckin’ up the drum solo.” sukuna leans back in the arm chair, eyes narrowing. choso frowns noticing the way his older brother is scrutinizing him. he looks away, eyeing the blanket sukuna snatched off him. “can I go back to sleep now?”

sukuna pokes his cheek with his tongue, shrugging.

the teen grumbles, pushing off the couch to head to his room. “whatever. can’t even sleep on the stupid couch without getting bothered—“

“so if I talk to your ino friend, he can tell me where you’ve been?”

choso halts. sukuna doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his brother stopped. choso’s hands ball into fists, heart thudding, as it always does when he starts fabricating a lie. “you don’t even know who ino is—“

“the kid with the beanie. we met when you told me to fuck off and ran away with em. I remember.”

“I never told you to ‘fuck off’ .” choso tsks, sweat slowly sliding down his back.

sukuna turns, arm over the chair, glaring straight at his brother, “you basically did when that’s the last time you fuckin’ talked t’me. giving me the goddamn silent treatment like I’m your girlfriend.”

choso feels his blood start to pump louder, his eyes narrowing like knives, letting go of all composure, “maybe I just don’t have shit to say to you — ever think of that?!”

sukuna turns even more, “yeah, I don’t miss being a stupid fucking teenager—jesus christ!” he aggressively points at his brother. “you really have no fucking clue the shit I’m keeping from you. that’s why you think you can get fucking angry at me!”

“I don’t give a shit! there’s other people besides you that can think for themselves—!”

sukuna’s hand trembles, eyes burning red.

“if I want to talk to her that’s my choice—“

“you’re fifteen, fuck do you think you are?” sukuna scoffs, cold, “we needa sit down and get ya fucking checked in the head. seriously cho, y’er getting under my fucking skin—“

“good,” he spits, chest heaving.

sukuna’s jaw locks. “give me y’er phone.”

choso’s eyes widen, immediately taking a step back, “no-why?”

“gonna call your friend,” sukuna reaches for choso’s pocket, but the teen is quickly dodging, deflecting his brother’s arm,

“I’m gonna tell gramps—!”

“tell him!”

as strong and intimidating as sukuna is to outsiders. he’s also the eldest of three boys, and will ultimately fall on the ground tackling his teenage brother. and unlike the frat, sukuna has never raised a fist or hand, to either of his little brothers. the most his soul can do, is physically overpower them.

which has led to choso’s arm getting pinned under his brothers knee. sukuna straddling the younger’s chest, letting the teen thrash beneath him as he keeps a hand pressed to choso’s cheek, other hand grabbing at the phone that has fallen to the ground.

“you started going to the gym, ya little shit?” sukuna grunts.

choso groans in frustration, arms flexing to grab his brothers shirt. “get off me!”

“fuck’s your password?” sukuna attempts, typing out choso’s birthday. incorrect. yuu’s birthday. incorrect. his birthday. incorrect. sukuna frowns.

“woahhh dudeee, what’s going on?”

the color drains from choso’s face. his eyes bulging as he tilts his head back.

standing tall and curious — his best friend — ino.

it takes, a little under, a second for sukuna to glance up, spotting the boy, then the beanie, then choso’s reaction.

“ino?”

ino freezes, eyes widening as he makes direct eye contact with choso’s very intimidating, very scary, older brother. “y-YES?”

choso’s eyes look like they’re going to burst from their sockets. he’s aggressively shaking his head, struggling underneath the two hundred pound athlete. “go home ino—“

“stay.”

ino freezes, sweat quickly building under his beanie.

“don’t—listen to him,” choso falls back, sukuna letting go, no longer fighting over the phone. choso turns on his knees, eyes wide when he sees sukuna already walking up to his friend.

“did you guys do anything other than practice with your band this week?” sukuna’s first question already had ino glancing at choso. “don’t look at him, look at me.” ino’s eyes snap to sukuna, sweating. “now answer.”

“hey dude—“

“I’m not ‘yr fuckin dude,” sukuna barks, patience paper thin.

choso tsks, fixing his torn shirt from the tackling earlier, staring directly at his friend, as if that’ll get them to communicate telepathically. forgetting that ino secretly admires his older brother.

“we got a couple burgers from the diner and uh we went again after the school’s soccer game yesterday—“

“choso went to a game?” sukuna’s brow hits the ceiling, whipping his head to see choso frowning.

“is that so surprising?” he says.

sukuna’s eyes narrow. “you wouldn’t go—“ he stops. an uncomfortable twist preventing him from finishing the sentence. he turns back to ino. “can you drive?”

ino shakes his head.

“who’s driving ya both around town then?”

“maru,” ino replies, quickly elaborating before sukuna snaps again. “he’s a friend and plays base, for our band and he was the one driving last time when you—“

“so choso didn’t go anywhere alone?”

ino hesitates.

choso takes a step forward, sweat trickling down his back as ino chokes. idiot! choso screams internally, eyes snapping to his brother. he definitely noticed that!

sukuna’s crossed arms flex in anger, pushing further, the room bending around him causing the teens to sweat buckets, “where’d he go—“

ino loses it—

“he just left to talk to a girl and got rejected—real bad— that was the only time he left—but also when we’re in school, since we have separate classes. but he just got rejected by a girl he has a crush on during the soccer game so we ditched during halftime.”

the house is dead silent.

sukuna blinks.

his brother’s friend really is a fucking character. his head drops forward, fingers rubbing his eyes, aware of the two boys holding their breaths as he realigns his thoughts, grinding down on his teeth.

ino shoots his friend a nervous look. the other frowns shrugging at him before lifting a finger to his lips, easily mimicking a don’t say anything else face.

the sharp inhale of the six foot so man has both teens looking back at him.

“you going out to practice now?”

the question hangs in the air. neither boy responding, they’re so shocked. but once sukuna looks back at choso, and the teen catches the anger slowly dissipating from his brother — he nods.

sukuna turns away, walking further into the house towards his yuuji’s room, the exhaustion hangs heavy on his taunt shoulders. ready to crash.

choso watches. silent, heart thudding against his ribs, until—

“so you believe me now?”

sukuna halts.

the sharp jab hangs in the air.

sukuna’s back is turned. ino hold his breath, eyes clenching shut in panicked anxiety, heart thudding agaisnt his chest. why does he have to be in the middle of this???

sukuna rolls his neck back. a crack. his glare pierces the air, holding choso in place.

“watch it,” he mutters, low.

choso averts his gaze, eyes flicking toward the kitchen like he’s suddenly interested in anything but sukuna. his face twists into a sharp, frustrated scowl, hair a mess from his older brother’s rough handling. yet…he stays quiet. for once.

the silence stretches, tense and unnatural, as sukuna rolls his neck back again, another crack slipping out as he finally turns away. his patience is gone. whatever energy he had left is gone. he doesn’t say anything else. just walks off.

his steps are heavier now as he disappears down the hall and into his old room. the door clicks shut behind him, finally ending the interrogation.

only then do choso and ino move. ino lets out a breath he’d been holding, glancing back at him. “dude, i—”

“not here,” choso cuts in sharply.

he’s already moving to his room, fast and clearly agitated. he grabs his guitar, shoving it into its case, he yanks his backpack off the chair. there’s no second thought or pause. he doesn’t even bother with a change of clothes, or the bathroom. he just wants out of the house.

ino watches for half a second before following, the two of them slipping out as quickly as they can.

meanwhile, sukuna’s body feels like it’s shutting down. his thighs ache from the week, his back tight from the studying stress and impromptu practice, his shoulders are heavy like they’re carrying something he still can’t fucking shake. and his head won’t stop pounding. all his thoughts stack onto one another, overlapping and refusing to quiet down. he doesn’t have the energy anymore.

so when he pushes open the door to what used to be his room—now yuuji’s—he barely registers anything. megumi’s curled up on the air mattress in the middle of the room, and yuuji’s splayed half over the covers of the full sized bed. sukuna simply crosses the small room, and drops onto the empty side of the bed. the mattress dips under his weight, drawing a small shuffle from yuuji, but sukuna’s already gone. his eyes shut, and his body gives out the second he hits the sheets.

———

your lips part into a small smile, eyes soft but distant, your mind is already drifting somewhere else as your stomach churns with something uneasy. utahime invited a few of her friends out with you and shoko, and the place is packed. the bar is crowded, loud, warm, and full of people clinging to the last bit of freedom before summer actually begins.

everyone’s talking about something. internships, trips, plans, and you find yourself wondering how many people in here would rather stay exactly where they are than go home. there’s definitely a few. it’s not just you. but utahime isn’t one of them.

she’s mid-conversation with the girls she brought, laughing lightly as she talks about still deciding whether to take that internship or not. you catch pieces of it, enough to make your chest tighten, and you hate yourself for it. you’re happy for her. of course you are. but god—you’d take anything over going back home in a few weeks to work at the hospital.

“are you sure?” shoko interrupts, her drink already half gone, eyes flicking over you like she knows you’ve been somewhere else this entire time.

you snort, nodding. “obviously. my sister isn’t gonna be in her room anyway.”

shoko sighs in relief, shoulders dropping. “thank yooou, i would’ve taken your floor too.”

you laugh, shaking your head, but it fades quickly. your mind drifts again. your chest tightens.

you really are a fucking failure.

the thought hits hard this time, sitting heavier in your stomach. three years in school and you couldn’t land a single internship. not one. all you wanted was to try something—anything—that isn’t doing clinics at a fucking hospital. you just wanted to see what another life would be like. one that wouldn’t make you anxious, or have you feeling empty.

but no. life has other plans.

and those plans are dragging you back home for another suffocating summer, stuck in a hospital you hate, with your father watching you too closely, asking too many questions about a future you don’t even understand yourself. and god forbid you say you’re unsure. even worse is the look they give you when you admit you’re still figuring things out. and you can’t even stand up for yourself, which everyone loved to shove in your face.

seriously! three years in and you’re still lost? it’s pathetic. you press your lips together, jaw tightening as the thoughts spiral. they’re constant, familiar. and then—

the door swings open. a burst of noise cuts through the bar as a group of rowdy frat boys and athletes pile in. they’re laughing loud, and their energy is immediate. many heads turn instinctively, the shift in atmosphere familiar to the group.

shoko is the first to notice.

“oh they made it.” she’s already grinning as she spots her two close friends in the bunch. “yo!” she calls. your brows pinch slightly as you glance over. gojo and geto spotting their brunette friend, dragging along a surprisingly willing nanami, behind them. a few others flood in as well, loud and chaotic as ever.

you subtly sit up in anticipation. your eyes quietly scanning the group without meaning to.….

where is he?

you swallow, something tight forming in your throat as you shift in your seat, crossing your legs slowly, like it’ll ground you. he left your apartment yesterday afternoon. you don’t know when exactly, all you remember is the quiet disappointment you felt when you sat up on your bed, half expecting him to come out of the bathroom and give you another rough round of sex, to mush your brain up.

that’s the whole point of this. he’s left like this many times before. but this time you just…you wanted a little more before the break…

your gaze flicks back to the door, then to the group again.

he’s not here. does that mean he went back home already? that fast? your jaw tightens, fingers curling slightly around your glass as something uneasy settles deeper in your chest. you sure as hel didn’t come here for him, but now that your brain won’t quiet down, you wanted him to silence it for you.

“are these your first drinks?” gojo barks as he drops onto the stool across from you and shoko, already leaning too far forward like he’s been here for hours instead of minutes.

geto slides into the empty seat beside you, casual as ever, lifting your glass and bringing it to his nose. his brows knit almost immediately. “what—is this a virgin?”

shoko snorts, shoulders shaking beside you. you wave him off lazily, lips curling. “i was just warming myself up.”

“you warm yourself up with a drink before shots, not with a virgin!” gojo fires back, loud enough that a couple people nearby glance over in annoyance.

shoko leans across the table, sliding her drink toward him. “your warm-up is all you usually need, satoru.”

the frat president scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m actually much better at holding my liquor now.”

the lie sits there. then.

gojo, two drinks in and one shot later: wasted. you, one drink in and three shots later: wasted.

the bar is chaos. the music is too loud, lights too warm, voices overlapping until everything blends into one loud, buzzing blur. at some point, utahime’s friends join the table, then more people, then somehow you all migrate toward the dart boards in the back.

you’re laughing too loud. leaning too much. mostly on shoko. sometimes on gojo—who is absolutely no help, because he’s swaying just as bad, arm slung over your shoulders, yelling nonsense in your ear.

nanami stands off to the side, drink in hand, watching the two of you with thinly veiled disapproval, though there’s a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. geto’s not far behind him, a little too relaxed now, watching everything unfold like it’s entertainment as a few guys from the team chat with him.

and then there’s hiromi higurama. nanami’s friend, that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance. he’s a first year law student, who’s overstressed, sharp as shit, and he’s put-together in a way that doesn’t match the rest of you. but he’s here, along with a couple other law and grad students, leaning against the table like he got dragged here and decided to stay anyway. he’s older by only a couple years, but it shows in the way he carries himself and in the way he watches.

utahime lines up her shot. “comeback comeback,” she chants confidently. you and shoko are laughing, booing her as she squints, closing one eye, then the dart flies.

it hits the board, and of course, she immediately loses her balance— “shit!—” she stumbles back, catching herself and slamming right into you.

your footing slips just enough, a surprised laugh bursting out of you as you tip backwards. why’re you always falling?!

but then hand catches you. it’s steady and firm. higurama’s arm wraps around you just enough to keep you upright, pulling you back against the edge of the table before you can actually fall.

“careful,” he mutters, low, close to your ear.

you’re already laughing.

“i’m good—i’m good,” you insist, even though you’re still half-leaning into him for a second longer than necessary, your balance completely shot. and he doesn’t move right away. his arm loosens around your waist, but hovers close as you sway. his eyes soften, quietly watching you as you slap utahime lightly on the shoulder.

geto notices. his brows furrow slightly, just for a second, catching the way higurama’s gaze lingers. it’s subtle, but there.

meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious. already turning back, leaning into shoko again as gojo starts arguing about the rules of darts like he invented the fucking game.

“nahh you literally had us playing a different version last time,” you hiccup, words slurring together as you try to explain gojo’s made up rules he came up with a few weeks ago. no one fully understanding the direction of the conversation anymore as gojo scoffs, swaying as he shakes his head.

“no no no, last,” he hiccups, “last time, we were playing as individuals, now we’re—hic—we’re going—doing teams!”

“what’re you guys talking about?” higurama voice lowers, leaning down slightly, lips ghosting your ear so you can hear him over the music, eyes still on you.

“just something that happened at one of their frat parties,” you explain, gesturing vaguely toward gojo and geto, who are now mid-argument with utahime over who actually won the last round. your laugh bubbles up again, light, careless.

the rest of the night blurs. unaware of how your friends became just as distracted, and careless, that when you felt the same voice ghost your ear again, your mind couldn’t help the blurred image it was conjuring up.

“you want me to grab you some water?” the smooth voice of higurama had you swaying closer to hear him. he leans in, basically yelling over the music to repeat what he’d asked.

your hazy eyes hum, smiling widely when he passes you and the rest of the table some water bottles.

as the bar came to a close, your small group migrated to the pier. gojo and geto easily buying a couple six packs from the liquor store and meeting the rest of you guys on the picnic bench. gojo and nanami were in a heated argument about summer plans, whilst shoko sat on the table smoking her cigarette and passing up another drink.

“do you even here yourself,” nanami scoffs with uncanny annoyance. his face is dusted pink from the alcohol. his navy sweater is off and tossed over his shoulder, white tee straining over a surprising build of pure muscle. his large hand is still holding his half empty can of beer as he sneers at his high school friend.

“yeah i sound like a fucking genius—“

“I just told you I’m not—hic— I’m not gonna be free,” nanami is wasted, you guess he was just as a stressed during finals week. his jaw clenches as gojo laughs louder.

“you said you finish your work thing end of July, so the trip is planned for the next day!”

shoko and geto are in hysterics as gojo rage baits their poor friend. you’re still chatting with utahime, yuno, and higurama—wait—

“shouldn’t you be like, busy?” your voice cuts as you point to the stranger, higurama, with a raised brow.

the law student glances over. it isn’t a struggle when he’s been straddling the bench to lean an arm on the table and face you for the entirety of the time. a casual smile graces his lips, glancing at your expectant eyes, before shrugging.

“why would i be busy?”

“because you’re older, and in law school, so you should be busy, not—not hanging out with lo-hic-losers,” you slur. no filter much?

utahime gasps, her pale cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “I’m not a loser!”

yuno nods, absentmindedly, hand subtly brushing utahime’s wrist.

who isn’t drunk here?

“you know what I mean,” you mutter, speaking over the rim of your can. drinking sucks.

higurama raises a brow, fingers drumming over the surface of the table. his tie hangs around his shoulders and his dress shirt sleeves are rolled up. he quietly studies you. “I finished finals too. are law students not allowed to relax?”

you quietly absorb his words, glancing at his eyes then away. you shrug.

the man smiles, swinging his leg over, moving to stand up.

your eyes widen. wait, is he leaving??

“I’ll see ya kento,” he swings back the rest of his drink and leaves it with the rest of the empty cans on the table. he spares you a final glance, then walks away.

“what the—“ you gape, eyes snapping to utahime and yuno, drunk as shit and jaws agape. “that wasn’t because of me?”

“you basically asked him why the fuck he’s hanging out with us,” yuno calls out, utahime nods.

your face flushes hot, stomach churning with guilt, “that wasn’t—I didn’t say it like that.”

“sounded like it, babe,” utahime quietly agrees.

your brows furrow, glancing back at the man walking away. “now I feel bad,” you cringe at yourself, heart beating against your chest as you move before thinking, which usually happens when you get drunk.

“what’re you doing??” utahime gasps as you start sprinting towards higurama.

“to apologize!”

however, running and drinking wasn’t a very good combo, not only were you swaying, but your stomach was turning in a very familiar way.

“higu—“

your eyes widen. fuck.

you quickly detour to the bushes, stomach emptying onto the poor greenery. why are things turning out this way?

“why’d you do that?” the soft, firm hand on your back, briefly startles you, but you turn, puking some more. eyes tearing up.

“can you call ryo?” you mutter, mind still lost and not grasping the present.

“ryo?” higurama gently guides you to the empty bench closer to the water, and away from the bushes you barfed on. “sit down.”

you listen, body unable to unwind, as you rest your back against the seat, eyes distant as the waves crash. you swallow thickly, still catching your breath. the nausea lingers, sour and stubborn, sitting heavy in your chest.

“never mind,” you mumble after a second, voice hoarse. “ryo’s not here.” the words come out softer than you expect, and then they land. your brows pinch faintly. you’re only now realizing what you just said, who you just asked for. your stomach twists again—but this time it’s not from the alcohol.

higurama doesn’t comment on it. he just watches you for a moment longer before shifting beside you, settling onto the bench with a quiet exhale. his legs stretch out in front of him, dress shoes planted against the pavement, knees spread just enough to take up space. his sleeves are still rolled up to his forearms, the fabric slightly wrinkled now, the night has worn on him too. one hand rests loosely against his thigh, the other drapes along the back of the bench—close enough to you without actually touching.

for a while, neither of you say anything. just the sound of the water, waves crashing softly against the pier, steady. the noise fills the silence without demanding anything from it. you stare out at it, eyes unfocused, your mind drifting somewhere you don’t want to follow.

then, quietly…

“why did you….why did you decide on law?” it comes out almost absent. it feels like you’re asking just to fill the space. that’s what you tell yourself. but you quietly wait for his answer.

higurama glances at you, just briefly, before his gaze returns to the water. he takes his time answering. “i want to help people,” he says at first, simple, but his voice doesn’t stop there. “not in the… uh idealistic way people say it,” he adds, quieter now. “not like—saving the world or anything like that. the world’s fucking shit and people are cruel...”

you glance at him quietly.

his jaw shifts slightly, choosing his words carefully. “i just… didn’t like how often people get stuck with decisions that aren’t really theirs. bad situations. bad systems. and no one actually explains anything to them.” he exhales softly through his nose, fingers tapping once against his leg. “so i figured if i study it, maybe i could make it a little less unfair for someone.”

there’s no arrogance in it. no need for validation. just matter-of-fact.

you look away from him, eyes fixed on the water, watching the way it moves. the constant, endlessness of it… it knows where it’s going even when you don’t. your chest tightens faintly, something uncomfortable settling deep in your ribs, because he sounds so sure. even in the way he talks about it, even with his pauses, he still chose something and committed to it. like he knows why he’s here…unlike you,

your fingers curl slightly in your lap. “that’s…” you start, but the word trails off, dissolving before it can become anything real. you don’t finish it. instead, you just nod a little to yourself, swallowing whatever else was going to come out, letting the silence settle back in.

this time, it feels heavier.

he’s quiet for a moment after you trail off, the sound of the water filling in the space again. then, without looking at you, he asks, “why are you doing medicine?”

the question hits harder than it should. it’s simple. but it lands somewhere deep. your breath stutters, just slightly, and before you can stop it—before you can control it—you feel it. that awful, tight pressure climbing up your chest, wrapping around your throat like a wire pulling too tight.

fuck. this is why you hate drinking.

your eyes sting, vision blurring as you blink once, then again, trying to push it back down, but it doesn’t work. it never really does when you’re like this, when everything is already sitting too close to the surface. this is the reason you drank. you just wanted one night. one stupid, fun night with your friends before you all go for the summer. not this.

a tear slips down your cheek. then another. its’s quiet, you mood unannounced. higurama notices immediately, because you don’t even try to hide it.

“i don’t know,” you admit, voice small and uneven. your gaze stays forward, locked on the water like if you look anywhere else you might actually break. “i don’t know if i wanna do it… but like—” your throat tightens, words catching. “i don’t know what to do.”

it comes out in pieces. fragile. honest even though you didn’t mean to be and in a way you rarely ever just say without feeling like you’re being judged. but you’re too drunk to feel insecure or embarrassed.

higurama doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush to fill the silence. his gaze drifts back to the waves, giving you space while he stays right there beside you.

his arm, that was resting on the back of the bench, gently brushes your arm. steady, grounding, and nothing more. it’s not possessive. not suggestive. just… there. and you don’t even realize that he’s not looking at you like that, anymore. not right now. whatever flicker of interest was there earlier is gone and now replaced with something calmer and more aware.

you swallow, voice quieter now. “did you always know what you wanted?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “or did you just… force yourself to like it?”

higurama exhales softly, leaning back against the bench, arm still resting around you. his head tilts slightly as he looks out at the water again, thinking.

“I highly doubt anyone knows what they’re doing,” he says after a beat. “people just get better at pretending they do.” there’s a faint edge of something dry in his tone. “people talk about ‘paths’ like they’re set. like you pick one thing and it just… works out.” he shakes his head slightly. “it doesn’t. it’s more like… a series of decisions you keep making, even when you’re not sure they’re right.”

his fingers tap lightly against your arm, absent and thoughtful. “law’s the same way. I mean you build a case with what you have, not what you wish you had. you take the risk, present the argument, and hope it holds.” he pauses. “sometimes it doesn’t.”

you nod slowly, even if your chest still feels tight, trying to absorb his words, trying to make it mean something for you. “so what if it doesn’t?” you murmur, voice still unsteady. “what if i’m already behind?”

he glances at you this time, properly. “behind who?” he asks simply.

you hesitate.

“…everyone,” you admit, quieter. “i’ve been doing the same thing every summer at a hospital. same place. same freaking thing. and everyone else is… doing something.”

“do you have something else you wanna try?” he asks.

you shrug, small, helpless. “i don’t know…” your voice dips, wavering, but you push through it anyway. “i want to do something else… but i don’t have something, like, to show for it. like an internship for it, or—” you swallow hard, the words catching before they can fully form, cutting yourself off before it turns into something else. you shrug instead, tighter this time, like you’re trying to make it seem smaller than it feels.

higurama watches you for a second, piecing together what you’re actually saying underneath it.

“you still have the hospital, though,” he says evenly. it’s not dismissive, he’s just stating it.

you make a face immediately, gaze dropping. “yeah…”

“are you there the whole summer?”

you shake your head. “no… just a few weeks. my dad makes me do it every summer.”

there’s a small pause.

“then what’s stopping you?” he asks.

you blink, glancing at him like the question doesn’t fully register at first. “from what?”

“from trying something else for the rest of it,” he says simply. “you’re acting like you need something official to justify trying something else. you don’t.”

his shoulders lift in a small shrug. “internships are just structured ways to prove interest. they’re not the only way to have it.”

your brows pinch slightly, listening.

“if you already know you don’t like the hospital, then fine. do your time there,” he continues, tone calm, grounded. “but after that? you’ve got like a month or a few weeks or whatever to do something else. you don’t need a title to start figuring something out, and I’m guessing you just wanted the title to show that you’re not behind.”

he glances at you again, more direct now. his voice softens just a fraction. “you don’t need to be good at it yet. you just need to start somewhere. but if your parents are anything like mine, then I’m guessing they just want you to do something in the summer.”

you nod, quietly.

“don’t stress too much. people change their minds every day, and at least you’re interested in something else,” he speaks like it’s that easy, and maybe in your drunk mind, your walls have come down low enough to really listen. and it could also be because you’ve heard of higurama and how hard working he is from nanami. so maybe his words mean a little more than your dad, or your sisters. “what exactly do you wanna do?”

you wet your lips, and higurama quietly notes how you’ve stopped crying. “I wanna work in film, like screenwriting, or producing.”

his eyes widen. “for real?”

you nod, swallowing the anxious feelings threatening to bubble up after admitting it to a complete stranger. “I’m minoring in film right now, but i really like it.”

higurama hums, sitting up straighter. “you’re working at your dad’s hospital in the summer?”

“it’s not my dad’s hospital, he’s an attending there, but like it’s not like he owns it—but yeah,” you correct, a slight tone shift in your voice, which higurama dismisses.

he reaches for his phone, arm moving from around your shoulder. “pretty sure my uncle has some crazy contacts. he…was anentertainment lawyer for this production company a couple years ago. if you want I can see if he can give me a contact and try and introduce you for some informational meeting or something.”

your eyes burst with light.

“wait for real???”

higurama nods, “everything is about fucking connections in that industry.” you nod along as he finds his uncle’s contact, texting him, then handing you his phone. “add your number and email so I can send them to him too when he gets the contact.” you nod again, sitting straight as you quickly type your info. “have you had any meetings with industry people?”

you shake your head, “just like, meetings with my professors,” you hand him back his phone.

“no stress,” higurama reassures, saving your contact and turning his phone off. “most first meetings like these always go the same. it’s about networking and you have a connection, so hopefully when my uncle introduces you to whoever, you have to make sure you get out of that meeting with another contact, and it’s just like a string until something sticks.”

you’re nodding along.

“wait,” your eyes widen. he quirks a brow. “I’m like really drunk, I don’t wanna forget this,” you freak.

higurama snorts, pulling up your contact again, “I’ll text you what I just said,” he slouches on the bench, amused when you lean close watching him type everything.

“you got it man?!” gojo slurs, him and geto crowded around his phone as they watch their soccer captain scowl at them through facetime.

“I can’t understand a fucking word you idiots are saying,” he snaps from the other side.

gojo groans, nanami’s head popping in as he turns gojo’s wrist. “we’re planning the trip—and he’s not listening to anyone—“

“you’re the one that’s not listening, i gave you dates that work—“

“they don’t work!” nanami barks, face flaming with anger and the liquor he should put down.

sukuna licks his teeth, “call me back when you dickheads are sober—“

“waaaaittt,” gojo whines, freeing his wrist from nanami’s grip with tug, and inevitably falling off the seat. his phone clatters on the floor. another figure picks it up.

utahime.

“oh, you.” she frowns at the sight of the man. sukuna frowns in return. unlike gojo and geto and the rest of the guys that loosely know about his relationship with you. he’s assuming shoko and utahime are definitely less forgiving of the argument you guys had, and even if you made up, he doubts you filled them in since it was less than 48 hours ago. “just because—“ hiccup.

great, everyone is drunk.

“because you’re sleeping with my best friend, d-doesn’t mean I like you—“ utahime slurs, pointing at the screen. at sukuna. “and she’s—“

yuno who’s sitting beside her, drunk, smiles, “hey cap.”

in the minor distraction, utahime waves her crush to shh. “did you hear what I said—“

“yeah. did ya talk to her, or are you too drunk?” sukuna grumbles in disinterest, ready to hang up any second. he moves from his place on the couch, to the kitchen. yuuji, megumi, and their other friend, nobara, are still shouting in the background. video game blasting in the living room.

“no I’m not talking to her, she’s over there talking to k-ken’s friend and—hic—I’m talking to you right now, duh,” utahime scoffs.

sukuna’s movements halt.

huh?

“who?” he asks before thinking.

utahime glances over at yuno pointing off screen. “what was his name—oh higu—higu-“

“higurama?”

utahime hums, “yeah, higurama. nanami’s law friend. they’re talking over there.” she raises the phone without really thinking, flipping the screen toward the pier.

the camera wobbles for a second before it steadies, and there you are. not with them. not near the table. you’re off to the side, sitting on one of the benches closer to the water, the distance obvious even through the shitty front camera quality. the rest of the group is loud, clustered together under the dim pier lights, but you drifted off and just stayed there.

you’re leaning in slightly, shoulder angled toward higurama, your body turned to face him more than anything else. close enough to look familiar. close enough to look comfortable.

he’s saying something—something sukuna can’t hear—and for a second, he lifts his phone between you, showing you something on the screen. but from this angle, it just looks like you’re sitting back, smiling at him, soft and distracted, your voice faint in the background as it carries over the speaker. whatever you’re saying, it’s looser and easy. too easy.

something in sukuna’s stomach twists, sharp and unpleasant. he pushes it down immediately.

“why’re they talking away from the rest of you?” he asks, voice flat, edged with something colder than it needs to be. he pulls out a drink from the fridge.

utahime squints at the screen, words a little slurred. “she was kinda mean—not really—but like, she’s drinking—which is—we should stop—but she went to apologize and now they’re talking.” she shrugs, already half over it.

gojo suddenly leans into frame, grinning like he just found something unbelievably entertaining. “oh yeah—you see ’em?” he laughs, keeping the phone angled right on you and higurama.

sukuna clicks his tongue, irritation slipping through. “why’re you fucking laughing?”

“because you’re pissed,” gojo shoots back instantly, grin widening.

sukuna scowls, jaw tightening. “i’m not fucking pissed, you fucking idiot.”

but his eyes don’t leave the screen. don’t leave you. and they don’t miss the way you tilt your pretty head when you listen. the way you shift a little closer without thinking. the way your attention is fully on someone else. his grip tightens slightly around his phone, looking away.

are you gonna text him before or after you fuck this guy, he thinks. his tongue drags slow against his teeth, jaw tightening as he leans back slightly, eyes glancing up at his brother and his friends.

“oh—they’re coming back!” gojo calls suddenly, voice bright with amusement.

and sure enough, you’re walking back toward the group with higurama right beside you, like nothing ever happened. like you didn’t just disappear with him for however long. you’re still talking, hands moving as you explain something, a little too animated, a little too loose from the alcohol. your head tips toward him when he responds, eyes flicking up to his face again—and again—and again.

higurama says something that makes you laugh, and it’s soft, quieter than the way you usually laugh with them. your shoulder brushes his arm for a second as you walk, not even noticing it

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. but something inside his stomach hardens. his gaze tracks you the entire way back, slow, deliberate. the way you close the distance. the way you don’t rush it. the way you look…comfortable. his grip shifts on the phone, thumb pressing harder than necessary against the edge. he’s leaning against the counter, jaw tight when your hand fixes the strap of your top, laughing when shoko makes a comment he barely hears.

“see?” gojo hums, smug, leaning closer to the camera. “you got competition now.”

sukuna exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “shut the fuck up.”

gojo cackles loudly, and you glance over. “who’re you guys talking too?” you slide beside nanami, leaning over just for gojo to turn the screen towards you.

your stomach flips so fast it almost hurts. your whole body heats in an instant. ryo. it slips out before you even think about it. and you don’t realize how soft it sounds until you say it again, a little lighter this time, a small smile pulling at your lips like it’s second nature. your tone is gentler than usual, looser—too loose—and it’s obvious. you’re drunk. so drunk. because why are you saying his name like that?

why does it feel so easy?

on the other end, sukuna stills for half a second. it doesn’t stop the way something warm settles low in his stomach. behind you, higurama’s attention shifts at the name. his gaze drifts over your shoulder, landing on the screen. the familiar face tattoos clicks almost immediately.

…oh. so that’s who you were calling. sukuna…but…ryo? his brows knit faintly, something quiet and curious settling in his chest. are you guys dating?

he doesn’t ask it out loud. just watches. you don’t notice any of it, too busy leaning closer into frame, lips parting as you talk. “you’re missing out,” you say, voice bright despite the slight slur. “we were playing darts earlier and you should’ve been here because freaking gojo was being an ass about the rules again—” you laugh, the memory still obnoxiously funny.

and sukuna hates himself a little. hates the way his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. the way he nods once, slow. the way his neck cracks as he tilts his head back, trying to ease the tension sitting there.

from the living room behind him, one of his brother yells about something, loud and distant, but it barely registers because you’re still on his screen. you’re not dating. you guys have both been very clear about the terms and conditions. so why not indulge? you’re free. he’s free. there are conditions for a reason—

“i’ll send you the video when i get home,” you add lightly, like it’s nothing. “my phone died.”

and just like that, everything in his head goes quiet. because now he’s going to be waiting for it. waiting for you to text him. and fuck if he’ll ever admit that shit.

“…yeah,” he hums, softer than before, almost absent, like it just slipped out. his eyes don’t leave the screen or more specifically, you.

your face fills it completely now. your lips, the ones he knows too well, the taste of them when you roll your tongue over his. your cheeks, the ones that get damp the second he fucks you a little harder. your eyes— those same eyes. the ones that look up at him like you want something. like you expect something. like he’s the only one that can give it to you.

his grip tightens just slightly around the phone. and for a second he forgets anyone else is even there. and even if gojo took the phone away and sukuna basically hung up afterwards. he ignored whatever tug he felt in his chest. and he seriously couldn’t care to answer gojo’s calls again.

“are you gonna play with us now?” yuuji calls as sukuna makes his way back.

“yeah,” sukuna simply confirms, dropping back onto the couch.

he doesn’t catch the way yuuji’s entire face lights up, and how quick the kid straightens, already reaching for the controller—because the front door suddenly slams open so hard it rattles the walls.

“what the fuc—” sukuna snaps, already halfway up again.

two high schoolers freeze in the doorway. choso is slumped between them. one of them, ino, goes rigid the second his eyes land on sukuna. the other, mechamaru, panics instantly, hands fumbling where they’re hooked under choso’s arms.

“what the hell is his brother doing here?!” mechamaru screeches, trying to pivot like he can somehow leave with choso still half-dragged between them.

“shit—I forgot he came this morning!” ino swears.

“you forgot—?” mechamaru freaks.

they’re somehow out the door again, then they both stall on the front steps. because the air shifts, drops, and something heavier settles in the space between them. sukuna is standing at the door, blocking the light from reaching them, creating a shadow over the high schoolers.

