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apocalypse - one
undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]
warnings [mdni] - angst | implied trauma | mean sukuna
wc - 7.3k
series masterlist
∞
ryomen sukuna knew three things about his soulmate.
she drank too much caffeine, she slept curled on her side whenever anxiety crawled beneath her skin and whenever she read for hours on end or colored, the noise in his head quieted enough to let him breathe.
it was fucking irritating.
the first time she got under his skin, it was in the middle of his first match.
he’d nearly put his fist through the guy, rage sitting ugly beneath his ribs as blood pooled in his mouth and sweat dripped down his spine.
then suddenly, he was overcome with serenity he’d never experienced before.
a calmness that wasn’t his own, never his own.
something soft slipped beneath his skin then, warm and quiet in a way he wasn’t used to. like somebody had pressed cold hands against the back of his neck after years of burning where he stood.
he’d won that match.
“again?” toji muttered from across the gym, cigarette balanced lazily between scarred fingers.
sukuna rolled his jaw once before slamming another punch into the heavy bag hard enough for the chains overhead to rattle violently.
“fuck off.”
toji smirked, tongue peaking out to lick at the scar against his lip.
the gym smelled like rust, sweat and the metallic ting of blood that both men were used to. it was a shitty set up buried beneath the city in the lower levels of an abandoned parking structure. it barely looked legal from the outside and the inside wasn't much better.
the concrete floors, flickering lights and men all too violent to exist comfortably above ground.
and it was the place ryomen sukuna felt alive.
sukuna had been fighting since he was fifteen and filled with a rage even he couldn’t understand.
toji found him bloody outside a convenience store after some older guys tried jumping him for gambling money.
it was clear they didn’t get the money but sukuna took that fire in his gaze out on them.
sukuna still recalled the way toji looked down at him, droplets cascading down his sharp features and dark hair, damp cigarette hanging from his mouth while blood dripped steadily from sukuna’s split brow.
“you fight like an animal,” toji began, taking a drag of his fading cig before tilting his head at the salmon haired boy, “what if i told you that you could beat the shit out of guys every day and get paid for it?”
a fucking dream is what that was. he gets to utilize his anger and he could finally get out of his father’s house.
how could sukuna even say no?
somehow, it turned into this.
years later, ryomen sukuna had become the name whispered through underground rings across the city. not because he was the biggest or the strongest, but because he was cruel.
there was something deeply unsettling about the way sukuna fought.
controlled, almost lazy sometimes. like violence came so naturally to him that he didn’t even need to think about it.
people feared men who fought emotionally.
they feared ryomen sukuna more because he never did.
most nights, he fought beneath screaming neon lights while crowds chanted his name loud enough to shake the walls.
they bet on him like he was a sure thing and fuck, did he get a shitload of money from it.
he’d leave each night, beaten and bruised with a duffel of cash hanging off his shoulder.
he was living the dream.
that was until he arrived home, in his apartment downtown, and sat in silence while somebody else’s emotions bled quietly into his chest.
a girl he’d never met yet somehow knew like the back of his hand, all too intimately.
he knew she liked coffee because of the bursts of energy he’d feel during mornings where he usually slept in because his fights usually carried into the night.
he knew she did yoga often because his muscles weren’t as sore as they would get when he was younger and god knows it wasn’t his doing. he didn’t stretch nearly as much as toji nagged at him to.
he also knew that she despised him.
that one was obvious.
their bond always sharpened after his fights. her irritation sat bright and hot beneath his ribs every time he came home bruised and bloody.
sometimes he couldn’t differentiate between his own rage and hers.
maybe they were more alike than he thought.
truthfully, sukuna didn’t know how to do things any differently and frankly, he didn’t care enough to.
he hated this whole soulmates shit. why would the universe ever pair two people together with the utmost certainty that they were perfect for each other?
and what fucking masacre did this girl commit to be bonded with him of all people?
violence was the only thing sukuna had ever been good at and he wouldn’t change that for anyone, especially some girl who was almost a mere figment of his imagination.
he did that sometimes. pretended that he was a non-existent and that he was merely hallucinating her.
non-existents made up a very small part of the population and they were essentially humans who didn’t have soulmates. like toji was.
lucky bastard.
sometimes sukuna believed toji was lying because he’d get this distant look on his face some days, kind of like himself when he felt his own soulmate torment him.
so maybe he was a late bloomer?
either way, he was in a better situation than sukuna was.
“your girl’s pissed again?” toji commented dryly from where he leaned against the boxing ring ropes, head tilted with a knowingness sukuna hated.
toji was the one sukuna had to confide in because who else did he have?
when he was overwhelmed as a young teenager about his soulmate, toji would be the one he would reluctantly go to. the older man had taken him under his wing, so yes, he did trust him more than anyone.
he also knew that toji cared about him in his own fucked up way.
sukuna’s knuckles ached tonight, phantom annoyance curling beneath his skin that didn’t belong to him. it was her.
probably studying somewhere in the city while silently wishing death upon him.
the thought almost made him grin.
throughout the years, pissing her off became a hobby of some sort, though he knew she didn’t find it nearly as amusing as he did.
“at least you know she’s got personality.” toji stated once more as sukuna finally stopped punching and turned to shoot the man a glare.
“shut the fuck up.”
toji huffed out a laugh, “god help you both when you finally meet.”
the thought made sukuna freeze momentarily.
it was almost sad.
usually, at least from what sukuna knew, people usually couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates.
then there was sukuna, filled with dread at the mere idea.
sukuna hated even talking about the bond.
he hated how aware he was of her.
because despite everything, the distance and never seeing her to begin with, she felt woven into him already, like a haunting.
some nights, when his insomnia clawed violently at his nerves after fights, he’d feel her wrap her arms around herself beneath warm blankets god knows where.
and sleep came easier those nights.
he couldn’t explain it and truthfully, he didn’t like to think about it.
he hated talking about her because the truth was ugly.
that he didn’t particularly hate her. which is exactly why he knew meeting her would ruin everything.
naturally, his solution was to sabotage everything which is why he started to sleep around with non-existents whenever he got the chance.
and he knew what it did to her.
good. he hoped it made her despise him enough to never want anything to do with him, whether they meet now or twenty years down the line.
sukuna didn’t want anything to do with her.
∞
you hated downtown on friday nights.
it was always too loud and all too crowded.
neon signs bled into rain-slick streets while bass-heavy music spilled from every open doorway along the block.
girls stumbled across sidewalks in tiny dresses and tall heels, drunken laughter cutting through the humid summer night air while taxis lined the streets endlessly.
the city looked beautiful after dark, but you still wanted to be everywhere but here.
“stop looking at people with that judgy look of yours.” shoko muttered beside you, nudging your shoulder lightly as the three of you crossed the street.
“i’m not judging, i’m just looking around…” you defended with a huff as you hugged yourself protectively, little kitten heels clicking against the pavement.
“you are judging,” utahime confirmed, “it’s your classic disgusted and glare-ey look.”
“well excuse me, you’re the ones who brought me to crackhead-ville.” you glared at the two girls as shoko rolled her eeys before hooking her arm through yours anyway.
she pulled you towards the entrance of yet another overcrowded building downtown.
apparently, tonight’s party was being held somewhere above an abandoned old bar. or beneath it.
either way, something you found entirely too ominous but you were too distracted when shoko was explaining to actually disagree.
your soulmate had spent the entire evening restless beneath your skin. not angry but worse.
aware.
you felt him constantly tonight.
a steady pulse of adrenaline humming through your bloodstream that didn’t belong to you.
your chest had felt tight since leaving the penthouse, some strange tension settling low in your stomach like your body was anticipating something before your mind could catch up.
it was unsettling.
you blamed the lack of sleep, or rather, you blamed him. you blamed him for it all.
“ew, ew…” you muttered as shoko pulled you through the door into what you could only describe as chaos.
warmth and noise hit you instantly.
bodies crowded wall to wall beneath flashing lights while music shook violently through the floorboards.
cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the open windows somewhere deeper inside the space.
you physically recoiled.
“oh my god,” utahime muttered beside you, laughing softly at the expression painting your features, “you look horrified.”
“i am horrified!”
shoko snorted, “rich kids.”
you threw her a glare before the three of you squeezed through the crowd until you reached a quieter section tucked near the back of the room.
a curved leather couch sat half-empty beneath dim red lights, thankfully far enough from the speakers that your skull stopped vibrating the second you sat down.
you exhaled deeply, chest deflating as you blinked up at your friends who were looking at you with amusement.
“drinks?” utahime questioned as shoko nodded eagerly while you merely hummed, shoulders tense as you gazed around the sea of bodies.
utahime disappeared toward the bar while shoko took a seat beside you, the leather beneath you sticky in a way that had you shuddering, sitting at the very edge of the couch.
fuck, you hated this and you couldn’t explain why.
yes, you hated parties in general but you just felt wrong.
“you’re being weird tonight.” shoko observed, eyes narrowed on your tense figure.
you frowned faintly, “i know…i feel weird.”
your skin felt like it was buzzing, chest vibrating in a way it usually wasn’t.
it wasn’t necessarily bad, but simply off.
you felt your soulmate more than ever tonight, you were almost hyperaware.
he felt electric.
every emotion coming from him felt sharper somehow, close enough that you could almost mistake them for your own.
your pulse kept jumping for no reason.
fuck, you hated this.
“is it devils dick?” shoko casually asked as your eyes closed momentarily.
how would you explain that it was both yes and no.
yes, the bond felt different tonight.
but no, it wasn’t muscle aches or phantom pain you were feeling on his end, though you didn't want to speak too soon.
it was a friday after all. friday nights usually meant bruised ribs by saturday morning.
“oh my god, guys!” hime stood before you, handing shoko her drink before placing a water bottle in your hand, “everyone’s saying gojo and his crew are gonna be here!”
your eyes rolled gently, very much aware of utahime’s obsession with those random illegitimate fighters.
underground fights happened constantly throughout the city.
illegal betting rings buried beneath clubs and abandoned buildings, violent enough that respectable people pretended they didn’t exist despite everyone secretly knowing otherwise.
your father even told you how known politicians and well known figures even placed bets they hid from the public.
and lately, there was one name that everyone kept talking about-
“do you think sukuna would show up?” shoko questioned, eyes wide with excitement, taking a sip of her cherry vodka as you looked between the two girls.
ryomen sukuna.
you’d heard it constantly from utahime the past few months.
uathime, shoko, sora and percy often went on double dates to these underground fights you had zero interest in.
you were very much used to fifth wheeling alongside your friends, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was rooted in the prospect of spending the night in a filthy underground boxing ring riddled with people and violence alike. yuck.
still, amongst all the fighters utahime gushed about, ryomen sukuna seemed to be the most known.
the undefeated underground fighter with pink hair and a snake tattoo across his shoulders and collarbones.
people were terrified of him just as equally as they were obsessed with him.
“percy says sukuna knocked his opponent unconscious in under thirty seconds last week!” shoko stated, taking another sip as utahime nodded frantically.
