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.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
heyyy hope ur doing well I love ur writing btw!! just wanted to ask for your opinion on whatβs been happening in the jjk community recently, with so many blogs deactivating or going on hiatus because of those βburn bookβ blogs?
heyy!! i'm doing well hru, and thanks glad you're enjoying!
in terms of the "burn book" blogs, i genuinely am disgusted like how miserable do you to be to go anonymous and say such horrible things about people. but on the other hand you never know what's going on in peoples lives and they just come on the internet to vent so idk
but it's rlly sad that certain blogs are deactivating because of it esp the ones that are soo talented and have such good stuff up
i guess the best thing to do is just report as many of those burn book blogs you can, not rly much we can do, and also as a community of writers and readers, always support each other!
in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) fic
pairing βΈΊ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader
summary βΈΊ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be next and you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deservedβ
until you wake up from your dream, gasping. why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?
warnings βΈΊ eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity of aashi longfics), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied
a/n i'll see u at the end :3
December 23, 2018.
βHow do you feel?β
The both of you lay, side by side on the grass as you stared into the sky. The only sounds that surrounded you were the occasional rustle of leaves, the hum of the late afternoon cicadas, and the soft, almost inaudible rise and fall of your breathing.
The stars were really bright that day.
The sounds of nature were even more tangible in the absence of traffic. After the culling games had roped in both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike, no one went out, so the roads were all virtually empty.
Satoru frowns thoughtfully, in a way that makes his nose scrunch up. His fingers play through your hair absentmindedly as he comes up with a response. With the way heβs thinking, your heart aches to tell him that you want his honest feelings, his doubts and fears, not some fake image he perpetually paints on for the rest of the world. You temper the urge.
βFighting Megumi is gonna beβ¦weird,β he says finally, with a sigh. βIβm just glad the real pain in the asses are out of the way.β
You remember the day he had come back from killing the higher ups. There was still blood matting his face and hair, dried and flaking. His eyes had long lost their light, and when you had got him alone in your shared room, grabbed a washcloth to wash his face. While you made sure none of the blood was still there, he had asked: Did I do the right thing?
It had taken three face towels to clean it all. The others had gotten soaked too quickly.
He continues. βIβve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.β
You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are on the sky, as if trying to memorize every cloud.
βYou can still want things,β you murmur. βEven now.β
What is left unsaid from you is, You can run away with me.
Itβs a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.
At your words, he huffs out a laugh and turns his head just slightly, eyes meeting yours. The blue of them is softer in this light, dusk and gold turning them the color of worn glass. βI do,β he says. βI want a stupid house with a stupid yard and a dumb dog who only listens to you.β
You laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. βThe dog would accidentally eat your god-awful heap of chocolates and drop dead.β
βOkay, then maybe not a dog then,β he accedes. βI could do with a cat. Just donβt confiscate my chocolates.β
Your voice is a bit stuffy when you reply with, βI would never.β
βGood,β His smile is crooked now, warm. βIf I had all the chocolates and the cakes you bake for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.βΒ
βYou already have those, Satoru,β you laugh wetly.Β
βYeah, but I want grocery lists and laundry days and boring Tuesday nights. Not endless mission reports. God, Iβm definitely not going to miss the paperwork,β he groans, and his tone would sound petulant to anyone else; to you, itβs a reminder of how heβs been worked to the bone.
You roll closer to him, forehead brushing against his temple. βWeβll have all of it.β
Thereβs a beat of silence. The wind rustles through the trees again. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like heβs trying to make a home of it. You canβt help but look at his serene face and think,
I love you.
It goes unsaid.
Then, βYouβll wait for me?β he asks, almost like a joke.
You turn to him, gaze softening as it lingers on the line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes, the eyes youβve loved in a thousand different lights. Heβs so beautiful it achesβlike something out of a dream or a poem scribbled by a lonely poet on a dirty street, staring up at a beauty wistfully peering out of a window of a high tower.
βAlways.β
December 24, 2018.
He looks like heβs watching the sky again.
You are staring down at the shape of him broadcasted through Mei Meiβs crows. The ground is soaked, and the sky doesnβt seem to know whether to rain or just stay gray. His eyes are open.
But you know better. And still, you wait.
Around you, thereβs chaos. Your students, in disbelief, are talking loudly but itβs as if everyone around you is talking underwater, none of their words comprehensible. You feel someone shake you, but youβre still staring.
His eyes arenβt closed, but he looks peaceful.
The air thrums with cursed energy, of people in utter shock, and with fear so thick it could choke.
But all you can think about is a stupid patch of wildflowers blooming in your yard. They wouldβve been his favorite colorβblue, like his eyes when he was teasing you. Like his eyes when he told you he wanted a dumb dog and boring Tuesday nights.
You were going to plant them for him every spring.
You were going to make him cakes every time he forgot his own birthday.
You were going to grow old together.
Instead, youβll be the one laying flowers on his grave. Alone.
βIβll go,β you say.
Itβs too quiet. Someone protests. You donβt even hear who.