“what the fuck happened to him?” sukuna barks. his tone is sharp, cutting right through them. they turn back slowly.

sukuna is down the two steps in seconds. his hand comes up, gripping choso’s jaw, forcing his head up. choso barely resists, head lolling slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused. his cheeks are flushed, lips parted, breath uneven—

and it hits him. the smell. sukuna’s expression twists instantly, something dark snapping into place behind his eyes.

“is he drunk?” he asks. but it’s not really a question. his grip tightens. “answer me.”

mechamaru confesses instantly. “we got asked to play at a party, and we went because it’ll also be great practice, before the competition, but after—“ he glances at ino, now hesitant. “we were dragged to do drinks.”

“by who?” sukuna is already grabbing his brother, easily tossing his arm over his shoulder and lifting the teen up. choso mutters something incoherent.

“these guys from the baseball team.”

sukuna’s face twists, “baseball?” the disgust in his tone was evident.

ino fixes his beanie, nodding. “yeah, guess it was their party, but um I’m pretty sure they’re friends with these guys that’are also gonna play at the concert, and it looks like they were picking at us.”

“doesn’t explain why cho’s the only one that can’t fucking walk,” sukuna barks. the two teens confusing him even more.

the two nod frantically. “yeah, choso got pissed when he realized we just played our new songs to a bunch of ops, so he wanted to prove them wrong.”

sukuna deadpans. “and you two let ‘him?”

ino quickly replies, fidgeting with his hair that peaks from his beanie. “no, we told him not too. but by the time he agreed, those baseball dicks told us to shut the fuck up, and they wouldn’t let us get to him until choso ended up like this.”

sukuna licks his teeth, jaw tight as he glances at choso.

“we got him out the second they let go of us,” mechamaru adds.

sukuna silently notes the concern written on the faces of his little brother’s friends.

“do you know how much he drank?”

the two glance at one another, shifting their weight, before shaking their heads in defeat.

sukuna straightens up. choso’s head lulls to his shoulder.

“woah, what happened to cho?”

a small voice booms from behind them. yuuji stands at the door, eyes wide and brows pulled together. megumi and nobara glance from their seats on the floor.

“he’s not feeling well,” sukuna responds. he dismisses the two high schoolers, and turns back to the house.

choso groans as he’s hoisted up the two steps. the front door slams behind them.

“is he drunk?” yuuji blurts, already stepping in the way, trying to peer up at choso’s face.

“yuuuuji,” choso slurs, head lolling toward him, cheeks flushed an ugly shade of pink.

“yuuji, grab some water for him,” sukuna cuts in, already moving, arm hooked tight around choso as he drags him further into the house. he doesn’t make it past the hallway when—

“wait—” choso chokes, eyes widening, hand coming up weakly, “i’m gonna puke—”

“shit—”

sukuna doesn’t hesitate. he yanks him sideways, practically hauling him into the bathroom and shoving him down in front of the toilet just in time. choso barely gets his hands on the seat before he’s throwing up. loud. violent. his whole body jerks with it, his shoulders heaving as he gags, groaning in between, completely gone.

sukuna stands over him for a second, jaw tight, watching him?, then he crouches down, hand bracing his shoulder so he doesn’t tip forward.

“fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters under his breath, but it lacks bite.

choso retches again, weaker this time, whimpering slightly when it finally slows.

and sukuna frowns…all he can see is himself. his chest tightens. a small, ugly part of him twists with something that feels too close to guilt. why the fuck is he like this? why is choso trying to prove anything at all at some shitty high school party?

her.

the image hits him out of nowhere. sharp. intrusive. his step-mother’s face, her voice, the way she worms her way into everything. the way she still haunts him, and now choso… his jaw clenches so hard it aches. he wants to rip the thought out of his own head.

“i don’t…” choso mumbles weakly, voice slurring into itself. his head drops against his arm, propped on the toilet seat. “i don’t wan’ you-you being mad…”

sukuna stills.

choso’s brows knit together, drunk mind scrambling, trying to hold onto something that’s floating. “i don’t… mom is… she’s my mom… i just—” his voice cracks.

choso’s a sad drunk.

his eyes gloss over, unfocused, bottom lip trembling slightly as he breathes unevenly. “i wanna talk to my mom…”

something in sukuna snaps tight in his chest. his jaw sets hard. he doesn’t say anything. he can’t when choso’s vulnerable like this. but his grip tightens just slightly on choso’s shoulder.

no.

that woman is not getting anywhere near him. near any of them. doesn’t matter how much choso cries. doesn’t matter how much he fucking asks or begs. the answer will always be no. she’s a fucking cancer.

“here’s some water,” yuuji pipes up, appearing in the doorway with a glass, then immediately recoils. “ewww.”

sukuna exhales through his nose, grabbing the glass without looking at him. “yeah, we’re not telling gramps.”

yuuji straightens a little, arms crossing like he’s being let in on something serious. “our secret?”

“our secret,” sukuna repeats absently, already nudging choso’s shoulder. “c’mon. sit up.”

he tilts the glass toward him. “drink.”

“m’not…” choso mumbles, but he obeys anyway, taking a few messy gulps before coughing, water dribbling down his chin.

“yuuji, go grab me the ibuprofen,” sukuna adds without looking up.

“got it,” yuuji nods, already darting off.

choso slumps back against the tub once he’s done, head tipping back, eyes barely open. sukuna reaches over, flushing the toilet and shutting the lid. choso keeps mumbling…

“i’m not… hic—m’not an idiot…”

yuuji reappears in the doorway, curious now, watching like it’s a show. sukuna glances up at him briefly, grabbing the bottle, before looking back at choso.

“i know how she waas…” choso continues, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “why you left me and yuuji—”

sukuna’s jaw locks, hard. his expression doesn’t change, not when his brothers are right there. but the tension in his shoulders spikes, something heavy settling behind his eyes and over his chest, as he stares at choso.

and for a second he doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

choso’s eyes well up, slumping even more as his knee comes up. his face presses into his arm, hair falling over his face in a tangled mess. “but she…”

yuuji steps closer, small brows knitting together as he leans toward sukuna. “who’s she?” he whispers.

sukuna exhales through his nose. “no clue.” he straightens, already reaching down to haul choso back up. “let’s get him to bed.”

it’s messy. choso barely helps, weight sagging into sukuna as he drapes an arm over his shoulders. sukuna adjusts his grip, one hand firm at his side, the other keeping him upright as they shuffle down the hallway. sukuna basically lifting him the entire way.

“move,” sukuna mutters.

yuuji is already ahead of them, darting into choso’s room. he kicks a pile of clothes out of the way, yanking the blanket back.

sukuna lowers choso onto the bed with a quiet grunt, guiding him down instead of dropping him. choso immediately curls in on himself, still mumbling, words slurring into nothing.

“turn,” sukuna orders, nudging his shoulder until choso rolls onto his side. he adjusts him without much patience, but careful enough, one arm tucked, head angled. sukuna adjusts one of the throw pillows behind choso’s back. he groans, but settles. sukuna pulls the blanket over him, tugging it up to his shoulder.

for a second, he just stands there. watching.

yuuji edges closer, peering up at sukuna’s face, then back at choso. “it’s not good that he was drinking, right?”

sukuna stifles a yawn, dragging a hand down his face, but his mind is still stuck, looping on choso’s words.

“no,” he mutters. “it’s not good.”

yuuji shifts, frowning. “then why aren’t you mad?”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. his eyes stay on choso, something tight pulling low in his chest before he finally says, quieter, “i’m upset.”

yuuji’s expression softens almost instantly. he leans into sukuna’s side without thinking, small and warm. sukuna’s hand comes up automatically, rough palm settling on his head before ruffling his hair.

“i’m gonna stay in ’ere with him,” sukuna says, nudging him gently toward the door. “so go play.”

yuuji stumbles a step from the push, but stops at the doorway, hesitating. his lips press together, jaw tightening just a little. “aren’t you gonna play? you said you would.”

sukuna drops into the old lounge chair in the corner with a low grunt, legs spreading out, shoulders heavy as he sinks back into it. he barely spares him a glance. “i gotta watch choso.”

“but he’s sleeping,” yuuji argues quietly.

sukuna’s gaze flicks back to choso. “he’s drunk as shit. you want him choking on his vomit?”

yuuji’s face scrunches. “no.” his voice is small.

“we’ll play tomorrow,” sukuna says, already closing his eyes, tone coming off more dismissive than he intended or even thought about.

yuuji lingers for a second longer, then disappears down the hall. the room goes quiet. just choso’s uneven breathing. the faint hum of the house. sukuna sinks deeper into the chair, head tipping back, eyes shut. his body aches in that dull, heavy, almost like he’s expecting something that’s inevitably coming…

his step-mother. his eyes shut, fuck everything is tangling together he must have drifted at some point, barely asleep, barely conscious, because the sudden buzz of his phone cuts through it like a blade. punishing him for the delusion that he had a little bit more time.

he fishes his phone out of his pocket, blinking at the screen.

toji.

———

you quickly grab the handle of your apartment building before you trip again. a light laugh escapes as a hand holds your waist steady.

“you sure you’re okay?” shoko asks, other hand coming up to her face. her head is spinning.

you mutter out something, fishing for your keys. shoko sways, waiting patiently, along with the halted uber with the rest of the gang inside, well except for higurama who left once you all got in the uber, and utahime and yuno…

“okayokay I’m inside, byebye!”

you’re stumbling into your apartment, drunk as hell, the door barely shutting behind you before you’re already kicking your shoes off across the floor. your balance wobbles, fingers clumsy as they fumble with the zipper of your jeans, a quiet huff leaving you when it snags for a second before finally giving.

you peel them off with far less grace than you’d like, stepping out of them and leaving them abandoned somewhere behind you. your top follows, dragging it over your head, then your bra—gone just as quickly, tossed without care. the apartment is warm, it’s thick with that early summer heat, and your skin practically sighs in relief as you’re left in nothing but your panties.

you don’t even bother covering yourself. your body is loose, uncoordinated. your chest rises and falls a little deeper than usual, and with every step, there’s that soft, natural movement. your bare skin warm, your body relaxed in a way it only gets when you’re like this. the moment you reach your bed, you collapse onto it.

your phone slips from your hand, bouncing once against the sheets as you roll onto your side, face pressing into the pillow. your lashes flutter lazily as the screen lights up beside you. notifications stacking from family group chats, names you don’t have the energy to read right now.

but one name floats to the front of your mind. one. and before you can even think it through, your fingers are already moving.

the phone rings. once. twice. then—

“hello?”

his voice is rough. low, edged with sleep, and something else you can’t quite place in your state.

you shift slightly, your phone resting near your cheek, heat spreading there as you breathe out, “ryo…”

there’s a pause. then a quiet hum on his end, fabric shifting as he moves. “you just got home?”

you answer with a soft, tired hum, eyes slipping half-shut. your lips part slightly as you exhale, tongue darting out to wet them without thinking. your head feels lighter now, the alcohol settling into something softer, slower, but it leaves your voice like honey, sweet, drawn out.

on the other end, sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“are you upset?” you ask, absent, like the thought just wandered into your head and out your mouth.

“why would i be upset?”

you make a small sound, barely there. “dunno… you just sound… like it,” you murmur, sighing into your pillow.

there’s a brief silence.

“you should get some sleep,” sukuna says, more abrupt now. a little colder, but it barely registers through the haze.

“I wan’ed to uh…” you yawn, words slurring together. “m’ gonna go home.”

his tone shifts instantly. “where the fuck are you now?”

you hum, too slow, too tired to match his urgency. “mmm… i mean… to my parents… next week,” you mumble. “i’m gonna do the hospital thing.”

he hesitates. you can’t see it, but he does, because last time, you shut that conversation down fast. hell, he doesn’t even know why you’re telling him this, so now he just… waits.

on your end, your breathing softens. a quiet, shaky exhale leaves you as your fingers curl slightly into the sheets. “i…” you swallow, eyes stinging faintly. “that’s okay, right?”

his breath catches, just barely. what is it with drunk people tonight…

“…yeah,” he says finally, quieter. not fully understanding the entire context, but answering anyway.

you don’t question the way you relax just a little.

“o…kay,” you murmur, softer now. then… “i wish… you were here.”

there’s a beat. and then, his lip quirks faintly, voice dipping. “so you can fuck yourself on me?”

you let out a light, airy laugh, barely there, bringing the phone closer, like his voice could comfort you the way his body does. “yeah…”

a pause. then softer, unguarded… “you always make me feel good, ryo.”

and he stills. completely.

shit.. he exhales, slow. his hand drags up his face as his head tips back against the chair. the room is quiet only broken by the faint shift of choso on the bed and the distant hum of the house settling at night. the silence only makes the way his chest is beating just a little louder in his ears.

“ryo,” you breathe again, even softer this time. he hums, voice even, steady. on the other end, your lashes grow too heavy to fight. your lips part slightly as your voice slips out, barely there, “g’night.”

there’s no response. not right away. because by the time he opens his mouth, you’re already gone your breathing evens out, soft and slow through the phone, quiet enough that he almost misses it at first. but then it settles into a rhythm, steady, warm, unmistakable. you fell asleep. still on the call.

sukuna doesn’t hang up. he just… listens. eyes still closed, head tipped back, phone pressed loosely to his ear as your breathing fills the silence on his end. it’s strange, how something so small manages to take up so much space in his head.

his mind drifts. back to the last time he saw you. saturday afternoon. less than 48 hours ago. the way he’d rushed out of your apartment without looking back, already halfway gone before the door even shut behind him. this is the first time you’ve called him like this and he didn’t show up. didn’t end with him pushing you into a mattress, didn’t end with his hands on you, your voice in his ear for a completely different reason.

if he was still on campus, he would’ve came. no question. but he’s not there. and somehow…that makes this feel different. a kind of different he doesn’t sit with for too long. doesn’t want to sit with. so he pushes it down, like he does everything else and focuses instead on the sound of you breathing—soft, steady—and he finds himself annoyed for a reason he doesn’t fully unpack.

he should be hearing it closer. your breathing against his ear, against his chest. your body warm, tucked into him the way it always ends up.

you said you wish he was there because he makes you feel good. his jaw tightens slightly. you make him feel good too. too fucking good. and with everything else tangled in his head, his family, choso, her, his call before this, the future—you’re the only thing that’s pretty simple. you don’t shift. it’s the routine. the sex. you. and it’s something he can actually count on.

his grip tightens faintly around his phone, thumb pressing against the edge of it as he exhales again, slower this time. summer stretches out in front of him. and in the quiet of that room, with your breathing in his ear and everything else sitting heavy in his chest, all he can think is:

summer is going to be hell.

— THREE WEEKS LATER —

the field sits just off the small town’s coast. the air tastes like salt and the wind carries the distant crash of waves. it’s late afternoon, sun still high, heat clinging to everything and sukuna is drenched.

sweat slicks down his chest, dragging along the hard lines of muscle, catching in the dips of his collarbones before trailing lower. his back is worse, broad, defined, and every movement is pulling the ink stretched across his skin. the tattoos curl over his shoulders, down his back, around his biceps. and his hair is damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, breath heavier from drills, but controlled.

people notice. a couple women slow their walk along the path by the beach, voices dropping as their eyes linger. some just outright staring.

sukuna jogs up to the benches, grabbing the water bottle toji tosses his way without breaking stride. the plastic cracks slightly under his grip before he twists it open, taking a long drink, water spilling down his throat, over his chin, dripping onto his chest.

“anything?” he asks, voice rougher now.

toji doesn’t answer right away, just hands him the folder.

sukuna takes it, flipping it open with one hand. “what’s this?”

beside him, shiu kong flicks ash from the cigarette hanging off his lip, leaning forward slightly as he talks. “background check on her partner came back clean. his money’s real, and his business checks out.”

sukuna’s eyes scan the pages. bank statements. employment records. a couple photos clipped in.

“those three years she disappeared?” shiu continues, “she spent em in china for about a year. then the rest in the UK.”

sukuna flips a page. his brows pull together slightly. “so?” he mutters.

toji exhales through his nose, scratching at his chin. “yeah, shiu, i thought you’d come back with somethin’ we can actually use.”

shiu snorts quietly. “you didn’t read all of it,” he shuts toji up. sukuna keeps reading, slower now. there’s a pause. then shiu tilts his head, cigarette shifting between his lips. “it doesn’t look like she went overseas just to hide from those lawsuits.”

sukuna’s eyes flick up briefly. “what d’ya mean?”

shiu leans back slightly, more relaxed than the tension building in front of him. “after she got out of jail, she worked at that loan company job for about a year, that’s where she got tied up with the lawsuit.”

“i know that part,” sukuna cuts in, flipping another page. “that’s all you fucking gave us a million weeks ago.”

“yeah, well,” shiu shrugs, ignoring the aggression. “one of the clients she was stealing from wasn’t just some idiot with bad credit and needed a loan.”

toji’s brows lift slightly, sitting up and waving sukuna to hand him back the folder,

“the guy had some connections,” shiu continues. “small operations, but enough to make things messy. when the lawsuit started closing in, he’s the one that got her out.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“paid for her to leave the country,” shiu adds. “china first. she worked under him there, nothing flashy. looks like she was just working as a personal accountant and was moving around money, setting up accounts under different names. it’s pretty clean to not get caught, but if someone looks closer the numbers are just off.”

toji reads through the last few pages. they were thinner. notes, partial records, but not enough to actually start any shit with her.

“and the UK?” toji asks.

shiu shrugs again. “that’s where she met her new guy. your step-mom’s got a type, men with money and enough ego to overlook the rest.”

toji huffs a quiet laugh at that. sukuna doesn’t. he’s still staring at the page in toji’s hands, arms crossed over his chest.

“she cut ties with the china contact once she secured her new situation,” shiu adds. “so she got a completely clean slate with this guy. or as clean as she could manage. she started working for him as an accountant, still works for him, but dating now.”

toji glances at him. “it’s something.”

“it’s not enough,” sukuna snaps immediately. his patience has been shot for weeks. watching choso. waiting. thinking.

“we can push this on her,” toji starts, leaning forward, “and bring up the lawsuit again, tie it with this—”

“she’ll deny it,” sukuna cuts him off.

“then we—”

“she’ll deny it,” sukuna repeats, sharper this time, eyes flicking up, irritation clear. “and she’ll try an get choso, and he’s fucking desperate to give her a chance. no. you said we’d make her leave for good, so this is all fucking shit!”

sukuna runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling hard through his nose, chest rising and falling heavier now.

“i need something more concrete,” he mutters. “something she can’t fucking, snake her way out of like a fucking cockroach.”

“i can look into that china contact,” shiu says simply. “I’ve got some people that can ask around.”

toji glances at sukuna, jaw setting before he nods. “yeah, that’s good.”

sukuna doesn’t respond. his eyes are staring up, jaw tightening. the ocean crashes in the distance. he doesn’t make a move once shiu leaves. not until toji is clearing his throat.

“i don’t know what you’re expecting.”

sukuna feels something harden inside. eyes deadly sharp as they glare at his long time friend and coach.

“you think we’re gonna uncover some body with her fingerprints on them?”

sukuna tsks, rolling his eyes, “shut the fuck up.”

“I’m jus’ asking.”

“you’re being a fucking dick!” sukuna’s voice pierces the air, chest heaving. his heart pounds against his ribs, blood flowing in his ears. “she started messaging me, and we don’t have shit.”

toji’s gaze takes in the twenty-three year old, a small, but strong, string tugs in his chest as he remembers when he was thirteen. his jaw tightens. “i talked to wasuke, we both agree you should go.”

sukuna’s eyes snap up. harsh. mean. “what?”

“accept the offer, and go train with the team. it’s not the same club that asked you when y’ were in high school, but this is what you’ve been workin’ for. I’ll deal with shit here.”

a sudden fury crashes full force into the man. “you have no clue what the fuck I want—i want this shit to go away. if ya think I’m pissed because of the offer, I’m not. I’m pissed that I don’t have shit on that woman when you fucking told me to trust your dipshit friend!” sukuna’s words bite the air.

“yeah sure,” toji sighs. sukuna’s easily setting him off the more he pushes back.

sukuna snarls, eyes dark, his head tilts, sizing up the thirty-two year old coach. “ya have more to say?”

his vein snaps.

toji’s suddenly standing right in front of him, close enough that the heat from sukuna’s skin hasn’t even cooled yet. emerald eyes dark, steady, not backing down. for a second, it looks like it could tip. like sukuna might start something.

his shoulders are tight, chest still rising hard, jaw locked so tight it aches. the vein in his neck ticks, pulse loud in his ears, everything in him might snap in seconds. but toji doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

“yeah,” he says, voice lower now. calmer, but not softer. “i do.”

sukuna’s lip curls slightly, head tilting just enough to show teeth. “then say it.”

toji exhales through his nose. “you’re losing control like a fucking kid again.”

heavy silence follows. then sukuna lets out a dry, humorless huff. “watch your mouth.”

“or what?” toji shoots back immediately. “you gonna swing at me?” that almost does it. sukuna’s fist flexes at his side, fingers twitching like they’re deciding whether or not to hit his fucking coach. “you’re pissed,” toji continues, cutting through before he can react, “and I’m not blaming you. but you’re acting like you can fix this overnight.”

“i can fix it,” sukuna snaps.

“no,” toji fires back just as fast, “you can’t.” his words hit, it’s how sure he sounds. sukuna’s eyes darken, something sharp flashing behind them. “you don’t have enough yet,” toji goes on, voice steady, and grounded making sukuna seethe. “and you forcing it isn’t gonna make it show up faster.”

“so i just sit around for another fucking month?” sukuna bites out. “wait for her to walk in and fuck everything up again!?”

“you think hovering over choso every second is gonna stop that?” toji counters. “you’re burning yourself out for nothing.”

sukuna scoffs, stepping forward this time, closing the already small space between them, eyes deadly to anyone other than the very man he’s targeting. “you don’t get to tell me how to handle my family.”

toji’s jaw tightens. “i’m not. i’m tellin’ you, you’re gonna fuck up your future if you keep this up.”

there’s that word again. future. sukuna’s expression twists instantly.

“don’t start,” he warns, low.

“you think this offer’s just gonna sit there and wait for you?” toji presses anyway. “you’ve been busting your ass for this since you screwed up and got—“

“i said don’t—”

“and by some fucking miracle you managed to get an offer again,” toji cuts him off, sharper now, voice much louder, “and you’re ready to throw it because of her!?”

that’s it. sukuna shoves him. it’s full force. enough to break the line they’ve been holding. toji stumbles back, just to block a swing from sukuna. his arm hooks with the kid, locking him up as sukuna grunts, not fighting back with the amount of strength he started with.

“don’t,” sukuna says, voice rougher now, chest heaving again in the hold. “don’t fuckin’ act like you’re responsible for me.”

toji grits, muscles flexing. “I’m not tryna act like your guardian angel,” he starts, his words coming out careful…almost hesitant thinking about the right words to describe his bond with the itadori family. “but I know what it looks like when you let your past decide everything for you.” his grip tightens around sukuna’s arm, almost hugging him, except for the way sukuna’s arm is forcefully trapped between their bodies, and the other is locked against his back. “i screwed up, not you.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens again, but this time there’s something else under it. something sharper, old wounds stinging.

“i said i’ll deal with it,” toji adds. sukuna struggles momentarily, before toji lets go, letting sukuna fall back on the grass, sun beating harshly above them. sweat slides down sukuna’s chest, fists gripping the dirt.

sukuna doesn’t answer. his gaze fixes on the ground between his legs. white lines worn into the grass. the ocean beyond it, endless and loud. this is what he’s been working for. he knows that. but….his jaw clenches again.

“you can’t be in two places at once,” toji says, standing above him. “so decide where you want to be.”

another long silence stretches between them. wind picks up slightly off the water, cooling the sweat on sukuna’s skin, but it does nothing for the heat sitting under it. finally, he scoffs under his breath and looks away. his hand comes up, running through his damp hair again.

“i’m not done with this,” he mutters, more to himself than toji.

toji shakes his head.

sukuna doesn’t look back at him. doesn’t give him anything else. but the way his shoulders sit, the way his jaw won’t unclench, it’s clear he’s not letting it go. he just doesn’t know which fire to put out first.

the silence breaks with a loud cheer in the distance. it cuts clean through the tension and heat.

“SUMMMMMERRRRRR BREAAAKKKKK!!!!!”

the voice is unmistakable. sukuna exhales through his nose, head tipping slightly to the side as his arm drops just enough for him to see across the field.

yuuji.

already halfway across, sprinting like his life depends on it. megumi’s right behind him, trying his best to keep up, eyes set in on yuuji’s back in determination. somewhere between the halfway line and the benches, both their backpacks go flying off, hitting the grass with dull thuds. yuuji doesn’t even look back, and just runs faster.

sukuna’s head drops back again, eyes closing briefly, jaw tightening as he lets the noise wash over him, and pull him out of his own head for a second. and he knows what’s coming. he doesn’t move, but braces.

“RYOOO—!”

yuuji slams into him full force, arms hooking around his shoulders as he crashes down, laughing loud and bright. sukuna grunts, body shifting slightly from the hit, but his hand comes up automatically, gripping the back of yuuji’s shirt to keep him from face-planting into his chest.

“fuck you’re heavier—” sukuna mutters, voice rough, but there’s no bite to it.

yuuji laughs, already climbing onto him, half dangling off his shoulders as sukuna finally pushes himself up to stand. “we’re free! FINALLY!!”

megumi finally reaches them, bent slightly at the waist, breathing heavier than he’d like, shooting yuuji an annoyed look. “you cheated.”

“i didn’t!” yuuji fires back immediately, still clinging to sukuna like he’s part of him now

“you started early,” megumi argues.

“did not!”

sukuna clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders once as he stands fully, yuuji still hanging off him like dead weight. “both of you are fucking annoying.”

toji snorts quietly from the side, reaching out to ruffle megumi’s hair. the kid lets him, even if he rolls his eyes a second later, already distracted again by yuuji’s loud arguing.

“you’re just mad you lost again,” yuuji adds, grinning. “you can never beat me in a race.”

“i didn’t lose.”

“you did—!”

“i said i didn’t—”

“yo yo yo!” the voice cuts in before it can escalate, loud and familiar as two more figures cross the field. gojo strolls up like he owns the place, blue shorts hanging low on his hips, white tee clinging just enough from the heat. beside him, geto moves slower, black tee, baseball cap low over his eyes, hands shoved casually into his short pockets. gojo’s grin widens the second he gets a good look at sukuna.

“damn,” he lets out, dragging the word. “you look like shit.”

geto huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking over sukuna’s drenched frame. “you’ve been out here all day?”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. he just grabs the hem of his shorts, tugging them slightly where they cling, sweat still dripping down his torso, catching along the lines of muscle, the ink on his skin darker from it, a tan already forming.

“what gave it away?” he mutters dryly.

yuuji is still draped over him, completely unbothered, arms locked around his shoulders like he’s not planning on letting go of his older brother anytime soon. “he’s been training like crazy,” he chimes in proudly, like it’s his accomplishment.

gojo leans in slightly, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “yeah, no shit. he looks like he just crawled out of a fight.”

“lost, probably,” geto adds under his breath, glancing at toji who’s uncharacteristically lost in thought behind megumi.

sukuna scoffs, finally shifting his shoulder just enough to jostle yuuji. yuuji only laughs, tightening his grip like a damn leech. “can we play a game with you guys?” he asks, already bouncing with energy.

sukuna drags a hand through his damp hair, strands sticking to his forehead and temples, sweat still tracking down the sharp lines of his throat. his chest rises slow, controlled, muscles still tight from drills, veins faintly visible along his forearms, and v-line. “get off my back,” he mutters, voice rough.

yuuji drops immediately.

“I call being on ryo’s team!!” yuuji cheers, sliding in at sukuna’s side. for a second, it cuts through everything, the tension, the heat, the lingering frustration.

sukuna huffs, faint smile ghosting his lips. he ruffles the kid’s hair, rough but familiar. “yeah, yeah.”

gojo claps his hands together, already grinning like an idiot. “well, me and meg—”

“I’m with suguru,” megumi cuts flatly, already stepping toward geto without even looking at gojo.

there’s a beat. then sukuna snorts. geto does too, low and amused, adjusting his cap as his eyes flick between them.

gojo’s face twists in pure betrayal. “what the hell?!”

the ocean breeze rolls through the field, tugging at their loose shirts and damp hair, carrying the sound of distant waves, and the very obvious attention of people lingering along the edges. a few girls pause mid-walk, eyes dragging over the group, not subtle.

sukuna stands there shirtless, skin tan and sun-warmed, slick with sweat. his tattoos stretch across his chest and wrapping down his arms, and around his thick thighs. every movement pulls something sharp and defined beneath his skin. beside him, geto’s build is just as unfair, broad shoulders, dark shirt clinging slightly before he peels it off, exposing toned muscle and smooth skin. his silver chain catches the light, muscles flexing as he reties his long hair. and then there’s gojo, tall, bright, obnoxiously pretty, who yanks his shirt off with zero shame, tossing it aside like he knows exactly how many eyes just followed the motion, and his muscles were no joke.

“i’m not sitting out,” gojo declares, already walking backward onto the field. “we’re doing three on three. coach, you’re in.”

toji just exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he expected this the second they showed up.

“be on our team!” yuuji immediately points at gojo, beaming.

gojo lights up like he just got chosen for something life-changing. “finally—someone that finally sees my value.”

that lasts about two seconds

“you’re goalie,” yuuji adds brightly. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, head tipping back for a second. geto laughing louder across from them.

gojo freezes. “what the hell?!”

“well i’m playing,” yuuji says, like it’s obvious, gesturing between himself and sukuna. “and me and ryo are a team—”

“i play with him all the time!” gojo cuts in, scandalized.

yuuji scrunches his face, brutally honest. “yeah but…you guys hate each other.”

there’s a pause.

“…that’s not—” gojo starts, then stops, jaw ticking, and veins straining. he groans anyway, dragging himself toward the goal with exaggerated misery, muttering under his breath the whole time. sukuna and geto watch him go, lips twitching.

on the other side, toji doesn’t argue when he gets shoved into the same position for megumi and geto’s team. he just cracks his neck once, slow, eyes already tracking the field, mind anywhere but the game.

as the teams settle and the heat clings to their skin, the game starts off light. it’s almost easy. the ball moves quick between them, laughter cutting through the salt-heavy air as yuuji and megumi try to outdo each other, their smaller frames darting across the field with reckless energy. geto plays loose, smooth with it, backing megumi with an ease that makes it look effortless, while sukuna shadows yuuji, letting the kid take the lead, stepping in only when needed. for a moment, it feels normal. just a summer game.

gojo, unfortunately, blocks almost everything. he stretches out in the goal, long muscular limbs moving with lazy precision, talking shit the entire time. “stupid fucking game.”

and every now and then he lets one slip—on purpose—just enough for megumi to make a few shots, to keep him from scowling too hard. but toji doesn’t do the same. every shot yuuji takes, every burst of effort, gets shut down hard. clean catches. sharp deflections. not even a hint of mercy. and slowly, that grin on yuuji’s face starts to strain.

and that’s when sukuna shifts, a scowl pulls at his mouth. it’s subtle at first. he puts a little more force behind his kicks, losing patience. and then it builds faster, he feels something heavier sitting under his skin. and his focus drifts, between yuuji, the goalpost and everything else. the offer.

fuck!

the weight of this shit summer presses behind his eyes. and toji is just standing there, catching everything like it’s nothing. like sukuna isn’t trying hard enough. his jaw tightens as he drives the ball again, and again. harder each time, forcing plays, and, pushing past those friendly match into something rougher, more aggressive. geto notices. gojo definitely notices.

but sukuna doesn’t stop until the game ends just as messy and close and yuuji’s team barely scraping the win

the field immediately breaks into noise with yuuji and megumi arguing over fouls, both talking over each other with flushed faces and wild gestures.

“we already called that as offside,” yuuji shouts, shaking his head.

megumi scoffs, pointing, “you couldn’t even explain the offside rule to me a month ago!”

“doesn’t matter!”

sukuna’s barely listening as he grabs a towel and drags it over his face, and chest. sweat drips down his jaw, his torso and back gleaming under the sun. his free hand shoves a bottle into yuuji’s chest.

“drink,” he mutters. yuuji obeys without question, still mid-argument as he chugs.

gojo strolls over, dramatic as ever, wiping at his neck with a grimace. “this sweat is from the sun, not from a workout,” he complains, like he wasn’t just throwing himself around ten seconds ago. “fucking waste of an hour,” he adds, slapping his sunglasses on and stretching his arms behind his head.

the frat president is completely oblivious to the mini crowd off the field, until he turns his head to feel a gust from the ocean. that’s when he catches a couple girls nearby staring. his lip curls on instinct and easily flashes them a grin, and a lazy wave.

geto snorts under his breath beside him, adjusting his cap, equally as drenched. sukuna doesn’t care. his eyes are already elsewhere. specifically on the man he was arguing you with earlier.

toji stands near the benches, turned slightly away, phone pressed to his ear. his posture different. sukuna bites down on his jaw, something tightens in his chest. ‘I’ll handle it’ my ass.

his gaze flicks back to yuuji, still arguing, “why isn’t choso with you?”

yuuji doesn’t glance away from megumi, “i dunno, i walked here from school.”

“i told choso to bring ya over, gramps wanted a quiet friday,” sukuna frowns.

“he’s probably practicing. the competition is tomorrow,” yuuji thinks.

that rips gojo’s attention away from the girls, “ohh damn! that’s the battle of the bands thing right?”

yuuji nods, beaming as he recalls how much choso has been talking about it, “cho showed me a couple videos from the other bands that signed up, and they’re sooooo lame compared to him!”

sukuna listens. choso’s been practicing almost every night, usually at ino’s place since gramps would get cranky. but before kaori rose from dead over three months ago, choso was updating sukuna around the clock, including—

“i guess he found a way to pay the submission fee,” gojo tosses so casually it almost passes,.

sukuna’s brows pinch, head turning slightly. “how d’ya know about the submission fee?”

gojo blinks, like it’s obvious. “choso told me,” he shrugs, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “back in april. remember when he ditched school and came to the house? kid was stressin’ about it.”

sukuna stills, “…he told you that?”

“yeah,” gojo hums, a little smug now. “said he was tryna handle it himself. didn’t wanna ask you ‘cause you’ve got,” he gestures vaguely, “your whole thing going on. y’know. life crisis, anger issues, whatever.”

geto snorts under his breath. yuuji is still arguing with megumi, completely oblivious. but sukuna doesn’t hear any of it. his jaw tightens, something cold slipping down his spine, because choso never said a word to him. not once. not about money. not about struggling, not about needing help.

and then it clicks.

a month ago the house had been quieter than usual. it was when sukuna stopped by on the weekend before the last week of classes and finals. gramps was out, yuuji was inside with megumi and nobara. sukuna had just come back from talking with toji, when he heard it, music bleeding out from the garage.

he hadn’t meant to stop, but he did. he leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, he watched through the cracked door. choso stood in the middle of the cluttered space, guitar slung low, hair tied back messily. ino was adjusting something on an amp while the others tuned, voices overlapping in the garage.