“he’s insane!” utahime gushed, “like, gojo is obviously a show off and just cares about the clout he gets but sukuna? he’s terrifying…”
utahime continued, you were sure. you could see her mouth moving but you didn’t-couldn’t register the words she'd uttered.
the world around you turned hazy, just enough to feel like everything slowed in a way that definitely wasn’t normal.
your heartbeat stopped, not metaphorically, but physically.
a sharp wave of adrenaline crashed violently into your chest hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs.
you went still, every muscle in your body tightening instinctively.
you could see both of the girls leaning towards you, brows furrowed in concern, mouths moving and uttering words you knew were dipped in concern. you couldn’t hear any of it.
you swallowed hard, eyes darting up and around you, as if a siren was luring you towards the crowd, come to me, come, come.
fuck, were you drugged or something?
your heartbeat stuttered painfully beneath your ribs, once, twice then again.
you felt like you’d been dropped underwater while everyone else remained above the surface.
the bond felt raw and entirely too overwhelming.
it felt like standing at the edge of something life-altering, like your soul had recognized something before your mind could catch up to it.
for the first time since you’d first felt your soulmate, he didn’t feel far away.
you had grown used to the idea of him, something intangible and not truly real.
merely a ghost haunting the edges of your nervous system, phantom bruises in the middle of lectures and an adrenaline rush at three in the morning.
he was the deep-seated exhaustion that riddled your body but didn’t belong to you.
but this felt real. close enough to touch.
the sensation crawled slowly beneath your skin, winding around your ribs like invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter until you thought you might choke on it.
the realization hit your bloodstream like a drug.
he was here, you knew it. you could feel it in your bones.
your eyes darted towards the door that had swung open, summer air rushing inside alongside four figures dressed almost entirely in black.
the first thing you noticed was height.
they all carried themselves with the same dangerous sort of confidence, the kind that came from men who had never truly feared consequences before.
one of them had snowy white locks, the tallest of the bunch, bright enough to catch beneath the flashing lights, sunglasses balanced lazily across his nose despite the fact that it was nearly midnight.
another stood beside him, quieter with shoulder length black locks with stretched gauges in his ears and sharp eyes that swept across the room once before settling into bored indifference.
the third one was shorter than the rest but still tall, black locks in two spiked buns with a joint resting between plump pink lips, eyes hooded in a way that exposed that joint not being his first of the night.
they were all attractive in a way that felt almost unfair and dangerous.
people moved out of their path without being asked.
your eyes turned to the one trailing just a step behind them and your breath caught so violently, it hurt.
the salmon colored locks gave him away.
ryomen sukuna.
tattoos curled dark against tan skin disappearing beneath the collar of a black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders.
even from where you stood, you could see the dried blood and bruises across his knuckles.
he looked nothing like what you’d imagined from shoko’s descriptions.
and simultaneously, exactly like it too.
something deep inside you snapped taut, your stomach dropping.
you could tell he was dazed too, jaw locked and eyes blinking at a slow pace, eyes looking around the sea of bodies.
the soulmate bond surged so hard beneath your ribs, you physically recoiled, fingers gripping the edge of the leather couch.
oh god. no, no, no.
oh my god…
“oh my god,” utahime whispered beside you, though unlike you, she sounded impressed rather than horrified.
shoko looked moments away from passing out entirely.
“that’s him!” she breathed out quietly.
you couldn’t answer, breath stilling and hands trembling.
because sukuna had stopped walking.
fuck, the realization came slowly enough to feel cruel.
maroon eyes met your own and the room around you dissolved entirely. the music became muffled noise, lights blurring and the crowd disappeared.
all you could see was him. him. him. him.
he was all you could see, feel and you knew all he could see was you.
sukuna felt it the second he stepped through the doorway.
you.
the bond snapped violently alive beneath his skin hard enough that his entire body locked for half a second mid-step.
he almost thought someone had drugged him until he remembered he hadn’t even drank anything yet.
then what was this feeling?
his eyes locked on yours and he felt the most alive he’d felt in his life.
something even the ring and the violence couldn't offer.
there you were, all too pretty and wide eyed.
he barely heard gojo speak beside him anymore, the lanky man rambling on about some idiot from last week’s fight who apparently called him out on twitter after.
sukuna ignored him completely because across the room sat a girl staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
and in some ways, he was your ghost.
he haunted you and lived under your skin in ways he was sure you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
his soulmate.
years of phantom feelings crashed together all at once so violently, it almost made him sick.
because the realization hit him harder than he’d anticipated and yes, he had anticipated this.
the moment he’d meet his soulmate.
well, he dreaded more than anticipated it.
it hit him hard because he realized that he knew this girl.
sukuna had never met you, yet, he bet he knew you more than the two girls hovering over you. more than fucking anyone.
you were the girl whose stress bled into his bones during finals week, the girl who wrapped her arms around herself at night and somehow lulled him to sleep from miles away.
you were real.
and you looked soft.
that was the first thing he took note of.
soft skin, soft wide eyes, soft pink shimmery gloss coating your plush lips he recognized only through phantom warmth he’d felt against his own skin before.
his soulmate was a pretty little thing, so pretty it almost made his chest ache. in your tiny skirt and halter top.
far too fucking pretty to belong anywhere near him.
“sukuna?”
choso’s voice cut through the haze faintly and sukuna snapped out of it, gaze finally leaving hers to glance at his friend who tilted his head towards the other side of the room.
sukuna resisted the urge to glance at you as he made his way across the room.
fuck, fuck, fuck!
this couldn’t be happening, this was a fucking nightmare.
just as he made it across the room, he felt it.
warm fingertips brushing his own skin despite his hands at his sides.
his pulse stuttered once.
his gaze snapped to yours once more and your eyes widened instantly when you noticed his hand drift to his neck where your own hand was resting.
slowly and carefully, sukuna lifted his own hand.
his fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw, a barely there touch.
yet, across the room, your breath hitched sharply as warmth bloomed against your own jawline seconds later.
not imagined or coincidence. it was all real, so so real.
your stomach twisted violently.
oh no. no no no no.
shoko was gazing at you, “what’s wrong?!”
you couldn’t answer, eyes stuck on a pair of crimson that held you hostage.
her eyes narrowed as both her and utahime followed your gaze before catching sukuna’s eyes on you.
then they both looked between you both a total of five times before realization hit.
“wait,” shoko whispered harshly, hand shooting out to grip your arm, “WAIT.”
utahime’s jaw physically fell open, “holy shit…”
your heartbeat pounded so violently, you thought you might faint right then and there beneath the flashing red lights.
what you despised most is that it made sense.
of course it was him. a violent and dangerous underground fighter, fuck, that explained everything so perfectly.
if fate was a person, you’d have her by the neck right now.
because sukuna was still staring at you, as if he knew you already and perhaps, he did.
then horrifyingly, he smirked.
and suddenly, you understood exactly why the entire city feared ryomen sukuna.
sukuna moved before he could really think about it, jaw clenched but determined.
one second he stood on the other side of the room and the next, his body was already weaving through the crowd toward you like the bond itself had wrapped invisible fingers around his spine and dragged him to you. you. his soulmate.
people moved instantly to let him pass.
you took note of that immediately.
you noticed the way conversations died around him, the way bodies shifted out of his path and nobody dared touch him, even accidentally.
it was fear, you realized. people feared him.
the recognition made your stomach twist.
“oh my god,” shoko whispered harshly beside you, nails digging into your arm, “he’s coming over here!”
“i can see that.” you hissed back faintly, though your voice barely sounded like your own.
fuck, you should leave. you should absolutely leave.
except, you couldn’t move, body drilled to where you sat, frozen in place while ryomen fucking sukuna rossed the room toward you like some predator chasing prey.
closer and closer and closer.
until suddenly, all his 6’4 glory was towering above you.
your breath caught embarrassingly hard.
up close, he was worse.
taller than you’d imagined and broader too.
there were faint bruises scattered along his jawline beneath the dim lights, on the very spot that you woke up feeling sore. fresh cuts healed across his knuckles.
and his eyes, god, they looked at you with the same recognition burning through your own chest.
sukuna looked down at you for a moment too long.
fuck, you were even more ethereal up close.
that thought hit him first and annoyingly hardest.
his pretty little soulmate sitting curled into the edge of a leather couch looking at him with wide doe eyes, almost expectantly with a mix of fear and restraint.
“hey.”
his voice slid down your spine like smoke.
low, dangerous and rough in a way even your mind couldn’t conjure up.
fuck, was this really happening?
your throat tightened instantly, “hi.”
the word left you horrifyingly softer than you’d intended and sukuna’s lips twitched at the sound.
your voice was his favorite sound, instantly.
“um,” shoko hummed, eyes wide as she shared a glance with utahime, “we’ll give you two a second.”
you almost wanted to yell in protest, but the two girls were already shuffling away, shooting you encouraging looks.
as you glanced up at the dangerous man once more, you felt your heart still in a way you hadn’t ever felt before.
not in fear or apprehension but calm.
he made you feel calm, your body stilling and quieting in a way you hadn’t expected.
regretfully, fuck, you despised it, but when that gentleness overcame you and you looked up at him…
his disheveled pink locks, his handsome rugged features and his dark eyes, all of it was him.
and you felt stupid for trying to deny that this man was your soulmate.
who else would it be?
“i’m sukuna,” he stated lowly, moving to take a seat beside you, leaving an appreciative distance between you, “ryomen sukuna.”
your name left you softly with a nod.
as you gazed at each other, the same realization overcame you both.
even with barely an introduction, you knew each other.
while sukuna had only fond memories of what you’d done for him, your mind was riddled with poisonous ones.
this was the man who often trained in the middle of the night, filling you with soreness and a rush of adrenaline that left you sleepless most nights.
he was the one who fucked other girls knowing what that put you through.
your heart clenched.
beyond all those things, he was the one who hugged himself to sleep after that one night of utter hell.
he was the one who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps left you nauseated and pained in bed.
as much as you wanted to forget those things, to snap yourself out of the sad patheticness that riddled you, how could you?
how could you when those were the only memories that kept your hope that he wasn’t a total monster alive?
your eyes travelled along his bloodied knuckles, “you get those a lot.”
sukuna’s fists instinctively clenched at the attention.
“and you burn yourself with whatever you do your hair with at least twice a week.”
your eyes widened instantly.
“and you get punched like every other day!”
sukuna’s mouth twitched and you hated how your eyes drifted towards the movement and your heart stuttered.
“barely.” sukuna stated cooly, a small smirk painting his features.
your eyes drifted toward him again before you could stop yourself.
and then you remembered.
every phantom feeling, every sleepless night and every ache.
all attached to him.
the violence, the pain, the girls.
your jaw tightened, "you’re not exactly the best person to be connected to, you know.”
sukuna’s expression didn’t shift much, still cool, but you felt it. the hollow drop in your stomach that wasn’t yours. guilt.
real and immediate, it almost made you laugh in disbelief.
of course he felt guilty, he had to know he was a fucking nightmare.
sukuna leaned back slightly, jaw working once as his gaze flickered away from yours for half a second, “yeah, i bet.”
your brows lifted, “that’s it?”
his eyes returned to yours, low and indifferent.
you scoffed, anger bubbling up so quickly, it nearly startled you, “that’s all you have to say?”
sukuna let out a breath through his nose, “what do you want me to say?”
“oh, i don’t know,” you let out a sharp little laugh that held not an ounce of humor, “maybe sorry would be a good place to start?!”
sukuna’s head tilted, “sorry.”
you stared at him in utter disbelief before a laugh left you once more, this time softer and dripped in something worse than anger, “wow…”
sukuna’s eyes borrowed, “what?”
“you’re unbelievable is what!”
“you asked for sorry.”
“not like that!” you nsapped, voice rising just enough to have your cheeks flushing, “not like you’re apologizing for stepping on my shoe!”
his expression hardened slightly and you felt it immediately, the irritation beginning to curl beneath his skin.
ugh, you hated how the closeness made both your emotions so heightened.
“you have no idea what you put me through,” you continued, voice trembling despite you rbest efforts, “none.”
sukuna’s gaze darkened, “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like i wasn’t there too.”
you blinked at him, something hot and ugly twisting in your chest.
was he for real?
“you were there?” you repeated quietly, “you were there?”
his jaw clenched, “don’t-”
“no, please,” you leaned forward slightly, anger sharpening every word, “explain it to me. because to my knowledge, you were the one making my life miserable while i was the one trying to keep us both sane!”
sukuna looked at you for a long moment, jaw clenching and unclenching. the lights washed over his face in flashes of red, making him look even more unreal than he already did.