“we still need the fee by next week,” ino mentions.

“i know,” choso muttered, fingers dragging through his hair. “i’m working on it.”

“you gonna ask your brother?”

choso’s head snapped up immediately. “no.”

too fast. too sharp.

“why not? he could literally—”

“i said no.” choso’s voice cut through the garage, firm, and defensive. “i’ll figure it out.”

there’d been a pause. awkward tension between the boys.

“…you sure?”

choso exhaled, shoulders dropping just a little, but he didn’t look back at them. just adjusted his grip on the guitar. “he’s got enough shit going on,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t need to add to it…I’ll have my half by June.”

and that was it. they moved on and started playing again. and sukuna left before they finished the song. competition’s usually cost around three hundred dollars. if he can’t figure it out himself, he’ll eventually ask his older brother for help. he always does…

but now, back on the field, the ocean air feels heavier. his tongue presses hard against the inside of his cheek.

“he didn’t say anything to me,” sukuna mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

gojo tilts his head. “yeah…i figured.”

and that makes something in sukuna’s chest twist, sharp and ugly. because now the timeline lines up too cleanly. kaori showing up. choso being curious about her. the fee. choso needing money. choso asking him to talk to her. and then— that bank transfer.

his gaze drops, jaw locking as the pieces start to settle into place in a way he really, really doesn’t like.

did he meet with kaori?

———

the house is quiet when sukuna gets back. it’s late—past midnight—and the only light on is the dull flicker from the tv in the living room. the front door clicks shut behind him, the smell of alcohol and citrus still clinging faintly to his clothes from his summer job at the bar. his shoulders ache, muscles heavy from the day, but his mind is louder than anything else.

the news drones on. wasuke sits in his usual spot, hunched slightly forward, a blanket thrown over his legs despite the summer heat. he doesn’t look over when sukuna walks in. he pauses for a second, then drops onto the couch beside his gramps with a low exhale, elbows resting on his knees, mind anything but calm. the only thing he could think about during his late shift was choso asking kaori for money.

“…how do you think choso’s doing?” his deep voice breaks the silence.

wasuke grunts, unimpressed. “you’re the one hovering over him like a leech.”

sukuna’s brows pull together, irritation flickering. “i’m not—”

“you are,” wasuke cuts him off, finally glancing at him. his eyes are sharp, even through the fatigue. “kid can’t breathe without you watching him while he shits.”

sukuna scoffs quietly, looking away. his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against his cheek. “he’s ignoring me still.”

“so let him.” the response is immediate, and it makes something in sukuna’s chest twist. he leans back into the couch, arms crossing loosely, gaze drifting to the tv but not really seeing it. the silence stretches for a beat, filled only by the low murmur of the broadcast.

“…he didn’t tell me about the money,” sukuna says finally, voice low and rougher now. “for the competition tomorrow.” wasuke doesn’t react right away. just shifts slightly in his seat. “he found a way to get it,” sukuna adds, eyes narrowing faintly. “on his own.”

another beat.

“…and you’re mad about that.”

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose. “i don’t like not knowing where the fuck it came from.”

wasuke hums. “so ask him.”

“he’ll lie, he already lied.”

“then that’s his problem.”

sukuna’s head snaps slightly, irritation spiking. “it becomes my problem if he’s getting mixed up with—” he cuts himself off. jaw tensing.

“…with her?” his gramps asks, voice colder.

the word hangs there without being said. kaori. sukuna doesn’t answer. but he doesn’t need to, his silence does it for him.

wasuke exhales slowly, leaning back into the couch, eyes drifting back to the tv. “i told you i want nothing to do with that woman,” he mutters.

“i know.”

“then stop bringing her into this house without her even bein’ here.”

sukuna’s jaw clenches, fingers tapping once against his arm before going still. “i’m not bringing her anywhere. she’s the one tryna get to choso and yuu.”

“and you’re letting her.”

sukuna blood spikes, “what?! how am I letting her! you want me to pull the same shit you did for me and do nothing?!”

wasuke’s expression hardens…

kaori’s voice could slice through walls, through skin. and his father would just stand there…patient…useless. and she tore into everything. that house was a fucking hellhole.

but wasuke didn’t ask questions, or comment. he didn’t bat an eye when sukuna stayed the extra night when visiting, or when he eventually brought more bags and stayed permanently.

“…if it’s still unclear to you, I don’t want her fucking everything up again,” sukuna mutters, quieter now. the tv flickers. some anchor talking about something sukuna could care less about.

“you left when you were around his age,” wasuke continues, voice gruffer now, but steadier. “you made your choice. it was a good one.” a pause. “but those boys didn’t.”

sukuna’s eyes lower.

“you kept choso over longer when they’d visit on the weekends,” wasuke says. “yuuji doesn’t even remember half of it.” he shifts, blanket rustling. “you don’t get to make their choices for them now just because you think you know better.”

sukuna’s chest tightens, “i’m not—”

“you are,” wasuke interrupts again, harsher this time. “you’re scared—“

that makes sukuna’s head snap up. his eyes flash, in defensive, anger raging. “i’m not scared of her-“

“not of her,” wasuke says simply. “of what happens if you’re wrong.”

the room goes still. completely still….

what if choso did go to her? what if he wanted to? what if he likes her? sukuna’s jaw locks, a cold anger bubbling up inside, old wounds opening as he recalls how—

“…she’s not good for them,” sukuna says, voice low and certain.

wasuke doesn’t argue that, he just sighs, long and tired, rubbing a hand over his aged face. “yeah,” he says. “but locking ‘em up isn’t gonna make it go away either.” sukuna looks away again, jaw tight. “couldn’t teach you shit because whenever I’d tell ya to do something, you’d do the opposite.”

he doesn’t respond…why are teenagers so difficult?

“and let me know if you’re gonna go to that training thing overseas.”

sukuna’s head snaps. “how do ya know about that?”

wasuke doesn’t bat an eye. “choso saw it in yuuji’s room and asked me about it.”

sukuna’s jaw tenses, sinking further into the couch, muscles tightening and mind pounding. his gramps continues watching, eyes ahead as his short tempered grandson quietly sits beside him.

sukuna’s room is dark when he finally pushes the door open. empty and quiet since yuuji’s at megumi’s. sukuna drags a hand down his face, kicking the door shut behind him before peeling off his shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor. his jeans follow, shoved down and discarded without care until he’s left in just his boxers. the fan hums lazily in the corner, warm summer air clinging to his skin, still faintly sticky from his shift.

he drops onto his bed with a low exhale, one arm thrown over his eyes for a second, then his phone’s in his hand. mindless, numb doom scrolling. his thumb flicks up, up, up tapping on the string of insta stories.

gojo with multiple stories from today. yuuji mid-sprint across the field, megumi scowling in the background, another of gojo grinning like an idiot with geto, toji somewhere behind them looking half-interested at best. there’s one of sukuna too—shirtless, sweaty, mid-play—clearly taken without him noticing.

he clicks his tongue.

next. geto reposted the same ones gojo had tagged him in. a few others of the soccer ball, and one of sukuna yelling and pointing at gojo.

he scowls. next— his thumb pauses mid-scroll. he taps before he can think about it. it’s a repost from shoko’s story. you’re sprawled out on a gurney, knocked out cold in your scrubs, one arm hanging off the side like you just gave up mid-shift.

his lip quirks faintly. then another photo, you and shoko again, except now you’re slumped over the counter in a bar, still dressed in scrubs, cheek pressed to your arm resting on the surface, and completely knocked out again.

“the fuck…” sukuna huffs under his breath. his thumb lingers on the photo, then he taps your profile. his eyes flick over your dashboard, clicking the most recent photo. he’d already seen it, you haven’t posted since winter break, but his eyes still linger on the photo. on your face. your lips. he scrolls through your dash again, tapping on your highlights in hopes of finding a photo that’ll get him going…

his room is quiet, no one present to see how he quietly stalks your page, hand resting just above his—

BUZZ

his phone slips—smacking him straight in the face.

“fuck—!” he groans, hand flying up to his face as he answers, irritation already bleeding into his tone.

“hello?” your voice comes through, soft, and a little unsure.

“what,” he huffs, rubbing his face.

there’s a shift on your end. fabric, maybe, moving. “are you busy right now?”

“no, it’s fucking one am,” he snaps automatically, voice rough with exhaustion.

“right,” you murmur, a small pause. “sounds like I got you at a wrong time though?”

“you didn’t,” he says, a little quieter.

your lips purse…then, “how’s your summer?”

sukuna’s brow quirks, shifting on his bed, one arm tucking behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “you called to ask how I am?”

“well we haven’t talked in almost a month-ish,” you say, casual, because it is, neither of you batting an eye about it. but he can picture that little shrug you do. “so like…yeah. how are you?”

something in his chest shifts as he exhales through his nose, giving in anyway. “fine.”

“yeah?” there’s a small smile in your voice now. he hums. “I saw satoru’s story. you guys looked like you were having fun.”

“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “my brother’s are off for break now.”

“ooo, fun,” you say softly, the word stretching a little.

the conversation flows casually, too comfortable for either of you to notice. “you back home doing the hospital thing then.”

you hum, then with a slight pause, “yeah.”

he shifts again, phone pressed closer to his ear without realizing. “looks like you’re sleeping the whole time,” he teases lightly, voice low.

there’s a small scoff on your end, breathy. “shut up. those were like—very strategic naps.”

“on a fucking gurney?” he snorts.

“listen,” you start, a little defensive now, a little more awake. “those shifts suck, and if i don’t sleep when i can, i’ll actually kill myself.”

“dramatic.”

“I’m never dramatic,” you shoot back, then quieter, “I’m literally exhausted all the time.”

there’s a beat. sukuna’s gaze drifts to the ceiling again, something softer settling in his chest without permission. “…sounds like it,” he mutters.

there’s another pause, and it doesn’t feel awkward, it’s familiar, like no time has passed at all and yet it has. his fingers tap idly against his stomach, mind quieter than it’s been all night.

“…you hate it there?” he asks after a second, tone more neutral now, less bite.

your exhale comes slower this time, heavier. “yeah,” you mutter honestly, unaware of the way sukuna’s jaw shifts slightly. then there’s a slight shifting on your end again. “four more weeks of this,” you add.

sukuna doesn’t realize how much he actually wants to hear your talk, hear your voice, something calm settling in his chest as he hums, hoping you’ll continue talking, and luckily you do.

“the best part is shoko being here,” you talk mindlessly, voice soft, clear that you’re trying not to make a lot of noise.

“and the worst part?” sukuna pokes, earning a light snort from you.

“my dad hovering over my shoulder and interrogating me,” you sigh, “can you talk to me?”

his brow quirks, “we are talking, you called me.”

you frown, rolling your eyes, “yeah to have like a conversation about something that’s not this dumb program.”

“and I’m a great conversationalist,” sukuna’s tone is laced with sarcasm.

“the best,” you add on, smile lifting your lips when you hear him snort. he exhales, his breath moving through the speaker and right into your ear, reminding you when it was really pressed close to you, warm and gentle.

“i’ve been working at a bar,” sukuna starts, mind slowly piecing together what he should talk about.

“for real?”

“yeah, is that shocking,” he throws, voice steady, barely reacting.

“no, i can picture it,” you coolly reply.

“smartass.” sukuna exhales, then continues. “since we’re getting deeper into summer people are moving into their beach houses.”

“Oo fancy.”

and maybe it was the slight comments that allowed sukuna to continue rambling about some annoying customers, or it could be your little questions that eased the knots in his chest. but sukuna felt natural speaking, telling you about moments in the last three weeks. and even touching on a subject very sore to him…

“oh wow that’s great. I’ve haven’t gone to a battle of the bands competition since I was high school,” you say, peaking sukuna’s interest in seconds.

“you were part of a band?”

you shake your head, “no lol,” you laugh, “my boyfriend was.”

sukuna goes quiet for half a second? not long enough for you to clock it, but long enough for something sharp to flicker under his skin.

“boyfriend,” he repeats, tone flat, he doesn’t notice.

you hum lightly, shifting on your bed. “yeah, from high school.”

“hm.” there’s a pause again. not awkward, just…thicker now. he doesn’t ask why you broke up. doesn’t ask anything that obvious. he doesn’t care, but still… “you lose your virginity to him?” he asks, casual.

you blink at your ceiling, lips pressing together. “as if,” you pause, “i don’t think i actually liked him like that to let him go all the way.”

sukuna’s brow twitches faintly, “what, so he was just there?” he scoffs.

you let out a small laugh. “kinda. he was cool when he was part of the band, but i think he liked me more than i liked him…which made me feel kinda bad.”

“figures.”

you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “whatever.” but you’re smiling.

there’s another pause, shorter this time, then he tilts his head slightly against his pillow, voice dipping just a bit. “so what’d you let him do?”

“kissing, a little touching over the clothes…i dunno,” you slowly begin to recall the memories from high school. “he was…cringey.” you hesitate, then add, “he was always talking, but didn’t do much of anything else.”

a quiet huff of amusement leaves him, his lips twitch up. “talking,” he echoes.

“yeah,” you sigh. “like—texting. sexting. all that.”

“and you didn’t like it?”

you shake your head instinctively, “it was so…” you cringe just thinking back about it. “cringey and boring.”

there’s a small shift on his end, sheets rustling as he sits up a little more against his headboard, phone tucked closer to his ear. “boring?” he repeats, slower now, voice dropping.

“yeah,” you mumble. “it just felt…fake. like i was supposed to say certain things, or react a certain way because he was getting off…just gave me the biggest ick.” you pause, then add quieter, “and it never did anything for me.”

there’s a slight pause as sukuna goes quiet again, then—

“…so what does?” his voice is rougher now, deeper, slipping into something more familiar.

you blink, heat creeping up your neck at the shift in tone. “…what?”

“you said it’s boring,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “so what isn’t?”

your breath hitches, just a little, and he hears it. of course he does. it’s the one thing he knows about you. you wet your lips, suddenly very aware of how you’re laying, how your voice sounds, how he sounds.

“…i don’t know,” you deflect weakly.

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is when i’m half asleep,” you mumble, heat settling in your stomach. the house is quiet. your room even more.

he huffs quietly, a faint edge of a smirk, “…so if i started talking,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s nothing, “you’d just get bored and hang up?”

your stomach flips, because you know what he’s doing, and he knows you know.

“…no,” you say, softer now. you hesitate then, quieter, honest without meaning to be, because why else did you call him…your mind had drifted to him, and you clicked his number without thinking twice… “keep talking to me.”

that’s all it takes. there’s a shift on his end, barely audible, but it feels like the air tightens between you through the phone. sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, heat crawling up his neck.

“yeah?” he murmurs. you hum, softly. he didn’t realize how much he enjoyed your voice, so he continues talking, voice deeper, the way he speaks when it’s just the two of you, and when you’re underneath him… “you don’t post a lot.”

your brow quirks, “like on instagram?” he hums. “were you stalking me?”

“was just on your profile after i saw your story, then your idiot self calls me,” he huffs remembering the way his phone smacked him in the face. he ignores the way he didn’t feel embarrassed telling you though.

you laugh, “i probably sensed it,” you tease. heat blooming across your cheeks. “you want me posting more?”

his breath hitches.

“I can post if you ask me nicely,” you coo through the speaker, voice warm and light. “what d’ya want to see, ryo?”

the man snorts, biting his lip at the tone in your voice. you’re not making it subtle at all that you want a little bickering this late at night.

“you’d post if i told you too,” he murmurs, slower. “since when do you listen to me.”

you smile into your pillow, cheek warm, fingers idly tracing the fabric of your sheets. “depends how you ask.”

something settles deeper in his chest. “…what’re you doing right now?” sukuna asks, voice lower, steadier, not rushed.

you swallow lightly. “…in bed.”

“yeah?” he hums, hand ghosting over his the subtle bulge in his boxers. “what’re you wearing.”

your lips part, wetting your bottom lip as you exhale, “not much,” you admit, softer now. “shorts.”

“panties?” he asks, and you shake your head making a little noise. “is that the real reason ya called?”

“no,” you mutter, not knowing whether that’s a lie or the truth. of course, the possibility lingered in your mind when you thought of him…then when you clicked his contact…especially after, “i had a long day…and some guy asked for my number.”

sukuna’s hand stills, body going rigid.

“and for some reason…it just made me think of you,” the confession filled the quiet space of your rooms. “but then…i wanted to know, if we still had an agreement together..?”

the question hangs in the air for a moment.

then sukuna shifts, biting back a smirk, “you can let other guys fuck you if you’re so horny.” you frown, chest tightening— “but i can tell you’re afraid they might get scared of ya.”

your lips part, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond.

“you’ll tell em to go faster and they’ll try, then you’ll tell them to go harder and they’ll give ya a look, and then you’ll shake that pretty ass waiting for them to spank it, because you’ll never say how much ya like it out loud,” sukuna’s words flow easily, turning your stomach into knots, thighs pressing together. “isn’t that why you thought of me? i know how wet you’re getting just from my voice.”

your lips part in quiet shock, face burning.

“tell me how drenched your pretty little pussy is,” his voice scratches an itch deep in your core, a small whimper leaving your lips. your hand crawls into your shorts, biting your lip as your slick immediately coats your digits.

“you touching’ yourself?”

“Mhm,” your cute voice flows straight to his cock, his hand moves over his bulge again. “I’m wet, ryo.”

he bites back a groan, “you miss havin my voice pressed against your ear, tellin ya what to do?”

you can’t hold back the whine that barely escapes your throat, sending a wave of heat rushing down to his cock.

“take the shorts off, princess.” sukuna immediately hears the rustling of bedsheets from your end. his hand continues to stroke himself over his boxers. you settle back near the phone with a light exhale. “ya took em off?”

“yes,” you breathe, lips glossy.

“you miss havin’ me there with you?” he listens carefully as you whine softly into the phone. “answer me.”

“yes, i miss you,” you sigh, ghosting a finger over your folds. the light breeze of your bedroom sending a pool of heat between your legs.

“what d’you miss?”

you wet your lips, dipping a finger into your folds. “miss your hands touching me,” your voice softens, juices collecting on your finger, as you slowly drag it up to your clit. “miss when you’d stretch me out.”

sukuna’s jaw clenches, palm pressing against his fully erect cock. “can’t stretch y’rself?”

you make a noise that sends sukuna into orbit. “my fingers are too small.” you wet your lips as you continue playing with your clit, your breath growing heavy. “i hate touching myself.”

“hate’s a strong word,” he snorts, shoving his boxers down, unbothered by the how hard he is. he reaches over for the nightstand before pausing. “fuck.”

“what?” you fingers pause their movement,

sukuna sits back, cock twitching, “forgot I’m not in my room.”

your brow quirks, heart stopping, “where are you then?”

“I mean at the frat. my little brother took over my room here when I moved out,” he explains, biting his lip as he looks down at his cock. “so no lube.”

oh.

heat spreads across your face.

“wish i had your sweet pussy here to get me nice n wet,” sukuna bites. saliva collects in his mouth as he leans forward, and then he spits a fat glob, watching it land right on his engorged tip. “you’re all drenched now, aren’t you?”

your face stings. of course he knows how drenched you are.

“you like playing with your pussy?”

your lips part, finger rubbing tight circles on your clit as sukuna lets out a low grunt. you can hear the distant squelch of his hand moving up and down his cock.

“n-no,” you exhale, cheeks hot.

“no?”

“it’s boring haah,” you confess, but your actions are saying the opposite, especially with the added whine in the end.

sukuna squeezes his base, “it’s boring to touch y’rself talkin’ to me?”

you hum quietly, lips parting, breathless, and uncharacteristically shy. it was the fact that you’re only hearing his voice, when you’re used to seeing him, touching him, the bickering was mutual even if he’d have your ass bruised everytime you quip back…but this time…you’re unbelievably aware of the fact that you’re alone. and maybe that’s why his confidence was overheating your brain in a way that had you touching your poor clit a little quicker.

“even if I tell you how hard my cock is jus’ talking to you. that doesn’t do anything?”

your brain goes dizzy just thinking about sukuna’s thick chubby cock — you don’t even realize the pathetic whine that comes out of you.

“doesn’t make your cunt tighten around those fingers?”

your chest heats up, sweat building across your forehead. “I’m not using my fingers…”

sukuna pauses his strokes, thumb nail digging into his slit, turning his cock a darker shade. “you’re just rubbing that poor nub then?”

a mix of a hum and whine comes out. your fingers slow, mimicking the way sukuna would’ve been touching you, but…it’s not that same, not even close.

“push in a finger.”

your chest rises, legs parting. “mm’kay…” you leave your clit, fingers covered in your honey as you drag them lower, teasing your puckering hole. “it never feels good when I do it myself though,” you mutter.

sukuna twist his wrist up and down his cock. pre oozes down the veins and ridges, unbothered by the fact that it’s been a minute since he’s jerked off himself. the last time was when he was in your room—

he ignores you. “push a finger in, and keep rubbing your clit f’r me.”

you listen, gently pushing a finger in. the satisfying sensation of fullness doesn’t take you over, instead you’re whining softly, breathless as you rub your clit. “it doesn’t feel good ryo.”

“push your fingers deeper, and then ya gotta curl them until you feel that gummy part—“

“it all feels gummy,” you exhale, working your clit faster, not fully realizing your other hand is mimicking the way your fuck buddy fingers you. “haah I’m jus’—“ you suppress your moans, the speaker picking up every hitch in your throat, and quiet whine.

“you fingering yourself, baby?”

your lips part, working yourself more. “y-yea-haah..”

sukuna’s voice drops an octave, hand coming down to cup his heavy balls, working his cock faster. “atta girl.”

heat breaks out.

your glossy lips part, choked moans filling sukuna’s ear.

“keep going—ngh, y’er getting my cock so fucking hard,” he grunts, his biceps bulge, veins on his forearms flexing dangerously as he strokes himself aggressively. you whine a little more, his words making you clamp around your pathetic finger, your clit throbs as you rub tighter circles.

“y-you like my voice?” you don’t mean to make your voice that breathless, but it comes out either way. what you don’t expect is the choked groan that comes from the phone.

“fhuck,” one leg bends up, before butterflying out, fuck he misses your teasing. “you wanna get spanked for that?”

his lip quirks the moment you whine on instinct.

“knew you were a dirty fucking slut,” he grunts strokes picking up. images of your gorgeous face getting all flustered at his words appears in his mind. “ya like gettin’ punished.”

it wasn’t a question, but you still deny it with a cute huff from your end. “I don’t.”

“you do,” he states, tongue dragging across his lip, “you wish I had ya bent over my lap, spanking that pretty ass until ya start crying.”

you hate the way your skin burns, and his name falls from your lips. “I’ve never cried.” his loud, deep, laugh rattles through your speaker, sending a wave of heat to your face. your lips purse, finger curling inside you, but coming out just to rub your puffy clit quicker. “don’ ah laugh at me.”

“you’re a liar,” he snorts between laughs. his cock is throbbing, bulbous tip a dark shade of red as clear pre dribbles at the slit, sliding down the protruding veins and ridges. it was a filthy pathetic mess how hard he is. “fucking asking for a spanking now.”

“mmm not,” you pant, lips parting as you get closer, his voice the only thing your fixating on. “I’m not haah.”

“you’d still bend over if i asked,” he smirks at the soft whine that leaves your lips. “you’d also pull down your pants just to show me how wet your panties are.” your hand sneaks into your shirt, fingers twisting your nipple. “then you’d get embarrassed when I pinch your little clit through them, scolding you for getting all drenched when this should be a punishment.”

“fuuh…” you choke.

you’re so precious.

his grip tightens on his cock, jerking it harder, abs clenching at the knot coiling inside. “then you’d start crying when I start making ya count each spank.”

“I wouldn’t,” your lips are so wet, sukuna can practically hear how glossy they are.

“you’re so dumb when you get wet and needy, you don’t even realize you’re crying,” he coos, “I think ya do it on purpose.”

“I don’t.”

“you do,” sukuna’s grunt hits your ear. his hand is jerking his painful cock the squelching is so loud you can hear it. “you know how fucking hard it makes me.”

you whine at the admission, squirming as you draw closer to your relief. tongue poking out, panting into the mic. sukuna groans in response, his throat bops.

“seein’ you look at me, and I know there’s nothin else you’re thinking about except my cock,” he bites his lip at the image he’s conjuring up, just as you call his name, light and sweet. “fuck y’er close?”

“Mhm,” a breathless moan escapes. “gunna cum.”

“haah fuck same,” he keeps going, “fuuck I wanna kiss you so bad.”

you whine, legs trembling as you feel your orgasm start to come.

“miss my dirty girl cumming around my cock ngh,” his grunts aren’t as deep or loud, as they are when he’s fucking you. and that small detail sticks in your mind as you feel the searing white relief wash over you. the warmth floods through your body, slow and heavy, leaving your limbs loose against the sheets.

on the other end, sukuna’s groan comes out heavy and deep, hot ropes shooting onto his abs, hand stroking more cum our as he slowly goes quiet… breathing hard.

after a moment, he shifts, the faint rustle of fabric and movement carrying through the phone, and his head tips back against the pillow, eyes shut. his cock rests on his stomach, white thick cum all over his abs and happy trail. but…

his mind is blank for once. no kaori. no choso. no future clawing at his chest. just you. the sound of you, and it settles something in him in a way he doesn’t question, but just lets it happen, chest rising and falling slower now.

“…you fall asleep?” he mutters after a beat, voice rough, quieter than before.

you shake your head instinctively, even though he can’t see it, lashes fluttering as you stare at nothing. “no…just coming down,” you murmur, voice soft, airy, like you’re barely holding onto it. there’s a pause. then, almost sheepish, “kinda anticlimactic…”

he huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, glancing down briefly at the mess he made himself before dragging his clean hand over his face.

“yeah,” he agrees, voice gravelly, worn out from the day.

you roll onto your side, curling slightly into your pillow, phone pressed closer to your ear. neither of you says anything for a few seconds, just the quiet sound of each other breathing. an unspoken calmness easing you both.

on his end, you hear him shifting again, something soft brushing against fabric, the faint sound of movement as he cleans up without thinking much about it. it’s mundane, grounded, and real. and all you can think about is how different it would feel if he were actually here. how warm he’d be beside you. how easy it would be to just turn your head and press into him instead of speaking into a phone. your fingers curl into your sheets a little tighter at the thought.

“…you’re quiet again,” he murmurs, settling back in his bed, casually lifting his hips and pulling his boxers up.

“just tired,” you whisper back. there’s another pause, as sukuna hears you yawn, his eyes grow heavy. “I’m gonna go to sleep, but,” you yawn again, “send a video of your brother tomorrow.”

sukuna smiles, “gonna think about your ex?”

“as if,” you snort, “i rarely ever think about that guy.”

sukuna’s tucks an arm behind his head, “so you think about him?”

you yawn, rolling onto your stomach, “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

sukuna doesn’t comment on the not-so-subtle deflection, he just lets the silence sit for a second longer before muttering a low, “g’night.”

you echo it back, softer. neither of you hangs up right away, but eventually the line clicks. and the room is quiet again.

he doesn’t move for a while after. he lays there, staring at the ceiling, phone still loose in his hand. the fan hums overhead, pushing around warm summer air lingering through the cracked window. everything feels…slower, quieter, his skin stinky from his orgasm. his mind isn’t clawing at him like it has been for the past three weeks. it’s dulled, softened at the edges, and annoyingly…it’s because of you.

your voice. the way you call his name. the way you needed him, even from miles away.

sukuna exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before finally tossing his phone onto the mattress beside him. his eyes close not long after, body sinking heavier into the bed. and for once sleep comes easy.

the next morning hits hot. the heat sticks to his skin before the sun’s even fully up, and sukuna’s already running. shirtless, drenched in sweat, muscles pulling and flexing with every stride as he cuts along the stretch near the water. his breathing is steady, controlled, but his mind is anything but…it was yesterday, but he expected some information from toji, or shiu. and his gramps words all coming back to him.

everything loops and overlaps, and it presses in from every angle until his jaw is tightening and his pace picks up just a little more, trying to outrun his fucking head.

his shoulders are rising and falling as he slows, sweat dripping down the sharp lines of his chest, his back, and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. a few early beachgoers glance his way—lingering longer than necessary—but sukuna barely registers it. his mind is still somewhere else. the day goes by like a clock.

every blink and he’s somehow in a new location.

he ends up, back home in the bathroom. shower running. mirror fogging. and somehow his phone is resting on the counter as he’s hunched over, finger swiping—and your profile pulled up.

he scrolls without thinking. his thumb flicking lazily through pictures, your face, your smile, the ones from your study abroad trip, the old ones from nights out. he even goes through your highlights again…he pauses on one. zooms in slightly. his jaw shifts.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, head tipping back for a second like he’s annoyed at himself more than anything else. this is stupid. and yet, his hand won’t stop jerking his cock.

he needs you here.

his thumb taps your name before he can overthink it. the message bar blinks and he stares at it for a second. then types, quick, blunt, like it’s nothing.

send me a pic.

your lips purse as you glance at your phone. you and shoko, by some miracle have a weekend off, and that’s spent lounging in your basement. well, until you’re shifting your attention from the movie, to your phone screen.

what in the world…your fingers tap…

[1:08PM] crybaby: wdym a pic?

[1:08PM] dumbass: need some help with this

*attached photo*

your eyes bulge out of their eye sockets, phone slamming into your chest, hiding your screen, and head whipping up. shoko cranes her neck, focus on the movie still, but giving you a glance, “there wasn’t even a jumpscare.”

your eyes snap to her, “no, I just remembered i had to send my dad this one file…thing… from my—yeah give me one second.” you scramble up to your feet, heading to the stairs.

“you want me to pause—!?” shoko yells after.

within the blink of an eye, you’re back in your room, gawking at the lewd, perverted, uncalled for dick pic you were just sent.

you can recognize sukuna’s chubby engorged cock anywhere. heat crawls up your neck in seconds, the tuft of dark hair at the base and his hand wrapped around the monster, veins protruding and tip flushed red and leaking. your lips purse, controlling the way you feel your pussy clench.

[1:10PM] crybaby: u’re jerking off in the middle of the day?

[1:10PM] dumbass: yea so send a fucking pic so I can get off

[1:10PM] dumbass: ur ig is ass

you tsk, face still warm.

[1:10PM] crybaby: rude

[1:11PM] crybaby: weird asl you’re getting off to my ig anyways

[1:11PM] dumbass: weird asl my dumb ass fuck buddy isn’t fixing my problem

[1:11PM] crybaby: RUDEEEE SO RUDE

sukuna’s head tips forward in irritation. his jaw tightens as he looks down at his painful erection.

[1:12PM] crybaby: srsly tho

[1:12PM] crybaby: you can’t send or show anyone

[1:12PM] dumbass: wtf?? y tf would I do that

[1:13PM] crybaby: it’s almost like you’re in a frat or smt

sukuna tsks.

[1:13PM] dumbass: no one will see the pic

[1:13PM] dumbass: send

[1:12PM] crybaby: say please

his lip twitches….

[1:13PM] dumbass: please

you’re sat on the edge of your bed, dangerous smile plastered on your face.

[1:13PM] crybaby: please what?

he wets his lips, palm squeezing his cock, as starts moving his hand. fuck, you’re such a brat.

[1:14PM] dumbass: please send me pic of you

you’re already taking off your shorts and panties, typing…

[1:15PM] crybaby: I dunno if u sound sincere

sukuna frowns.

[1:15PM] crybaby: send me a voice note

death.

sukuna’s scowl almost cracks the mirror. you’re fucking messing with him, but at this point, he’s in desperate need of release. and unfortunately, he’d rather cum in a second just from looking at a photo of you, than search for a vid on x that’ll get him to cum in hours. so within the next thirty seconds of cursing you out under his breath. the thirty seconds following, was him tapping the audio, and holding his phone close to his lips.

[1:17PM] dumbass: *audio recording*

the first thing you hear is your name, then a distant…grunt…

“can you please,” he practically seethes, voice unbelievably deep… “…send me a goddamn photo. please—ng—“ the audio cuts off his groan.

you’re lips part.

oh. my. god.

your face bursts into flames. you position yourself, kneeling on your bed, phone up, shirt pushed over your breasts. your nipples hard from the cool air. you spread your legs, just wide enough for him to see that you’re completely bare down there. your cheeks sting, eyes darting over the photo, thumb hovering over the send button…

he’s just a fuck buddy….but he’s also a frat guy…you hesitate. your heart beats against your chest, uncharacteristically nervous.

[1:20PM] dumbass: you’re killing me here

fuck, he’s so hot—

[1:20PM] crybaby: *photo attached*

his jaw tightens, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. then he clicks the photo, and his breath catches somewhere in his chest as his eyes drag slowly over the image. your lips slightly parted, your chest, bare and soft under the daylight coming in from your room. the angle’s lazy and careless, barely even trying.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

his hand braces against the counter, fingers spreading slightly against the cool surface as he leans forward, head dipping. his patience, already worn thin from the run, from the past few weeks, from everything. and it’s your picture that has sukuna buckling over, aggressively jerking his swollen cock, zooming in on your tits, then back to your face, and finally shooting his load on himself and the counter.

“fuck.”

you barely make it back downstairs when you receive a photo, followed by a text. you flush at the bottom of the steps, flustered smile pulling at your lips as you stare at the cum covering sukuna’s sculpted abs, and then a thanks.

you heart the message, keeping your comment about how it’s barely been five minutes since you sent the photo, to yourself. and unfortunately the moment you glance up, your smile immediately drops.

“I was calling you,” your mom throws as she walks past you, easily scooping up your four year old niece, yazzy.

“she was ignoring you on purpose.”

your vein pops.

“I wasn’t ignoring her,” you snap at jennie, irritation written all over your voice as shoko pops her head out from the kitchen. “why did you come a week early, I thought you had stuff to do?”

your mom huffs at the attitude, her eyes flicking to see shoko, before plastering a smile, “always arguing,” she waves, her attempt at distracting your friend. “sisters.”

shoko laughs through her nose, smiling. as your mom introduces your niece to shoko, you’re reluctantly helping jennie with her suitcases, purposely giving her the cold shoulder. considering the last time you spoke turned into an argument and her leaving for the airport, you hadn’t reached out since.

“how’s working with dad?”

your eyes flick to her. “fine.”

“good.” there’s a beat of silence, just as shoko comes back to the living room.

“I’m gonna go to target,” shoko says.

your eyes lit up, “oh I’m coming too!”

shoko reserves her thoughts until you’re both in your sister’s old car. music filling the space, windows rolled down, and shoko glancing at the road ahead. “do you usually fight with your sister?”

you blink, slightly caught off guard. “I mean,” you try to form your thoughts, “she’s just judgmental, and like—never puts herself in other people’s shoes.” you shift in the drivers seat. “she thinks she’s the smartest person in the world.”

shoko isn’t like utahime…she doesn’t pry in a lot, but she’s been staying with you for the last few weeks, so it’s only inevitable that she picks up on certain things. one of which is your horrible habit of avoiding any relationship head on. while your sister is one, she clearly sees it almost everyday when you guys are at the hospital.

for the amount of times you avoid mentioning your dad when you’re in school, you’re the first to help if he needs anything at work. the first to step in, the first to skip your lunch to help, the first to act…and you’re not embarrassed.

except when other doctors are around, seeing this…and the comments follow after…

“you’re such a good daughter.” “you must be your parents favorite.” “I wish my son would act like you.” “your dad must be so proud.”

and that’s when shoko would notice the shift. the way you’d get quiet, the way you’d force out a smile, the way you’d excuse yourself to finish work. and shoko couldn’t understand the difference until you were at the bar after work. you weren’t even drinking, your sad sat comfortably in your hand as you stared at the sticky table.

“i have no idea why adults think i wanna hear being called my parents favorite like I’m ten or something,” you scowl quietly, irritation bubbling over from the long ass day.

“yeah that was weird,” shoko nods along sipping from her drink and scrolling on her phone.

“like actually, I’m my dads favorite because I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do. obviously I’m not gonna embarrass him and be lazy especially because he got me this job, but that doesn’t mean i want to be there,” you groan head falling on the bar. “freaking hate working there, and i hate his stupid comments.”

shoko glances up, “did he say something today?”

you frown, “I can’t do this without you,” you recall his words, brows pinching tighter. “bros acting like I’m the best support beam ever, freaking doormat can’t even say anything back.” you bury your face in your arm.

shoko reaches a hand out, touching your arm in comfort. “yeah…hopefully you get something after the program.”

you hum quietly, higurama’s words from a few weeks ago resurfacing. “I have that meeting with hiromi’s uncle next week.”

shoko’s eyes light up. “ohh that’s really good!”

you smile at her excitement, nodding. “yeah, hopefully he gets me a contact.”

shoko nods frantically, “for sure for sure!” she waves a bartender, “let’s get a shot.”

“just one,” you cut in.

as the bartender slides two shot glances towards you gushing, shoko is raising the glass. “and gojo finally decided on dates for the trip.”

your brows furrow, “isn’t that with just your little high school group?”

shoko nods, “last summer gojo invited a ton of randos, and me and utahime told him we’re gonna invite you, but you had something last summer.” oh right. “so do these dates work for you,” shoko says turning her phone screen towards you.

you hum, butterflies breaking out inside your chest. it’ll be a good summer….just after these hellish few weeks.

so shoko stays silent on the ride to target, easily changing the topic and turning up the volume to the music. 

“oh and sorry about my sister barging in, but she’ll be in a hotel next week when her husband comes, so you can just stay with me in my room.” 

shoko waves you off, “all good.” 

and the flow in the car returns as shoko talks about how she didn’t like the movie you just watched, while you defend it, hands flying, voice animated, a laugh slipping out of you. completely unaware of the events that transpire hours later, a few hundred miles away, with a certain soccer captain—

the venue is loud. amps buzzing, feedback screeching through cheap speakers, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder as the set bleeds into chaos with applause. people are shouting, laughing, drinks sloshing onto the floor—

and sukuna is already pushing through it, hard. people stumble when he hits them, curses thrown over shoulders, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t apologize. doesn’t even look back. his expression is sharp, carved in something ugly and his jaw is locked so tight it aches, eyes dark and fixed on one thing only. backstage.

“move,” he snaps, voice cutting through the noise like a blade. someone tries to protest just for sukuna to aggressively shove past them anyway.

the curtain jerks as he pushes through, the muffled roar of the crowd dropping just enough, and then he sees him. choso.

sitting off to the side, shoulders hunched, eyes red…too red. his hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles pale, breathing uneven. sukuna’s blood pressure spikes so fast it feels dizzying, a rush of heat flooding his chest, his arms, his hands. and his fists are already curling before he even realizes it.

because just a foot away stands kaori.

sukuna goes completely still for half a second, his gaze dragging from her to the red mark on choso’s cheek.

then something in him snaps.

a/n: I know that was over a month wait for the chapter. so many things happened, ramadan, work, etc. and I really thank you all for your patience, and it always make me so unbelievably grateful that you guys are still reading, so thank you thank you thank you!! 

"Sukuna…" you begged, buckling your hips onto him. This sensation alone was completely foreign to you, and you couldn't help wanting to know how much more you could experience if he only let you.

Whatever sort of madness had taken hold of you, it now kept you locked in its grip. Because how could you think of anything else when you had him between your legs?

"Quiet" Sukuna growled against your ear, his teeth lowering down to graze the tendon of your neck. And though he said it so mean, it only made you want him more.

His huge body was caging you in completely, one hand next to your head so he didn't let the weight of him crush you. In the state you were in though, you wouldn't have complained if he did.

You wanted to feel every part of him, after all. Needed to.

So your response was bringing your hands from his shoulders to his head, tangling them in his hair as you pulled him in to deepen the kiss. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, forcing his hand further, the sudden feeling of pleasure making your hips twitch.

"Don't–" he exhaled. "Don't do that" Sukuna bit your lower lip for your disobedience, but despite how gruff and commanding he sounded, you also noticed… you had never heard him this out of breath before.

Sukuna was falling apart right in front of you, in between you, stuck somewhere between desire and what was right.

The fact a man like him could still care, even after this long, came as a surprise to him also.

But Sukuna did care. Your first time shouldn't be like this. And not only that – there was no guarantee on how long it would take him to come back from this war, or if he'd come back at all. He was strong, yes, he was confident, yes; but it was too much of a gamble to risk putting a bastard in you, another boy to be discarded and grown up without a father like he had.

Sukuna had lived among poverty and filth enough to know what that did to a woman.

So he finally, reluctantly, pulled his hand back, bringing it to your face instead. His fingertips dug into your cheeks, not painfully, but forcing you to face him.

His crimson eyes were blown out and wide, his breath ragged despite the tension in his jaw – a very visual indicator of how hard it was for him to hold back. But still, your heart twisted with want and worry.

"You don't want to?" you whispered, voice a little broken at the perceived rejection.

He hated to hear you say it, so Sukuna's response was a deep kiss – claiming, messy, desperate – shutting you up completely. "You're not a fool" he hissed, finally pulling back a little. "Don't speak like one"

You let out a sharp exhale at his words, nodding in embarrassment. But Sukuna didn't let you linger in the shame – he leaned down again, softer this time, and brushed your lips together.

So soft. So much softer then a man like him should have been.

"I promise I'll come for you"

Your heart tugged inside your chest, but you nodded, wrapping both arms around his impossibly big form. He was so warm, so snug despite the fact you could barely reach around his back completely. But you weren't threatened by it, if anything, you felt comfortable.

Protected.

If only time could have stopped right there – with your face tucked on the slope of Sukuna's neck, and his breath hot on top of you.

If only there were no talks of war or marriages.

Your brain was starting to sober up to the absurd position you found yourself in, but you weren't met with the dread you expected. No – this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Your first kiss; shared with the least likely person of all. And despite the circumstances, you wouldn't have had it any other way.

For the first time in a very long time, you finally felt safe right here.

But right before you could allow yourself to relax and enjoy the moment fully, the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing startled the two of you.

Sukuna was up in a flash – it always shocked you how such a large man could move this swiftly. His hand pulled you up with him, and then he immediately stepped forwards, shielding your body from whoever footsteps they were that rushed up the steps.

Thankfully, the figure that emerged was friend and not foe.

"You didn't lock the door?!" Choso let out, breathless, clearly worried. Two bowls were in his hands; deliciously smelling soup that shook and almost threatened to drip off the edge, thanks to how fast your brother had ran up the stairs.

You immediately opened your mouth to apologise, but Choso's expressive eyes searched for you with a kind of distress that reminded you of when you were kids. You realised your brother hadn't just been angry due to your carelessness, he was terrified.

It made your heart twist. You wanted to pull him into a hug, pat his dark hair and share some of his burden, like you did when you were younger. Sometimes your brother would get so lost in this self imposed task of being an example to everyone else, that it felt like the world was quite literally hanging off his shoulders.

He'd come to you then, sigh as he lowered himself with his head on your shoulder, and just rest. Choso allowed you to help him carry that weight when you were younger – something that stopped when he got into his thick head that he had to fight.

And he had come back different, you knew. More guarded, colder, watching the shadows like they hid enemies. You had no idea what kinds of horrors Choso had encountered in his months away, but you hoped some day he'd share that with you too.

And go back to being that sweet boy he once was.

The sweet boy who looked at you exactly like he did now. Searching for you amidst his fear, needing his sister when it all got too much.

Sukuna finally took a step to the side, allowing you to come forward. Choso's eyebrows drew together at the way this man had stepped in front to defend you, and though he still didn't trust him completely, your brother did offer a curt nod of recognition.

It was an improvement, at least.

But as soon as you came fully into view and placed a hand on his tense shoulder, Choso was more focused on your messy hair and slightly askew dress.

If his mind made the connection, he didn't say.

"Are you ok?" Choso asked instead, in that low, conspiratorial tone reserved just for you.

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind" you explained, the only excuse your mind could conjure, and your words were met with a disapproving glance from your brother. "This is for us?" you asked, looking at the food, already feeling your stomach gurgling.

"Yes" Choso confirmed, passing the first bowl of soup to you. "I said I'd eat with you" he added, but instead of bringing the spoon to his lips, he reluctantly extended his hand – offering the bowl to Sukuna.

Your eyes widened at the kind gesture, and you looked over to your guest, not missing how his whole body had gone tense. Sukuna stared at your brother like this didn't make any sense. Why would Choso go out of his way to lie for his sake?

And Choso did have a slight scowl on his face, but kept the bowl out in invitation anyway.

When Sukuna eventually did extend his hand, accepting the food with a short nod, you tried to hide a little smile caused by this surprising peace offering.

This was perhaps the closest the two would ever get to a handshake.

"Have you eaten already?" you asked your brother, glad for his generosity but worried about him like you always were.

"I'm not hungry" Choso answered, leaning back on the stone wall with crossed arms. "I need to speak to you both" he announced, and both of you quickly dropped the spoons and straightened your postures before you could even enjoy the taste.

"What is it?" Sukuna asked, his voice a low grumble, already getting ready for a fight no one really knew if was coming.

Choso sighed, gathering his thoughts. He looked down at the floor before continuing, perhaps the weight of his own treason weighing heavily on him.

An impossible position he never thought he'd be in.

Still, Choso would always choose his family above all else.

"There are more troops on their way" he started, looking straight at you. "They mean to use the lighthouse as a base"

You blinked in surprise, not needing your brother to explain all those words implied.

"For how long?" you asked, hoping it would be good news at least. The fact those men meant to use your home to plan their terrible war was another issue you would have to process later – for now, there were more pressing problems at hand.

"I don't know. Maybe days. Maybe weeks" was all Choso could say. And then he turned fully to Sukuna, addressing him only. "You need to leave tonight, or you might not get another chance"

You swallowed, knowing he was right, but hating it all the same.

The clock you already feared was ticking too quickly kept moving faster and faster, slipping through your fingers.

"I understand" Sukuna nodded, no hesitation.

Choso seemed at least a little relieved at that.

"I'll….help, as best as I can" your brother exhaled, like it pained him to say. "I'll come at nightfall. Any minute longer, and they could be here already"

You felt your throat go dry, hearing the two speak of plans as if you weren't in the room. Your body instinctively leaned towards Sukuna, seeking any sort of comfort, reassurance even, that this wouldn't be your last time together.

Don't let your mind go there.

Not now.

"I've brought this" Choso pulled a small package from his coat, which he unwrapped to reveal a silver dagger. Your silver dagger – the one you always kept under your pillow. "In case" he completed, nodding to Sukuna.

And the man accepted gratefully, tucking it around his belt.

"I'll be back soon" Choso nodded. "But please, keep your eyes downstairs. And lock the damn door"

Despite the delicious smell of the soup your brother had kindly brought, you had suddenly lost your appetite. Your mind was clouded with impossible questions, a fate you already knew was coming suddenly too real, approaching faster and faster.

Sukuna was leaving. You knew it had to be so.

But it also meant you'd soon be trapped in a house with a whole battalion of people who wanted him dead.

Sukuna noticed your silence, of course he did. He watched you with an ice cold glare, the only tell of how much the previous conversation had affected him too.

"Eat" he commanded, nodding towards the bowl growing cold in your hand.

"I'm not hungry" you shook your head.

Sukuna stepped in front of you fully, filling your whole field of vision. "I won't have you going weak on me" he growled. "Eat"

You could barely help the small chuckle that left you as you brought the spoon to your lips. You used to think him a brute, but you were slowly endearing yourself to this man's ways of showing affection.

It was almost sweet.

And he wasn't wrong – the taste alone settled your stomach, whatever warmth still left on the soup managing to calm your nerves a little.

Sukuna nodded in approval, taking a step towards the windows to watch the world outside.

"Will he keep his word?" he asked, watching the push and pull of the ocean as the bright sun started to lower in the horizon.

Everything seemed so peaceful.

"He will" you answered quickly. You trusted your brother more than anything, anyone, and you knew he wouldn't orchestrate a trap for Sukuna.

Not when it was plain to see how much you cared for him.

Sukuna's head turned in your direction, his eyes taking in every twitch of your expression. He watched you slowly eat your soup, as if he just needed the visual confirmation you were well.

When you finally put the bowl aside, he stepped towards you.

"Listen" he murmured, wrapping you with two strong arms, bringing you to his chest. "Don't go looking for trouble. Keep eating, keep practicing – you remember what I taught you?"

"Yes" you nodded, sinking into him, his voice in your ear oddly motivating.

"Its dangerous out there" Sukuna brushed some hair from your face, letting his touch linger on your cheek. "Promise me you'll be safe"

"Promise me you'll be back" you challenged.

Sukuna's lips formed a small smile, but he tskd as if annoyed. "Haven't I already?" he pulled you closer.

There was the hint of a tease in his voice; probably inappropriate for the dire situation you found yourselves in, but it managed to make your stomach flip and your world narrow down to his handsome face.

Just you, Sukuna, and the crashing waves outside, a lazy rhythm that punctuated this pocket of peace.

The calm before the storm, your father used to warn.

"I like hearing you say it" you smiled, enjoying how his large hands settled on your hips.

"Idiot" Sukuna huffed, but his lips were closer than before. Inching forward by the second, taking his time, until his nose was brushing yours.

"I'll come back for you" he whispered again, before sealing the promise with a kiss.

You wanted to believe him more than anything.

Sukuna's breath was warm against your skin, so much so you couldn't tell if the heat you felt was from him or the beacon right next to you.

He burned through everything just like fire did.

Finally, his thumb brushed your cheek tenderly when he detached himself from you, taking in your wistful eyes before pulling something from his belt.

"I want you to keep this" he said, and you recognised the cold silver of your dagger as he put it in your hands.

"Sukuna–" you reprimanded.

"You need it more than me" he interrupted, forcing you to take it. "You still haven't promised you'll be safe"

You accepted the weapon, feeling the familiar weight of it before you placed it in your pocket. You always hated the thought of having to use it, but he was right – these were dangerous times.

"I promise"

Sukuna nodded, satisfied.

The rest of the day went by in a sort of paradox – oddly slow, but every time the sun dipped a little lower in the horizon, you cursed the gods for allowing the night to come too quickly.

You knew what the sunset would bring, and your mind tried to cling on to every detail of the crimson eyed man as you could.

In case you'd never see him again.

You watched intently as he fixed himself the essentials. Food first – just stale bread you kept at the lighthouse, but food still. His sword, of course, heavy on his belt. It was the kind of weapon ideal for fighting and not sneaking away in the night, and despite how much he had still been training, you feared his injuries would keep him from brandishing such a weapon with the ease he used to.

You suggested more than once he should also keep the dagger, just a precaution hidden in his boot – easier to maneuver, useful for getting out of tricky situations. But Sukuna wouldn't hear any of it, refusing to accept it back.

So you let him keep working, choosing what to take and what to leave.

If Sukuna caught you staring at him, he didn't comment on it. There was the occasional narrowing of his eyes, a clear indicator he was aware there was something going on in your mind, but he didn't ask.

Whenever you went too quiet though, Sukuna pulled you in for another kiss, stealing each chance he got to have his lips on yours.

But then he'd pull away, and you'd keep watching. How his broad shoulders took up so much space, but he was always aware of his environments, the fire, you. How his footsteps were quiet for a man of his size. And most importantly, how he'd occasionally bring his hand to his middle, patting the place you had stitched up for just a second before letting his hand fall down again.

"Does it still hurt?" you asked suddenly.

He turned to you, narrowed his eyes, and then huffed. "No"

The stubborn idiot he was.

"Let me see" you asked, going to place your hand over his shirt before he stopped you.

"It doesn't hurt" he said, interlacing your fingers together instead. "You've done a good job"

"Then let me see" you brought your other hand to the fabric, and Sukuna didn't stop you – only letting out a sharp exhale to show his discontent.

You pushed the fabric up to reveal the deep cut, now forever etched onto his skin as an ugly scar, red and deformed, slicing right between the dark tattoos that adorned his torso.

You swallowed thickly as one hand carefully brushed over Sukuna's skin, now knowing who it was that had put such an ugly cut there in the first place.

You thought back to that sweet boy again, wondering how in the world he could go on to do such a thing.

Had you failed him?

Could you have been a better sister? Supported Choso in his grief?

As if he knew what you were thinking, Sukuna shoved the fabric his shirt back down, taking your hand away again.

"It doesn't hurt" he reassured once more, placing a small kiss on the inside of your wrist. "It will be fully healed by the time we next see each other"

You cast your eyes up to meet his then, offering a small, grateful smile. "It will be" you agreed.

Just as Sukuna lowered himself for another sweet kiss, a sharp knock came to the door downstairs.

Sukuna nodded to you, signifying the time had come. But something felt off.

You knew Choso better than anything. Could tell it was him that walked in the house from his footsteps alone. This knock was…strange.

Too sharp, too slow.

And it made your blood immediately run cold.

"Are you ready?" Sukuna asked, pulling his hands back, starting to take the neatly wrapped bag with supplies he had prepared.

But then he noticed your expression as well.

"What is it?"

You swallowed, unsure if it was just your nerves or if something really was amiss. "You should wait up here" you said, not meaning to sound as ominous as it did.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, taking in what you meant by it. And then he nodded.

Understood.

You looked at him again, all breath stuck in your lungs as you nodded yourself, and turned to leave. The tips of your fingers felt cold against the stone wall that you used to steady yourself, so unlike the heat of Sukuna's embrace, and each step took longer than they usually did the further away you got from him.

You turned one last time, just before Sukuna disappeared completely from view. He was tense, ready, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword he had placed on his belt again.

He nodded to you once more, and you kept on moving.

Time seemed to slow down.

Maybe it was just nerves. This was exactly how it was meant to go, right? Choso told you he'd be here by nightfall. Everything was going according to plan.

Everything… but that odd knock you didn't recognise.

And unfortunately, when you finally reached the bottom floor and opened the heavy door, you noticed you had been right to worry.

"Sorry, miss" said one of the scouts. The one you didn't like – leaning with one hand against the stone construction like he owned the place. The other boy at least had the courtesy to look uncomfortable next to him. "Thought we might check out this place too, make sure you're safe"

Your eyes darted from one to the other, looking for the third person who should have been there but wasn't.

"Where is my brother?" you asked, feeling your fingers tighten against the door frame you were yet to fully open. You wondered if Sukuna could feel something was off from upstairs, hoped he'd at least attempt to hide somehow.

But you knew your voice wouldn't carry all the way up the long stairs. No, Sukuna's escape now rest solely on your shoulders – and your ability to convince the two men to turn back and leave you alone.

"We told him not to worry" the nicer one replied, while the other offered you a condescending smile, already bringing his sly hand to open the door fully.

Your grip tightened on it, but he only pushed further.

"Are you sure you're alright here? All alone?" he asked, taking a step inside that you couldn't refuse. The best you could do was not anger them, sweet talk the pair until they trusted you and left.

"I'm used to it" you tried to sound certain, but surely they would have noticed how your tone wavered.

If they did notice, they didn't care, immediately pushing the door open before closing it behind them, turning the key you had just placed on the lock.

It suddenly felt claustrophobic in this small room you knew so well.

You walked backwards until your back hit the wall, wanting to be as far away from them as possible, out of fear your heart beat alone would alert them to your treason.

The two scouts had now fully stepped inside, and were taking in the small room while you did your best to control your breathing.

"Do you sleep here?" one of them pointed at the small bed.

"Sometimes" you replied. "Never for long"

The two exchange a look that make your stomach drop, before turning to you again.

"You must be so tired" the one you decided you hated said. His tone was sugary, making you feel sick, and suddenly you worried a lot more than Sukuna's escape was at stake here.

Part of you wished Sukuna would rush down the stairs and scare them enough they would regret standing so close to you. Would regret overstepping into your space and making you feel so small.

But you knew that wouldn't happen. You had to get them out yourself.

Your hands shook, so you hid them in your pockets – feeling the reassuring cold of the dagger you always hoped you wouldn't use.

At least you weren't defenseless.

Sukuna was right there. All you had to do was scream.

But just as his friend took another step in your direction, the younger man cleared his throat and put his hands up, as if he was about to apologise for the other – but you were faster to speak.

"It's my duty to watch the fire" you announced, motioning to the door they had just walked in from. "If you don't mind, gentlemen–"

The younger one nodded. Started to move even. So close to the exit, so close to just leaving you alone.

Out of the two, this one at least seemed like a reasonable person.

But it was the other one you were worried about.

He looked you up and down, still stuck in place. Predatory eyes, assessing. "We'll come up with you" he smiled.

Your hands balled into fists inside your pockets, your breath stuck in your throat.

"You really don't have to" was all you managed to say.

"Mahito–" the nice one tried to intervene again.

Oh. So that was his name.

You'd make sure to ask Choso later why men like Mahito were fighting for his side in the first place.

But even as that thought crossed your mind, your heart got stuck on how much you wish it had been Choso to walk through that door instead.

Or at least that your brother had come too, so you didn't feel like cornered prey in your own home.

"We insist" Mahito decided, smiling sweetly at you.

The other shrugged in your direction, agreeing to go with him. It seemed this one lacked any spine, always following along with whatever the other man desired.

You couldn't fault him for it, though – there was something about this man that made him just…terrifying.

And now they both looked at you, expecting you to guide the way upstairs, as your brain tried to figure out what the hell to do.

Could you scream? Alert Sukuna of their presence?

All that would do was give them an advantage in the time Sukuna rushed down the stairs – knowing exactly where he would be coming from.

It wasn't a good plan.

You could tell them to leave, insist they were disturbing your work and force them out of the door.

Even if they did leave, however, they'd be going back to the main house. Your home. Where your family was.

They'd probably come back, or worse – make your brothers pay for your insolence.

That's if you ever managed to get them out the door in the first place.

The third option…

Your hand was around the dagger, flashes of lessons from both Sukuna and Choso swirling in your brain. You knew how to use it. Where to stick it so they couldn't scream, where to stab so it was a quick death, and you surely had the element of surprise in your favour too, you–

You couldn't.

The thought alone made you want to be sick.

So you swallowed hard as you nodded your head, and turned to the stairs.

One step at a time, one foot after the other, up the stone steps that exposed your secret.

Would Sukuna be able to hear? Realise there were three pairs of feet coming up instead of two?

There wasn't much room to hide upstairs, you knew. This could only mean one thing.

He would either have to fight, or be taken.

You couldn't bear the thought of seeing him covered in blood again.

And you hated yourself for it, but you only hoped the men would trip and fall down the stairs – a divine intervention, perhaps, where the one you were coming to love wouldn't have to dirty his hands once more.

The walk up took an eternity, and it felt like you hadn't taken a single breath in the whole time.

When you finally reached the top…

You had gotten used to seeing Sukuna's tall form by the beacon, illuminated by the flame as his body relaxed a little with the heat emanating from it. Sukuna would always be watching the outside, always looking down.

Why didn't you look down today?

You cursed yourself for being so blinded by affection you forgot the one thing Choso told you to do.

Keep your eyes down.

Would they harm him after?

Your family?

Your brother who you had only just gotten back?

You wanted to cry, was close to being sick – but Sukuna wasn't where you expected him to be.

Not by the beacon, not watching the sea.

You gasped in surprise, turning your body around to look down the other end – but before you could, a pair of big hands you loved pulled you from behind, locking your head between a thick bicep while the other took something from inside your pocket.

The coldness of the metal made contact with your skin, and your brain started to make the connection.

"Put it down!" the two scouts shouted, already unsheathing their weapons.

Ah.

Sukuna had taken your dagger.

The man you had been so close to giving everything to had a knife to your throat.

And yet, you could tell he was being careful – the arm that snaked across your chest actually held you gently, resting over your other arm to get you as close to him as possible; though from the outside it wouldn't be so obvious.

And the blade to your throat was cautious not to touch, hovering just a half inch away to avoid harming you.

Still, the shock was enough that every sharp in breath brought your throat closer and closer to the metal.

Sukuna's fingers dug into your arm, grounding, protective, but you couldn't control your breathing.

It was too much.

You placed your head right on his chest, tilting your chin up a little to look at him, your nails digging into his forearm. But Sukuna's crimson eyes were locked on the two men, completely focused.

You were terrified.

But despite how it might look to the scouts – you weren't trying to push him away, of course.

"Don't harm her" the young boy shouted. "Knew you'd be here, villain" he spat, sword raised and aimed at you.

Mahito, on the other hand, was much quieter. His lips smiled with glee, seeming almost…excited. Enthralled with the idea of violence.

You had no doubt he didn't care at all if you lived or died. The disgusting man just seemed eager to see some blood spilled.

Sukuna held you tight, flush to his chest, his heart beating against your back like a drum. You wanted to cry, maybe you already were crying, but your head couldn't find any solutions to get you out of this position.

You were completely at their mercy here.

"Let the lady go" the boy tried again, the sword shaking a little as he struggled to keep his hand steady. Maybe he was inexperienced too, maybe he wanted to see violence as little as you did.

You felt Sukuna huff, his arms holding you tighter despite the horrible words that left the lips you had kissed so fervently.

"Leave" he said. "Or I slit her throat"

It made your blood run cold to hear him talk like that.

He didn't mean it, of course – you knew that. Of course you knew that.

It didn't make it any easier though.

That's when you were sure you were crying – because the tears streaked down your cheeks and onto Sukuna's forearm, and you felt his thumb brush against your skin for just a second, a minuscule movement he hoped wouldn't give the two of you away.

Just something that said you're safe.

Of course you trusted him, but your heart was about to leap out of your damn throat and all you could think about was how much of a fool you felt for crying instead of acting.

The silence stretched for a few seconds, until that horrible man laughed.

Laughed.

Like this was amusing.

"Well?" Mahito said, tilting his head to the side. "I'm waiting"

"Mahito–" his friend exclaimed, for the first time taking his eyes away from you to stare wide eyed at his fellow soldier.

"What?" he interrupted, seeming bored. "Though it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to die, wouldn't it?"

Gods, you hated him.

And from how Sukuna's hold tightened on you, you knew he shared the sentiment.

You could almost hear him growl behind you.

Don't give us away, you kept thinking, holding on to him too.

"How dare you" the other boy spat, and you felt a little bit of hope. Maybe an argument between the two would be your best case scenario. "Choso is your friend, we've fought together, we've–"

"Yes, yes" Mahito waved him off. "Suddenly, I have a question"

He stepped forwards like a man that enjoyed playing with his food. Head tilted in amusement, sword drawn lazily, looking from Sukuna to you, slowly, taking his time.

And then he finally said it –

"The door was locked, wasn't it?"

His words hit your ears and all sound exited the room.

You froze completely.

All you could hear was the crackling of the fire and the ocean.

And then your heart beating loud. Excruciatingly loud.

And then his horrible voice again.

"I find it hard to believe the man climbed all the way up here, unnoticed" he continued, words ringing in your ear as a headache formed behind your temples.

Luckily, the other one didn't seem in agreement.

"This is Choso's sister you're accusing" he argued, though even his own voice did waver.

If he could convince him, maybe–

"Terrible, isn't it?" Mahito clicked his tongue, mocking. "Deceived by their own blood. We shouldn't tell him"

"You mean–"

You couldn't hear the rest of the sentence, because Sukuna moved quickly.

In one swift movement, he shoved you behind him, with so much force your skin split where your knees hit the stone floor. But you didn't blame him for it.

There was no time to lose.

Sukuna was fast – you had never seen anything like it. Before your body had even landed, he was already lunging at the two men.

He went straight for Mahito, sword unsheathed and aimed for his throat. This man who looked so smug just seconds ago struggled with Sukuna's sheer size and speed, barely managing to parry in time.

Sukuna evaded every attempted blow, swinging his blade expertly and getting closer and closer by the second, ready to finish the man who had such awful things to say about you. The other scout tried to fight, but even though they outnumbered him, they were at a disadvantage.

You had never seen someone move like that before.

It made sense why everyone was so scared of him.

Did he move like that against your brother?

Don't think about that.

A glint on the floor caught your attention then, and you noticed it was the dagger Sukuna had to your throat moments ago. You were quick to grab it, pulling it to your chest and promptly dragging yourself to the wall, as far away from the fight as possible.

But you realised Sukuna hadn't simply discarded the weapon – he meant it for you.

For you to use it if you had to.

And that moment might have come sooner than you thought.

You watched as the three struggled, as the younger boy took a terrified step back when Sukuna took the sword from him and used it to finally strike his companion, a toe curling scream filling the room.

The young man was shaking, terrified, and weaponless now.

And then he turned to you.

This one wasn't like the other, right? He wouldn't harm you, wouldn't–

The way his eyes looked at you, vicious, told a different story.

"What have you done–" he growled, rushing in your direction.

Both your hands were shaking, but kept holding on to the hilt of the knife, trying to keep it steady, like Sukuna had taught you and Choso before him.

"Don't" you tried to cry out, but he was getting closer.

It all happened too fast.

"I'm sorry–" you heard yourself say, pathetically, back against the wall for protection – but in reality, it offered you no escape.

You had trapped yourself.

And this man was coming towards you, with hate in his eyes.

Sukuna was quick to notice, but not as fast as you needed him to. The sound of blades slashing skin and broken bones seemed so far away, and suddenly–

Everything turned red.

You didn't want to hurt him. But what choice did you have?

If only it had been the other one – he was bad. He was evil. This one was… misguided. Young. Not dissimilar to Choso, not dissimilar to the rebel boys you had offered shelter.

Where even were they?

Were they safe?

Your thoughts kept rushing and rushing and rushing but the world around you had gone numb. Your hands moved on their own, defending yourself, like animal instinct.

But your vision was still red.

With no way of discerning what was even happening around you, you wondered if this is what it felt like to die.

To just slip away in confusion, sinking like shipwreck.

Would death be kinder than a world like this?

Everything was painful, and wet, and–

"Hey" a voice called, pulling you back. You wanted to rush towards it, but you couldn't move, couldn't speak. You were just so fucking scared.

Breathe. In, out. You could still do that. Air was filling your lungs – you were still here.

Your vision was returning too, fragmented and blotchy, but slowly coming back.

When you finally came to again, Sukuna was shaking your shoulders desperately.

"Are you hurt?" Sukuna asked, moving to grip your blood stained hands. But the blood wasn't yours.

Not yours.

"Look at me" Sukuna commanded, and your eyes finally managed to focus on something.

You looked down. First at your reddened hands, then to the body that lay next to you. All light gone from the young boy's eyes.

"Did I–"

"No" Sukuna interrupted, turning your face away. "You didn't"

You knew he was lying.

"But–" you stuttered, feeling the bile rise up your throat.

"You stabbed him, yes, but I finished the job" Sukuna explained, bringing his hands to cup your face.

They were dripping in blood too.

"I killed him" you whispered, shaky and pained and terrified.

Had you become the thing you hated the most too?

"Listen to me" Sukuna touched your forehead with his, as close as he could be. "You didn't"

It was kind of him to lie.

But the way your body shook with disgust, the way your stomach twisted – it knew. You knew. Everything in you knew.

You pushed Sukuna away as fast as you could, not because you wanted to, but because you were already violently throwing up the little food you had eaten onto the lighthouse floor.

The stench was disgusting. Everything was disgusting.

Were you disgusting too?

Sukuna kindly placed a hand on your upper back, the other brushing your hair back, allowing you to let it out. He didn't even turn away as your body just kept moving on its own, torturing you with your own sins trying to force their way out of you.

And when you were finally done, weak and shaking, Sukuna pulled you into him, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe your mouth.

"You're ok" he whispered, rocking you slowly. "You didn't do anything wrong"

You didn't know if you'd ever believe him, but right now, you were glad to have him right there with you. You wanted him, you wanted your brother, you wanted this whole thing to just be a horrible nightmare.

Sukuna kept rubbing your back, shushing you kindly. Still – there were two dead men staining your precious lighthouse floor. And in all the commotion, you almost missed the sounds coming from downstairs.

What the hell was happening outside?

✧ a/n being a writer is funny sometimes because i will have full control over how a story goes and still torture myself writing scenes like this. my poor reader i love her so much </3 alsooo ty for voting on the last poll, i was so pleased to see high tides won! i hope you enjoyed this and as always, im very excited to read your thoughts, you guys are the best. mwah! <3

frat!kuna who's hosting a party and immediately notices a new face in the crowd. it's you. he's never seen you at a frat party before and, damn, do you look good. he feels his ears go red as he takes in your appearance from across the room. tight leather skirt, black corset top, and knee high boots. it's different from you usually wear but he's not complaining.

frat!kuna waits for you to make your way into the kitchen before he introduces himself. what better way to start small talk with a pretty girl than helping her get a drink?

frat!kuna who's pleasantly surprised to find that you're easy to talk you and how you're fun to flirt with. it boosts his ego knowing the attraction is reciprocated. (little does he know that you've been stressed out of your mind and wanted to get laid with a hot man for some relief oop—)

frat!kuna who doesn't do relationships, but when he gets you alone in his room away from the party. he decides maybe he's a changed man. you're warm, soft and so pliant. so receptive to his touch. the little noises you make gets him going and he wonders what it would be like to hear that all the time. to feel your hands on him. to feel you call his name and stare right back at him with adoration in your eyes everyday. and not just in the bedroom.

frat!kuna is attentive to your needs and brings you a cold bottled water from his mini fridge. he opens the cap for you to take and goes into his bathroom. he comes back with a damp washcloth to wipe you down, peppering kisses on your stomach as he does so. his heart swells when he hears you giggle. he burrows his head into your neck. voice low and little pleading, asks that you stay the night and promises he doesn't snore. (he does, but only a little bit and that's not the point).

frat!kuna who watches as you debate whether or not to stay. and he can't help but lean into your touch when you press your palm into his cheek apologetically. you tell him you have a meeting with a student for a tutoring session tomorrow morning.

frat!kuna immediately fires back with a promise to turn on an alarm and grabs his phone to show you. he insists he'll wake up with you and insists on buying you coffee in the morning to bribe you. he collapses on top of your burrows back into your neck. he revels in the fingers that starting carding through his hair. he says it's his duty as a gentleman to not let a pretty woman go home by herself this late at night, but he's feeling rather spent after strenuous activities, so it only makes sense that you stay the night.

frat!kuna who grabs you a clean t-shirt to wear to bed after you reluctantly agree.

frat!kuna who brings your back closer to his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist. a hand splaying across your midsection. his thumb absentmindedly rubs across the soft skin. the last thing he feels before he drifts off to sleep with his nose in the crown of your hair is the feeling of your lips pressing against his bicep you're using as a pillow.