“you think i wanted this?” he stated more than asked and your heart clenched.
hurt shot through you, your eyes growing glassy against your will because you knew he wasn’t referring to the pain he’d put you through.
he meant the soulmate thing in general, fate as a whole.
he didn’t want you.
you bit the inside of your cheek, willing your tears to stay in your eyes before breathing out, “no. but neither did i.”
silence settled between you then, not peaceful but loaded.
sukuna could physically feel your hurt and his eyes dropped briefly to your hands where they trembled in your lap.
your fingers curled instantly, too proud as you hid the movement.
it was too late. he’d seen it.
even worse, he’d felt it.
“i didn’t know.” he stated lowly and you froze.
your eyes flickered up, “what?”
his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, expression unreadable.
“at first,” he clarified, “i didn’t know what it did to you.”
your chest tightening, knowing what he was referring to and his words didn’t soothe you in the slightest.
“and after?”
in fact, it made it all worse.
especially as he said nothing.
your face fell slightly, all the anger in you cooling into something quieter and melancholic.
“after, you knew.”
his gaze remained on you as his fingers flexed once against his thigh, “yeah, i knew.”
your eyes burned and you hated yourself for it. you hated that it still hurt despite knowing already, you hated that hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way the bond never had.
“why?” you asked, the one word absolutely humiliating as much as it was devastating.
sukuna looked away first and somehow, that hurt too, “because it was easier.”
your lips parted faintly, “easier?”
he lout out a grunt, “if you hated me, you wouldn’t look for me.”
the words settled between you like something deadly.
for a second, you genuinely couldn’t speak.
then you did, “that is the stupidest, shittiest thing i’ve ever heard.”
hsi eyes snapped back to yours, scowling, “careful.”
“oh, fuck you!” you hissed lowly, “you don’t get to do that! you don’t get to hurt me on purpose and then act like it was some noble sacrifice.”
his jaw tightened, “it wasn’t noble.”
“yeah, no shit.”
“it was necessary.”
you laughed once, incredulous, “necessary? well, congrats, you got what you wanted, i absolutely fucking despise you.”
sukuna’s jaw clenched, eyes glaring at you, “good. because you don’t know shit about me, this saves us both the hassle.”
“i don’t know you?” you shot back, “i know you more than anyone, probably. i know your body hurts more often than they don’t. i know you clench your jaw when you’re mad. i know you can’t sleep because of your nightmares and unless somebody practcially forces your nervous system to shut down, you could go days without it. i know you’re so angry at the fucking world, it makes you so hateful.”
sukuna went still, too still.
you swallowed hard, eyes burning once more, “and i know that for years, i was the one cleaning up the damage you left behind.”
his eyes darkened, “cleaning up?”
“yes,” your voice cracked despite yourself, “me. i was the one hugging myself to sleep because you wouldn’t. i was the one stretching every morning because your body always felt like fucking concrete. i was the one coloring like a goddamn toddler at three in the morning because it was the only thing that made your anger stop choking me!”
sukuna said nothing and you hated that even more.
you wanted him to argue back, to answer, to fucking care.
“do you know how pathetic that feels?” you whispered, “taking care of someone who kept hurting me?”
his expression shifted, barely, but you felt it again.
the guilt, even deeper this time.
sukuna looked at you like he wanted to say something cruel and couldn’t quite manage it, settling with, “you didn’t have to do all that.”
your laugh came out watery, tears now trickling down your heated cheeks.
fuck, you felt nauseous, you felt so fucking sick.
“yeah, i know that now.”
something passed across his face then, a flicker of pain so quick, you almost missed it.
but the bond didn’t allow you to miss anything. you felt it bloom in your own chest, sharp and unwanted. his.
for one terrible second, you almost let it soften you.
almost.
because there it was again.
that tiny, stupid sliver of hope you’d spend years nurturing because it was the only thing that kept you mildly sane.
the one that whispered that maybe he wasn't all cruelty. maybe there was something beneath all that violence and pain.
maybe the boy who held a hot water bottle to his stomach when your cramps got bad had to exist somewhere inside the man sitting in front of you.
you looked at him then, through your blurry vision, really and truly looked.
the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes and the casual arrogance sitting across his shoulders like armor.
and that hope crumbled quietly inside your chest.
not dramatically or all at once, but piece by piece, like something old finally accepting it had been dead for a long time.
utter disappointment filled you then. you should have known better.
this shouldn't be surprising.
sukuna had spent years telling you exactly who he was, painting you the worst image of himself and you had hoped it was just that.
the worst of himself.
except the worst was all of him.
sukuna was cruel. not because he didn’t know better but because he did.
because he’d known what hurt you and decided hurting you was easier than wanting you.
you swallowed around the ache in your throat, suddenly exhausted in a way a thousand years of sleep couldn’t fix.
all you wanted was to be home now, cuddled up with ani in your room alone.
“right,” you whispered, nodding once to yourself.
sukuna’s brows pulled together slightly, “right what?”
you pushed yourself to your feet, smoothing trembling hands over the front of your skirt because you needed something to do. anything that didn’t involve looking at him.
“this was enlightening.”
his eyes narrowed, “sit down.”
the command sparked something sharp beneath your ribs, the thorn twisting in your heart.
you let out a hollow laugh, “fuck you.”
his jaw flexed, “don’t make a scene.”
your name left him then and you hated the way your stomach fluttered at the melody of it in his voice.
fuck, your heart hurt.
because he was your soulmate. yours.
because some sick, twisted part of you had expected the universe to redeem itself when you finally found him.
you expected the first moment to feel like every story you’d grown up hearing, witnessed amongst your friends.
warmth, recognition and relief.
instead, you were standing in front of the man who had turned your body into a battlefield and your heart into collateral damage.
“i hope i never see you again.”
something flickered across his face then and you didn’t stay long enough to decipher it.
you turned around, the crowd swallowing you almost immediately as you walked away.
music slammed back into your skull, bodies pressing close as you pushed through them with shaking hands and blurred vision.
your chest felt too tight, lungs too small for the oxygen your body ached for.
behind you, you felt sukuna rise before you saw it. the immediate pull.
his presence growing closer and your heart stuttered stupidly.
some miserable, pathetic part of you sparked alive at the thought before you could kill it.
maybe he did care.
maybe he was going to take back all the words he regretted, that he would stop you and apologize properly this time.
he would say what you’ve been waiting years to feel.
the thought was so humiliating, it almost made you sick.
“fuck are you lookin’ at?!”
you heard his voice aimed at the crowd of people that were watching you both, probably since your conversation on the couch.
you shoved through the door and stepped into the narrow hallway outside the main room, the music muffling instantly behind you.
the air was cooler here, damp with rain and cigarette smoke, blue neon bleeding through the cracked windows at the end of the corridor.
you took in a breath like you hadn’t breathed in days, eyes shutting as your heart hammered against your chest, trying to simply process everything that had taken place.
“hey.” his voice followed you out and you froze, heart stilling.
stupid, traitorous thing.
you turned slowly, eyes fluttering open.
sukuna stood a few feet away, tall and shadowed beneath the hallway light.
away from the party, he seemed even more dangerous. less like a person and more like a warning your body had spent seven years failing to understand.
he was an enigma.
for one breath, neither of you spoke.
your hope stood there too, fragile and shaking, fucking pitiful.
waiting.
sukuna’s gaze dragged over your face once, catching on the wetness beneath your eyes and his expression tightened faintly.
say it, you thought bitterly.
say sorry! say you didn’t mean it!
say something!
his jaw worked once, “no one can know.”
your brows furrowed, the hope dying cleanly.
“excuse me?”
sukuna stepped closer, voice lower now.
his mouth opened to clarify when his gaze met your own once more.
your wide glassy eyes. your pretty face that was streaked with tears, your plump bitten lips.
the little sniffles that left you, making his ribs ache.
and suddenly, he froze, the words stuck in his throat.
fuck, he had to get it together.
“about this.”
your lips parted faintly, “about us?”
the word us felt absolutely pathetic in your mouth.
all too soft and hopeful. undeserved, even.
something in his eyes shifted at the sound of it but it was gone before you could hold onto it.
“there is no us.”
oh. you actually felt that one.
not through the bond, nor as some phantom ache borrowed from him.
the pain was yours, all yours.
you laughed once, quiet and disbelieving as you took a small step back, “wow…”
sukuna followed you, taking one step forward as his jaw clenched, “listen to me-”
“no,” you shook your head slowly, voice trembling, “no, i think i understand perfectly.”
sukuna’s eyes darkened, “you really don’t.”
“oh my god,” you shook your head, “i can’t believe i thought-”
you stopped, humiliation burning up your throat.
sukuna stared, taking a step closer, his chest now brushing your chin, “thought what?”
his voice was almost desperate and you swallowed, blinking hard, “nothing.”
his face tightened and he felt it anyway, of course he did.
the hope and hurt.
the fact that some tiny, unbearable part of you had wanted him to come after you because he simply couldn’t let you leave.
sukuna looked away first as you took a step back. fucking coward.
“it’s dangerous.” he stated as you stared at the side of his face.
“dangerous?”
“yes.”
“for who?”
his gaze cut back to yours, “for you.”
you almost laugh but he continued before you could.
“people know me and if they know about you, they’ll use you. you make me weak.”
the words landed colder than you'd expected.
sukuna watched you closely, as if waiting for the fear to register and maybe it did.
somewhere deep, deep down, but anger got there first.
“so that’s what this is?” you whispered, tears leaving you without you noticing, “damage control?”
his silence was answer enough and you nodded faintly, tears burning hot once more.
“right.”
“you need to keep your mouth shut about it.”
you flinched before you could stop yourself and sukuna paused, regret flashing through instantly.
“don’t talk to me like that.” you stated lowly and his jaw clenched.
“i’m trying to keep you safe.”
“oh, how big of you.”
the hallway seemed to shrink around you both.
outside, rain tapped gently against the glass.
inside, bass thudded like a second heartbeat through the walls.
you looked at him then, this man that fate had tied to you with an invisible string and cruelty dressed up as destiny. and for the first time since you’d felt him at sixteen, you stopped wondering what it would be like to find him.
because now you knew and god, you wish you didn’t.
it felt like losing something you’d never even had.
“is that all?” you questioned lowly, clearing your throat once.
sukuna stared at you, nose flaring and throat bobbing once, “yeah.”
another piece of you gave out as you nodded, “okay.”
the word was so calm, it made his eyes sharpen.
you turned away, walking past him but his hand caught your wirst before you could take full step.
skin met skin and the bond went silent, completely and utterly silent.
no buzzing or aching or distance.
just him, all warm and real. terribly real.
your breath hitched at his touch. it was the first time he’d ever touched you.
sukuna froze too, fingers wrapped around your wrist like he’d touched fire and couldn’t make himself pull away.
for one second, just one, all the cruelty fell quiet.
and you felt him beneath it, scared and lonely, wanting and waiting.
you felt it and you hated him for letting you feel it now.
slowly, you looked down at his hand then back up at him, “let go.”
his grip tightened by a fraction, “this is the best thing for the both of us.”
your face crumpled before you could stop it.
you pulled your wrist free and this time, he let you.
“oh, trust me, not having to be stuck with you? i couldn’t agree more.” venom laced your words as sukuna’s expression changed, tightened and you felt the hurt then.
sharp and immediate and you were glad for it.
you turned and walked away then, tears streaming down your cheeks and a sob left you as soon as you were out of his vicinity.
for the first time, the bond didn't feel like a thread pulling you closer…
it felt like noose.
∞
an | was so late with this but had the worst past few days so SORRY! anyways PLSSS lmk what u think cuz i'm iffy abt the direction of this BUT this is lowk my fav thing i've written omg! this is kinda like a prologue pt2, next chapters will deffo be longer! i cannot wait to write more of these two and sukuna's a dick but bear w him ! also each chapter in the masterlist will be titled a song and i recommend listening to it while reading for the vibes 🫡
also lowk need toji BAD i wanna give him some lore so lmk if u want a one-shot of him in this au!
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After sifting through hundreds of photos... I have realized that every time Simon takes a photo in the SM-13, he's pulling up a frame to a stop motion animation.
And it can be played back as video.
So, I took each black box photo and compiled them together. You can now watch Simon's entire journey from the SM-13's camera like found footage.
You can also gain access to Simon's amazing photography portfolio from my master reference project, as well as the video for yourself.
Please, have a watch. It's terrifying. I feel like a C.O.I. lab tech delving into something I really shouldn't, and it's a blast!
him walking into the kitchen one morning in only his underwear, cock hard and heavy enough it bounces against his thigh when he walks. he doesnt acknowledge it; he pours himself a cup of coffee and gives you a nod.
"you're staring at me," he says.
neither one of you have acknowledged the tension between you. the way he watches your lips and the way you undo your bikini tops when you sunbathe by the pool.
"I'm just really hungry all of a sudden," you say. "Your son fed me before he left, but he just... didnt fill me up."
the next day, you get your coffee in just your panties and your favorite bra. he's back again, just as hard as he scooches behind you to grab the pot from the percolator. his cock is press against your ass and you can feel how thick he really is.
"did you get your fill this morning?" he asks from over your shoulder.
"no," you press back slightly. "I'm ravenous."
"You think he'd be more like his father. I always make sure my woman are stuffed."
You two get into a habit of hugging when you say good morning. He wraps his arms around you and keeps you tight so you can feel him against your stomach. Sometimes he lifts you on to the counter to "hug you better". like that his cock is pressed right up against your cunt, angled perfectly as if he's about to enter you.
"Best hug we've ever had," he whispers with a roll of the hips.
frank castle is so necessary for winter time. the gruff, yet sweet reminders to bundle yourself up, despite him braving the brisk outdoors with nothing but a hoodie on. the warm, solid body to cuddle into when the heat in your apartment breaks, paired with a perfectly made tea that you can’t seem to replicate on your own. which is strange—because why does a coffee drinker know how to steep tea better than you? but none of that matters when frank always welcomes your cold fingertips beneath yet another one of his black zip-ups.
Jax teller x Plus size! Hoochie mama/vixen reader headcannons
୨୧ just some head cannons of Jax and plus size! Hoochie/Vixen readers relationship
୨୧ Jen notes∘ʚ this is based off of this request. I kinda made this longer than I indented to, Highkey got carried away. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes, I’m still working on that.
𐙚₊ It was clear that Jax teller was down bad for you. Real bad. His entire life growing up was filled with leather, bikes, grease and dirt. Until you came along. It quickly becoming a blur of pink, animal print, hello kitty, plushies and the taste of your expensive lip gloss. Jax didn’t just love you. He was addicted to you. Loves everything you come with.
𐙚₊ Your style was one of Jax’s favourite things about you. It was definitely different from everyone in charming. You’d walk around wearing brands like baby phat, juicy couture, apple bottoms, true religion. You’d never been seen without your stacks of bangles jingling on your arms, or heels clicking against the ground no matter what the occasion or weather was. Always carrying around a new designer hand bag. And don’t forget your large earrings that Jax would get nervous about you wearing, scared you might accidentally tug on them.
𐙚₊ Walking into your house was like walking into a different dimension. One moment he’s at the clubhouse smelling booze, cheap perfume, bikes and guns all around him, and then he’s at your home. It’s a temple of pink and animal print and the smell of vanilla. You have a white faux fur on the ground, in the corner of your room a heel shaped chair, and your walls cheetah print covered wallpaper all around. It was funny seeing the Jax teller in your bed, he looked completely out of place yet so comfortable and relaxed. He would just lay his head on your lap while you are in your silk robe playing with his hair as he’s ranting about the club business.
𐙚₊ Your nails. Gosh he’s obsessed with them. So fascinated by them, wanting to see which colour and style you would do this time. When he’s free he would come to the nail salon with you, helping you which design and which charms to pick. You don’t remember the last time you paid for your own nails, own anything honestly. Your man always took care of everything. Jax favourite part was when you were both home after your appointments, your fresh set of nails rubbing up and down his dick, as your tongue licked his tip. Your way of saying thank you.
𐙚₊ One thing about Jax when it came to you he was an eater. Which is crazy cause he’s had a quite fair share of girls before meeting you and not once put his mouth on a pussy until you. He would waste no time pulling you to the edge of the bed, your legs tossed over his broad shoulders, not bothering to take off your 4 inch heels. He loved the slight pain of the heel digging in his back. When Jax eats your pussy it’s not something he quickly does, when his tongue hits your clit, he savours the taste of you. Making sure he takes his time to slowly build your orgasm.
𐙚₊ Those nails, it’s one of his favourite things to feel when he’s down there, losing himself in your taste, your hands into his hair. Your 200$ dollar nails he paid for, the ones with the leopard tips and tiny gold charms decorated over them digging deep into his scalp. He loves the stinging from the the gripping and scratching, humming against you, the harder your grip got. Your moans were like music to his ears. He would stop just a moment to hear you call out his name, smirking against your skin when you did, breathy moans escaping you. Once you cum in his mouth, he never wanted a single drop. Making sure to lick your creamy wet pussy clean.
𐙚₊ You and Jax would be laying in your bed, on your cheetah print sheets. You could be scrolling on your iPad just looking at clothes and accessories online while laying back on his chest and mutter. "This bag is cute" and keep scrolling. You think he isn’t listening cause he hummed in response, sounding half asleep but he’s already memorized the brand and model. A couple of days later you would come back home from somewhere and there it would be sitting on the kitchen island.
The limited edition 2000s baby phat bag you been wanting. Letting out a happy scream as you ran towards your man who was leaning against the counter, a beer in hand that he immediately put down to catch you as you jumped in his arms, mouth capturing his in a kiss. Your reaction was so worth the 2k he dropped on getting you this bag.
𐙚₊ Jax knew you had an addiction to hello kitty. Slippers, plushies, posters, shirts, shorts, panties, you name it. Why not add on to your collection? You mentioned to Jax that you were thinking of getting yourself a small hello kitty pendant. The next day he went out of town, finding a reliable jewler that was 3 hours away from charming. He talked to Prabh the jeweler for about 2 hours making sure everything was perfect making sure it was exactly how he would think you want it.
He didn’t just get you one, but two custom hello kitty chains. Completely iced with vvs diamonds. When Prabh said they were 6,000 a piece Jax didn’t hesitate taking the wads of cash from his duffle bag, sliding over the 12,000 on the glass counter like it was nothing. 6 days later he gifted them to you loved watching you pairing it with your baby phat teas. The large pendant resting on your heavy chest, leaning down to give him a kiss chain swinging in his face.
𐙚₊ if you asked Jax to jump he would immediately ask how high? He was like a little mutt for you, Always doing as you said. If you needed him, he was there. Everyone was worried how hooked you had Jax, they started to think you did some type of witch magic. Gemma especially was worried for her son, until she met you. She was never a big fan of any girls her son had around but you, she loved you. If Jax upset you in anyway it would put stress on himself, wondering how he could fix and make it better. If you asked him to massage you it’s done, clean? Done. He loved getting bossed around by you.
𐙚₊ lots of people in charming were shocked how soft Jax was with you, everyone kinda knew he slept around until rumours circulated about how he was in a relationship. Girls continued to flirt with him, but he payed them no mind. A lot of people judged Jax for being with you, not excepting him to settle down for a girl like you. In other words a black woman. It was known that Jax usually hooked up with blondes in his past. One time a man made a comment as you and Jax were at a little biker party, the man talking about how could someone ever settle down for a "fat bitch like you" Jax didn’t waste anytime coming to your defence punching the shit out of the guy, next day finding out the man went missing…Already knowing your man buried him 6ft in the ground somewhere.
𐙚₊ 20 minutes it’s been since Jax got home and those 20 minutes you were also cussing his ass out. He was supposed to pick you up, the two of you going out to dinner. That was 2 n half hours ago. You were dressed and ready to spend some quality time with him. He was too until he got an emergency call from tigs. You didn’t even let his ass get a word out as you continued to rant. "You know how long it took me to get ready Jax? Do my hair?" You yelled, fuming. He leaned against the wall arms cross staring at you. Even when angry you were gorgeous. Before he could apologize you launched one of your heels in his direction that would’ve hit his head if he didn’t duck. The heavy shoe hit the wall, as you reached down for the other one, getting ready to throw that one too. He moved faster. In a split second he has you spun around, your wrists firmly in his hand behind you as your back was against his chest.
"Listen I know I fucked up okay, there was an emergency at the club and I know that’s not an excuse. I own that" you moved your head to right facing away from him, as he tried to kiss the left side of your face, gripping your jaw he turned your head to face him, letting him see the pout that was plastered across your face. "Awe baby I’m sorry. I know you dressed up real pretty for me, but throwing shit ain’t gonna fix it. Now drop the shoe" the heel thudded on the ground between you, your frown deepening realizing you were being a bit dramatic. Turning you around he kissed your pouty lips. "I’m sorry. Okay?" He spoke slouching down to look at you. You murmured making him swat your ass. "Okay" you replied louder. "Good" he smiled lifting you up with ease, your thick legs wrapping around him. "You are too beautiful to be stressed out or mad" You continue to pout, but he starts placing kisses all over your face, a small smile creeping its way towards your face, making it impossible for you to stay upset.
𐙚₊ The sons would always call Jax pussy whipped. The way he wouldn’t really hang around anymore unless they had to go on a run or handle business. If they tried to make him stay for a drink he would only stay for one. Making sure to chug it down before dipping, wanting to go home to you. Sometimes they wouldn’t see Jax for days. When they would go handle business without him they would be riding around on their bikes. They would see you and Jax on the street usually around an area where lots of stores were located. He would be carrying your purse like it was his own as you would reapplying your lip liner and lip gloss through your little compact mirror, staring at you in awe waiting patiently for you to be done. Noticing the sound of engines he would look over seeing the crew staring at him shaking their heads in disbelief as he would just smile in return waving. He was right where he wanted to be.
𐙚₊ It’s no secret Jax loved spoiling you, your closet was starting to look like a store. Filled with new clothes, shoes, handbags. you two would be walking hand in hand passing a boutique your eyes catching a pair of heels mentioning how "cute they are" he’s already circling back there once he drops you home. He knew your style to a T, even if something he saw reminded him of you, he would get it right away. He would come home to you after a long run, smelling like leather and smoke, passing you a box. "Saw these, thought they would look sexy with your pretty feet in them" you open them seeing 6-inch fur-trimmed stilettos. He’ll sit on the zebra print chair, lighting a cigarette, just to walk you strut across the room for him with nothing but your heels on.
𐙚₊ Sometimes you would pop by Teller Morrow knowing that Jax can forget to eat at times. The sound of heels going click/clack against the pavement was heard as Jax whipped his head at the familiar sound. You looked so beautiful in your hot pink velvet tracksuit, the half unzipped jacket showing off the cheetah print bra under it, your boobs nearly spilling. Every step you took made your bangles jingle, the new 40 inch weave that Jax payed for, flowing down your back. Bobby, Chibs, Tigs stopped what they were doing and looked over, not missing the bling that sat comfortable on your chest. They didn’t even have to ask who paid for it, already knowing how crazy Jax was about his girl and would do anything for her. Jogging towards you, your man leaned down placing a firm kiss on your glossed lips, thanking you for the container of food you brought for him.