“Take your time.” Sukuna warned as the deer’s ears perked up, anxiety obvious in its body at the sound of a twig breaking far off in the distance. “If you panic you’ll miss, or worse, you’ll cause injury without killing it, and that’s just cruel.” 

Yuji’s brows furrowed, brown eyes still fixed on his target, but seemingly weighed down by the considerable pressure that his uncle had just heaped on his shoulders. 

Sure, he could be nicer to Yuji, but a little pressure was a good build of character. Someone had to do it, since he knew Jin wasn’t. 

Hell, you certainly weren’t pressuring the boy either, with Yuji always making it abundantly clear that he liked his auntie much more than he liked Sukuna. Always hiding behind you and making Sukuna feel bad when you’d scold him for being too tough on his brat of a nephew. 

Not that he really minded your scoldings. You’d always look so hot when you yelled at him, if anything it incentivised bad behaviour. 

“Now?” Yuji asked, shooting a side glance at Sukuna as the deer started to drink from a small pool. 

Sukuna gave him a small nod and Yuji let the arrow fly, holding his breath until it found its target in the creature’s torso, striking the exact point that Sukuna had trained him to hit. The boy’s reaction was instant, jumping up and down as the deer fell to the floor, a wide grin on his young face. 

“Did you see that? I got it!” 

“You did. Good job.” Sukuna said, offering him the barest praise as he trekked over to the deer to make sure it was dead, eager to put it out of its misery if it was still clinging to life. 

Meanwhile Yuji was still chattering along excitedly behind him, a whole barrage of words being thrown his way as the boy prattled on about how proud you’d be with him once they’d dragged the deer back to the village, musing over whether you’d bake him one of your cakes as congratulations for a successful hunt. 

You definitely would. Sukuna knew that you’d do anything for that boy. 

He was far too spoiled.    

Deciding that the deer was dead, and that Yuji had, in fact, done a good job, he stowed away his knife and hauled the carcass over his shoulder. Yuji was still too young and small to help with carrying the weight, so he allowed his nephew to bound on ahead, back in the direction of their village. 

It was a tiny little place, with only around twenty cottages making up the settlement nestled between mountains. The community was close-knit and quiet, with Sukuna and his family being the first new inhabitants for a while. At first he’d feared that you’d be ostracised, but the people welcomed you all with open arms, helping you get set up with a home and land to farm. 

Life wasn’t easy up in the mountains. Every person largely hunted and farmed for themselves, with the elderly being helped along by their younger family members. It wasn’t a place where questions were asked, with most of the people having no interest in the affairs or politics of the outside world. 

All they wanted was to live in peace, and that had made it the perfect place for you to settle. 

Things had been rough when you first left Gojo’s Kingdom all those years ago, with Jin and Yuji in tow. Your knowledge of other continents was limited, and Sukuna had wanted to avoid keeping you on the road for too long. Even if you were doing your best to cast off your need for luxuries, you weren’t built for rough living. 

That’s why Sukuna had taken the suggestion as gospel when Suguru recommended a small cluster of islands far north of your continent, known as the Bird Islands. Allegedly they were quiet, not officially under the rule of any Kingdom, the sort of place that you could go and disappear. 

He hadn’t been wrong. 

The islands were beautiful - albeit much colder than you were used to, with a rugged landscape, but they offered plenty of game and fertile ground. Settlements were few and far between, but the people were friendly no matter where you went. 

It was everything you’d needed. 

“Auntie!” Yuji cried out, voice filled with joy as he sprinted up the hill to the little log cabin that Sukuna had built for the two of you. You were standing on the porch, wearing one of those pretty dresses that you’d sewn for yourself, a woolen cloak wrapped around your shoulders. “I got a deer, I got a deer!” 

“No way! you’re so talented Yuu!” You were grinning at the boy as he practically threw himself at you, only to sheepishly pull back as Sukuna barked at him to be careful. 

“Sorry.” Yuji mumbled, dejected for only a second before his gaze moved to your swollen stomach. “Did they move again?” 

“No, honey. Not yet - I’ll let you know when it happens again.” You beamed at him. 

“I want them to be here now. Uraume’s boring.” He complained, earning himself a chuckle from you. He had mighty high expectations of your one year old.  

“Don’t talk about my kid like that, brat.” Sukuna hissed, lightly hitting Yuji on the back of the head as he dumped the deer down on the skinning rack. “Go tell Jin about how today went, I’ll get this cleaned and we can have stew for dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” Yuji said seriously, before running off to the next house along, where Jin resided. 

Sukuna’s gaze went to you, heart still fluttering at the sight of you staring at him with such love, an amused smile painted on your lips. It’d been years, and he still couldn't believe that you were really his, even if you were currently on your second child together. 

“Good day?” You asked. 

“Mmmm.” He approached, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you into an embrace, careful not to crush your stomach in the process. “It’s better now.” He mumbled, pressing his lips softly against yours, allowing himself to get caught up for just a moment before pulling away. “Where’s Uraume?” 

“At Jin’s place. He wanted to give me a break - Uraume’s been a handful ever since the teething started.” 

He hummed in agreement. That was definitely the case. Uraume had been the most serene baby in the world, barely ever crying, happy to just exist in a space. But now that the teething process had started, they’d become a nightmare to deal with. 

Considering that you were about to have another addition to your family, he was making the most of his peace while he still could. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Not great. This baby is kicking my ass.” You mumbled. “Threw up like five times this morning, and everything tastes horrible. Plus I’m twice as big as I was when I carried Uraume, it's like I’m growing some demon child in there.”

Sukuna’s hands soothed over the bump gently, your shoulders visibly losing some tension at his touch. 

“Can I do anything to help?” He asked softly, trailing his fingers over the fabric of your dress, his breath warm against your face. 

“It's okay, you need to skin the deer, I’ll be fine.” 

“That wasn’t a no.”

“Then-” you blushed a little, clearly embarrassed by your request. “Can you just hold me for a bit?” 

He let out a breathy laugh, amused at your bashfulness because he had all the time in the world to hold you. 

At this point it was his number one priority. 

“Of course.” 

And as he let you settle into his arms inside that lovely house he’d built for the two of you, all snuggled up safely together on soft furs in front of a roaring fire, he couldn’t help but appreciate his current position in life.

For a man whose life should’ve ended several times over, he could hardly believe that he was here, living in some far off place, with the love of his life huddled in his arms. Even when he’d first met you, when you’d first started sneaking around, he hadn’t for a moment believed that one day he’d get to be with you like this. 

It had been unfathomable. 

But here you were, living a life with him. 

You were his, and his alone. 

And he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way

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a/n: once again, a massive thank you for all the support on this fic, I can't believe its finally done! These two will always hold a special place in my heart but I can't wait to bring out even more sukuna fics for you guys hehe

for people reading sweet tooth, the next chapter will be out in a week or so!! <3

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You have no idea what time it is — the moon is new, but the night isn't.

Outside the window you peered out of, the horse clatter comes to a slow, distant stall, hanging like a threat over your head that you have to swallow down in favor of getting up and getting your gun. There's no space for hesitating or tiptoeing around with a life like yours — rough around the edges, hanging with omens you hated confronting.

Your nightgown is stained with it. A gift from your past that you kept because you had no other choice. He's written in your DNA in more ways than one, and he's written all over the dusty double-barreled shotgun you reach for. You keep it in the chest at the end of your hay-stuffed bed, out of your son's hands and close enough to go for in perfect circumstances like this.

The metal creaks as you tuck the stock under your arm, breath picking up with the rushing wind. You can't hear much — surely not the same bustling that stirred you from sleep, but you trust yourself. You've got the ear of a mama lion, ready to jump into danger if it means protecting your cub from the evildoers that rise at night.

Your stomach flips as you move slowly through your room, dodging the faulty screws in the floor as you pull open the paneled door. The house is quiet — your son is asleep on the other side of the room, tucked safely behind his bedroom door, so you make your way to the front, not noticing just how long you've been holding your breath for.

Your bare toes grip the splintering wood as you reach for the rickety metal knob, sighing when it pulls open and the coolness of the summer night rushes against your exposed skin. Stepping down from the ledge onto the porch, you keep one foot inside, staring out to the darkness like the evildoer would just up and present himself to you.

"I don't know who you are, but you surely ain't got no business here!" You call, shivering against the whinny of a horse's snout. "I got a gun and I ain't afraid to use it!" Though your voice is unwavering, your knees are shaking. You lift the gun, finger pulsing against the sticky trigger that hasn't been fired in three years, but you don't shoot. Not yet.

Life seems to turn in slow-motion — your breaths are shaking, so loud in your ear that it's rattling your thoughts and distracting you from the crunch of footsteps drawing near. There's nothing on your mind or in your bones that doubts your abilities; you know you have to outlast this danger. Your son is too fragile — too much of a hot commodity with a last name and a reflection like his. Sukuna always warned you about this, and he isn't here, so you're happy to turn into something adjacent to his grit.

"Put the gun down."

Your heart stops, stilling in your chest and sucking all the blood from your limbs. He sounds like a ghost — frozen in time and thick around his accent and the cigarette smoke he relies on just like his cheap bourbon.

You can't see anything through the shadows, but you can feel his presence fall upon you like a ton of bricks, weighing and slowing you down through the darkness. Finger pressing the trigger a bit harder, you call again, unsure of yourself. "I don't know who you are, so you need to leave! Scram — now!"

"Feisty girl," He chuckles, boot pressing against rock and dirt as the stranger takes a few experimental steps to your front porch. Your heart is racing, now, feeling like your life might flash before your eyes if you don't just swallow it down and pull this trigger. Your baby could be alone if you can't gain the nerve — roped up into a life he can't handle just because you couldn't push down the mystery of your past. The thought of him makes your skin shiver, and he had no business back here, not really, so your fingers tighten around the double-barrel.

A moment passes — you still don't pull the trigger. Something tells you not to, like an omen from Heaven sent down to sit on your chest, bathed in the presence of the one you needed the most. That voice is just… It's too familiar.

His boot hits the bottom step, creaking and pulsing against his weight. "Now, what business you got goin' and havin' a baby on me?"

Sukuna steps into the shadows of your crooked, cracked porch cover, one foot on the bottom step and another on the middle. He sighs when he sees you again, hands on his hips as he lets out a satiated, steady hum. Even staring down your gun — stepping closer to it with each drag, he stands unshaken. You sure scare the Hell out of him, but your weapon doesn't.

"You ain't even tell me the poor bastard's name."

"Don't call my son that." You seethe, pushing the barrel into his chest as he crowds you. Sukuna tilts his head to the side as he studies your familiar face, aged five years, in the blackness of night. He wishes he had brought his lantern, but he opts to bow, sliding his hat off to respect your mystical presence once more. "I still hardly believe it's you."

"Is it the facial hair? Been neglectin' it recently, ain't gonna lie to you." There's that same cocky laugh hidden behind his tone that always seemed to linger as he aged. Sukuna scratches at the unkempt stubble around his lips, "Look, I've been meanin' to write you back—

"You shoulda stayed dead, Ryomen." Your voice is hot, controlled, and measured as you shove the end of your gun into his rock-hard chest with all your strength, yet he doesn't budge. He makes you so angry. "I didn't send you that letter to bring you crawling back to my doorstep."

"Uraume and Suguru told me about the money they've been giving you. Surely it's not all going into fixing up this dump."

You don't have much pride in these four walls, but it's all reflected in your resilience. These four walls saw your traumatic birth, witnessed the blood and grit, sheltered your baby's head, and supported his first footfalls. No — this isn't your home, it's your lifeblood. "It's going into raising and feeding my boy! Now get your sorry ass—

"Don't be like that, baby doll." He eases, guns length away as he smooths his arm over your tense, cocked shoulder. That moment of pause and unbreakable closeness stalls you just enough for him to reach for the gun, prying it easily out of your shaking grip. "There you are. Let me in to see the boy, hm? Got me standin' out here, covered to my toes in dust,"

"You see the boy, then you leave." You reach haphazardly for your shotgun hanging at Sukuna's side, flustered when he steps back just enough to keep it out of reach. You don't chase.

"Looks like you still know how to handle a gun after all these years."

"It's mine—

"So am I, hm? Yours? Gun gets to sleep at your bed end, but you own man can't?" He chuckles as he brings the weapon back to his chest, inspecting it closely in the dark. "It's about time I came back to you."

Your lip twitches as Sukuna pushes past you and into your sacred home. His boots leave their mark in the swept dirt — loose floorboards creaking around the rotting frame. Ashamed to say, and far too prideful to admit, you wouldn't be surprised if one wrong step sent Sukuna through the floor.

Swallowing it down, you turn and follow him closely. "You're five summers too late,"

"Got caught up in some mess heading westward. Toji's lady died right after birthin' his boy. He went crazy and skipped town for a few months, leaving us with him. Ah — I could go on, but that don't really matter, 'cause I'm here now, ain't I?"

"Just what business do y'all have here, now? Whitehall don't need more trouble, and certainly not by the likes of a bunch of rabid Sukuna's stealing all their shit." Your voice gets hot and high in your throat, hurling towards the back of his head

"Didn't you say there's a baby sleepin'? Do you yell at my son like that?"

"Your son? What have you done for that boy besides create him? You have some nerve, Ryomen." You hiss, stopping him before he takes a step closer to the pulled bedroom door where your son peacefully sleeps. A part of you wants to let him in — let him lay his eyes upon the truest, purest version of himself tucked under rawhide sheets, but the other part wants to tell him to leave and never come back.

It all comes to a head as he reaches for the crooked wood, an invisible smile curling over his chiseled, sinister lips. "For all I know, you coulda laid down with a scrawny little barn boy and birthed his kid."

"Even you don't believe that."

He keeps his voice low and gritty outside your son's room — hand hovering. It's a fleeting, dragging look that makes you feel feverish and shiny under his spotlight gaze. "You kept yourself mine all these years?"

"You're the only man I've ever touched." You speak, so sure of yourself that it's almost uncanny.

"Here." Sukuna pauses for a moment, reflecting on the statement he already knew was accurate. He presses the gun into your chest with strength lost on him, pushing you a step or two back. "And get me a lantern so I can actually see the boy."

"Any other demands?"

"Yeah. Have some respect." Sukuna waits with a cocked hip as you step back, thumb hanging against his holster as you back up and approach your tiny, dingy kitchen. His eyes are boring holes in your back when you bend over, shuffling through the bottom cabinet for an oil lantern you haven't touched in weeks. You and your boy sleep during the night — ain't no use for them when you're waking up as the sun starts shining again.

"I didn't like being away from you more than you liked being away from me."

"What?"

"Alls I'm saying is," Sukuna pauses, shuffling through his satchel for a book of matches, evading eye contact as you step in front of him, holding the lantern open so he can spark it. "Boy ain't gonna learn how to respect folk if his own mama can't even respect his daddy."

"I raised my son to be just as polite as they come." You flinch once the match strikes, erupting your close faces in the same orange glow of a small flame. Cupping it against his hand, Sukuna lowers it into the lantern, waiting for the fuel to catch before shaking the match out. "His first words were yes, ma'am."

Once he has you engulfed in lantern light, he smiles — genuinely. It's the first time he can study your face again, and he adores the lines of grit, sun, and anger written into your pores. Your soft skin bare of makeup, but doted on in the way only you can seem to manage. Your cheeks are smooth and full of love and life — plump and not emaciated like his. "He's a good boy, then. Our boy."

"Don't get too comfortable—

"Ah—" he takes the lantern from your grip, holding it out to see you and your familiar body, bare feet and loose against your cotton nightgown. He recognizes it. "Feel like I've touched that gown more than once."

"It's the one you got for me." You dip your head, not used to being so purely at attention after five years of funneling it all into your baby. "The summer I turned twenty-one."

"That was a good year." He chuckles, thinking back to your heated breaths pressed into the sticky, wet hay of your family barn, soaked to the core with rain and want for your returned outlaw. You spent twenty minutes with Sukuna afterward, picking the grains from your hair and teeth, too love-drunk to say anything but the obvious. The gown was a pity gift, sent to you after the fact to make up for tearing your old one in half. It lay tattered against the soiled hay, and he had to shed his outer layers to cover you back home.

"I kept them rags and had them sewn into my pillows. They always smelled as sweet as you. So clean, too."

"You could have kept that to yourself." It's hard to hold up your iron front when he's a breath away, huge body slumped at the shoulders so he can stare you down. You're swallowing and nervous, feeling like an old shell of yourself. "Your obsession knows no bounds."

"That was a joke…" Sukuna chuckles around his words, and it's real and tangible. Then, he doubles down, "Maybe."

"You ain't changed at all." You give him a meek, fleeting smile, and he reaches up to cradle your chin. For just a moment, feeling his feverish touch back on your skin, you feel five years younger. The weight of it all just crumbles and falls when he touches you again, pushing a contented sigh from your nose as you absentmindedly lean into his touch.

"Look at you — doing all the changin' for the both of us…" His voice sits low and rumbly in his chest, his big thumb crossing over your bottom lip as he holds you so gently. Sukuna's feeling your smile over his fingers, staring down at you, completely stale-faced — eyes blinking stars into your being that haven't been there for half a decade. "You think you can take me back, Lady?"

Though he's got you tongue-tied and halfway to devotion, that motherly bone bites at your ankles. "I don't want that gang mess around my boy." You're staring into his mean, dark eyes now, suddenly unafraid or finally growing used to his uncomfortable presence as he stares right back down.

His smirk fades into something neutral, brows furrowing as he pedals around what he knows he needs to say. "It's just me standing in front of you, ain't it? Not the whole gang?"

You challenge him further. "I don't want them around at all. I don't want them knowin' his name or anything about him. My baby is innocent."

It's not quite a yes, but Sukuna nods. "I hear 'ya."

"I need you to promise," you step forward towards your son's door as if you're keeping him safe from his huge, overbearing father. "To not talk about that with him at all."

"Damn, girl, I said I hear 'ya." He cocks his lips like he's disgusted with your pressing questions, not understanding that your son's life hangs in the very fragile balance between peace and crime. If it's his duty to live a life carrying his father's sins, he'd at least live a childhood tucked safely under you, not worrying about whether he'd have a safe pillow to lay his head on at night.

Wanting to believe Sukuna — feeling the overwhelming need to trust him sit on your chest, you swallow down a sigh, then eventually nod. "O-okay." You lead the way, and Sukuna lets you without even parting his lips to disagree. He understands that right now, you have the upper hand. Your home is sensitive and unsure, and he's nothing but a stranger in these four walls. Still, he waits with bated breath as you step past him to the cracked bedroom door.

As you step into the cool, dusty space, Sukuna crowds you from behind, the light from his cradled lantern reflecting rocking shadows through the wood-paneled room. He lets you lead the way to your son's low bedside, walking on your toes to muffle the creaking floorboards that Sukuna would wake on impact.

Stopping by the side of his bed, leaning over his small, sleeping frame, Sukuna lifts his lantern and concentrates it over the straw mattress. He can't see much; his son is facing the wall, but he can see the tuft of similarly colored light hair strewn across his cream pillows. A piece of his soul cracks, like he can't deny the little lanky body all wrapped up in his mother's sheets.

You smile, leaning over Yuji's frame to press a kiss against his cheek. "My Yuji. Our Yuji." You whisper, running your knuckle against his pearly, soft collarbone. You're not worried about waking him — your son is a good sleeper, you're just worried about frightening him. Though he's so resilient, catching field mice with his bare hands, the darkness and isolation still unnerve him.

"Yuji…" Sukuna tries the name on for size, his voice low and steady as he tries not to startle the boy with his own weariness. The situation feels impossible and brand new. Yesterday, he didn't even know he had a child — this evening, he's standing over his twin, shining, flickering light over his lady and his little boy, swallowing back the urge to shake his head in disbelief.

"See? Your boy." You stand up straight, an easy smile crossing your features as you look up at him. "A goddamn copy-paste of you. It's almost insulting after giving him my life for nine months, for him to come out looking like that."

Sukuna's lips tug into the smallest, slightest smile, letting you press into his side as you two linger and watch your son's chest rise and fall with REM. He hums in his sleep, whining and turning onto his back, cheek nuzzling into the side of his pillow. The movement renders the two of you absolutely motionless — hearts seizing in your chests like you're terrified of waking the beast and withstanding a dark night of constant childhood mania.

Holding the lantern tight in one hand, Sukuna wraps his other arm around the small of your waist, keeping you pressed into his sturdy body even when you want to run away. The small act of territory makes your blood heat and settle something familiar in your bones — something you don't want to run away from.

Looking up at him in passing, you give Sukuna a small, genuine smile. He doesn't see or reciprocate, eyes laser-focused on the way his son's gentle features twitch and absorb the light he keeps in his now-shaking hands. You can feel his nerves on your body, can read it in the tremble of the metal closures on the lantern. When you blink, you can hear the thickness of his spit slide down his throat as he swallows.

"Don't know whether I should be touched or threatened by the fact that you kept him away for all these years."

"I didn't keep him away; you just never came back."

"So, you go to Suguru and Uraume for help? Instead of the man who can be there for you?"

You pull away the second you hear a change in his tone, ready to beeline it out of the bedroom so the heightened feelings in the air don't reflect onto your sleeping angel. "They didn't tell you the half of it." Is all you decide to counter with, seething under your breath as you reach for the lantern.

Before your fingers can touch the iron, he pulls it out of arm's reach, making the flame bounce off the strength of his brow. In the darkness, Sukuna's already dark eyes feel sinister and calculating, demeaning you in a way he doesn't intend to push. It's just — Sukuna feels at home in your being, like he belongs and doesn't want to move or fight about it. So many questions came to the forefront when he finally understood the silent movement of money — how it went over his head so perfectly to be able to keep it going for so long.

Sukuna isn't stupid — he knows Suguru has a soft spot for him. It's a stupid soft spot. One that could cost him his life if he isn't careful.

Sukuna treats you with grace, following you out of the bedroom with easy precision. He measures his footfalls, knowing Yuji is stirring to the absentminded shift in presence. He doesn't want to wake him, believing he wouldn't be able to handle the onslaught of fatherhood so late at night.

Still, somehow, buried at your side, Sukuna thinks he'd be able to shoulder it. That thought brings about a wave of ease over his shoulders that he didn't know he needed, but he welcomes it. Just like he welcomes your soft smile once you click your son's door shut behind you.

He doesn't know what to say — neither do you. You smile. "Feeling tired?"

"Exhausted. I want you and your bed."

Crossing your tongue over your top row of teeth, you dip your gaze downward, burning with his unbridled closeness. You have every mind to sleep alongside the man you've dreamt about through your entire youth and womanhood, but there's only one thing holding you back.

Stepping in front of his huge, brooding figure, you turn your fists in the stretched cotton of his shirt, bunching the collar. The difference in height would be alarming if you hadn't known it all your life. Now, you treasure the space he leaves for you, finally blinking up and shaking your head. "You smelly old man."

"Ach," Sukuna clicks his teeth as you waddle to the doorway, leaning down to pick up the upside-down tin watering bucket. You keep it at the front — an easy way to get water from the well and back into the house with as few water-spilling steps as possible.

"We bathe inside. I'm not having my baby out in them elements, bare like that." You settle on before he can fully interrupt you, expecting one of his thorough man scoldings, or perhaps nothing at all. You don't know what to expect from this stranger who's made his way back into your house, but you know you love him. You know you need him.

Still, the tug of war for dominance wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't be won anytime soon. It's why you let Sukuna take that bucket out of your hands like you're incapable, his deep tone pulling you into the dull loop you've felt your entire life. "I'll get the water. You just make sure there's oil in that, there lantern."

"I was gonna start the fire so I can boil some hot water for you." You counter, breath-to-breath with him as he stoops to your level. His dark gaze flickers from your eyes, down to your swollen lips, then he smiles. "And then oil the lanterns in the washroom, so you've got some light."

"You're gonna take the clothes off my back and scrub them raw tonight, too?"

"Tomorrow." You bite, tone a bit too quick, too razor-sharp for what he needs right now. You can see it in his face when he crinkles it like Yuji does when he's frustrated. "But you're not gettin' in my bed with those on, I hope you know."

"This new attitude…" Sukuna starts, standing up straight with a looming, uneasy, shadowed gaze. His beard is longer now — nothing like what you've seen on him. With sunken eyes, a mean scowl, and settled in fine-lines, he's a… version of your Sukuna that you so desperately needed, but just didn't know how to be with, yet. "I don't know whether to love or hate it."

"My house, my rules."

He turns around, beginning to head back to the door. Swinging the bucket at his side, he regards you over the shoulder in passing, a smirk hidden behind his drawn-out words."You barely got a house to stand in. Gonna take me all summer to fix this place up."

"Well, who said I needed your help?"

Sukuna's worn-down boot-toe nudges at a lifted floorboard as he stalks towards the door — grunting without needing to say more. You know what that means, giggling in passing as he reaches for the rusted iron knob to pull it open.

"How long are you gonna stay?" You don't want it to sound like you're rushing him, because you wouldn't dream of it. His presence is cool, calculated, and freeing, though he has every mind to tie you down.

"Why don't you go 'head and fix up that fire, mm?" It's a polite way to tell you to shut up, and one you bend to without him saying another word. In time, you know his heart is due to open again — it'll be mean, at first, but when it turns into something beautiful, you'll swear you want to marry the man.

"T-the well is just to the left of the—

He doesn't cut you off with words, but instead with another dark chuckle that makes you furrow your brow. Then, he leaves you alone in your entryway, wrists crossed over your heart as his shadow fades into the darkness of the night. The maternal bone in your body claws and aches to run out there with a fueled lantern and light his dark path, but you know he wouldn't appreciate it.

So, you practice patience in the way only a mother can. You watch from the lingering, open door, tilting your head as he walks out of eye-shot and into the crunches of shed leaves and the whinny of horses.

Moments pass, then the familiar rickety creak of the well crank cuts through the night — Sukuna grunts. You smile as you step into the doorway. You lean on the frame, squinting and pretending you can see him fussing with the water, though he feels worlds away in the moment.

You're so caught up in a stupid, childish daydream of his broad back working to crank the sloshing water to the surface that you don't even remember to step back. The fire goes unlit — the pot ice cold, hanging above the dry, splintered wood like an insult to your honesty.

You stay there — everything stays the exact same as you hear footsteps crunching again, his steady groans backing the sound. Water splashes and falls in waves over the rim of the iron bucket as he walks up the stairs, smirking when he sees you waiting in the doorway like a wife.

"Got 'ya water, babe. Where do you want it?" He grunts, bicep flexing in the dim light as he holds the bucket up like a prize. It takes you a moment to snap back into him, meeting his smirk with a smile as you stand up straight and nod to him.

"Follow me. We wash in the back, here." You muse, voice honeyed and content — not rough with grit or dominance. It's a feeling of ease that's always lost on you, and it shows in the way you carry yourself through the thin back hallway.

There are only two doors — one hanging off the hinges, permanently cocked open, and too rusted over to fix. Then, there's the bedroom that you shut before investigating the noise that brought you here. It looms over your bodies as you lead him past the doors and into a back, tucked area of the home. It's not a room on its own, but it's private. It's enough.

"Right here…" You watch as he steps past you with that same old grunt, catching that manly whiff of him as he tosses the water into the lined, wooden basin. It's expertly cleaned since the last time it was used, and Sukuna can't say he's too surprised by this new neat leaf you turned over. He knows his twin is in good hands, even if your home isn't a mansion. "Now, to do it twenty-eight more times."

"You fucking kidding me?"

"Well, it usually takes me like forty trips. I'm just giving you the benefit of the doubt."

The room is lit, now. The basin steams with water, lifting off the surface of the bath water in sloping renditions of his name — your name.

Sukuna stands with his back to you, back flexing in the orange lantern light as he peels off his sweaty, clingy shirt. His hair is greasy, there's traveler's dirt on his brow, and a faint musk that just always smells like him. No bath could wash that away, and you wouldn't dare attempt it. You swallow down words unsaid as small, gathered scars that you've never seen before reflect the light. Some are deep and pink, fresh, and others aren't so brutal. You want to ask more, but can't.

The moment is quiet and impossibly still for the steady movement he's exerting. His breaths are heavy, wheezed and measured, and yours are invisible. He hands off his shirt to your waiting, outstretched hands, then turns around as his thick fingers get lost in the buttons on his waistband. He's shirtless — tall and hunched over you as he fusses and picks, taking a step closer as he feels your eyes trail across his bare chest. The hair on his chest fades into something sinisterly sexy as it trails down his thick torso, disappearing right before you can see where it all comes to a head.

You're staring shamelessly because he's your man, and because it's been years. You've been biting your pillow for five summers now, withering against the unbearable nights alone because he wasn't here to be a father and a partner. He decided on his guns and money because it's convenient — you aren't. No, you have too many rules.

But, as his zipper comes down, all of those rules fall by the wayside. You gulp as his pants open, then fall and gather at his knees. Sukuna stands bare in front of you with no qualms, letting you take in the deep nature of his crotch — the way it moves as he steps out of his pants and hands them off to you.

You both remain silent as he turns around, walks to the side of the basin, and offers you a passing look before stepping one foot into the warm water, sighing against the heat. "Oh, mm, this is nice. You spoil me."

"Good hygiene is a luxury for you, now?"

"Ain't got no lady in my pants to enforce it."

"That's a relief." You reply, walking to his side as he sinks down into the water slowly. He grunts and shifts, body too big to truly fit. Water rises against all sides of him, sloshing over when he moves. Still, you stand right next to him, letting your nightgown soak up the splashing water as you reach for lye soap and a rough rag. "Want me to wash you, big guy?"

"Ah…" Sukuna hums, arms dripping droplets over the side of the tub as he rests his arms on the lip. This feels like a spa for him as he tosses his head back, nodding wordlessly as you fuss around. "Go on ahead, babe. Can't promise I won't fall to sleep, though."

"As long as you promise to wake up and get in bed with me." You lay out the rug for him like it's sparkling and brand-new, treading through sensitive waters because you're not entirely sure just how much Sukuna still wants you. You've heard the horror stories — a woman bears a child, then the man turns his affections back to her. You don't want that… It's not even close to what you and Sukuna embody. His love language is touch, and yours is service. They meet so perfectly in the middle that not even childbirth or time could fracture it.

"Ah, you ain't gotta tell me twice." He shifts again, sending another wave of water into your breast as you lean over the tub, hands lost in the warm water. "Been dreaming of you since the last time I saw that face." Sukuna is droning on with his eyes closed, humming as you spread your soapy rag against his chest — soaping the fine hairs gathered there. "Been missin' you, girl, whether you believe it or not."

"All this sweet talk won't give us them five summers back."

"Crazy ass sheriff and Mayor got us by our asses." Sukuna's neck cracks as he rolls it, sighing as stress washes away with every gentle rub from your hands. "Didn't wanna risk'ya."

"No, you're sayin' that I wasn't worth the risk."

"It ain't like that." His eyes fall open, landing on you as you lean forward, up to your elbows in soapy water as the rag runs down his left thigh. "You know how many dangerous positions I threw myself in, just to give you your loving? Far too many to count."

"You're saying that like I'm the one crawling to your doorstep every summer."

"You said that's what you needed."

"I needed you to quit that gang and be mine." Your voices rise, but it's not in anger — it's laced with passion and beating hearts. There's so much to talk about — too much to focus on, so you focus on bathing him, letting the words come as they please. "And now that you've got a son…"

"I never wanted one."

"Well, you certainly didn't carry yourself like you didn't want children." You click your teeth, lips turning up into a smirk as you think of the very many times he's whispered his need in your ear in the heat of the moment. It's always about giving you all of him — all of his nature, including a child. Now, it feels like he's turning back on his words. "But, he's here, and he's yours."

A few moments pass of water-backed silence. His breaths even out when you move to his right leg, massaging more soap into the rag as he stares at you. "Do you think he'll like me?"

"Yuji loves the sun, grass, shit, and mud. Of course, he'll love you."

"Sounds like more your boy than mine." You smile as his fatherly worry begins to fall over him. It's been just gathered on your shoulders for all this time; it's nice to have him back to carry it with the grace and strength only a man could harness. "Looks damn-near like me, though. Hah."

"He's got your face, but is far sweeter than you ever were." You hum and reminisce, working from his thigh, down to his foot. You take your time, there. "Even as a boy, you only smiled if it was at me… You, throwing stones at the kids who stained my dress with mud."

He chuckles again as the memory hits. It was a sweet time before the violence truly took hold, but a time he'd never, ever, go back to. The softness of the moment propels you forward, especially as your touch crosses a new, thick, deep scar on his knee — one jagged around the edges and spanning up the ink of his tattoo. It looks new. "Who'd you pick a fight with to get this one?"

Sukuna peels open his eyes, laughs softly, then settles back with a hum. "Mm, wouldn't you like to know. Gonna track 'em down and get revenge for me, babe?"

"Ten years earlier, I'd have found out where they lived so I could kick their teeth in." You're gentle around the scarred area, not knowing if residual pain lingered. Even if it did, Sukuna wouldn't show it.

"Gailey got spooked and bucked me off mid-shootin'. Boot got caught in the stirrups, and the knife in my holster slipped and nearly gouged out my knee." He settles, then flicks his gaze to you. "Gonna go up against my mare?"

"Can't blame a girl for getting a little spooked." You sit up, back cracking from the uncomfortable hunch you've been in for nearly ten minutes. The water is cooling — your skin pruny and water-logged. "Let me get your hair, cowboy… Scoot up, some."

"You must think I've got all the space in the world to move about." He mutters in defiance, folding his legs so he can give you a good enough vantage to pour water over his scalp. Reaching the tin cup that always accompanies your boy's baths, you fill it with bath water, reach to cover Sukuna's eyes, and pour it over his head. It trickles and rolls off the greasy locks just like you knew it would, so you repeat it… twice.

Until Sukuna feels like he's being waterlogged, and pushes out of your gentle grip.

"Stop fussing."

"Didn't think drowning would be the thing to take me out." He protests, peeling your hand from his sun-spotted face. He looks up at you through stringy hair like a wet puppy, rolling his eyes when you laugh with a sparkle in yours. "I'm glad this is funny for you."

"It's not, you just remind me of my baby. He hates getting his hair wet, too."

"Then, I can't wait to meet him. Now he sounds like my kinda boy."

"He's so sweet, Ryomen, really." You sigh like you're in love, because you are. Talking about Yuji, doting on him, and watching the world fall into his muddy little hands opened something up inside of you that you didn't know existed. It's a love that overtakes every single feeling you've ever experienced, and it's your favorite thing ever. "I love my boy — lovin' you for giving him to me, too."