His hand cupping the back of your head, mouth to your ear whispering something low and filthy. Something along the lines of you riding his face later. You bit your lip and smile, giving him a playful little shove as you turned to walk away. He slapped your ass, it making a loud thwack sound as he said "I love you" a proud smirk on his face as he watched the recoil through your tight velvet sweats. "Bye boys" you called out waving your fingers. Jax walked back to the guys opening up the container as he sat on a chair man spreading, smirk never leaving his lips as he took a piece of the seasoned chicken, taking a bite. He noticed the crew staring. Dead silent. Bobby shook his head, being the first to speak. "Jackie boy you’re gonna go broke spending all that money on that girl. The things you buy her cost more than my bike parts." Jax just leaned back further into his chair, smug and completely unbothered. His eyes going back to the lot seeing you still there now having a conversation with Gemma. "I’ll make more money bobby. There’s only one of her, and she’s worth every damn penny. Even if I go broke in the process."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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series synopsis - in a world where soulmates were real, fate ties you to ryomen sukuna like some cruel and twisted joke. where people felt their soulmates in soft touches and quiet comfort, all you’ve ever known was phantom pain, sleepless nights, and a violent rage that didn’t belong to you. by the time you finally meet the man ruining your nervous system, the city already knew him as its most feared underground boxer. how would you survive? [mdni 18+]
chapters
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ prologue
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ one - coming soon
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ two - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ three - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ four - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ five - tbd
⚡︎ ⋆.˚ six - tbd
i haven’t decided if there’s going to be a taglist, i’ll let you know if there is one!
sounds very similar to a radio story i heard in 2014 ago about credit card debt. the debt got sold to a collection company and a couple received a court summons. they knew they had taken on debt, but they were confused about who this new company was and where specifically the number they were supposed to owe came from.
they show up in court and just ask the lawyer for the collection company: can you prove where this number comes from? Do you have a contract showing that you purchased our debt? probably luckily for them, a reporter researching a book on the topic showed up and asked the same questions.
10 minutes later they get in front of the judge and the collection company drops the whole case and theyre free to go. story is below, it has a transcript in the link too
Ira talks to reporter Jake Halpern about a scene he saw take place in a Georgia courtroom where a couple uttered some magic words that seeme
Alert citizen of Bitch Nation @sobekcrocodile brought this to our attention and we're sharing, but with a caveat:
WE HAVE NOT YET LOOKED INTO THIS.
... but holy shit it's worth pursuing if you're drowning in debt and these are your circumstances. I'll definitely be adding this to the Big List of Future BGR Topics. Here's more of our advice on debt:
MASTERPOST: Everything You Need to Know about How to Pay off Debt
This only works with private student loans NOT FEDERAL!!!! The government has the right to transfer your student loans between contracted servicer's per your MPN
pairings: gojo satoru x fem!reader (part one) next
sypnosis: you are the secret heartbeat gojo satoru keeps hidden beneath infinity—the only person who ever made the strongest feel truly human, the one he kisses like oxygen in the dark and swears is his forever. but when the clan’s glittering cage closes around him with another woman’s ring on his finger and the world cheering a future that erases your name, you’re left wondering if the man who calls you everything will ever choose you… or if infinity was always just the distance he keeps between his promises and the truth.
tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forced engagement, secret relationship, assumed infidelity (satoru would NEVERR), yandere undertones (possessive/devoted gojo), groveling, redemption arc, explicit sexual content, clan politics, emotional manipulation, psychological stress
content warnings: MDNI! explicit sexual content, angst, emotional abuse and manipulation, infidelity themes (secret affair during forced engagement), power imbalance, clan politics and coercion, severe physical/mental health decline due to stress, self-harm ideation and acts (non-graphic but present), toxic and possessive relationship dynamics, yandere undertones, mild violence (during sex but consensual), alcohol use, references to suicidal ideation (non-explicit), grief, betrayal, and themes of isolation and emotional destruction. 7k wc.
disclaimer: hi everyone, welcome to my first fanfic on tumblr. i haven't written in so long but i have written a lot of fics on ao3/wattpad before. i apologize for any mistakes, and please enjoy... happy reading <3
love, cy.
infinity was supposed to mean forever without limits—a vow whispered only to her in stolen nights when his guard fell and the world shrank to just the two of them. but slowly, that word twisted into the unbearable distance between his fevered promises in the dark and his chilling silence in the light, where he smiled for someone else. she became the secret he guarded most fiercely, the one he touched only in shadows while the cameras captured a future that never included her name. day by day, infinity shrank into the suffocating space between what he swore she was and what he allowed the world to believe. until one midnight, carrying the weight of a love no one was ever meant to see, she finally stepped beyond his reach—leaving only the echo of forever behind.
Chapter 1: The Fall of Infinity
The summer of 2023 began with a single glance that rewrote everything you thought you knew about desire and danger.
You were twenty-two, a Grade 2 sorcerer whose days were filled with the quiet, unglamorous work of containment. Your technique was built on precision—seals that bent cursed energy into submission, redirecting chaos into order. It was not the kind of power that earned legends or fear. It was the kind that kept the world from falling apart after the legends had their fun. You had chosen it deliberately. Attention in the jujutsu world was a double-edged blade, and you had no interest in bleeding for someone else’s ambition.
The mission that shattered your careful solitude was meant to be nothing.
An abandoned shrine on the western outskirts of Tokyo, minor curses feeding on old grief. You arrived alone in the late afternoon, the sun low and oppressive, cicadas screaming like they sensed the shift coming. The grounds were silent beyond the insects, moss clinging to cracked stone, the air heavy with damp earth and forgotten sorrow.
You knelt on the main path, fingers tracing the first containment circle. The seal took shape under your touch, glowing faintly as cursed energy began to settle. It was meditative work—your mind quiet, the world narrowed to lines and flow. Sweat traced slow paths down your back, but you adjusted for every fluctuation, murmuring calculations under your breath.
You were reinforcing the second ring when the air warped.
The cicadas cut off mid-scream. A pressure shift rippled through the space, subtle but undeniable. You paused, hand hovering, and looked up.
He stood just beyond the torii gate.
Tall, lean, impossibly beautiful. White hair caught the golden light like frost on glass, falling in soft, effortless strands that framed a face carved with sharp, flawless lines. The black blindfold concealed his eyes, but it only heightened the elegant curve of his lips, the pale, luminous skin, the subtle strength radiating from every inch of him. His uniform jacket hung open, revealing the fitted black shirt beneath, clinging to a body that was all lean muscle and natural grace—broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He was the kind of attractive that felt almost cruel, as if the universe had decided to concentrate perfection in one person just to remind everyone else of their inadequacy.
Your heart stuttered. In that suspended moment, something ignited deep in your chest—a pull so immediate, so visceral, it stole your breath. Love at first sight was a foolish idea, but there was no other name for the raw, aching certainty that bloomed: this man would ruin you, and you would let him.
He tilted his head, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “All by yourself?”
You held the moment, then resumed your seal, forcing calm into your voice. “Unfortunately so.”
He stepped closer, hands in pockets, that smile deepening with quiet amusement. “Most people would have requested at least one more backup.”
You finished the pattern, watching the cursed energy stabilize. “Some of us are too tired of being overworked to complain.”
His laugh was soft, warm, dangerously addictive. “I relate to that. Crazy working hours, right?”
Up close, his presence was overwhelming—the faint, clean scent like ozone after rain, the way light played across his white hair, the subtle heat radiating from his body. You stood, brushing dirt from your knees, and met the blindfold.
He observed you openly. “You don’t rush the details. That’s rare.”
“Rushed work comes back to haunt you,” you replied.
He nodded, as if you’d confirmed something he’d suspected. “Exactly.”
He walked beside you toward the boundary, the silence charged with unspoken tension. At the edge, he stopped. You paused a few steps ahead, glancing back. The sunset painted his white hair in gold, his striking features softened by the light.
“Stay safe,” he said, voice low and laced with something you couldn’t name.
You nodded and left, but the spark from that first glance burned, persistent and terrifying.
Three weeks later, the cursed mirror retrieval brought him back.
The condemned building was dim, dust heavy. You navigated methodically, reinforcing seals as you located the object. The mirror’s energy hummed with malice.
You were wrapping it when the warp rippled.
He materialized across the room, posture relaxed, that same magnetic smile. “We seem to keep running into each other.”
You didn’t pause. “Or maybe fate is arranging it.”
His laugh was brighter. “Conspiracy theories already? Dangerous.”
He watched as you secured the mirror, then introduced himself with a knowing smile. “Gojo Satoru.”
“I know who you are.”
“Of course you do.” His grin flashed. “And you?”
You gave your name. He repeated it slowly, like savoring it.
“Suits you well, sweetheart.”
He vanished with a cocky smirk, but the warmth lingered, laced with the first quiet ache of want.
Texts began—professional, then warmer. A late-night message: “Couldn’t sleep. Thinking about that shrine. Or maybe just you.”
You replied: “Good distracting or bad?”
Him: “The kind that’s going to get me in trouble.”
The flirtation grew, light and effortless, but beneath it the pull deepened. Every message, every shared glance during overlapping missions, fed the quiet certainty: this was real, and it would hurt.
The first kiss came four months after the shrine.
A Grade 1 threat in an underground mall. You held containment while he cleared the core. Adrenaline lingered in the empty garage, rain pouring outside.
He approached, blindfold down, rain soaking his hair. “You were perfect today.”
“So were you.”
He smiled, and it felt like fireworks blooming in your heart, making your cheeks dust with light pink. He reached forward, long fingers brushing wet hair from your face. The touch lingered.
Beautiful blue eyes stared you down, gaze soft as if whispering love notes through eye contact. “I—” he stuttered, heart beating fast.
Heart palpitating, you closed the distance.
The kiss was tentative, then deep—his hand at your neck, the other at your waist, pulling you close. His mouth was warm, tasting of mint and rain, tongue sliding against yours with slow, deliberate hunger. When you parted, breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted that for months.”
“Me too,” you whispered back, cheeks burning.
He smiled—small, genuine, the kind that reached his eyes and made the world feel lighter. “Good. Because I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon.”
A few weeks later, on a quiet evening after a long mission, he teleported you both to a secluded rooftop overlooking the city. The skyline glittered below, stars faint above the light pollution, a cool breeze carrying the distant hum of traffic. He’d brought a blanket and a bag of convenience-store sweets—nothing fancy, just mochi and melon soda, but the gesture felt huge.
You sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge, shoulders brushing.
He handed you a soda, fingers lingering against yours. “You know, I used to come up to places like this alone,” he said, staring out at the lights. “Just to get away from everything. But it always felt... empty.”
You glanced at him. “And now?”
He turned, blue eyes catching the city glow. “Now it feels right.” A pause, then quieter: “Because you’re here.”
Your heart did that stupid flip again. “You’re getting soft, Satoru.”
He laughed, nudging your shoulder with his. “Only for you. Don’t tell anyone—my reputation’s on the line.”
You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “Your secret’s safe.”
He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “Seriously though... I like this. Just sitting. Talking. No curses, no clan crap. Just us.”
You rested your head lightly on his shoulder. “Me too.”
He was quiet for a moment, then reached over and laced his fingers with yours, thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “You make the noise quieter,” he said softly. “Everything else fades when I’m with you.”
You squeezed his hand. “You do the same for me.”
He turned his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Stay a little longer?”
“Always,” you answered, and meant it.
The city lights blurred below as you sat there, hands linked, hearts quietly falling deeper with every shared breath.
Intimacy progressed slowly, reverently. The first full night together came six months in—conversation stretching late, closeness inevitable. The confession hung in the air—raw, breathless words finally spoken after months of dancing around the truth. "I love you," Gojo said, voice low and cracked, blue eyes burning into yours like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked. "You're mine. You've always been mine."
You whispered it back—"I love you too"—before he was on you.
He pinned you against the bedroom wall, hands rough as they gripped your wrists and slammed them above your head. His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, possessive and punishing. You tasted blood where he bit too hard, but the sting only made heat pool low.
"Mine," he growled against your throat, teeth scraping as he ripped your shirt open, buttons flying. His free hand shoved under your bra, fingers pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours," you gasped, and he ground his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he was.
He released your wrists to spin you around, bending you over the bed. Your cheek pressed into the sheets as he yanked your pants down. His hand came down—sharp slap on your ass that made you jolt and moan.
"Good girl," he purred. Another slap, harder. "You confess so pretty. Now I'm going to fuck you until you can't think of anything but me."
He thrust in deep, one brutal stroke. The stretch burned perfectly; you screamed into the mattress as he set a punishing pace—hips slamming, balls slapping skin.
His hand fisted your hair, yanking your head back. "Look at you taking me. So tight. So perfect. No one else gets this—ever."
Fingers found your clit, rubbing rough circles. Pleasure coiled tight; you came hard, walls clenching. He followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep.
Then he turned you over, eyes wild. "Again," he demanded, sliding back in. "Until you know you're mine forever."
Afterward he held you, fingers tracing your skin. “You feel like the only real thing.”
The happiness was intense, almost painful in its brightness.
But shadows crept in.
His phone buzzed more with clan crests. Visits cut short by “obligations.” A tightness in his smile after certain calls.
You asked once. “Is everything okay?”
He kissed you instead of answering. “With you? Always.”
The dread grew quietly: this light was too bright to last.
The golden months stretched, fragile and beautiful, every moment laced with the quiet fear that it would end.
And it did—slowly, painfully, inevitably.
Autumn arrived with a chill that settled deeper than the weather, seeping into bones and thoughts alike, turning every breath into a reminder that nothing warm lasted forever.
The golden months of summer had felt eternal—an illusion you both clung to desperately. Those stolen nights when Gojo Satoru teleported into your apartment unannounced were etched into your memory like sacred wounds: the faint ripple of space warping, the door never quite opening before he was there, blindfold already discarded or tugged down, those piercing blue eyes drinking you in with a hunger that made your knees weak. He looked at you like you were the only anchor in a world that constantly tried to pull him under, like touching you was the sole way he remembered he was still human.
The intimacy between you had evolved from tentative, breathless exploration to something raw, consuming, almost violent in its intensity. He knew your body now with devastating precision—the exact way your breath hitched when his fingertips ghosted along the curve of your spine, sending shivers racing across your skin; the sensitive spots along your inner thighs that made you arch involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your lips; the rhythm of his hips that built pressure so perfectly it left you both trembling, slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.
But even in those moments of blinding closeness, the shadows lengthened, creeping in at the edges like frost on glass.
He began attending more clan functions alone. When he returned, the warmth in his touch carried a new, sharper edge—desperate, almost bruising, as though he were trying to imprint himself on you before something else could erase him. One night in early October, he arrived late, white hair tousled from wind or frustration—you couldn’t tell which—his usually flawless posture slightly hunched, eyes shadowed with something dark and unspoken.
You didn’t ask where he’d been. The question hovered on your tongue, bitter and unnecessary; you already knew the shape of the answer. Instead, you simply opened the door wider, stepping aside to let him in.
He stepped inside, kicked it shut behind him with a force that rattled the frame, and pinned you against the wall before you could draw breath. His mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, punishing, a collision of lips and teeth that tasted of mint and something sharper, like restraint barely held together by fraying threads. His hands were everywhere at once: sliding roughly under your shirt, palms calloused and hot against your bare skin, thumbs brushing over your nipples with deliberate pressure until they hardened into aching peaks beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed greedily as he pressed his hips forward, letting you feel the rigid length of his arousal straining against his pants, grinding slowly so the friction sent sparks shooting through your core.
“Need you,” he rasped against your throat, voice gravel-rough, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there hard enough to leave marks. “Now. Fuck, I need you now.”
You nodded, fingers tangling desperately in his white hair—soft, silky strands slipping between your knuckles—as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The hard line of his erection pressed against you through fabric, and you rocked against it involuntarily, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. He carried you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, tongues tangling in a messy, frantic dance, laying you on the bed with a gentleness that contradicted the wild urgency burning in his eyes.
Clothes came off in frantic handfuls—his jacket tossed aside in a careless heap, your shirt ripped over your head with impatient hands, buttons popping free and scattering across the floor. His pants were shoved down just enough to free him, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, eyes never leaving yours. He didn’t bother with finesse tonight; there was no slow tease, no lingering caresses. He pushed your thighs apart roughly, settling between them with predatory focus, mouth descending to your breast while his hand slid lower, fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease.
You were already drenched for him—always were, shamefully quick—and he groaned against your skin when he felt the evidence of your arousal coating his fingers, hot and wet. “Always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice rough and wrecked as he circled your clit with deliberate, maddening pressure. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick and curling just right, pumping slow and deep until your hips bucked off the bed and you moaned his name like a prayer.
He watched your face the entire time, blue eyes dark with raw possession, pupils blown wide. “Look at you,” he whispered, breath hot against your collarbone. “Falling apart for me. So fucking beautiful. Only me—say it.”
“Only you,” you gasped, back arching as his thumb pressed harder on your clit.
You came with a sharp cry, body clenching around his fingers in pulsing waves, slick coating his hand as pleasure ripped through you. He didn’t wait—pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and replaced them with his cock in one smooth, relentless thrust that stole your breath and stretched you to the edge of too much. He filled you completely, every inch buried deep, the head of him pressing against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He stilled for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting. “Feel that?” he breathed, voice trembling with restraint. “You’re mine. This—us—it’s the only thing that’s real.”
Then he moved—hard, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you, hips snapping with a rhythm that bordered on punishing. The headboard knocked the wall in steady, rhythmic thuds; your nails dug into his back, raking red trails across pale skin as you held on. Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filling with the wet sounds of skin on skin, your mingled moans, his low groans of your name. He fucked you like he was trying to erase something—every thrust a claim, every grind of his hips a confession, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest.
You came again, harder, walls fluttering and clenching around him in vise-like spasms, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over you in relentless waves. He followed seconds later with a broken, guttural sound, spilling deep inside you in hot, pulsing jets, body shuddering violently as he collapsed onto your chest, spent and trembling.
Afterward, he held you tightly, face buried in your neck, breath ragged against your skin. His arms banded around you like iron, as if letting go might make you disappear. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it over the pounding of your own heart, his voice cracking on the words.
You stroked his damp hair, fingers trembling. “I’m here.”
But the words felt fragile even then, hanging in the air like smoke—beautiful, fleeting, already dissolving.
The clan pressure mounted, slow and inexorable.
Events he attended alone came back with new shadows wrapped around him like smoke—thick, bitter wisps that clung to his clothes and skin, carrying that faint, sweet jasmine scent that wasn’t yours and never would be. It hit you the second he stepped inside, a ghost of her that twisted your stomach slow and sick. His white hair, usually tousled just right to look like he didn’t try (but you knew he did), now hung a little flat, damp with sweat or stress. His shoulders, always held easy and high like the world couldn’t touch him, had a small slump now—nothing dramatic, just enough that you noticed because you knew every inch of him.
Photos started showing up in the clan’s private channels a couple days later. You still had access through old logins you hadn’t deleted yet. Him next to Akira Gojo at fancy events: one shot had them under soft lantern light in a garden, her hand resting easy on his arm like it belonged there; another had them at a long dinner table, her leaning toward him with a laugh while his smile looked perfect—too perfect, the kind he saved for cameras. The captions called it “promising alliances” and “securing the bloodline.” Clean words. They felt like punches.
You found them during one of those late-night scrolls when sleep wouldn’t come, phone glow the only light in the room. Each picture cut deeper, cold and sharp. Breathing got hard; the walls felt closer. You flipped the phone face-down, but the images stayed stuck behind your eyes.
He showed up hours later, teleporting straight into the living room. His eyes were red at the edges, that bright blue dulled with guilt and exhaustion. “It’s nothing,” he said right away, voice tight, crossing the room fast to pull you against him. His hands shook a little on your back—you felt it, small tremors like he was holding something back. “Just politics. Stupid games.”
You wanted to believe him. You really did.
But his touch that night was desperate—mouth crashing into yours like he needed to drown out everything else, teeth knocking, tongue pushing in deep and messy. His hands grabbed your hips hard enough to leave marks, lifting you, backing you onto the couch fast. Your back hit the cushions; he was on you in a second, knees shoving your thighs apart, hooking your legs over his shoulders.
It left you wide open, nothing hidden. Cool air brushed your skin where he’d already yanked clothes aside, but then his mouth was there—hot kisses down your neck, over your chest, teeth biting just hard enough to sting. He stopped at your breasts, sucking one nipple rough while his fingers twisted the other until you arched and moaned loud.
Then he moved lower.
He buried his face between your legs like he was starving—no slow start, just raw need. His tongue hit your clit hard, licking fast circles, sucking strong enough to make your head spin. Wet sounds filled the room, messy and loud. Fingers pushed in sudden—three thick ones stretching you open, pumping deep while his mouth never stopped. His other hand pinned your hip down, fingers digging in, keeping you still even as you tried to chase more.
You felt everything: stubble scraping your thighs, his hot breath, the slick mess running down. You came twice just from his mouth—the first fast and sharp, body jerking hard; the second dragged out until you were crying his name, too sensitive, shaking.
He pulled back only then, face shiny, eyes dark. Clothes gone fast. He stroked himself once, twice, then pushed in—one hard thrust all the way. The stretch burned good; you cried out. He didn’t wait—started moving rough, deep strokes that slammed the couch into the wall. Sweat dripped. His hair stuck to his face. He stared down at you the whole time, broken and wild.
“Only you,” he kept saying with every thrust, voice cracking. “Always you.”
You came again, tight around him, and he followed—groaning deep, spilling hot inside you, shaking hard.
He fell on you after, breathing rough against your neck, holding tight like you’d disappear.
But days later the ring showed up on his finger—cold silver catching light.
He never took it off.
Not when he touched you soft and slow later. Not when he fucked you desperate again.
The lie tasted like ash now.
You were alone in the apartment, curled on the couch with a blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, trying to ignore the way your stomach cramped from another skipped meal. The knock at the door was soft—polite, almost hesitant. You weren’t expecting anyone. Satoru had a key and never knocked.
When you opened it, Akira Gojo stood there.
She was flawless as always: long black hair falling in perfect waves, violet eyes sharp and assessing, wearing a simple but expensive coat that made your oversized hoodie feel like rags. Her smile was warm, practiced, the kind that looked genuine if you didn’t know better.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “Satoru mentioned you’d been under the weather. I thought I’d drop by with some tea. Clan blend—supposed to help with stress.”
You froze in the doorway, hand tightening on the knob. Satoru hadn’t mentioned any visit. He hadn’t mentioned her at all in days.
She lifted a small, elegant tin like an offering. “May I come in?”
You let her, because refusing felt like admitting defeat.
She moved through your apartment with quiet confidence, setting the tin on the counter, glancing around with that same warm smile. “It’s cozy,” she said. “Very… lived-in.”
The word landed like a barb.
She turned to you, expression softening into something that almost looked like concern. “Satoru’s been worried about you. He says you haven’t been eating.”
Your throat closed. He’d told her that?
“I’m fine,” you managed.
Akira tilted her head, violet eyes searching your face—taking in the dark circles, the sharp cheekbones, the way your clothes hung loose. “You don’t look fine. You look… tired. It must be hard, carrying all this alone.”
She stepped closer, voice lowering. “He’s under so much pressure right now. The elders, the lineage, the expectations. It’s a lot for one person to hold. Sometimes… partners need to be strong enough to share the burden, not add to it.”
The words were gentle, but they cut deep.
“I’m not adding to anything,” you said, voice thin.