"Looks like I gotta get used to being an afterthought." He starts, but his words aren't as hard as you're familiar with. They're steady and chosen well, then he turns and peeks at you through sticky, wet lashes. "But I think I'm okay with that."

You check on Yuji as Sukuna dries off by the basin — just sticking your head through his door to make out his soft, sleeping breaths. You smile in relief when you see he's shifted from the position you last saw him in, then turn to leave the room once your nerves are satiated.

Sukuna cleans up, and you lock back up, making sure every one of your makeshift stronghold locks are down and out. Not that there'd be anyone on this side of town, but you wouldn't take chances. It's just not in your nature. So, you take your time with it, only making your way back to Sukuna when you're sure not even the wind could penetrate your home.

He's mostly dry when he comes back into view — a lone rag pressed to his crotch as he feverishly tugs the wetness away. The air smells like smoke from the freshly snuffed fireplace, and lantern fuel sits thick in the air. It's the only way you're able to see the scars you weren't able to see the first time around.

"Assuming you don't have night clothes for me."

"No, you're gonna have to wait till the morning. But, even then, I wanna wash the ones you came here in. Maybe we can head into town — oh, Yuji would just adore that."

"I ain't taking my boy into town, that's crazy. Just to wave him around like a defenseless red flag? Nah, it ain't smart."

"But, we go into town often."

"Your face ain't mine. The decision is no." He throws it at you like hot coals, uncaring if it burns or not. Now that he has the upper hand in your household, he expects you to bend like you always have, so you do, understanding that Sukuna only wants safety for the two of you above all.

"I-I have some loose fabric, I can sew you something to put on your body in the meantime while your clothes dry." You take the rag he used to dry off when he holds it out to you, still bare and now, scrubbed clean and raw. His skin is tinted with your care — an easy, cherry red that blooms at the shoulders. "…if that'll be okay."

Sukuna nods, running his stringy hair back with his fingers. He's using them as a comb, going back and forth to release the watery hold it has on his scalp. "I ain't no stranger to wearin' wet clothes, neither."

"Then I'd have to just wash them again the next day."

"Since when'd you get so crazy about cleanliness?"

"When my baby nearly died from infection." You turn and walk after him as he goes to leave, clutching the rag to your chest as you blindly lead him to your bedroom. "And it's not exactly hurting you, is it?"

"Nah, the bath was nice."

"It's that door," You whisper as Sukuna draws near your room. He nods, then pushes at the door, swinging it open into a pitch-black, moon-streaked room. A thin, dingy bed sits in the middle, illuminated by silver drops of dust falling from the shivering roof. Wind howls outside your window — bugs chirp and sing, making the silence easier as Sukuna navigates the dark.

He walks over to your bedside and lights the lantern you keep there, convenient with a book of matches at its base. Sukuna moves about the space as if he owns it, and you don't mind. You quite like the power he exudes, even when he's standing bare naked, back to you as he fusses ahead. It's a sweet, relaxed view of your outlaw that you've never really seen before. He's so much bigger than he once was — poised and filled out, hefty and unashamed. You go to reach out and touch his back, but before you can, he turns around into the freshly-lit space.

"Think you can be good and keep quiet?" He nods, looking down as he crowds you. You swallow, nodding back as his hands fall at your waist, touching you there before crossing his hands behind your back. "Because I don't think I can be good and hold myself back."

"Don't be selfish." You're whispering, dangerously close to his skin, as he smiles against your cheek. Then, he kisses you there, and it's fleeting. Still, it sends a flood of love through your veins, all stopping to pool between your thighs. You're already shivering, throat bobbing down constant wetness. "You have to learn to put him first… always."

"Even over you and this sweet body?" He hums like a man on a mission, hands reaching to grab and squeeze your behind through the thin linen. Sukuna is so close that you can feel it as soon as it happens — his erection is yours, and it's brick-hard against your hip before he even truly touches you. "The sweet body that gave him to me?"

"Y-yes," You stutter, arms winding around his neck as he holds you close. You crane your neck for him to mark you further, sawing your bottom lip between your teeth as he kisses and sucks the skin into his warm mouth. "Mm, God — I missed this. Needed you so bad."

"Don't know why it took you five goddamn years to send me a letter." He's fussing at you through your pillow-soft neck, nuzzling his nose in the space between your collarbone and neck. Like he's scent-marking, he sniffs, then smiles, tongue peeking through to lick a stripe across the expanse.

"I didn't want to need you." Your hands fall from his tall neck to his shoulders, squeezing and digging your fingers into the bare skin, before letting your blunt nails rake down his back. He hisses, but not in pain, but with familiarity. You always loved taking your pleasure out in red, stinging scratch marks. They've all faded by now — no scarring, so he needs a fresh new set. "But I've been goin' crazy without you."

"You gotta enough pride to kill a horse." He shakes his head like he's suddenly disapproving of the ways you've had all throughout your life. "But, mm, I got this body trained like one of my own men."

He can smell it before he reaches between your thighs to feel it — the arousal that only drips for him. It comes in waves and buckets now, since you've had a child, and you can't hide it. So, he smiles when his hand finally makes its way under your dress, slipping two steady fingers against your heat so he can trace the pooling, hot wetness into your clammy skin. You toss your head back as soon as you feel him there, lips parted and silent as he touches you gently, rubbing his fingers against your clit, then down past your entrance, and back up to the sweet pleasure button that he just can't stop pushing.

"C'mere." He mutters, using his free hand to push your head back into a kiss he initiates. As soon as your lips are on his, he starts rubbing little circles there, pulling sweet moans from your lips, directly into his mouth, which he takes like candy. He gets you into it quickly, smirking, showing teeth as you kiss him, and he stares, eyes open at your flustered, hot reflection. "Pretty girl — go ahead and chase my fingers. Feels good, hm?"

"S-shut up." You toss your head back again, taking the break in the kiss so he can talk as leverage to let your weak neck bend. "Mm, right there."

You're so wet that it's seeping through your dress. The sounds are lewd and squelching as Sukuna's fingers play a little faster — pumping a bit deeper so the tips of his fingers can grace your entrance so delicately. "Cream on 'em, baby doll. Gotta taste you."

"O-oh, fuck," You whisper, head lolling to the side as you hike your knee over his leg. He nods for you, humming and reaching down to hold your leg steady so you can focus on the pleasure he's giving you and not needing to stand up straight. "Keep talking like that… Mm, in my ear."

"Baby…" Sukuna does exactly what you want, whenever you want. In a split second, he's leaning down to your ear and whispering so low that it runs through your body in dark vibrations, flowing life into your core, making you buck and whine on impact. "My lady — Sweet, lady-lay… I'm goddamn impressed with you…"

Your grip tightens over him, his words running over your back like hot, inviting lava. They feel so good and burn so fiercely, giving you air and space that you haven't stepped into in years. "Do I make you proud?"

"Is that even a damn question?" It's harsh, but his steady words prick you like needles. You shiver it down, breathing out determined little moans between fleeting lip-kisses. You can't tell just how hard he's been grinding over your soft skin, but when he starts to leave a cooling trail of wetness in his wake, you can tell he's getting overwhelmed. He doesn't need to hide it as he steps away, pushing you around and letting his sticky fingers fall free from your slick heat.

"N-need you to say it." You grunt as he pushes you to the bed by your back, forcing you on your outstretched palms, trying to gather your feelings before he's crowding you again. It's heated and damn near animalistic — the way he gathers your thin fabric at your waist, groaning heartily from the throat as he fists his length off with the view of your waiting, dripping cunt. While you're not facing him, Sukuna does what he knows you hate to see — the way he licks and sucks his fingers clear of your slick like it's maple syrup coating salty skin. He hums like it's his favorite flavor, fisting his cock, watching you pant and peek over your shoulder at him, eyes blown. "…just wanna make you proud."

Sukuna's head shakes, a soft rolling chuckle getting lost as he pulls his clean, spit-soaked fingers out of his mouth. "You've got it all, Mama."

You whine, knees quivering as you lift one over the creaking mattress. You two don't have to stop to talk, or feel out each other — the passion is already there, you're already about to come undone just from his words and touch. It's become so obvious that you can't exist with any man but him. It's Sukuna or nobody.

"Again," You plead, on the verge of tears. But, Sukuna waits. He waits until you're sitting up and sick with the wait, peeking back at him, only to get overwhelmed by the huge shadow and turn around again. You can't see the way he's posing his sensitive, reddened tip against your waiting entrance, but it's driving him crazy. His hands are shaking, throat bobbing around spit he has to take down.

"I'm so proud of you." His voice sounds oddly clear for what he's going through, or maybe it's the feeling of finally starting to bottom out inside of you that screws his head on straight. As soon as your fluttering, velvety walls open around him, his vision damn-near goes white. It's an oxymoron — just how tight you are, then how wet you've been. Your body gets used to the penetration again slowly, but not quickly enough for him. As you let your head fall between your shoulders, breath caught as you fit the entire girth of him in one go, you catch yourself crying — dripping tears into your cotton sheets.

Sukuna leans over to kiss the back of your dropped neck, lips tracing over your jutting spine and shoulderblades as he sits, fully sheathed, inside of you. His hips rock easily, just grinding against your ass so he has some friction, but he's giving you grace while he can.

"Gotta give you another little baby to love on, huh?" Sweat beads at his brow, though the temperature in the room hasn't changed. He's losing himself more and more as your heat overtakes him, and he can't hide it. "Take care'a you and rub up on your belly like I should've done them years ago… Gotta do right by you this time."

"Oh, please—

"Mhm," He draws closer to your ear, nose pressing and smushing against the shell as he whispers and licks at the skin. "You know I talk a lotta mess, or nothin' at all. But I'm so proud of you. So goddamn proud…"

"Thank you. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…" Your words mutter and mush together because you can't focus. You can only squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the heavy, deep throbbing Sukuna's offering to you from the inside. His length twitches every time you absentmindedly clamp down on the insane stretch, and it's driving him crazy.

Sukuna does so well at keeping you quietly at bay, until another soft squeeze of your soft cunt sends a flood of mean shivers down his spine. It awakens something within him as he stares blankly at the moon-painted wall, then to your messily clothed, half-decent body pinned under him. He stares at the wall because he knows he has to hold back in some form — he knows he can't rip that stupid fucking nightgown from your soft skin, because you wouldn't appreciate it. Then, he thinks again, brows furrowed as he stares and massages your cheeks gently, pulling out just an inch to ogle at the lewd sight.

His heart races.

"Fuck, baby doll… I know." He grunts like a preemptive apology, then reaches down, thick arms caught between your slip and your skin. His touch grazes over your belly where the fabric hangs and pools, then to your chest — grabbing and squeezing at your breasts like he wants something good out of you. You don't expect him to withdraw how he does, turning a fist in the delicate fabric, and pulling until it tears to shreds against your flushed body.

Attention grabbed, pulling you out of the haze you've fallen into, you sit up with a gasp, shifting your weight to a single hand so you can gather the tatters of your dress. You whine, no words coming to fruition right now — he's got hands everywhere, marking your chest, grabbing at your neck, then falling back to your stomach. Any inch of skin Sukuna can see is skin he wants, so he uses the gathered handfuls he has in your hips and slowly slides out of your sticky cunt, sighing heavily before slamming back into your body as he hates you.

"You fuc—

"Shh, Ah — I know, I know." Sukuna grunts, head tossed back in sweet pleasure. He's ready for you to curse him for the tattered gown, and surely for manhandling you in a way that would definitely leave bruises, but he knows you need it like this. It's the only way you two make love.

"Please, Ryomen— Oh, my—

"That's it, girl." He offers as a final warning, letting you linger and adjust before he pulls back out, then fucks into you with that same punching strength. You try to moan, but it gets caught against a scream — all meshed and uncomfortable in your throat. What comes of it is a cry so guttural and charged that Sukuna's eyes widen, going mad with crazed need. He wants you to scream like that for him, all the time.

So, he gives you those same fucks over and over and over again.

It's punishing — raw and hot with untamed need. Every time he fucks into you, he digs his claws in your ass as leverage to pull back out, just to give it to you again. Staring up at the ceiling again, Sukuna's eyes roll back into his skull, Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably as the sweet, sick sound of skin on skin paints the wooden bedroom walls.

You're crying, moaning, and writhing in your bed like you're searching for mercy that will never come. It hurts so good, stinging every time that strength hits your skin in concentrated slaps. His balls are heavy, and they're merciless every time they rain down against your sensitive cunt, making you bury your head even deeper into the straw mattress to scream your need into it.

You're clawing the sheets, back arching as you try to alleviate the pressure — to control the pleasure that's hitting you so hard that you don't know when you're going to cum. Maybe you already had, and the pooling wetness is a testament to that, and not the permanent need you feel for him just showing its face.

It's too much. You search for mercy with your voice, knees sliding against the mattress to alleviate the onslaught. "Ryo— Ryomen, please! Oh my— fuck,"

"Stop." He demands, reaching to take you by the neck, stopping you from sliding further onto the mattress. He's chasing you on his tiptoes, knees digging into the splintering wood bedframe every time he has to chase you. "You do this every fucking time. Stop fucking running."

"It's too much!" You don't realize how loud you're being, but Sukuna does. Your wrecked voice hits his eardrums like a bomb — one loud enough to wake a sleeping five-year-old. So, he shifts, joining you, both knees pressed into the mattress as he turns and buries your head into it.

"There you go— scream into that. Just like that, mhm." He's not noticing the heavy creaks coming from the wood, how it's cracking and not just shaking. He wants to fuck you dry — he's got to put you through this mattress, it's all he knows. "Good fucking girl. Scream for it."

Sukuna is repeating himself, but he doesn't care. Your bed is cracking, but you don't notice. All you can focus on is how air isn't making its sweet way to your lungs, how your body is numb, wracked with your climax before you can even think about it.

You're a mess of drool, tears, and sweat, fingers flexing against the sheets — banging and tapping out as his weight covers and presses you into nothing but his. Sukuna has no limits, but you fear you're facing your own when you finally unravel. It's fucking messy and heated — sticking to both of your bodies, going unnoticed by him for just a second until your limp cries die down with exhaustion.

Still, he knows this isn't the end. You know this isn't the end, and you're elated, you just can't communicate it.

An easy calm that you haven't felt in forever starts to fall over you as your orgasm settles, even when his fucks haven't let up. You're left smiling like an idiot in bed, eyebrows quirking up every time he hits that sweet, sensitive spot inside of you. Pressed into the bed like this, Sukuna makes a home in your cervix, offering you long, thick strides as you try to gather air against his loosening grip.

It's when you speak for the first time in what Sukuna thinks is forever that he can't take it anymore.

It's only a simple, wrecked, "D-don't stop…" but it sends him into overdrive. Pinning you back down into the mattress, front flush against the surface, he finishes himself out inside of you, grip turning painful as his release starts to feel so close, yet so impossibly far. It's driving him crazy — he detaches, if only for a second.

It's in that fateful, split second that he hears the wood splinter, crack, then completely give under the two of you. The break occurs in the middle, causing the bed to cave in on itself, still held high by the head and backboard. You don't notice at first, and neither does he.

So, he keeps chasing his orgasm, fucking into you harder, faster, messier. You're doing anything to catch a whiff of air, reaching back to slap his hand on your neck away, but you don't have to tell him twice. With a hard, deep moan of your name, Sukuna's grip loosens, the third leg of the bed caves in on itself, and he cums so hard that stars black out his vision.

He finishes inside of you, but it doesn't stop. He's struck silent, forehead pressed into your shoulder as his seed just keeps on coming. It overflows around him, flooding your cervix, then bubbling back down, leaking out drip by drip every time he presses his length deeper inside of you. The groans are guttural and consistent, so deep and wrecked that you're sure his voice will sound three pitches deeper for the next few days.

Still, you let him have his moment, catching your breath and blinking hard every time another wave of cum floods your body. He's purposeful in his mission — he wants in. He wants a baby.

For now, he'd have to take on a broken bed, and he doesn't even realize the damage until he's coming to his senses, letting his grip slide from the back of your head. He wants to lie next to you and sleep for the foreseeable future, but when he goes to do so, the bed creaks, and the fourth leg snaps.

Two hits, and the bed is in pieces on the ground, stealing the breath from your lungs as you sit up, disoriented. You gasp, head numb, but simultaneously throbbing as you look around the room. Sukuna already seems to be knocked out, mouth open, his arm serving as a pillow. He's left you to deal with a broken bed — the direct victim of how touch-starved he was.

As sore as you already are, you gather yourself to sit up, hair completely disheveled and run through. Once you can actually see the damage, you blink: "Oh, my God."

The sun wakes before you do, and instead of feeling brand-new, you wake up feeling like a ten-pound weight was pressed on your chest all night. Your lungs hurt — throat burning and weak as unforgiving sun rays filter through the window and directly onto your face.

You groan, moving all ten of your fingers, one by one, gaining your footing before you have the nerve to open your eyes. Your back aches, soreness blooms everywhere, and you smell like sweat and damp straw. It sticks to your skin like a velcro, caught in your eyelashes as you finally peel open your eyes.

You sit up pretty quickly, head throbbing, but nothing out of the ordinary. Sukuna's passed out next to you with his face buried in the ruined sheets. He snores, but it's soft and tasteful — a sound you've missed more than you'd like to admit. So, you watch him for a second, stopping to brush some light hair from his hard, manly features. His nose is still soft, though. You catch yourself lingering.

"Mama?"

Your heart drops, realizing why you've woken up so suddenly from your sleep. Tiny footsteps land in front of your bedroom door, stopping before tiny, chubby fingers reach under the crack — grabbing and clawing at the wood like a curious kitten.

"Mama, if we sleep any long—longer, we'll miss the little birdies at the feed bowl." His voice is just as small as his footsteps, pitched and polite as he sticks his nose under the wide gap. Yuji's not used to waking up alone, and if he does, it's because you're sick. Yuji hates it when you're sick.

His presence is enough to stand you up, bones creaking as you crawl out of the wreckage of your bed. The straw from the mattress is littered against the dusty wood floor like your bedroom is a barn — all caught up and tangled in Sukuna's hair as he sleeps the morning away. You grunt and scurry, still completely naked and lacking the same gown you went to sleep in. The bruises have begun to bud over your flesh. You can see it as you stand, witnessing the flash of your reflection in the dingy windowpane.

"Just a second, Yuji!" You call out in reply, clearing your throat afterward as you dig through your clothes chest. The first winter nightgown you see that touches your ankles is the first thing you pull on, not bothering to fix your hair or wipe your face, because your son comes first. You didn't want to unnerve him.

"Mama, we can't miss the birdi—

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm okay, I just overslept." You apologize as soon as you pull the door open, stepping over his curled, hunched figure so you can close your bedroom door shut before he can see the mess. "Before we see the birdies, how about some breakfast?"

"We won't miss 'em?"

You smile, shaking your head as you help him to his bare feet. Yuji clings onto your outstretched hand like he's terrified to let you go, using that leverage to walk into your legs to properly hug you good morning.

"We won't miss them." You counter, rubbing your gentle hands through his light, sleep-ruffled hair. He just wants to hold you for a moment, squeezing your legs hard and swaying back and forth — soft cheek buried in the fabric of your pajamas. "How about some sweet porridge? And toast?"

"Mhm."

"And then…" You hum, walking with him hand in hand into the kitchen. You kick around some of his toys in your path, smiling when you peek down at him. "If you eat all of your breakfast, I'll have a surprise for you, okay?"

Yuji smiles so big, letting go of your hand and jumping — skidding with joy. "I'll eat it all! I promise," He finds his way to his toys, to the little wooden swords and balls that trip you up in the night. He's so perfectly clueless to it all, and Yuji had never really asked about a father, but his heart and mind are so open from your constant praise, that you're sure he'll fall into your Sukuna just like God intended.

As you get breakfast going — needing to step out to the well to fetch fresh water, and to the yard for firewood, Yuji just talks. He talks to you about what he dreamt of the night before, going on about princesses and werewolves like from the bedtime stories you whisper to him. His imagination knows no bounds; he even has a name for every creak in the floor.

You move in and out of the house, keeping the door open so the summer breeze can clear some of the lingering smoke from last night. Time moves slowly and with intention when it's just the two of you, letting Sukuna snore away the precious morning hours, because you know he's typically not one to let himself rest.

Breakfast comes an hour later, then your daily morning ritual of bird watching. Yuji lets you carry him on your hip, long, lanky legs swinging and kicking into you with excitement as the colorful array of bird feathers come, go, dip, and divot into the homemade bird feeder you two carved together.

Just like it's illustrated in his bird-watching book, Yuji points out all the different sparrows and Finches — stopping and squeezing your shoulder when a rare red-faced Finch lands on the feeder, shaking off the wind like an air-gliding athlete. Just on your porch, bare feet pressed into the damp wood with morning dew, you nod and press him on, rubbing at his childlike curiosity as he thrives with a full belly.

You're not timing anything, and you don't have any expectations. Sukuna holds multitudes and entire lives in his hands, but even in the wake of all the power he wields, he still understands that he has to take the lead and sweep this boy under his arm. He's only as powerful as his only son's love for him, and that's something that's earned — not just thrown to the wind, hopeful for the best.

Sukuna comes to once the two of you are already predisposed with little birds at the window. There's an invisible, overwhelming fear that sits on his chest and stifles his sleep, which didn't bother him last night. In fact, he's sure he hasn't slept a full night in five years — always having something to wake up for. There's always something on his mind.

This time, it's you. He hasn't felt your soul pressed into his bareness for a few hours now, and his skin was starting to get antsy. Sitting up in the ruins of your bed, he doesn't feel guilty. In some hard-to-swallow, unfamiliar way, he feels quite pleased with himself. You're strong enough to withstand his need, but your bed isn't. The thought makes him smile, even though he's a mess, lying in a mess, and now needing to deal with it, too.

Sukuna grumbles to himself, squinting his eyes as the sun's rays through the window blind him senseless. Whispers of his essence are still painted into his skin — soaked up in the sheets and reeking of nothing but him. It feels like he laid his mark on a spot he'd never touch again, because he knows what he's doing today. Sukuna has to build you a new bed.

In the meantime, he gets up slowly, letting his joints move with a precision he learned from you after a long night. Sukuna can guess that you're with the boy, scooped up into mom duties long before the sun truly rises. He just can't believe he slept through your departure — usually so on his toes when he's with his men. He measures every single bump in the night.

Now, he lets himself dress slowly and with an ease that he's never truly felt. It's mundane, the way he slips on the same camp-laden clothes he rode here in yesterday. Sure, he knows he's due to get cut looks and comments from you about it, but you're too caught up with your son to prioritize his clothing. He thought he'd mind more than he does, but his heart feels warmer, instead of the usual faint, lifeless beat it usually holds.

Leaving his shirt open, making sure his pants are fitted well, he digs around in his pockets, knowing he kept his breakfast stashed safely in one of his flapped pockets. While he peeks out of the window facing the back yard, just keeping a steady eye out, he grabs his foil pack of chewing tobacco, collects a thick, dry dip, and stuffs it in his left cheek. He's not too messy with it — doesn't make the fact that he's got it an entire show. He just lets the tobacco marinate, body visibly relaxing once that nicotine hits his head.

He runs his fingers through his hair, picking loose straw from his beard and teeth as he contemplates his next move. He has to get over his nerves, knowing a smaller version of himself is running somewhere unchained right outside his door. Internally, his mind is blank and fuzzy — unsure how to capture the affection of someone who walks with rose-tinted lenses on all the time. He wishes he had spoken to you about it more. He knows he can confide in you, and you'd be there to rub his back and remind him of the truth. He knows, now, that he's too late. He's five years too late, and now he has to make up for it.

Sukuna walks out of your bedroom like he's doing the walk of shame, head dipped just slightly as if he's waiting for a bullet to his chest in the form of a rambunctious boy. The house is still; the lingering scent of breakfast wafts through the air, mingling with the sun's warmth. He automatically feels out of place — warm and comfortable, not on edge like he usually is.

Then, outside the open door, he hears your soft voice. It cuts through the heart like a knife, solidifying the fact that Sukuna loves you — he cherishes you with all he has, because nobody makes him feel the way you do by just opening their mouth.

Through the window, peeking back into the house, you see him. Yuji is on his feet, rising to his tiptoes to try and poke the underside of the feeder, wanting to see it sway magically in the breeze, now that all the birds have had their fill.

"Mama," His voice fades into the passing breeze, heart hammering as you see Sukuna's looming shadow cut through the darkness of the hallway. "Mama, see—

"Y-Yuji." You snap yourself out of whatever daze Sukuna's gaze swept you into, reaching down to slip your son's hand in your own. A few beats pass, and you kneel to his level. "Remember what I told you about a surprise?"

"Yes! And I ate all my food!" He replies, always chipper in a way you can't quite match.

At his level like this, you move your touch to his shoulders, smiling softly. "Like a good boy, yes, you did… Now, do you remember what I told you about your father — how every little girl and boy has one?"

"I like it when you tell me about yours." Yuji blinks up at you, always knowing how to hold perfect eye-contact like you raised him to. "Can you tell me more, Mama?"

"I'll tell you everything you could ever want to know." You smile, genuinely, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. Yuji's beaming like the sun, taking your undivided attention as if he'd never see it again. "But, how about I tell you about yours?"

"M-my papa?"

You take a deep, steadying breath, heart racing uncomfortably as you trek this dense, new area of motherhood. Together, you two don't talk much about Sukuna's existence. Of course, you ease Yuji's singing nerves when he's curious about where he came from, but his Dad never had a name. You thought it'd be just the two of you for life.

Now, you're pedaling back over that sentiment, and it sits sourly on your tongue. You don't even want to stand and face Sukuna's piercing gaze — one that screams a rendition of, I told you so.

For Yuji, you nod, giving him bright eyes, smiling, and scooping him up into a bear hug that he melts into like butter. He loves being held by you, knowing it comes few and far between since he's gotten so tall. Now, you feel like you have to carry him in the presence of someone new, even if it's just your Sukuna. Your nature is wired to protect your baby above all.

"Your Papa came to visit you, baby." You whisper into your boy's hair, walking forward into the home where Sukuna waits, his hip cocked against the dining table, where he picks at the dry, crusted pieces of bread that Yuji disregarded. He's got tobacco marinating in one side of his cheek, and bread in the other, licking over his drying lips before he realizes the two of you walking back in the door. Yuji's face is buried in your shoulder — he can't see, but that's how you want it. At least, for right now.

"My Papa?" He repeats like he doesn't believe you, "Where?"

Sukuna hears the tiny, boyish voice and stands as straight as an arrow, eyes blown and nervous for once in his life, and Yuji tilts his head, blinking up at him for the first time in his life.

The pair just… stare for a second. Sukuna idles, and Yuji breathes slowly. In your mind, you can hear a pin drop, shake, then still. You don't even realize that your arms, holding your child up, are shaking with nerves until he wiggles and slides down, his little hands gripping the long fabric of your dress as he stares at the stranger with wide eyes.

Yuji just can't understand how similar they look. He's confused.

So, Sukuna breaks the silence, but it's not welcome. He chuckles, jaw working another chew of his dip.

When you catch it, you're on him immediately. "Ah, spit that ou—

"He's fine." Sukuna undermines you with a select two words, hands stuffed in his front pockets as he takes a few steps forward. Yuji retreats back into you as the familiar stranger draws close, and it makes Sukuna laugh again, eyes squinting as he lowers to a knee, feeling like he'd be a little less daunting if he were on the five-year-old's level.

"Hi, Yuji."

Silence. Sukuna tries again, dipping his head before combing through another approach.

He thinks about what he has to do today — Surely Yuji likes horses, or even hunting. But today, he had a bigger to-do list. One that Mom couldn't help with at all.

"Hey, man, how'd you like to help build your Mama a new bed?"

Next weekend, it’ll be the robot he’s spent months building that’ll be fighting in the ring, and it’ll most likely win because he’s just as smart as he is handsome. 

A genius, even.

You guess he’s just one of those people who really grew into themselves after leaving their hometowns. Flourish, even. He joined clubs, made friends, even dated a couple of girls. 

As much as you loved watching him come out of his shell and become someone who smiled a little more and hated people a little less, a part of you wishes you never gone to the same university together. The admiration you’ve had for him since you were kids has only grown. Some nights it’s so unbearable that you lie awake trying and failing to control that ache you get in your chest from knowing you would always just be a friend to him. 

He’d never even consider you when thinking about what kind of girl he’d want to be with. 

Meanwhile, you’re finding it harder and harder to control your heart rate whenever you really look at him, realizing just how much of a man he’s become within these last couple of years. The braces are gone, his eyes have gotten sharper, his jawline’s stronger, and is now surprisingly covered in tattoos. He even started working out in his freshman year, and after studying the science of bodybuilding and proper nutrition, half the gym started wondering if he had started taking steroids. The other half wondered if they’d be able to fuck him. 

You understand them. He’s huge. Tearing your eyes off of him is hard.

The glasses definitely make him more approachable, but if there’s one thing about him that’s stayed consistent over the years, it’s that smart ass mouth of his. 

He fucking hated the attention he started receiving after getting hotter, and it comes out when he has to tell someone to fuck off so he can finish his damn workout. He doesn’t go there to fuck around and socialize with a bunch of idiots that don’t know how to isolate their own muscle groups. He just goes to get his reps out of the way so he can go back home and continue studying.

The whole time, he’s completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve grown to like it when he’s not home— that you’ve started to prefer his absence. 

Yes, you two share an apartment together. Roommates. It’s fucking torture— watching him take naps on the couch, the small glimpses of him half naked as he walks out of the bathroom after a shower, late nights spent studying together at the dining room table. 

Even now, as you stand in a loud, crowded warehouse with him, it’s torture. All you want to do is look at him, watch all the faces he makes, and the way his muscles flex as he pumps his fist in the air. But no– you had to force yourself to look forward, watching two mid-sized robots pummel each other to death. 

You feel bad for whoever's going to lose, all that time they spent on building the damn thing wasted in just one night.

Sukuna doesn’t take forever to leave once the fight’s done— he’s more of the Irish goodbye type. Had it been the opposite, you would’ve stood around awkwardly, waiting for him since he was the only one you knew here. You’d like to think you wouldn’t have come at all, but he would’ve found a way to drag you here. 

You two practically did everything together— it’s always been like this. 

The ride home is quiet. It’s one of those nights where neither of you remembers to connect your phones to the speakers and play music, all that can be heard is the low thrum of the car's engine and drops of water tapping against the metal. He notices you looking out the window, watching the raindrops fall as you absentmindedly bite on your nails. You never bite on them unless there’s something wrong. 

“You alright?”

“Hm?” The question snaps you out of it, but still, you lie. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He tries to keep his eyes on the road, but looks back at you a couple of times. That's a bullshit answer. He can read you better than anyone else can.

“You sure? You’re lookin’ a little…” There’s a pause as he does some weird hand gesture toward you. “Off.” 

“Off?” you let out a small laugh, looking at the phone to check the time. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s already one in the morning.” 

He all but hums in response as he drops the subject, feeling tired himself and growing impatient at the thought of getting into his bed to sleep. He’d probably be speeding home right now if you weren’t in the car with him. 

The lack of response doesn’t translate well, furthering the belief that he just doesn’t care that much. 

You weren’t fine. Truth be told, you haven’t been fine for a while now. It happened slowly, until one day over the summer, you looked at him and a realization crashed over you, and quite frankly, scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t just admiration or an innocent crush. 

You love him. 

And there was nothing you could do about it. 

—

The longer you go without talking to anyone about your pathetic, unrequited feelings, the more your frustration grows. At times like this, it’d be nice to have a therapist, get down to the bottom of what attracts you to your best friend in the first place, and snip it right at the stem. 

Maybe even douse it with weed killer. 

In a way, you kind of are. The weed killer part, that is, not finding the root cause of what the hell is wrong with you. After much thought, you decided to start distancing yourself from him, and it started with sleeping in.

It seems small, but putting a stop to your morning routine with him seemed effective. No complaining about school and internships over coffee. No talking about your plans for the day, which usually lead to what time you’d be home and what you two were doing for dinner, since you often shared meals as well. 

For a couple of days, it worked. Sukuna chalked it up to you just being more tired than usual from school. While you two shared enough in common, you were nothing like him academically. 

The combination of a short attention span and lack of interest in most subjects always made school harder than it should have been for you. He used to tease you for being dumb, up until the 8th grade when shit got real and your school counselor told you that you’d have to repeat the year if you didn’t get your grades up. 

Sukuna was not going into high school without you, so the obvious solution to that was to do your homework himself. He didn’t have the patience to actually sit down and teach you. He still doesn’t, and still does your homework from time to time when he hears you sniffling over it in your room— yanking papers out of your hands, grumbling about how useless you are and how you need to grow the hell up, as if you were the one forcing him to do it. 

You have no idea how you even got accepted into the same university as him. Sukuna claims not to know either, despite already knowing you’ve always had more to offer than just stats. He’s sure they figured that too when looking through your application— the one you refused to let him help you with. 

He let you have your time to mope around, but it’s Friday, and so he lays three stern knocks on your door. 

You’re still trying to avoid him, so naturally, your heart drops to your fucking ass. 

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, only for your courage to fall short when you let out a measly, “yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” he murmurs, sounding inconvenienced by the fact that he had to ask in the first place. Usually, you just tell him to. 

There’s another pause as you try to think of an excuse as to why you haven’t spoken to him much this week. The excuse never comes to mind, though, as the annoyed sigh he let out cut off your train of thought. 

“…Yeah.” 

The doorknob twists before you even finish the word, and he walks through the door with a scowl on his face, eyes tracing over your body with judgment as you stay in bed under the sheets. 

“I was gonna go to the book fair later tonight if you wanted to go.”

“I think I’m gonna pass on that.” It pained you to say, you’ve actually been looking for it ever since you started seeing the flyers all around campus. “I kind of wanna stay in this weekend.” 

“Alright,” he scratches the back of his head, trying to accept that answer. 

He doesn’t. 

“Wanna watch a movie then?” he asks, pushing up his glasses. “There’s a couple of bags of popcorn left from last time.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Turning him down is a struggle on its own— his stubbornness doesn’t help one bit. “I don’t know, I uhm— I’ve been feeling kinda sick… my stomach’s been bugging me all day.” 

“Alright,” he shrugs, hand wrapping around the doorknob. “Hope you feel better then I guess.” 

The words don’t sound very sincere coming from him, but you’d take that over him continuing to prod. He’s annoyed, doesn’t even bother to look at you anymore as he walks out of your room, missing the half smile you gave. 

Don’t feel bad. 

It’s not like he’s putting himself out there by going alone tonight. Sukuna has to know at least a couple of people who’ll be there— he’d never go somewhere that made him feel uncomfortable. And even if he were to put himself out there, it wouldn’t be as hard as it would be for anyone else. Anxiety isn’t in his vocabulary— the last thing he’d ever care about is how people perceive him. 

Sukuna leaves an hour later. You hear his heavy footsteps walk down the narrow hallway until he’s out the door, and once again you remind yourself that there was nothing to feel bad about it. 

30 minutes later, you hear the front door open, hardly getting a chance to wonder why he’s back so soon, since he walks straight to your door and knocks. 

At least you think it’s him.