Her smile didn’t waver. “Of course not. But he’s distracted. And distractions can be dangerous in our world.” She reached out, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder—a touch that felt like ice. “I just want what’s best for him. We all do.”
She left the tea and departed with another warm smile.
You didn’t drink it.
Your body started falling apart quietly—no sleep, food turning bad in your mouth, constant ache in your chest. He saw it, brought food you couldn’t eat, held you when you cried without sound.
His visits got shorter. More excuses piled up.
Akira was everywhere now—perfect couple, perfect future.
Your head slowly tortured you more than ever. You watched clips of them and felt your heart fold in on itself. He always came after, always guilty, always using his body to say sorry—hard against the door, slow on the floor, every time ending with him whispering he hated it.
You held him, tears hot on his skin.
The necklace felt like a weight now—cold metal against your throat, pulling tighter every day.
Winter came cold and empty, pulling everything apart piece by piece.
The winter deepened, and with it, your unraveling accelerated into a freefall you no longer tried to fight.
A week later, you forced yourself out for a mission briefing at Jujutsu High—something small, something to prove you weren’t falling apart.
Akira was there. Again.
She stood in the corridor outside the meeting room, speaking with a group of assistants, her laughter light and melodic. When she saw you, her expression shifted to surprise, then concern.
“Oh—you’re here,” she said, excusing herself from the group to approach. “I didn’t expect to see you. Satoru said you were taking time off.”
The words landed like a slap. He hadn’t said that. Had he?
Assistants glanced your way, whispers starting.
Akira lowered her voice, leaning in like a friend sharing a secret. “You look… thinner. Are you sleeping? He’s been so worried. He barely focuses during planning sessions anymore.”
Your chest tightened. “I’m handling it.”
She touched your arm lightly—comforting, invasive. “I know this is hard. Being on the outside of something so… permanent. But it’s for the best. The clan needs stability. He needs it.”
Her eyes flicked over you again, taking in the loose uniform, the dull hair, the exhaustion etched into every line. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole attention. Not… scraps.”
She squeezed your arm once, smile sympathetic, then walked away.
The briefing passed in a blur. You barely heard the assignments.
That night, you didn’t answer when Satoru called.
What started as skipped meals became deliberate starvation—days blurring into nights where the hollow gnaw in your stomach felt like punishment you deserved, a way to match the emptiness carving through your chest. You'd stare at food he brought, the steam rising mockingly, and push it away untouched, watching it grow cold like the hope you'd once clung to. Your body wasted away faster now: ribs protruding sharply under thin skin, collarbones like fragile ridges, hair falling in thick clumps that clogged the shower drain like silent accusations. Mornings brought dizziness that made the room spin, black spots dancing in your vision until you gripped the sink to stay upright, but you welcomed the vertigo—it distracted from the constant, throbbing ache behind your eyes.
Panic attacks hit like storms without warning: in the grocery store, where a glimpse of white hair on a stranger sent you crumpling against shelves, hyperventilating until vomit rose bitter in your throat; on empty streets at dusk, breath seizing until you clawed at your chest, nails drawing blood through fabric as if you could dig out the pain. Insomnia ruled your nights—staring at ceilings until dawn, replaying every photo, every clip of him with her, the images looping in your mind like a curse you couldn't exorcise. When sleep finally came, nightmares twisted it: him marrying her, his blue eyes cold as he turned away, leaving you screaming into void until you woke gasping, sheets soaked in sweat and tears.
Self-harm crept in subtly at first—nails digging into palms during calls he didn't answer, leaving crescent scars that scabbed and reopened; then sharper edges, a kitchen knife pressed just hard enough against your wrist to draw thin red lines, the sting a brief, twisted relief from the numbness spreading through you. Alcohol became a crutch: bottles emptied alone, the burn in your throat a poor substitute for his touch, mornings waking with pounding headaches and dry heaves over the toilet. You stopped caring about missions, technique slipping until curses nearly overpowered you, the close calls feeling like invitations you almost accepted.
He saw the wreckage—eyes widening at your gaunt frame, hands trembling as he traced new scars—but his visits only fueled the spiral. You turned sex into brutal self-punishment: you'd beg him to fuck you harder, nails raking his back until blood welled, riding him with frantic desperation until exhaustion claimed you both. "Hurt me," you'd whisper once, and he froze, horror in his eyes, but the plea hung between you like a noose.
Shoko found you once, collapsed in the infirmary after blacking out from dehydration, her voice breaking. "This isn't love—it's destruction. Stop before there's nothing left."
Then, one night in early spring, he came.
He teleported straight into your apartment, the ripple of space barely audible over the silence you'd wrapped yourself in. He looked wrecked—white hair messy, blindfold missing, blue eyes bloodshot and glassy. The faint jasmine clung to him again, a cruel reminder.
You were on the couch, blanket pulled tight, staring at the wall. He dropped to his knees in front of you without a word, hands hovering before gently pulling you into his arms. No rush, no demand—just careful closeness. He lifted you into his lap, cradling you against his chest, one arm secure around your back, the other stroking your hair with trembling fingers.
“I messed up,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I keep messing up, and I hate seeing what it’s doing to you.”
You stayed stiff for a moment, then spoke, words scraping out raw. “You say that every time. Then you go back to them.”
He flinched, arms tightening. “I know. I know I do. And it kills me every time I leave this door.”
“Why do you leave, then?” Your voice cracked. “If it kills you, why do you keep doing it?”
He pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “Because I’m scared. Scared of what happens if I fight them head-on. Scared I’ll lose everything—including you.”
“You’re losing me anyway,” you whispered, tears starting. “Piece by piece. And it feels like you don’t even see it.”
“I see it,” he choked, rocking you gently. “I see it every day, and it tears me apart. You’re fading right in front of me, and I can’t stop it. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry I’m not stronger.”
You buried your face in his neck, sobs finally breaking free. “I don’t know how to keep going like this.”
He held you closer, lips brushing your temple. “Then let me hold you tonight. Just tonight. No promises I can’t keep. Just… let me be here.”
You didn’t answer with words. You just clung to him, letting the warmth of his body chase the cold for a few hours.
He stayed until morning, curled around you in bed, arms locked like he could shield you from the world he’d helped break.
But morning came, and so did the calls.
Spring pretended to arrive, but it brought no renewal—only the final, merciless tightening of the noose.
The countdown had become a living thing: three months, two, one. Every day shaved another layer from you, leaving raw edges that bled quietly and wouldn’t stop.
Akira’s victory tour was relentless. Leaked bridal spreads—her in flowing white gowns, him adjusting veils with gentle hands, lifting trains with smiles that looked genuine to anyone who didn’t know the truth. Headlines screamed “The Strongest Finally Tamed.” Viral reels of them tasting menus, him feeding her delicacies with that same thumb-brush across her lip he once used on you after midnight snacks in bed.
You watched until the loops became madness, until your stomach heaved and bile burned your throat.
Your body surrendered piece by piece. Hair fell in thick clumps in the shower, strands tangling in the drain like accusations, leaving thin, itchy patches on your scalp that you scratched until they bled. Weight melted away until your ribs showed sharp under translucent skin, collarbones jutting like broken wings, hip bones pressing painfully against any surface you sat on. Panic attacks hit without warning—in meetings, breath seizing until black spots exploded in your vision; on trains, chest caving as you clawed at your throat, nails drawing blood while strangers stared.
Doctors asked questions you couldn’t answer, their voices distant through the fog. “She has severe stress response,” they said. “Also severe depression.” Prescribed pills that rattled in bottles you never opened.
Shoko found you once curled on the infirmary floor after vomiting blood-tinged bile that tasted of copper and defeat. “You’re killing yourself,” she said, voice shaking as she held your hair back. “Stop this before there’s nothing left.”
You couldn’t. The pain was the only thing still proving you were alive.
Gojo noticed everything—dark circles carving deeper hollows under his perfect eyes, hands that trembled when they weren’t gripping you like a lifeline. He brought meals, sat on your floor, begged you to eat one bite with tears shining unshed. You stared at him like a stranger wearing the face of the man who had once been your entire world.
You were running containment drills alone, pushing your technique harder than you should, sweat soaking through your clothes despite the chill. Your hands shook as you drew seals, cursed energy flickering unstable.
Akira appeared at the edge of the field, watching.
You stopped, breathing hard.
She approached slowly, hands clasped in front of her. “I didn’t know you trained here.”
You didn’t respond.
She stopped a few feet away, expression calm. “He’s finalizing the guest list today. Asked me to help.”
The words hit like ice water.
You stared at her, chest heaving.
Her violet eyes held yours. “I told him you wouldn’t want an invitation. It would only hurt more.”
Silence.
She stepped closer, voice soft. “Let him go. You’re only making it harder—for both of you. He’ll never leave the clan. Not for you.”
She turned and walked away.
You dropped to your knees in the dirt, seals crumbling around you, cursed energy dissipating like smoke.
That night, you didn’t eat.
Didn’t sleep.
Didn’t answer the door when he came.
The spiral tightened.
You were breaking—and no one knew how much of it was from her cunning plans.
The final pre-wedding shoot dropped: him in traditional black montsuki, her in pure white shiromuku, cherry blossoms falling like blessings around them. It was breathtaking. Perfect. The most beautiful lie ever captured.
You stared at your phone until the screen went dark from inactivity, eyes burning dry, then didn’t charge it for a week, letting the battery die like everything else.
He came that night, collapsing against your doorframe like his legs had given out, body folding in on itself. “I look happy in those pictures,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. “I’ve never hated myself more.”
You let him in but didn’t touch him. The distance felt like the only armor left.
One month left.
The city draped itself in subtle celebration—clan banners fluttering like mocking flags, whispers of the “event of the century” in every conversation you couldn’t escape.
You stopped leaving the apartment. Mirrors became enemies, reflecting a stranger with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, skin stretched tight over bone.
On the 30-day mark, he teleported in at dawn, face stripped of color, blindfold clutched in his fist like a lifeline he was about to lose. “I can’t marry her,” he said, voice barely air, cracking on every word. “I physically can’t do it.”
You searched his eyes for the man who once promised to burn the world for you.
Found only terror. Paralysis. Defeat.
You stepped closer, voice raw from disuse and screaming nightmares. “Then don’t.”
A tear rolled down his cheek, carving a wet trail through the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. He reached for your hands like they were the last solid thing in his universe.
And froze.
The silence stretched—thick, suffocating, final.
You pulled your hands away first, the movement slow and deliberate, like severing a vein. His fingers hung in empty air, trembling.
“You say you can’t marry her,” you whispered, the words scraping your throat raw. “But you’re going to. You always do what they want in the end.”
His face crumpled. “No—listen to me, I’ve been fighting them. I’ve been pushing back every day—”
“Pushing back?” Your voice rose, cracking like glass under pressure. “Where? I don’t see it. I don’t feel it. All I see is you coming here after being with her, smelling like her, wearing that ring like it’s already over. Akira told me everything—how you’re finalizing details together, how you asked her to help with the guest list, how you said I wouldn’t want an invitation because it would hurt too much. You let her come into my home, into my head, and twist everything until I can’t even trust what’s real anymore.”
His eyes widened in horror. “She—what? I never said any of that. I never asked her to—”
“She said you were worried about me,” you cut in, voice shaking with months of bottled poison. “That I was a distraction. That I wasn’t strong enough to handle your world. And the worst part? I started believing her. Because you’re never here long enough to prove her wrong.”
He dropped to his knees, reaching for you again, tears falling freely now. “I love you. I love you more than anything—more than the clan, more than duty, more than my own life. I’ve been trying to protect you from the worst of it, keeping you away from their games—”
“Protect me?” You laughed, a broken, bitter sound that tore at your throat. “You left me alone with her lies. You let her make me doubt everything—doubt you, doubt us. If you really loved me, you would’ve fought harder. You would’ve chosen me already.”