“…Kuna?” 

“Who the fuck else would it be, dumbass?” he asks rudely. 

The only reason his words don’t offend you is knowing that you, a young woman, can never be too safe in this day and age. You don’t respond to him with that though, he’ll probably say something even ruder. 

“Come in,” you murmur rather grudgingly.

The doorknob turns, followed by the light shake of a plastic bag as he just barely lifts it to show you. 

“What’s that?” 

“Soup,” he says, setting the bag down on your nightstand and opening it to reveal the said soup along with a bottle of tea. “You never eat when you’re sick— probably why your stomach hurts.” 

“Yes I do.” You pout as you sit up in bed, watching him open the lid and drop a spoon in the tub.

“Don’t argue with me right now,” he responds in a bored tone, handing the soup over. 

The guilt builds up once again after muttering a quick “thanks” to him, stirring the liquid for a moment before giving it a try. He doesn’t say much— just watches you with an expression that’s as unreadable as it always is. 

You try to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you end up going?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it anymore.” 

The truth was, it wouldn’t have been as fun without you. He also figured you’d be suffering in bed for the rest of the night, wondering why your stomach hurt so much, not realizing that half of it was just hunger, so he turned around and went straight to the restaurant you usually order takeout from. 

He keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds, then exhales. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you murmur back. “Thanks for the soup.” 

“Yeah,” he hums. “You better finish it.” 

Even through the discomfort you feel in your chest from lying, you manage to smile. “I know.”

You walk out to the living room once you’re done eating, holding the same plastic bag Sukuna had in hand a while ago. It’s filled with an empty take-out container and an empty bottle, along with a couple of other pieces of trash that were slowly cluttering the desk in your room. 

You catch sight of the back of his head, hair all messy from the beanie he put on when leaving in case it started to snow. He could’ve easily driven to campus or the restaurant, but he just doesn’t see the point— both were just a ten to fifteen minute walk away. Even on days when it’s extra cold, he’ll still walk, arguing that he’ll warm up anyway from the walk itself. Something about the human body being more than capable of adapting to extreme weather by doing shit like shivering to produce heat and what not. It was great to know, but you’d prefer not to shiver in the first place.

Sukuna turns his head around before you get the chance to greet him. He had a takeout container full of stir-fry in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, taking his time to finish chewing his food before saying anything. “Feelin’ any better?”

“Mhm,” you nod, turning the corner into the kitchen to quickly drop the bag into the trash. “Thanks again. The soup was good.”

“Yeah,” Sukuna murmurs back— he’s never been the type to say ‘you’re welcome’ to others. He turns back around to focus on the tv screen, exhaling as he leans back further into the couch to get comfortable. 

“What’re you watching?” you ask. 

“Some crime documentary,” he says, clearly unimpressed by it. “Couldn’t find anything else to watch.” 

“Maybe I can find something,” you offer, walking around the couch to sit beside him. Well, not exactly. With all the space he takes up from his current man spread, you make a spot for yourself at the very end of the beat up, albeit comfy, sofa. 

He hands you the remote with zero protest, and you spend a good 10 minutes trying to find something to watch, only to forget about your task as you find yourself more focused on talking to the man. It starts with you making a comment about one of the movie's titles, then Sukuna responding with something it reminds him of, and eventually snowballs into talking about nothing in particular for the next two hours. 

Neither of you remembers falling asleep, but he finds himself waking up at first at around 1:00 am. There’s a message on the t.v screen asking if he’s still watching, and you’re leaning against him, snoring, cheek squished against his shoulder. 

He smiles a little— it’s nothing new to him. If anything, he’s surprised you didn’t get any drool on him. You did last time. 

And just like last time, he scoops you up into his arms and takes you back to your room. He tries to be gentle when he sets you down on your bed, just so you wouldn’t wake up and ask him what the hell he was doing, but you still stir the moment you’re out of his arms. 

“Kuna.”

Sukuna holds his breath for a moment, waiting for you to say something else. He quickly realizes you were just talking in your sleep, though, which brings him some relief. 

He’s always avoided getting too touchy after you two reached a certain age. Not because he didn’t want to touch you, but out of basic respect. He didn’t need you thinking he was trying to get something out of it. It’s awkward enough when people mistake you for a couple— he’d rather not add to that discomfort, which is why he got the fuck out of your room while he still had a chance. 

—

Sukuna met you when he transferred schools in the 4th grade. 

The teacher sat him right next to you. You two didn’t really talk at first. His first impression of you was that you were shy and spent half the day looking out the window. He didn’t get why you did it when the teacher was obviously peeved by it and constantly singled you out by asking you to repeat what she had just said. It went on throughout the year— after about a month, he found himself wishing you would just pay attention already. He hated feeling sorry for others. 

His second impression of you was that you weren’t as oblivious as he thought you were, and spoke up when you noticed a kid in another class trying to pick on him when they weren’t in the teacher's view. The bully didn’t listen to you, because why would he? He towered over the two of you. 

So he continued to bug Sukuna, who, believe it or not, was the shortest boy in your grade at the time. And for some reason, he took it. That is until the boy tried to yank his glasses off his face, which ended in Sukuna knocking his front tooth out, an action that could’ve gotten him expelled had you not stepped in and lied, claiming that he was chasing after Sukuna and slipped. Nobody else was there to see— there weren’t any cameras around that time. 

Just your words against the boys. 

It wasn’t until the following summer that you two had become friends. 

Sukuna remembers that day— 7:00 pm, the temperature was finally starting to drop. He had about one more hour before the sun went down, so he decided to make the most of what was left of the day by riding his bike around the neighborhood. 

He soon found out that you lived just one street away from him when he saw you sitting under a tree on your front lawn, sketching in a notebook. 

And of course, you didn’t fucking notice him, even as the brakes on his bike screeched when it came to a halt. 

“Hey.” 

He's always had a stern voice— you almost thought you did something wrong as you looked up to see who barked at you. 

“Hey,” you responded back, sounding slightly confused. 

His brows furrowed as he looked over your house. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Do you live nearby?” 

“Yeah.” He pointed right behind him. “On the next street over.” 

“That’s … cool.” You had no idea how to even respond to that. He was glaring at you, and you were so sure that he was just waiting to say something rude. 

He never did. 

“Do you have a bike?” he asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Wanna ride around together?” 

Looking back, he had no idea how he was able to be so straightforward with you. He was a loner through and through, it took a lot for him to even want to be friends with someone. It probably made him more comfortable knowing you were a decent enough person to stick up for him the way you did. 

Before you were able to say yes or no, you heard your mother calling from inside the house, letting you know dinner was ready. 

“Coming!” You got up, putting your notebook under your arm as you started to pick up your colored pencils. For a moment, he thought you forgot that he was there, but then you looked back up. “I’m not allowed to go outside anymore after dinner. Do you wanna ride bikes tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” A bit of excitement threatened to peak through his voice. “What time?” 

“Uhhh… could you come at 5?” 

“Yeah.” He wasn’t actually sure if he could, but he was determined to make a friend and decided he’d make it happen. 

“Okay, cool!” You turned on your heel, waving at him as you started to walk back inside. “See you tomorrow!” 

After riding around the neighborhood for a couple of hours, he ended up eating dinner with your family that next night, after riding back home and asking his dad, of course. 

There was no separating you from each other after that. 

His favorite thing about you was that you were always open to learning about his interests, rather than shutting him down for not knowing or liking what he liked. He remembers coming over one day with a binder full of Pokémon cards and being able to show you each one despite you not knowing anything about Pokémon prior to that. 

That’s how your friendship went— you’d willingly follow him down whatever rabbit hole he was in, and he did the same for you. He’s aware of how close of a bond he has with you. You two can talk for hours, about anything and everything. You don’t run out of things to talk about, nor do you get tired. 

At least that’s what he thought.

There’s been a shift, and for the life of him, he cannot figure out what’s caused it. The last time you were this quiet was after you went through (another) failed talking stage, but that only lasted a week. It’s been 3 weeks of you turning down his invitations and giving him short answers, slowly retreating back into your bubble that apparently doesn’t have any room for him anymore.

But even then, it’s not something that starts to weigh heavily in his mind until today, when he saw you studying in the library alone. You always let him know whenever you were going there in case he wanted to come along, because that was another thing you two did together— study. From the library, to random coffee shops, to the dining room table where you two could easily stay up until 2:00 AM writing papers and rereading notes for the hundredth time. 

Sukuna would never outwardly admit it, but you were his entire life. He liked it that way.

He thought about going up to you, but decided against it. It was the first time he thought he’d be a bother and decided that he’d rather not feel like one with you— not ever.

Not to sound dramatic, but it was paralyzing in a way. Knowing he should probably give you some space and trying to do so, when literally half of his thoughts are about you. It could be something as simple as finding a new song that he liked, and he’d start to wonder if you’d like it too. So no, realizing that you’ve been distancing yourself from him doesn’t feel very good. 

And he hopes he never has to feel like this again. 

—

Between you and Sukuna, you were honestly more of a loner. While he’s made a handful of friends in the three years of being in college, you’ve only really made one, which was Yuki. Maybe two, if you count Shoko, but she’s always been so withdrawn from everything that you considered her more of an acquaintance.

But even then, Yuki had her own group of friends. You were okay with that and didn’t mind being the friend you catch up with once a month. 

Today is that once a month catch up. Instead of going out somewhere though, you both opted to just make dinner at her place. It gives a sense of coziness that’s needed when it snows for a week straight. 

You thought you could come here to relax, but you find yourself nearly choking on spaghetti when she asks what’s wrong with you and Sukuna. 

You try to act normal about it, but you weren’t fooling anyone, especially with your initial reaction. Stumbling over your words, eyes all wide as if you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. 

“I mean, look at you,” Yuki starts to go in on you. “You haven’t mentioned his name once, and you look depressed as fuck.” 

You frown. “That doesn’t mean it’s because of him, though.”

“Then what is it?” she asks, twirling some spaghetti around with her fork. 

No answer. 

She sighs at how bad you are at trying to hide it. “C’mon, you can tell me. Who knows, I might even be able to give you some advice.” 

You doubt it, but you tell her anyway— about how you’ve been trying to avoid him, thinking about how the distance will make you get over something that was never even a was. 

At first, she laughs at how surprised you look when she says she already knew you were into him. To her, it was pretty obvious with the way you were around him. Granted, she’s only really seen it once, but seeing the way your eyes softened as you looked at him for a little longer than a friend would was all she needed to see.

Sukuna on the other hand? She had no idea. She’s had a couple of classes with him in the past, and he’s always been hard to read. 

Maybe? Is what she told you when you asked if she thought he liked you back, which may look a little harsh to some people, but you asked her for the truth, and the truth was he was hard to read.

“He clearly likes having you around, though, if he’s been able to live with you for almost 3 years with no complaints,” she adds. 

“Well, yeah… we’re friends, and that’s the problem. He’d never see me as more than that.”

“You don’t know that,” she scolds you for being so pessimistic. “Why don’t you just ask him?” 

You’d rather fucking die. “And then what? Make things awkward if he says no and ruin a 10-year friendship? At this point, I don’t even care if he feels the same or not, I just wanna get over it so I can go back to being normal with him.” 

A little self-sabotage-y, but fair enough, Yuki thinks. “Well… if getting over him is the goal here, why don’t you come to a party with me next Friday? I’m sure meeting new people will help out with that.”

“I dunno.” The mumbled words are followed by a sigh. “Parties aren’t really my thing, but I’ll think about it and let you know.”

They really weren’t. You didn’t mind going to the ones Sukuna took you to since everyone, for the most part, knew how to act right and didn’t drink that much, but a frat party? Just thinking about it gives you a headache. 

But who knows, maybe you needed to get knocked off your axis to forget about it. 

—

Sukuna took an astronomy class in his freshman year. He didn’t talk that much, but was still able to build a bond with his professor since he was one of the very few students who actually showed up during office hours. 

Which is why he came home today with not one, but two telescopes sticking out of his backpack. He couldn’t really afford one right now and figured it’d be worth a try asking if his former professor had any he could borrow. 

And since the professor was more than happy to lend him some, Sukuna figured he might as well grab a second one since you watched the last meteor shower with him and pouted whenever he took it back from you. 

The last few times he hoped you’d be home, you weren’t, so hearing some rummaging come from your room wiped away some of the doubt he felt during his walk back from campus. His heart may have even skipped a beat as he gently set his backpack down on the couch. It’s felt like forever since he actually got to sit down and talk to you. 

Yet the moment you opened your door after hearing a knock, something in his chest tightens. You’ve got a full face of make-up on, tits pushed up in the tightest top he’s ever seen you wear, paired with quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, period.

“Hey.” You try to smile at him, but he still notices the flicker of guilt on your face as you try to pull your skirt down. “What’s up?” 

“Nothin’, I was just wondering if you were free tonight.” There’s a bit of disappointment in the small laugh he huffs out. “There’s gonna be a meteor shower later.” 

He doesn’t even know why he mentioned it when it’s already clear you’re going to be busy. 

“Fuck— I’m sorry.” You knew how much he liked going to that hill not too far from campus to watch them. “I already made plans with Yuki.”

“It’s alright. I asked at the last minute anyway.” He tries to act like he’s happy for you. “You two going to a party or something?”

“Yeah, some frat party,” you try to sound as uninterested as possible. He’s expressed his hatred for frat parties many times in the past. 

He thought you hated them too, but evidently not enough, given how you’re all dressed up to go to one. 

“Nice,” he responds a little too flatly, lips thinning into a fake smile as he nods and mentally checks out. “I’ll uh– let you go back to getting ready then, I guess.” 

“Yeah.”

You wanted to say more, but the words just got caught in your throat as you watched him turn away from you and walk to his room. 

He never came out in the last hour you were home. You considerate saying bye, but what was the point when you hadn’t said that in weeks? 

As you’re walking out the door, something from the corner of your eye catches your attention. His backpack. You had to do a double-take at first, but your eyes eventually landed on two telescopes, and the mere thought of hurting Sukuna tonight made the guilt you already felt spread through every inch of your body. 

. . .

Coming to the party with Yuki was a mistake. 

You hated crowds, especially the one here. Even with a couple of drinks in you, having to be around people plastered out of their minds annoyed you. Just drunk and sweaty and stumbling into everything. 

You found yourself having to step outside, and even though you didn’t get to escape people completely, at least you had some fresh air. You found a wall to lean against and checked your phone— no notifications. You shouldn’t have even expected to have any. Then you do something pretty annoying, go on instagram to see if Sukuna posted anything on his story. He doesn’t have that many people on there, but he’ll still post from time to time. You were hoping to see something, maybe something about the meteor shower.

Nope.

Fuck. What if he didn’t end up going? The thought makes you feel like the worst friend ever. You probably are the worst friend ever at this point. You practically ditched him to go to a frat party. 

Through the window, you see Yuki making out with some guy, and figure it's time to go since it’s with the one she was planning on spending the night with. You really aren’t in the mood to spark up a conversation with somebody else tonight, either. 

The Uber you called was already on its way when you went to say goodbye to Yuki, and got home 15 minutes later with your tail tucked in between your legs. You had no idea what you were going to say to him. You didn’t want him to think he was your backup plan either. 

The silence of the apartment and seeing one telescope left behind felt worse. 

—

Of course he went alone. 

Sure, he was admittedly bummed, maybe even a little irritated that you chose a fucking frat party, of all things, over him, but that didn’t stop him from getting out of the house for the night. He would’ve borrowed the telescopes for nothing if he stayed. 

He was alone, but the night was nice. Clear skies, thick blankets of snow silencing the air around him and muffling the hoots of an owl that was somewhere in the trees. If only there was a little more snow to shut that thing up, too— it was ruining everything for him. Just as he’s about to turn around and yell at it, in hopes that telling it to shut the fuck up himself might work, the sound gets clearer. 

It sounds like someone's calling his name, which spooks him a bit despite not believing in the paranormal. 

“Kuna?!” 

Oh, great. It was something worse than a ghost, you. 

And you forgot to bring your survival instincts, too. You have to walk through a sketchy path to reach the hill, and not only did you decide to go alone, but you are yelling his name, proving to anybody nearby that you are alone and most likely lost. 

He pinches his nosebridge and lets out a disappointed sigh before just barely yelling back. “I’m over here.”

He hears a rushed ‘okay’ right after and pictures you fast-walking through the snow. For some reason, he thought he’d see you in the same outfit he last saw you in and was glad to see you didn’t show up half naked. You’re wearing the same thing as him right now— boots, snow pants, goose down coat. 

You’re a little shy as you walk up and sit next to him. 

He’s not. “What happened to your little party?” 

“Didn’t like it,” you murmured. 

He laughs under his breath, having already known you wouldn’t. “Good thing you had a backup plan.” 

“You can’t be the backup plan if I never even knew there was going to be a meteor shower when I made plans,” you huff out. 

“Right,” he grumbles, noticing something protruding under your coat. He nods at it. “The hell are you hiding under there?”

“Oh.” You look down and reach under your coat to pull the object out. “The other telescope.” 

“Seriously? You couldn’t even stuff it in a backpack or something?” he complains, snatching it from you to take a look at it. “You could’ve dropped it and I would’ve been fucked.” 

“Good thing I didn’t,” you proudly say, and he rolls his eyes, handing it right back to you. 

But not before looking at you dead in the eye and saying, “Don’t break it,” in an authoritative tone that would've scared the living hell out of most people. 

You, on the other hand, are very used to his grumpy side at this point and don’t think much of it as you take it back from him. You do steal a glance at him, though, unable to tell if he has any leftover resentment from earlier. He can try to act as unbothered as he wants, but his original response was telling. The way the interest in his eyes faded, just waiting to end the conversation once he found out where you were going. 

“I’m sorry about tonight.” 

He lets out a laugh. “For what?” 

“I don’t know…” you mumble, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them. “Still going even when I knew I probably wasn’t going to like it.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with me, remember? Those plans were already made,” he murmurs back, adjusting his glasses before looking up at the sky. You’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. 

“I know. I still feel bad, though.” 

Sukuna hums at first, not sure how to even take that. He doesn’t like it when people feel sorry for him. Hates it when people treat him like he’s fragile, like what you’re doing right now. Yet, he still can’t find it in himself to respond in the snarky, passive-aggressive way he usually does to people who do that. 

“Don’t be. I’m fine.” 

“Alright,” you say with a sigh, not pushing it any further. 

And while the night was nice, you couldn’t help but think of how it barely fixed what damage had already been done by your own doing. Sukuna was still kind to you and spoke softly for the most part, but you finally felt the distance you’ve been silently asking for. It was as if he stopped caring about including you, only keeping the thoughts he’d usually share to himself as he looked up at the sky and not bothering to direct where you should look. 

For a moment, you wanted to ask him what was wrong, only to quickly stop yourself. You knew what was wrong, and knew you had no right ask when the problem was you. 

—

Avoiding Sukuna wasn’t healthy in any way, shape, or form. It was childish. You felt like nothing but a coward, but it was the only way you knew how to protect yourself at this point— convincing yourself that maybe the feelings you had for him would disappear if you stayed as far away from him as possible. 

They haven’t, they’re just like any other problem in life— they don’t go away just because you ignore them, acting as if they weren’t there. They get worse, they fester, and in your case, you probably think about him now more than ever. How he doesn’t deserve to be dodged like this, how you’re ruining a perfectly good friendship just because you couldn’t keep your feelings in check. 

You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with him, but you’re afraid that more words will slip out. Like how much you miss him, everything about him. From the late nights talking about anything and everything, all the way down to the annoyed look on his face whenever you say something he finds stupid. That yeah, he can be really rude at times, but even in those moments, there’s still nobody else that you feel more comfortable with. There’s nothing wrong with him. He means everything to you.

You wish you never followed him here. You wish you never signed that lease. You are going to lose him because of it. 

That day was bound to happen— you just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. 

Avoiding him didn’t work. You see him now, talking to some girl in front of the library. He doesn’t seem to be looking to get out of the conversation anytime soon with how relaxed he looks. Comfortable. 

You wish you never followed him here. 

Aside from your degree, it got you absolutely nowhere. You could’ve been smiling just as much as the girl in front of him with somebody else had you not spent the last three years pining over him. 

Hell— the last ten years.

. . .

Two weeks later, Sukuna bursts through your shared apartment and bangs on your door so hard that your heart starts to race. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt scared to face him until now. 

“I know you’re home, your keys are still on the coffee table,” he roughly says, continuing to pound on the door. “Open the fucking door.” 

You try to look him in the eyes when you finally do, but you couldn’t handle the weight you felt under his gaze. 

He tries to catch his breath as he walks into your room— it’s as if he ran home just so he could talk to you. With one last deep breath, he speaks. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What do you mean—“ 

“This!” He holds his phone up, hands slightly trembling, showing you the text his father sent him regarding your lease, and how you told him you didn’t want to renew it for the next year. “You couldn’t have told me yourself, so you reached out to my dad? You look like you’re trying to escape me or something! What did I even do to you?!” 

“Nothing! I just—“ 

“Like hell it isn’t— you’ve been avoiding me for fucking weeks, and now you don’t even want to live with me anymore. What the fuck did I do to deserve all of that?!” 

Your eyes began to tear up the more he yelled, growing more and more overwhelmed to the point where you just blurted it out. “I can’t stay here anymore— I need to move on with my life.” 

“What do you mean, move on?” His face twists from confusion. “What is there to even move on from, huh?” 

“From you!” 

He defensively throws his arms out, still completely and utterly confused. “You act like we’re in a fucking relationship!”

“I know— that’s the problem!” you finally snap, a small hiccup leaving your body as you try not to cry in front of him. 

You didn't have to explain any further from there. 

It was clear he understood what you meant by that with his reaction. Going radio silent as he sat down on your bed, resting his head in his hands for a moment while he tried to process your pathetic confession. 

“I-“ he cuts himself off and sighs, looking up to see you just awkwardly standing there, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

He wants nothing more than to hold you right now and wipe the tears away, but has no idea how to tell you that— guess you’re both stupid in that sense. 

“Do you want to be in one?” 

You stop sniffling and look at him like he’s fucking stupid. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I don’t know,” he argues back. “You’re the one crying about not being in one.”

“So you’re going to ask me to be in a relationship with you just to appease me?” Your eyes widen in disbelief. 

“I’m not doing it to appease you— 

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, “Yeah? What is it then?”

“I’m doing it because I love you and I want you to fucking stay.” 

The room grows dead silent, save for the sharp breath you take as you try to come up with a response. 

“What?”

“You seriously want me to repeat that again?” he scoffs, and then spells it out for you quite aggressively. “I love you. You are the most important person in my life, and I want you to stay. Don’t. Leave. Me— is that enough for you, or would you like me to write it down on a piece of paper so you can read along while I say it again?”

You avert your eyes as if you were a child being scolded, picking at your cuticles as you mumble, “I got it.”

A laugh escapes him because you are un-fucking-believable. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” you respond quietly. 

The mattress creaks as he gets up from the bed. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Mhm.” 

“Good.”

Your cheeks begin to heat up as he starts walking closer, and by the time he’s standing in front of you, you feel like you can hardly breathe. There’s no telling what’s on his mind when you meet his gaze. Though it’s not like you had much time to think. 

Your brain short-circuits when he gently cups your jaw. 

Then shuts down completely when you feel the warmth of his soft lips pressed against yours. 

There’s a satisfied look on his face when he pulls back— it’s not often he leaves you speechless like this. You always have more to say. Now? Nothing. He’s starting to wonder if you’re even breathing. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you nearly whisper.

He hums as he leans forward again, kissing you with more certainty than the last. There’s a light smack, then he deepens it, and you’re left holding his arms as you go along with it, following him like you always do. 

It happens fast. 

One minute he’s bending down, grabbing the backs of your knees to pick you up. The next, your back is hitting the sheets, and you’re reminded of just how big he’s become when he’s on above you, caging you in with his arms. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks again. 

“Mhm,” you’re the one cupping his face this time, watching his eyes soften. “I want you.”

“I want you too.” 

He gives you one last kiss, then leaves a trail of them down your neck and chest. Suddenly, your shirt’s off, and his hands are sliding down from your waist to your hips— fingers hooking around the waistband of your shorts, making your stomach flutter as he slowly pulls the shorts and your panties down in one go. 

You don’t even realize how wet you are until you’re completely exposed to the air, having Sukuna spread your legs wide open as he gets in between them. 

The grip he has on the back of your thighs tightens. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” 

Now, neither of you are virgins, and the number of people you’ve slept with can be counted on one hand. You knew it wouldn’t be awkward or anything with the moderate amount of experience you had, but you did not expect him to bury his face into your pussy and start eating you out like some starved whore. 

He has you gasping and squeezing your legs together, and he just keeps going— groaning as he laps away at your pussy, flattening his tongue against your hole and licking a fat stripe up to your clit before sucking on it. 

It’s so good that you have no idea whether you want more or if you want to push his head away, and you’re not even sure if pushing him away is even possible with the iron grip he has on your waist. Even when you squeeze your thighs together, he just rubs his face further into your folds, letting his nose work against your clit while he starts to fuck you with his tongue. 

It drives you insane. You’re grabbing at his hair, letting out the neediest moans that have ever come out of you in life. None of the guys you’ve had sex with has ever made you cum. 

Sukuna’s making you cum on his tongue— groaning while licking and lapping at the mess you’ve made while you’re disheveled and gasping for air. 

There’s slick dripping down from his chin, glasses somehow perfectly on as he pops his head up, checking to see if you’re okay. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Fuck—“ you’re still trying to catch your breath as you begin to nod, “Yeah, please, need you inside me.” 

He’s already taking off his shirt, revealing the toned body he’s spent quite an effort working on. Then his jeans… and boxers. 

Your eyes grow wide at the sight. 

His dick’s fucking perfect. Long and thick. Couple of veins running up his length. A big red tip perfect for hitting all the right spots— just thinking about it makes you drool.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” he asks in amusement. 

“I am,” you say, looking up at him before your eyes start trailing down again. “Can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding under your pants this entire time.” 

“You’re right— I probably should’ve told you about it a while ago,” he says sarcastically, kneeling back on the bed until he’s above you again, hooking his hands under your knees and dragging you closer. 

You squirm a bit as he rubs and taps the head of his cock against your clit. “Will you go slow at first?” 

His face softens as he looks at you. 

“Yeah, of course.” He was already planning on it, but something about being asked really does something to him. Triggering some need to be extra gentle with you. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” 

You nod, and he lines himself up with your entrance, tip already coated in slick. He pushes in and bites back a groan as he watches you stretch around him, taking him inch by inch. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together when he looks up, and a low laugh escapes him before caging you in and grabbing your jaw with a gentle hand. 

His lips graze over yours as he pushes in some more. “Breathe for me— there we go— almost there, you got this.” The praise makes you squeeze around him  more, and he finds himself struggling to stay controlled. You’re so tight and look so pretty struggling to take him, letting him swallow up your little moans as he starts to slowly rock his hips back and forth. 

With a low grunt, he finally bottoms out and gives you a moment to adjust. “How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you murmur. “Keep going.” 

There’s a sly smile on his face. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me beg for it,” you whine back. 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he lets out an amused sigh, then starts moving again. 

He’s less careful as he starts thrusting into you, pulling his hips back a little more each time, making you feel every inch he’s giving you with the leisurely pace he’s going at. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding on to his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Kuna—"

"I know," he hums against your temple, hips rolling into you as if he had all the time in the world. "Shoulda done this sooner— feels so fuckin’ good."

“Yeahh– fuuck– m’sorry,” you moan a little too softly in the shell of his ear, so blissfully unaware of just how crazy it drove him in that moment.

“I’m sorry too.”

He wasn’t apologizing about the past, by the way. He was apologizing for the way he drove his cock into you afterwards, just to hear that sweet little sound again and again and again, until your moans start filling the room. 

Getting you to go dumb on his cock wasn’t very difficult at all. Sukuna knew how to fuck— rolling his hips into you just right, his fat tip bullying into your sweet spot until you’re clawing at his back, which does nothing but turn him on even more.

He grabs one of your legs and hoists it up to his shoulder, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper at a new angle. His grip on your legs tightens as he snaps his hips against you harder, faster, until a wet squelch between you can be heard. 

“Oh my god, right there,” you whine out as you start to feel the pressure in your lower belly start to build. “I’m gonna— fuck!”

“Shit– me too,” he groans out, letting go of your leg to cage you in with both arms. He starts pounding into you desperately, letting out low, drawn out groans in the shell of your ear. After one particularly rough thrust, you're crying and cumming all over his cock, unable to hear whatever he’s rambling about in your ear. You can feel his cock absolutely throbbing against your walls though as he starts chasing his own relief, groaning and cursing to himself as he starts pumping you full of his cum. 

It takes you both a moment to process what the hell just happened. There’s nothing but short breaths as your chests rise and fall. Your stomach threatens to drop when he rolls over and falls on his back beside you, afraid of whatever he has to say next. But then he pulls you in, moving you to rest your head on his shoulder, grabbing the back of your knee to pull your leg over him. 

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, drawing little circles over your waist with his thumb. “Does this mean you’ll finally stop avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” you let out a small but tired laugh— you’ll probably be all over him after this. 

“Good,” he grumbles, shifting as he settles into the bed some more. “Because you’re really never getting rid of me after this, bestie.”

You sit and smile when they smile, nod when they nod, soften your voice the way you practiced in the mirror.

You even manage a few:

"That's so cute!"

"Omg really?"

"Aww, you look so pretty!"

It feels stiff and foreign in your mouth, but the girls beam so you keep going.

At some point they laugh at something you say — or maybe how you say it, you're not sure — but the warmth of belonging is nice.

Nice enough that you push yourself.

You watch their cues the way some people watch subtitled movies — carefully, consciously, translating every second.

Smile here.

Ask a question.

Compliment her nails.

Don't pause too long before answering.

Laugh softly so it doesn't seem weird.

Think twice before you open your mouth so you don't blurt out something that can be taken the wrong way.

It's work — hard work — but at least it's working… for a while.

But masking has a timer — and by the time the conversation circles back to relationships, your brain is already buzzing from the effort.

You're tired. Your face hurts from smiling.

You keep rehearsing your responses in your head before speaking, which means you're a beat too slow and they start talking over you.

Soon you lose track of the conversation. The group's emotional tempo shifts too fast — from giggling to mild gossip to sympathy to teasing — you can't keep up.

And finally your real voice slips up when someone asks you about a guy in your class.

"Would you ever go for him? He's cute, right?"

"No. He chews weird. Like sideways, sort of like a cow."

The silence is immediate.

Shit.

One girl laughs politely, another shifts uncomfortably, and a third tries to go with it, saying, "Yeah, I guess…" after another small, nervous laugh.

But you feel it, the way the air changes. The way they collectively but subtly pull back.

You desperately try again — mask back on, smile, and fix it.

"I mean—haha—I just notice things like that," you say too quickly, "It's not bad. Just, um—"

You trail off — they've already moved on.

And your chest sinks.

Then the worst thing happens — you get quiet.

You know what people read quiet as: disinterest, judgement, moodiness, rudeness.

None of which is true, of course — you're just exhausted.

Still, you try to jump back in. "So the project—"

Two girls talk over you.

Like an idiot, you try again. "I read an article about—"

They don't hear you — or maybe they pretend not to.

And your mask cracks, just a hairline fracture — but it's enough.

Your expression flattens, your responses shorten, your tone goes neutral.

And neutrality, in this context, reads as ice.

The girls start edging their chairs slightly away, tiny motions you absolutely notice but wish you didn't.

And then it happens—

"We were thinking of going to that cafe that opened near the station this weekend."

"Oh my god yes," another chimes in, "Let's go!"

They light up, laugh, the air charged with collective excitement.

You wait for the inevitable, "Do you want to come too?"

It doesn't come; they don't even look at you.

Then finally someone glances your way and says, "Oh—are you busy this weekend?"

But not in a real invitational tone — more like polite acknowledgement.

You nod. "Yeah. Probably."

No. You have nothing to do and no one to really hang out with this weekend.

They accept it immediately and don't ask again.

-

Your mask falls off the moment you're out of sight.

Walking too fast, eyes locked on the ground, counting steps just to regulate your breathing.

Finally you end up at a stairwell with no one around, leaning against the cold wall. Holding your arms.

Trying so hard not to cry because you know it’s not logical — you know masking always fails, you know you shouldn’t expect it to work.

But it still hurts.

It hurts in that deep, bewildering way of,

“I did everything right. Why wasn’t it enough?”

Hoping no one sees, you wipe your face — and that's when you hear footsteps. .

Of course it’s him.

Sukuna pauses halfway down the stairwell when he sees you.

His eyes narrow — not in annoyance, but in recognition — a look he's seen before but never questioned.

He steps closer. “Who fucked with you?”

Your jaw clenches as you shake your head. “No one. I just… messed up. Again.”

He watches you — really watches you. The way your nails dig into your sleeves, the way your breath catches, the way you're trying to hold yourself together.

So he presses.

“What happened?”

You don’t answer.

Because you know if you start, you won’t stop.

He moves closer, voice turning low and steady. “Tell me.”

You inhale sharply, and the dam breaks all at once:

"The girls from my study group… I think they just don't really want me around. And it's so fucking embarrassing because I actually want to be friends with them."

A shuddering breath as your eyes sting. You hate this part—the vulnerability and the humiliation of all of it.

“But it makes sense.” You keep going, faster now—trying to outrun the insecurity. “I’m not soft or—” you gesture vaguely in the air, searching for the word, “—flowery. They like other girls who are bubbly and delicate and know how to talk without saying anything and honestly I don't blame them at all — I’m blunt. I forget the right tone. I say things wrong. I guess I just…don’t come off as sweet enough, or nice enough, so people don’t like me. It's like I don't know how to be a real girl or something."

You try to laugh it off, but it comes out like a choke. “I could pretend. A little. I tried. But it’s exhausting keeping up a mask I don’t understand… I just wish I was like them. Actually like them. Wish there wasn't something wrong with me."

He watches you a long moment… too long. You start to fold in on yourself.

Then his jaw tenses.

That quiet, simmering anger—the kind that’s not at you, but for you.

“Stop doing that,” he mutters.

You blink. “Doing what?”

“Tearing yourself apart like it’s fact.” His eyes flick to yours, sharp and unflinching. “You’re not wrong. They’re boring.”

A startled puff of air escapes you—it might’ve been the beginning of a laugh.

He shifts closer, his voice roughening with a sincerity he isn’t used to offering.

“There’s nothing unfeminine about you — honestly, I don’t even know what that means. You’re smart. You’re real. You don’t sugarcoat every goddamn sentence.” He huffs. “Good. People who can’t handle that are weak.”

He nudges you lightly. “And you don’t need some pack of basic chicks to validate you.”

It doesn’t soothe you. If anything, it sits wrong in your chest.

You don’t want them diminished just because they don’t get you. You don’t want the answer to be that they’re the problem — like nothing about you could ever be.

“I don't care," you whisper, "I don't care if you think they're 'basic chicks' or whatever, I just want friends."

He exhales hard, like you're making him feel something he doesn’t know how to handle. “Yeah. I know. And you’ll find your people eventually.”

Then, quieter he adds, “Until then… you’ve got me.”

It's too soft. Too genuine. You don't know why it feels like something painful.

You straighten abruptly, the tension in you finally snapping into motion. Hurt and humiliation twist into something sharper, uglier — and it cuts its way out before you can stop it.

“You don’t get it,” you say, pushing at his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make space. “Of course you think it’s fine. You’re you. People gravitate toward you. They fear you. They admire you. They want you.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the shove, by the edge in your voice. “Hey—”

Don’t do this. Don’t keep going.

You don’t know why you do.

“I want friends,” you say, louder now. “Girls who invite me places. Girls who actually like me.” Your hand lifts in a helpless gesture between the two of you, your voice faltering. “Not just— not just whatever this is.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Whatever this is.

He leans back slightly, expression smoothing out into a blank, unreadable mask — his favorite defense when something actually manages to hit him.

“So I’m nothing more than some placeholder?” His tone is careful.

Too careful.

“That’s not what I meant.” You drag your hands down your face in frustration. “I just… I want someone who doesn’t want something from me. Someone who doesn’t look at me like—like you do.”

He stiffens.

Subtle, but you feel it like a door quietly slamming shut.

“And what’s that?” he asks. Too calm, like he’s checking the perimeter of a wound.

You hesitate — because you think you know exactly what he wants from you.

Knows what you want too, and how easy it would be to fall right into it and forget everything else that hurts.

But you force the word out anyway.

“Sex."

His eyes narrow the slightest bit.

There’s a flicker of something sharp — confusion, betrayal, something he’d rather die than admit.

That lands between you like a glass dropped on concrete.

You stare at him, suddenly small as that hot bitterness in you dies down.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze sliding away, “Of course not”

He's already turning away from you, hands curling at his sides. Calm and controlled but his face is stiff.

For a second, you regret everything. Reach out, fingers twitching toward his sleeve.

But then you pull back — afraid of needing him too much, of proving your own point.

He exhales through his nose.

"Later."

It sounds like a dismissal — but the hurt underneath is unmistakable.

He leaves before you can figure out how to apologize.

-

The silence from him is the worst part.

Usually, he replies instantly — even if it’s just a snarky emoji or a “?” when you ramble. But now?

Nothing.

Your messages stack up like increasingly desperate data points:

hey. im sorry i didnt mean what i said like that not all of it please dont be mad

You type and delete a longer explanation three times. Everything sounds wrong or dramatic, because you don’t know how to articulate emotions without feeling stupid for having them.

So you try logic:

what i said was inaccurate and unfair i know u care i just. i want friends too but that doesn't mean i don't want u

You stare at the screen until the anxiety turns into a physical ache in your chest.

You shouldn’t have pushed him. He was trying to help.

And you called him—what? A placeholder? A fuck buddy?

You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it anyway — lashed out like you always do when people get too close while you’re already hurting.

You tell yourself you won't do it again, and you do.

No response.

Hours become a day.

A day becomes three.

Every time your phone buzzes, your heart leaps — and then plummets when it’s someone else.

And when he finally does reach out, it's short and detached; a weaponized sort of calm.

Sukuna:

We should keep things simple Just sex Nothing more

You read it over three times and your chest feels like it caves in — because you know you caused that.

Because you know you probably deserve it.

Because you know that every time you have something good, you ruin it.

So you type a simple,

okay

And don't send anything else.

You don't block him; you just disappear.

an. I AM NOT A VIOLENT DOG I DONT KNOW WHY I BITE

tags. @man1cslut @pepsicolacoochie @anubisvoid2 @lavonline @monic19 @awesomenugget34 @asom2xim @hazelnutbitch @honeychained @kittykatz777 @arigato-rei @cocketteblog @saikixnini @iheartlinds @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @thewaytomars @strawberryshortcakkitty @00frenchfries00 @greeneyedqunts @gojoscumslut @thiccwhorrorbunny @calebsfavapple @satoru-zoro @bellesiy @meowieesilly @hadesorion @sweetieelilii @s3cr3tlyag0bl1n @ladylagalot @just0jordyn @plasticsheepponycollector @jayathelostdragon @5seos @strayruway @scatteredwitch420 @kaofindj @beabamboo @technicallytinyheart @randomfangirl88 @dovewhisper @silcry @likstars @aotdump @alebrasil0101 @tztuoo @crumbl-pie @drinkingtojisperiodblood @drakesheart @fuckalrighty @koukatsuu

the baby shower had been meticulously planned out throughout the span of the last month, from an organized registry (you didn’t want to end up with 0 diapers and 10000 baby clothes by the time it was over) to what food you’d be serving the guests.

gojo had been courteous enough to let you use his backyard for the event, though ‘backyard’ seemed like the understatement of the century. his parents had funded a condo for him ten minutes away from campus, the space bigger than your dorm floor and then some.

the backyard itself could rival a football field, stretching from one corner of the street onto the next. a large, pristine pool sat there in the middle, probably unused if you had to guess. it wasn’t decorated much by any means, one lounge chair set outside almost out of obligation and a basketball hoop that looked like it’d seen better days.

you spent the next half hour setting up a few folding tables up on the backyard, hanging up a banner to make the place look a little bit more lively. then came setting the tables. a purple tablecloth that wrinkled with every movement you made against it was laid on each table, as well as a centerpiece you found at party city.

the food itself consisted of finger foods for the most part—cucumber tea sandwiches you and shoko spent last night putting together, a charcuterie board, spinach dip, a couple cookies, and a platter of cupcakes you managed to get at a pretty good deal at the bakery just down the street.

most of your morning is spent putting up decorations despite shoko’s insistence that you needed to rest. gojo’s minimalistic condo was quickly decorated in pink, yellow, and blue balloons with teddy bears adorning nearly every table surface.

you’d gone with a pink maternity dress, the material comfortable and flowy enough to where you didn’t feel like your own clothes were trying to suffocate you. shoko had joined you in the pink attire—claiming she didn’t want a man in your little dorm (she’d like the baby anyway, though). and gojo had decided to go with blue, claiming he could just feel the little guy’s energy.

you still weren’t convinced it wasn’t just because it matched with his eyes.

shoko’s invited a few of her own friends to come over, most of them arriving with a polite smile and a few gifts. a few people you recognize come in—suguru from your intro to philosophy class freshman year, utahime who you’ve seen shoko kissing in the hall when she thinks no one’s around, nanami kento from a culinary elective you took a whim.

slowly but surely, more people start to trickle in. the house starts filling up, a light song starts to play in the background and chatter’s heard through every corner. you’d spent so long stressing about it, trying to make it look perfect within your budget, that you can’t help but just feel completely and utterly excited upon seeing the finished result.

upon seeing everyone enjoy what you’ve managed to put together with your friends.

sukuna appeared through the door two minutes after the time on the invitation, as if arriving any later would sever the thin string of your remaining patience. (it would.) he looks far better than he did when he came up to your dorm two weeks ago, in a pink button down that stretches taut across his broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up to his elbows that showcase just how muscular his arms were.

if you weren’t so mad, you would’ve climbed him like a tree then and there.

he places an elephant themed gift bag down on the gifts table, making his way through gojo’s backyard. sukuna had resorted to asking toji for help on what to get, bitching to him for thirty minutes about how a ‘blanket’ seemed like too little. the man ended up picking a play pen that ran him a good $200.

he makes a show of sitting alone in a corner, arms folded across his chest while he sulks broods in silence. it’s the first time he’s been at a party sober with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. if it weren’t for you, he might’ve considered leaving already.

the few people around him has gathered up into small groups until the other guests arrive, laughing and talking amongst themselves. he’s like a big, grey storm cloud on a sunny afternoon. the thought nearly has you giggle.

“i’ll be right back.” shoko follows your gaze over to sukuna, a not so slick smile on her face when she pats your back.

“good luck with that one.”

she goes off to talk with utahime while you pad across the backyard, taking a seat two chairs down. neither of you say anything, unsure of how to tread through this territory. you decide to take initiative, clearing your throat, “thank you for coming. i appreciate you showing up.”

sukuna lets out a quiet grunt, arms tightly wound across his chest. “you asked me to come,” he easily responds, looking over your way and giving you a once over, “y’look nice.”

“thank you, so do you.” the warm smile that you send his way makes his heart flutter, almost making him think he hasn’t completely screwed this up. sukuna’s hands fall by his sides, his gaze going down to the bump. to his kid.

“how are you doing?” his question makes you falter, just for the slightest second. everyone you come across mostly wants to know how the baby’s doing, how the pregnancy’s coming along, not how you’re doing. how you’re handling it.

a sigh leaves your lips, one of your hands coming up to rest on the top of your stomach. “it’s been…hard. constantly aching and feeling like you can’t breathe properly,” you hum, pausing for a second, considering your words before finally asking, “the doctor said it’s supposed to be kicking more. you can’t really feel it most of the time, but do you want to try?”

sukuna shrugs, swallowing dryly. his hand hovers near your belly, not close enough to touch it yet. he saw the way you scowled when someone randomly came up to you, without so much as a greeting, to rub your stomach. to coo at the baby. “you sure you good with it?”

“mhm, you can put your hand on it,” you assure, watching as he slowly lets his hand settle on the bump. his fingers splay out across, trying to convince himself he feels a kick when it’s nothing at all. he doesn’t feel anything but your stomach grumbling.

“yeah, you can really feel it,” he murmured, about to retract his hand when you place yours on top of his. it’s nice, it’s the only hint of intimacy he’s shared with you. he wants more of this, he comes to realize. he wants to raise the baby with you. a quiet laugh leaves your lips, “hold on, it’ll come soon.”

nothing happens for a few seconds. nothing but just your hand on top of his, holding his down like an anchor. then it happens, a light nudge against his palm. a small smile breaks on his face at the feeling, at his baby’s movements. “she’s a strong one.”

“you think she’s a girl, too? gojo thinks it’s a boy but i’m not convinced,” you murmur, the mood immediately dampened by the mention of his name.

still, sukuna tries to keep it chill. to pretend like the other man’s name doesn’t grate on his name. so he simply just utters, “yeah, well, gojo’s an idiot.”

you lightly smack his arm but you’re giggling now, resting your palm across his shoulder. you didn’t even seem to realize you were doing it. he wasn’t keen on letting you know either. “hey, be nice, he’s the one helping me throw this thing together.”

you get pulled away by a couple of your friends wanting to play some kind of game—wrapping your belly up in some kind of tape?—but you give him a small wave beforehand. “i’ll come see you later, okay? stay for the cake, at least.”

an hour passes of you being roped into game after game, from getting your belly measured to see how big the baby was, guessing baby food from about five different spoons (and wondering just how babies manage to stomach that goop), and even bobbing your head into a bowl of water to fish for a pacifier. it’s only after that last game that it’s finally time to cut the cake, that it’s time for the big reveal.

both sukuna and gojo come to stand by your side when it’s time for the reveal, each one sporting a scowl on their face. to them, it was obvious who should be the one next to you cutting the cake. themselves, duh.

“fuck are you doing here?” sukuna barks out when gojo tries to take hold of a wine cup, forcefully snatching it away from his slender fingers.

“and when have you been here for that to matter? when have you taken her to an appointment, when have you called her to check up how she’s doing?” gojo prompts, snatching his glass right back.

you feel a headache coming on at just hearing the two of them exchange argument after argument right in your ear, taking the knife from its spot on the table.

“i’m doing it alone,” you speak up, both of their heads craning and twisting as they turn to look at you. a protest lies on each tongue but you raise a hand up, the decision’s final.

the two of them reluctantly skulk away to a corner in the room, watching as the bets for the final guesses start coming through. it’s divided by now, 50/50 between the guests. “you have some nerve, showing up here,” gojo whispers just loud enough for sukuna to pick up, a shit eating grin on his face.

sukuna had been determined to keep his calm throughout this party, had been determined to show you that he was deserving to be a part of your life. or least, that he was on the right path to becoming deserving. but he feels the already short fuse he has slowly running out, his teeth grinding against each other and his jaw clenched tightly with each one of gojo’s comments.

“how’s it gonna feel like when the nerd you hate so much is the one raising your kid?” gojo’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, a smirk painted on his lips. he only gives you a small, innocent wave when you turn to face him. “kid’s not even gonna know you’re their d-”

POW. sukuna slammed his fist into the side of gojo’s face, knocking the other man off his feet. the taste of iron tinged on gojo’s tongue, blood dripping from his nose. even as everyone was staring, even as his knuckles bruised, sukuna didn’t hesitate in landing another punch. a crack followed, gojo’s nose twisted and bloody.

satoru’s gravity shifted, one second on the ground and the other being held up like he weighed nothing. he tried to wrangle out of sukuna’s hold, holding his arms up when he realized it was futile, when he was slammed into a fucking table like it was a round of macho libre. napkins scattered, food splattered, drinks spilled, and the table cracked underneath the pressure.

sukuna’s chest heaves, looming over gojo’s body as he grips the poor boy by the collar of his shirt. “you wanna fucking say that again?!” his voice booms, bloody fist raised up to the nerd’s face like he’s debating caving his face in. the knife in your hand clatters onto the table next to you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

you rush over to gojo’s side, the poor boy’s glasses crooked and twisted across the bridge of his nose. his eyes were hazy and unfocused, struggling to follow the two fingers you were holding up. “hey, come on, focus,” you whisper, trying to at least get him to sit up.

“you’re really gonna check up on that fucking nerd before you do me?” sukuna lets out a scoff, holding his bruised fist against his hand. his eyes are narrowed into thin little slits, practically seething at the sight of you next to him.

“hey, come on, let’s get inside,” shoko kneels over, patting gojo’s cheek. she hands him a glass of cool water, somehow managing to keep a 6’3 man upright enough to head back into the condo.

“aren’t you gonna ask how i’m doing?” sukuna just had to poke the bear one more time.

“are you fucking serious?!” you snapped up, your body and voice shaking with pent up rage that you were barely holding together. sukuna’s eyes visibly widened, placing his hands up in a placating gesture. like you were the one in the wrong for getting pissed off.

“woah, calm down. stressing out and shit isn’t good for the baby.” he only had to make it worse. of course he did. you could practically strangle him at this point, standing up and jabbing a finger into his chest.

“you don’t get to fucking tell me to calm down when this is all your goddamn fault!

“this whole pregnancy has been what you want! ‘oh, i don’t wanna be a dad, get rid of it,’ ‘oh, i changed my mind, i wanna be a part of your life,’ ‘oh, i’m jealous of gojo so i’m gonna ruin my baby mama’s baby shower.’” phones started coming out, cameras not so discreetly pointed in the direction of your rant.

sukuna’s seen you in a variety of ways: from caring and soft spoken when you sat with him in the library going over problems, to loud and whiny when he had you moaning and writhing underneath him, annoyed when he tests the last remaining bits of your patience. but what he’s never seen is you look so goddamn angry before.

all he could do is stand there still, quiet, like he’s being scolded. sukuna waits for you to calm down, for your rage to subside. it didn’t. the longer you stewed in your own anger, the worse that it became.

you grabbed the closest thing near you—a platter of pink and blue frosted cupcakes and smashed it right into his face. globs of cupcake batter and frosting drip down, dropping unceremoniously by his feet. your voice breaks as you speak, the sound cutting him just as deep as your words did, “get the fuck out. i never want to see you again.”

with frosting coating his hair and face and a broken ego, sukuna leaves. he scowls at everyone who gawks his way during his walk of shame, though its not as effective when he looks like the pillsbury man. you could distinctly hear the sound of his horn resounding in the background, over and over again like he was beating his frustration onto the wheel.

tears run down your cheeks, streaks running down the makeup you’d spent a while sitting in front of a mirror for. your body racked with each sob that left your lips, one of your hands coming up to cover your mouth. everyone’s staring, everything’s too much. shoko’s rubbing her hand against your shoulder, trying to make you feel better to no avail.

everything hurts—the straps of your heels dig into the back of your swollen ankles with each step you take, there’s a dull, persistent ache in your lower back, worsened now that you’ve been standing for so long, and you can’t even drink a glass of water without immediately rushing to the bathroom.

and to top it all off, your bump’s been rubbed by every person who thinks they have a right to. as if it’s nothing more than just a magic eight ball for them to come up to. all the things you could’ve cried over and you were crying over this. over sukuna.

you can’t believe you could’ve been this stupid, this stupid to think that sukuna would finally start to get his act together. to think that you could have a day to yourself where it didn’t end up revolving around him for once.

this is still a baby shower, you have to remind yourself. your grip on the handle of the knife shakes, your shoulders shaking with silent tears racking through your body. hastily, you wipe away every drop clinging onto your waterline with the back of your hand. completely and effectively smudging the rest of your mascara.

slowly, your knife cuts through the buttercream frosting to reveal the dyed inside. what’s supposed to be one of the things you were most looking for throughout this pregnancy has now turned into you trying not to cry. torturously slow, you drag the knife out inch by inch. the tip’s coated in a bright pink color.

“it’s a girl.” you deadpan, the exploding sound of the confetti doing nothing to lift up the atmosphere. every guest stands in silence for a few minutes, gazes going from each other before scattered claps echo through the backyard. “yay, team girl!” someone even awkwardly tries to chime in before they were hushed.

it doesn’t take long for the guests to leave after that, some of them claiming they had plans they’d completely forgotten about until conveniently this moment. some were more slick about it, claiming that it was just time to go home. but the one thing that they all shared in common, were the looks of sheer and utter pity on their face.

you make your way back inside, giving shoko a small smile. “hey, thanks for coming. i can handle it from here, it’s my fault anyways.” she’s reluctant to leave, staying at least for a couple more minutes only to make sure gojo didn’t have some kind of concussion afterwards. or that his nose wasn’t completely broken.

after her little impromptu testing she’s managed to pick up from her shifts at the clinic, she decides he’s doing good for the meantime. “okay, i’ll see you at home. take care and try to put some ice on his wound, would you?” you nod at her instructions, giving her a small side-hug before she makes her way out.

“d-did i win?” gojo mumbled as he finally came to, a wince leaving his lips when your fingertips brushed against the forming bruise on his cheek. a small laugh left your lips at the question, shaking your head in quiet amusement.

“sure you did,” you murmur in response, placing a bag of peas you found buried in the fridge on the injury. a quiet moment of silence passes between you, one of his hands reaching out to intertwine with yours. his thumb lightly rubbed circles on the back of your hand, the action soothing and gentle.

gojo clears his throat, struggling to meet your gaze as he spoke up, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to cause a scene on your big day, i know you’re going through a lot of stress right now and i probably shouldn’t have tried to mess with suk—” his rambling was cut short with a feeling of plush lips against his own.

now sure, gojo could claim he was a gentleman and pretend like he hadn’t been thinking about this moment. but he he had, every time that you came around his close proximity, he’d imagine the taste of your lips. imagine how they’d feel against him, then chastise himself afterward.

he was determined to be a support system. he was determined to keep this strictly platonic. he should push you off. and satoru, bless satoru, he tries. instead, his fingers move to the nape of your neck, a quiet moan he’s all to eager to swallow leaving your lips. he’s awkward at first, unsure of what to do, before he’s kissing you with much more purpose.

his hypothesis was sooo wrong. he’d predicted kissing you would be good. just good. kissing you feels extraordinary, feels like he’s about to levitate from his body and go straight into the gates of heaven. nothing about his deepest fantasies could’ve prepared him for just electrifying kissing you was.

sukuna was aggressive in every form of the word, kissing you as if he needed you like the very oxygen that fills his lungs. but satoru was much more gentle, treading through the waters with much more caution, still just as eager though. his other hand comes to your hip, lightly squeezing at the flesh before tugging you all that much closer to him.

his lips move languidly against your own, capturing yours like a missing puzzle piece. his teeth lightly pull at your bottom lip, dragging a shuddered breath from you as his tongue slots in your mouth. he seeks to move in tandem, to figure things out with you as you go, rather than dominate.

you pull away to catch your breath, his lips chasing after yours before pulling away. your fingers coming up to rest on your lips. slowly, your eyes flutter open to see satoru was already staring at you, like he already wanted to kiss you all over.

and so you do. you let him kiss you again. and again. and again until your hands fisted the material of his button down.

oh fuck, you kissed gojo satoru. and you liked it.

a/n: scale of 1-10 how bad do y’all hate me rn

With as much confidence as you could muster, you slid open his door quietly and stepped inside, your friend right behind you. You noticed that near the bed, a small fire was going in a lantern, and that the blankets adorning Sukuna’s futon were thick, padded with fur, and entirely unused. He lay without a cover, sprawled out on his stomach with his arms clutching the pillow beneath his head, and facing away from the middle of the bed.

You both shared a look, giving a nod of assurance before venturing inside. Yorozu took the spot furthest from Sukuna, giving you the middle, but with how big his sleeping space was, there was plenty of room between you and your mentor that you wouldn’t be touching that much. You could only hope it was enough that you wouldn’t disturb-

“If I feel either of you press your cold feet against me,” Sukuna began gruffly, making you and Yorozu pause, “I’m killing you both. Brutally and slowly. I’ll skin you alive and make a pelt with your hide. Understand?”

Audibly, you and your friend gulped before muttering in unison, “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Don’t make me regret my leniency.”

Sleep came a lot easier after that, now that you weren’t trembling with cold and attached to someone who kept shaking you awake with her own chills. You lay facing Sukuna’s back, and behind you, Yorozu coiled her arm around your waist, burying her face into the back of your neck to keep warm, and eliciting a soft purring sound of sorts that lulled you right to sleep.

Yet, sometime through the night, you ended up lying right beside him, tucked in underneath his chin with three of his arms caging you in, and the other extended for Yorozu to rest her head on. With a tentative hand, you reached out and traced your finger down the bridge of her nose until it crinkled ever so slightly.

“Ro-zuu,” you softly called out, a mere whisper, gently tapping on her squished cheek. She swatted at your hand, slapping it away with a harsh movement, but it made you laugh. “Come on. Time to get up.”

With another few taps on her face, she let out a huffing whine. “You’re so annoying. Like a buzzing insect that won’t leave you alone.” 

“But you like insects. That’s your whole thing.”

Her usual wide eyes finally cracked open, heavy-lidded and sleepy. However, they did squint around the edges when she smiled at you. “There’s a difference. I enjoy sturdy insects–beetles and such. Your poking my face is reminiscent of a gnat, which is as weak as it is annoying. Do you know what I do with annoying little gnats like you?” 

“Mm, kiss them and tell them they’re pretty?” you suggested, reaching out to twist a lock of her messy hair around your finger. 

“Close.” She grabbed your wrist, bringing it to her mouth to kiss her way up your arm until she maneuvered herself overtop of you in a quick motion. As your hands fell to her hips, hers fell to your neck, where she softly squeezed and leaned down. “I actually kill them. Now, if you beg me, maybe I’ll spare you.”

“Why bother to beg when all I really need to do is remind you of whose tongue you enjoy sitting on?”

“Watch your mouth, woman,” Sukuna groused, reminding both of you that he was still there. “Were you raised to speak like a little whore?”

A tiny grin flickered on your face. “I wasn’t really raised at all, my lord.”

“Therein lies the problem, I suppose. Regardless, take your coupling somewhere that won’t disturb my sleep–and that means beyond your bedroom. I can hear you two romping around in the middle of the night all the way over here.”

“And you’ve never thought to join?” you teasingly questioned, understanding that doing so was a gamble for whether he’d flay you alive or not. Should he, you deemed that to be worth it for a little bit of taunting. “Why is that?”

“Lack of interest.”

“The mouths on your hands please you enough?”

“That they do,” he grumbled, pushing himself to sit up, resting his elbows on his bent knees to rake a hand through his hair. He didn’t even spare you a glance before muttering some curses under his breath and standing up. “Clean up after yourselves. If I have to lie in a wet bed later, I’ll be very displeased.”

As soon as he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him, you spared a glance at the woman on top of you, who was looking just as confused as you were feeling. 

“Didn’t he just tell us to leave?” she asked.

“He did.”

“And he’s the one leaving instead?”

“Seems so.”

She hummed over it. “Odd.”

“Very odd.”

* * * 

You sniffled as you raised your hand to your nose, wiping away the condensation that was accumulating there while you followed your mentor through the snow-covered forest. You’d both been traveling since early that morning, and the setting sun was telling you just how long you’d been trekking through a winter wasteland. With the promise of a few more days' travel ahead of you, you stowed away your complaints to use later since it seemed Sukuna wasn’t in the best of moods. 

It was only you and Sukuna this time, since Uraume’s technique wasn't needed when bringing back this hunt’s yield. The cold atmosphere would keep the bodies from decomposing on your way to the shrine. 

Part of you was thrilled to have alone time with your mentor, but the other part of you was dreading it. Long trips in the winter meant long spaces of time without conversation, and he was more irritable than usual. Sukuna would only entertain your questions for so long before he snapped at you to be quiet, so you used your voice sparingly.

You wiped at your nose again, sniffling some more, and wrapping your stag pelt tighter around your arms. The cloak was one Sukuna had given to you at the end of summer, along with a pair of fur-lined gloves and boots to match. You thought they were unnecessary at the time, but they were very useful in the moment. Surprisingly, Sukuna donned his usual attire: white hakama pants and a black haori, which left his bare chest exposed to the cold air. It made you wonder how he was managing without even the faintest shiver–he was still human, wasn’t he?

Well, you were curious enough to waste one of your questions on it.

“My lord?” After so long without using it, your voice was a bit raspy.

“Hm?”

“Are you not the slightest bit cold?”

“I’m fine.” 

His gruff cadence was focused enough that you knew better than to pry into his answer. Instead, you closed your mouth and followed along behind him, stepping right into the much larger footprints he was leaving in his path. 

“And you?” he asked after a few minutes, which threw you for a loop–you’d forgotten you’d even asked him something in the first place.

“And I, what?”

You heard him let out a huff, and you saw his breath crystallize in the air above him. “Are you cold?”

You sniffled again as you contemplated how to answer. Caving in and saying yes was admitting to weakness, but lying and saying no wouldn’t do you any favors. At least if he considered you weak, he might also consider stopping for the night to light a fire.

“A bit, my lord. The snow is quite deep, and we’ve been walking through it all day.”

“Mm.” 

He came to an abrupt halt, one that you weren’t prepared for. With how closely you were following behind him, you crashed right into his back–his warm back. The second you recoiled from him, you instantly wanted to reach forward again and give your fingers something warm to press against. 

“Careful, girl,” he scolded you while he pulled the haori off his shoulders and tossed it at you. The garment hit your face when it draped over your head. Under any other circumstance, the action would have pissed you off. However, after bearing the cold air for so long, it was nice to have something warm covering you up. Not to mention, it also smelled like him, encompassing you in his scent that you’d always found to be comforting.

Before you could pull the cloth from over your head, you felt your basket being lifted off your shoulders, with the haori lifted off right after. With his two upper hands, he wrapped the cloth around your shoulders, tying it tightly over your chest with the excess cloth.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“A little.” While it left you a tad warmer, you’d still prefer to sit in front of a fire to thaw your frozen limbs. “But when are we stopping for the night? I’m quite hungry.”

He snapped at you, “Don’t be greedy,” and pressed your basket back into your hands. “We’ll stop when I say so. Until then, be quiet.”

Your jaw clenched. “Yes, my lord.”

You continued on until you were struggling to see the footprints he was leaving in his path, despite being right behind him. The only indication that he was still there was the sound of crunching snow and snapping twigs-

Until that fell silent, which left you in a cold, pitch black world, with no sense of direction. 

“My lor-” A hand clamped down over your mouth, startling a gasp from you. 

“Listen,” Sukuna said from behind you. You wondered if you had walked right past him, or if he had managed to move so silently to get behind you. Either way, you did as he commanded, listening for whatever it was that he was hearing. 

In the distance, you heard a rustling sound and some grunting. Clearly, it was an animal, but with how dark the area around you was, you didn’t know what it was exactly. Slowly, Sukuna pulled his hand away from your mouth.

“What is it, my lord?” you whispered, so quiet that a normal human wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

“A bear.” The warmth that was pressed to your back disappeared. “I want you to go kill it.”

You choked at his order. “Me? I can barely kill a man–I cannot kill a bear-”

“You can,” he interjected, “And you will.”

Though it would do you no good, your eyes widened. “What?”

“You will kill it, or it will kill you. Simple as that.”

Your stomach dropped. “My lord, I-” You reached back, finding the space behind you to be empty. “Sukuna, please…” The grunts of the bear only ventured closer to you.

You could recall Sukuna’s teaching strategy–a ‘throw you to the wolves’ mentality, that he would use when guiding you during your youth. However, he’d never thrown you in front of a bear before.

“I can’t see,” you called out to him, hoping he’d retract his order of killing the beast that was only getting closer–you could hear its paws crushing the snow on the ground. 

“Then open your eyes, girl,” Sukuna suggested playfully, his voice coming from somewhere in the distance, from a direction that you couldn’t point to. “It’s right in front of you.”

With that, you sliced at the area in front of you, hearing it hit nothing but the air, followed by Sukuna snickering from wherever it was that he was spectating the hunt. You threw out another, this time hitting what you deemed to be a tree rather than a bear.

“You’re not even aiming-”

“I need to be able to see in order to aim, my lord,” you snapped. “How else will I know where my target is?”

“You don’t need to see your target. Feel for it instead.”

You scoffed, “With what? My hand? Isn’t that counterproductive–the bear will bite me!”

He chuckled again. “Not with your hand, with your cursed energy.”

“I don’t know how to do that!”

“You’ll figure it out. Now, if I remember correctly, there’s a hot spring nearby. I’ll go set up camp there.”

“What?!” you shrieked, falling back on your ass when a taloned paw swiped at you, just barely grazing your stomach. “Sukuna, you can’t-”

“You can handle it. Have faith in yourself.”

And just like that, you were left on your own to take down the bear that you couldn’t see.

* * *

The warmth of the hot spring was lovely, though it was doing very little to soothe the residual tendrils of adrenaline that were still coursing over your nerves. Your hands were still shaking, and you were still sniffling, but it had nothing to do with the cold weather anymore. 

From behind you, on the other side of the hot spring, you heard Sukuna approach, steps crunching through the snow as he went. You didn’t turn away from where you rested your arms on the rocky ledge of the pool. 

When he came to a halt at the edge, he huffed, “You’re crying.”

Yes, you were.

You didn’t respond to his observation with anything more than a sniffle.

He huffed again before you heard the subtle sound of splashing water, and only then did you turn around… to see him slipping into the hot spring… naked–or at least you assumed. His bottom half was submerged before you had the chance to check. Quickly, you turned back around so he wouldn’t notice that you were staring.

For a few quiet moments, all you could hear was the droplets of water hitting the surface of the pool, and the crackling of the fireplace he’d set up just a few feet away–and your sniffling, of course. The tension only continued to thicken as he bathed himself, all while you waited for him to say anything, yet he didn’t.

Eventually, the water stilled–the sound of it, the ripples. You thought that maybe he’d left you alone until you felt a newfound heat press against your back, and four arms caging you in against the edge of the hot spring.

“You did well,” he said, finally breaking the silence that started to accumulate. “I anticipated having to step in, but you managed it on your own-”

“Barely,” you snapped. “I just barely handled it on my own.”

He snickered, “So you’re angry that you succeeded?”

“No. I’m angry that you…”

“That I, what? Taught you something?”

You scoffed, “You did not teach me anything, Sukuna. You put me in front of a beast and told me to fight for my life-”

“And because of it, you can now aim your cursed energy without needing to see, which is an excellent thing to know how to do, should you ever find yourself in front of a bear in a dark forest ever again.”

“I could have died,” you bit out, jaw clenching when the tears started to build up again. 

“I wouldn’t have let you die, brat. I was keeping watch.” You could almost hear him roll his eyes. “What a waste of food, that would be, if I let a bear devour you. I’m saving you for the right time, letting you ripen up, so you’re less bitter and sour. I want you sweet.”

“Save yourself the trouble, my lord. As it seems, I’ll always be bitter and sour wherever you’re concerned. All I am to you is a scared, lazy little girl.”

“Mm, at least you’re self-aware.”

“Yes. I am.” A furrow formed between your brows. “It’s unfortunate that you cannot say the same about yourself.” 

You placed both of your hands on the edge of the hot spring, about to hoist yourself out, when he grabbed onto your hips to hold you in place. You gasped at the pressure he was gripping you with, but it was only enough to bruise you.

“I’ve more self-awareness than you may think, brat. The difference is that I choose to discard the morals humans collectively created to keep others from succeeding, and focus on what truly makes a person stronger.” His grip lightened, but he didn’t let go of your waist. “I could have assumed a gentler approach to teaching you, but you wouldn’t have come this far in such a short amount of time. I have enough self-awareness to know that morals hold you back. Morals make you weak. If you want to be strong, if you want to make it to the top, you need to stop following the weak-minded fools who put these morals in place.”

“And not following these weak-minded, foolish morals means you have to place me in front of a starving bear, leaving me defenseless, to kill or be killed?”

“You are not defenseless, girl.” His hands slid up your sides, brushing over your ribs to graze down your arms. When he grabbed your hands, he raised them in front of your face. “In your pockets, you carry around the sharpest blades this world has ever known. All you need to do is learn how to use them.” 

Your hands curled into fists as you gave a tug against his grip, but it was unrelenting. Carefully–delicately–he turned your hands over and pushed apart your fist with his thumb, forcing them to open up. And with a smooth touch, he grazed the pad of his finger over your splayed out palm.

“To live in this world means to kill or be killed, no matter if you’re placed in front of a starving bear, or not. This place is brutal, and it always has been, long before I was even born.” He leaned over you, chin resting on your bare shoulder, mouth angled toward your exposed throat. Sukuna spoke with such a kind tone–a purr of sorts–but his words carried something darker. “I only adapted to its cruelty, and I need you to do the same. The next time you’re alone in a dark forest, it might not be a starving bear that you’re standing in front of. It might be someone so starved, whose hunger for pretty things like you never stops.”

Somewhere in his explanation, you started to melt against him, falling back into his chest to become something so malleable.

“What if it’s not someone else, my lord?” you questioned, nearly panting when his breath brushed over your pulse. “What if you were starved? And what if I were alone with you?”

Like right now…

“Then you never stood a chance to begin with. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.” His voice hit the column of your throat before his lips did. Against your skin, he added, “And the sad part is, you wouldn’t try to stop me either.”

You bit back a moan, leaning your head away to bare more of your neck to him. “Should I?”

“If you value your life,” he murmured, mouthing over the thin, delicate skin. Instinctively, your back arched into him, breath turning into something so ragged. It felt nice to be touched by him, even if you were still angry about his unsavory teaching methods.

“And if I don’t value my life?”

He paused all of his movements, even his breathing, maybe even his own heartbeat, before he swallowed back a deep groan. 

“Then you’ll stay with your back to me, and you won’t tell me to stop, no matter what.” In that moment, your mouth seemed to have dried out so much that you nearly choked on your gasp the second you felt his teeth press into your throat to scrape up to your jaw. “Say you understand.”

You felt two hard cocks press against your ass, rutting into you in slow thrusts. The ideas that were left with you were mouthwatering.