“I’m choosing you now!” His voice broke, raw and desperate. “I’m here, telling you I can’t do this without you. Please believe me.”
You stepped back, arms wrapping around yourself like armor. “I don’t know how to believe you anymore. Every time you say you love me, you leave. Every time you promise to fix it, nothing changes. Akira made sure I saw the truth: I’m just the weakness they’re waiting for you to cut out.”
He sobbed openly then, forehead pressing to the floor. “No. God, no. You’re my strength. You’re the only thing that’s real.”
You turned away, tears burning hot down your cheeks. “Then prove it. But I’m tired of waiting for proof that never comes.”
The silence returned, heavier than before.
You walked to the counter, picked up the infinity necklace with numb fingers, and held it out.
“Take it.”
He stared at it, body shaking.
“Take it,” you repeated, voice flat and final. “I’m done carrying your forever when it’s already dead.”
He couldn’t.
In front of your door, he stayed on his knees until dawn, broken and silent. His hand rose, hovered—then fell limp to his side. Sobs tore from him, raw and animal, body folding forward until his forehead touched the cold floor, shoulders shaking with violent, silent grief that seemed to rip him apart from the inside.
You dropped the necklace. It landed with a soft, final clink between you, chain coiling like a dead snake, the pendant glinting mockingly in the dawn light filtering through the window.
The sound shattered him completely. A broken, guttural wail escaped him—primal, inhuman—as he curled in on himself, fingers clawing at his chest like he could dig out the pain.
You turned away, tears finally coming—hot, burning, unstoppable, blurring your vision as your own sobs caught in your throat, silent and choking.
He stayed on the floor until dawn fully broke, body wracked with shudders, voice gone from crying. When he finally left, the door closed with a soft click that sounded like the end of everything.
You didn’t move for hours.
The next day, media blew up everywhere that the Gojo clan heir and the richest, most popular bachelor had gotten married.
You were already gone—half a world away, heart in pieces, wondering if the pain would ever stop or if this was all that was left of you.
the end of part one
hehe sorry for the angst everyone. if you like please drop a comment so i can continue with part two.
Bucky doesn’t play when it comes to his wife so when John Walker makes comments at a gala not knowing the reader is Bucks wife he introduces the reader to the team and purposefully tries to make Walker jealous
Doesn’t Play Around When It Comes To His Wife » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier
Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader
Summary: John makes comments about you at a gala, but little does he know that you’re Bucky’s wife and Bucky doesn’t play around when it comes to you.
Warnings: Fluff, language, secret wife!reader, John Walker (he’s a bit of a warning in this), John making comments about you, little bit of jealous!John, kissing, pet names
A/N: Thank you for the lovely request, anon🩵
Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes
Header made by my friend🩵 / divider made by me
GIF MADE BY ME!
You and Bucky have been married for almost two years. In those two years, he has been keeping you a secret from the Thunderbolts to protect you. You and Bucky have discussed you meeting them, which is finally going to happen tomorrow. Tonight at the gala the Thunderbolts are attending, you’re still Bucky’s secret wife.
“Can you help me with my necklace, baby?” You asked.
“Of course, babydoll.” Bucky says softly.
Bucky helps you put your necklace on and then takes a look at you in the mirror. His hands are placed on your hips as he admires how gorgeous you look.
“You look drop dead gorgeous, doll.” He softly compliments.
“You would think I’m drop dead gorgeous if I were wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers.” You giggled.
“What can I say? My wife looks gorgeous in everything.” He says.
You smiled and turned around to properly kiss him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you gazed deeply into his blue eyes.
“How shocked do you think your teammates will be when you introduce me as your wife to them tomorrow?” You asked.
“They’re definitely going to be shocked.” He says.
“Shocked by the fact that they didn’t know you’re married or that you have a drop dead gorgeous wife?” You asked.
“Both.” He says, grinning softly.
You giggled softly and kissed him again.
“We should get going before everyone thinks that I ditched the gala to stay home.” Bucky says.
“Would that be a bad idea? You’d be with me.” You say.
“Don’t tempt me, doll face.” He says, his voice sounding a bit mischievous.
You giggled softly and grabbed your purse. You and Bucky left yours and his apartment to go to the gala.
“We need to take our wedding rings off.” Bucky reminds you.
“Oh yea.” You remember.
Both of you take yours and his wedding rings off and put them in your purse so you two know where they are.
“Kiss?” You say.
“How can I turn that down?” He says.
You and Bucky kissed softly and passionately before getting out of the car. You two walked side by side. It took everything in both of you to not hold each other’s hands. When you two entered the building where the gala is being held, the Thunderbolts didn’t see you, because you went into a different direction as Bucky.
“We were wondering when you were going to get here.” Yelena says.
“I almost stayed home.” Bucky jokes.
“That’s funny.” Alexei laughs.
Throughout the night of the gala, Bucky wanted to be by your side, hold your hand, and have his arm around your waist, but he had to keep you a secret until tomorrow. Although, he did take glances your way, making eye contact with you. You smiled at him and he smiled back. Bucky let his gaze wander a few more seconds before looking away. You walked over to the drink bar for something to drink. That’s when John’s eyes land on you.
“Wow.” John says as he stares at you.
“What?” Ava asks.
“That woman across the room is hot. Look at her, especially in that dress.” He says.
Bucky’s jaw clenches when John was talking about you and looking at you the way he does. He wanted nothing more than to snap his neck for that. No one talks about his wife like that. Normally, he would say something about someone talking about his wife like that, but as much as it’ll piss him off, he decided to let John have his fun, because tomorrow, he’s going to find out that you’re Bucky’s wife. You looked over at Bucky and smiled. John took it as you smiling at him.
“Would you look at that. She’s smiling at me.” John says.
Bucky narrows his eyes at John.
“No, she’s not, dumbass. She’s looking at me.” Bucky says in his head.
John’s comments about you didn’t stop. He continued to make comments about you the whole night. Bucky couldn’t wait to go home and put his wedding ring back on. You couldn’t wait either. When it was time to leave the gala, Bucky was relieved. He couldn’t stand listening to John’s comments about you for another second. The second the door to yours and Bucky’s apartment was closed, he kissed you like he was waiting all his life to do.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” Bucky says softly.
“Me too.” You say.
You got yours and Bucky’s wedding rings out of your purse and you two put them back on yours and his ring fingers.
“I felt naked without my wedding ring on.” You say, admiring your beautiful diamond wedding ring.
“Me too.” He says, bring your hand up to his lips and kissing your wedding ring.
You and Bucky kissed once more before changing into comfortable clothes and got into bed. Bucky’s arms were wrapped around you protectively.
“I was so close to knocking out Walker tonight.” Bucky says.
“Why? What did he do?” You asked.
“He kept making comments about how hot you are. I didn’t like it.” He says.
“Well, lucky for you that I’m all yours and I have the ring to prove it.” You say.
“Damn right you are.” He says.
Bucky rolls over on top of you, making you giggle loudly. He puts his forearms on the bed to support his weight so he didn’t accidentally crush you. You cupped his bearded cheeks as he leans down to kiss you.
“I love you so much, babydoll.” Bucky says softly.
“I love you more, honey.” You say just as softly.
“Impossible.” He smiles.
“Possible.” You smiled.
The next day is when Bucky finally introduces you to the Thunderbolts. He called a meeting for it. It’s not like a meeting like they would have for missions. It’s a different kind of meeting, because they’re not discussing anything remotely related to a mission. Instead, they’re meeting someone.
“Why’d you call of us for a meeting when we don’t have a mission coming up?” Yelena asks.
“It’s not that kind of meeting. Although, I am introducing you guys to someone.” Bucky says.
“Who?” Ava asks.
“Come in.” Bucky says to you.
You walked into the room where the Thunderbolts have meetings. You walked over to Bucky. He wrapped his arm around you protectively.
“This is my gorgeous wife Y/N.” Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts.
“It’s nice to finally meet you guys. Bucky has told me so much about you guys.” You smiled.
The Thunderbolts stared at you in shock for a moment before looking at Bucky.
“You’re married?” Ava asks.
“Yes.” Bucky answers.
“For how long?” Yelena asks.
“Almost two years.” Bucky answers.
“She’s your wife?” John asks, pointing at you.
“Yes. Why?” Bucky answers.
“She’s way out of your league.” John says.
“I thought that too, but here we are now.” Bucky says, smiling at you.
Both of you hold up yours and his left hands, showing off yours and his wedding rings. John stammers with his words, not knowing what to say, because the woman he was talking about last night is his teammate’s wife.
“You’re Walter, right?” You asked.
Bucky snorted and laughed when you got John’s last name wrong.
“It’s Walker.” John corrects you.
“Right, sorry. I’m not good with names sometimes.” You say.
You walked over to John, looking up at him due to the height difference between you and him.
“My husband told me everything you said about me last night.” You say.
“He did?” John asks.
“Yes. If those comments came from my husband, I would’ve been flattered, but they didn’t.” You say.
You walked back over to Bucky and he wraps his arm around your waist again.
“If you talk about my wife like that again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass, Walker.” Bucky says seriously.
John laughs, taking it as a joke.
“I mean it. I don’t play around when it comes to my wife. That’s something important all of you should know about me.” Bucky says, his voice still serious.
John stops laughing when he heard the seriousness in Bucky’s voice. Bucky kisses you sweetly. He also did that to purposely make John jealous, because he can’t have you, which made Bucky grin against your lips.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have a day of spoiling my wife ahead of me.” Bucky says.
You and Bucky walk over to the elevator and got on it, his arm still wrapped around your waist.
“Oh and by the way, the dress I wore last night, Bucky bought it.” You say, putting your hand on Bucky’s chest.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Bucky kisses you passionately.
“I like her.” Yelena says.
“Me too.” Ava says.
“She’s nice.” Bob says.
“They make a cute couple.” Alexei says.
John, on the other hand, is completely speechless and a bit jealous.
“Your teammates are nice.” You say.
“That’s what they want you to think, doll.” Bucky jokes.
“Be nice to them, babe.” You say.
“I am nice to them. Although, I’m going to keep an eye on Walker, especially what he said about you last night.” He says.
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The reason endermen don’t like it when you look at them is because they communicate telepathically with one another by locking eyes! Humans are absolutely not designed to do this so when we look at them we are accidentally projecting all of our thoughts into them at the same time and it hurts :(
when bruce wayne came to the wayne manor and stepped into his room after a stressful day at work, he did not expect to see his wife sleeping so early. he knew that she was as much a night bird as he was. something was wrong. was she sick?
he kicked off his shoes, untied his tie, and gently put his jacket down. he knew how to be quiet. he was batman, of course he would know that. he sat on the bed, right next to her. the sheets were drawn up to her neck, only her head was visible. and she was frowning deeply. it must be a headache, bruce thought.
his hand went to her hair. his touch made her move. her eyes fluttered and slowly she opened them. he smiled at her. she smiled back, but her smile looked tired.
"are you okay?"
she shook her head. before he could ask, she started talking. "i am on my period. i got a headache. had the worst day at work. and i can't sleep."
"should i have alfred make some tea? or would you like painkillers?"
"i had some tea before bed." she layed on her back. her hand grabbed his, intertwined their fingers together. "and you know i'd rather not take painkillers when i am on my period."
right. painkillers made her bleeding stop and that usually messed her cycle up. he was so careless.
"i'll change, and come to you, okay?" she nodded to that.
"be fast. i need my husband," she offered him a big smile this time, her closed eyes slightly opened to take a glance at him. "aka the hottest man who seizes my period pain."
"glad you like my service, ma'am." he kisses her forehead. "try to sleep, i'll be with you in a minute."
he got up when he saw her close her eyes again. after changing to sweatpants he got in bed, hugging her close. his hands covered her stomach and she layed her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. after that, sleep came to her easy.
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