βI said Iβll go.β
Youβre already stepping forward. The fight is miles away but it doesnβt matterβyouβll find it. Youβll find Sukuna. Youβll follow the stench of blood and ruin until it leads you to him.Β
You know your death is imminent, but there is nothing left to want anymore. Because a future without Satoru is no future at all.
As you make your way through Shinjuku rapidly, you canβt help but think of Yujiβhis eyes wide and boyish, despite everythingβas he shoved a flyer into your hand and told you to try that ramen shop with him once this was all over.
You remember Megumiβs ginger candies, the ones you had to keep hidden or Gojo would eat them all in one go. Theyβre still sitting in a dish by the kitchen window.
You remember Shokoβs voice when she said, βJust come back alive, okay?β
You remember Nanami, and Utahime, and Nobara. You remember every stupid, beautiful person youβve ever loved.
You love them, but love doesnβt always save you; instead, it makes you walk straight into the fire.
Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.
So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.
When you finally spot Sukuna, you put up a good fight, but anyone who watches you knows you are resolved, have accepted your fate and prefer death. You donβt scream or cry when it happens; you stare at his face when your body is cleaved into spilling your blood like an endless dam.
You just think: I kept my promise.
I waited.
Then, as you feel everything growing darker and darker, thereβs only one thought left, just a silent prayer to whatever god that might still be out there:
Let us try again.
Pleaseβlet us try again.
β¦
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
You wake up from your dream, gasping.
The noise your alarm makes is an unfriendly wake-up call; in your furious effort to locate your phoneβwhich has found itself nestled in your messy blanketsβyou notice your roommate, Maki, blearily shifting. You madly search to minimize the yelling youβre going to get from her later in the day (youβre already cooked by this point), until silence blankets the room once more.
Itβs only until your phone is silenced that you register how fast your heart is beating. Then, when you trudge over to the personal bathroom you and Maki share and flick the light switch, you see that tears had flowed down your cheeks in your sleep.
What a weird fucking dream.
One to have on your first day of classes for the semester, too. You squint at your reflection, the fluorescent light doing your sleep-addled eyes no favors as you grudgingly get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face and all that. You donβt know why it was so vivid.Β
From the dredges of your mind, you first recall the flashing light beams and carnal violence in the destruction of the city, and then you. Were you some kind of magician? It was kind of likeβ¦Winx Club, but you werenβt a cunty fairy in cute clothes. Something about sorcerers, so maybe Harry Potter? Hunter X Hunter?
You spit out the frothy mix of your saliva and the mouth freshener. So ridiculous. You couldnβt even blame stress for the weird fanfiction at this pointβclasses havenβt even started.
Memories of the dream ebb and flow as you try hard to remember what else had occurred as you wipe your face. Gazing upon the white of the moisturizer youβre dabbing on your skin, a flash of white suddenly resurfaces.
Gojo.
A violent feeling overcomes your chest at the name, and you think youβre having a heart attack with the way it clenches like youβre almost about to weep in longing of a beloved. You gasp, cupping the left side of your chest as you try to lower your heart rate.
What hurts most of all is the searing pain, like a spiral of thinly corded string has branded itself on your ring finger. In your rush to look up in the mirror to see what could be hurting you, you donβt notice the red glow it forms. What you see in the see in your reflection surprises you: youβre crying again.
Tears have fully started streaming down your face with the pain, carving wet valleys on your cheeks as they went. After your heart rate slows down, you frown while looking down at your hands. Why were they shaking?
You repeat the name numerous times in your brain, each time causing you to physically tweak. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, and then resurfaces Satoru, Satoru, Satoruβ
Itβs after the tenth time you repeat his name that your body seems to calm itself down and get accustomed to whatever emotional shock that coursed through your name after you mentioned his name. His name originally came up because you remember the main person in your dream: the white-haired man. He was the reason you decided to confront thatβ¦three armed man? Or did he have four arms? Regardless, you basically offed yourself after he died because you loved him, or something. With the way your body seems to physically shake at the sheer thought of his name, as if the utter image of longing, love may not have been enough to describe what you felt.
Realizing that youβve drifted off at reminiscing sleepily, you start, as if suddenly animated. You pat your skin, setting in the final step of your skincare routine. Then, you click on your phone screen to check the time.
And notice immediately that you are going to be late.
Then ensues you scrambling to your room, putting on your clothes, tripping on the floor in the process, getting a sleepy glare from Maki that has doubly certified that you are getting a scolding, and then finally making it out the door. The somewhat cool fall weather hits your face as you walk on the pavement, checking your clock repeatedly to ensure it hasnβt hit 9am yet.Β
When you make it into the lecture, you realize that it is packed. There arenβt many seatsβit is a gen ed class after all, something on some ancient history, and you notice two empty seats, side-by-side, tucked away in the corner of the lecture room. You have to carefully maneuver yourself down the seats.
Navigating the maze of limbs and backpacks, you mumble a series of "excuse meβs" and "coming throughβs" until you squeeze past two guysβa stern-looking blond with glasses that scream "salaryman thirst trap" and a loud brunet beside him. Reaching your target, you slide into the seat that leaves an empty one between you and the blond. Youβre very pleased about the extra breathing room.
Maybe today wonβt be so bad after all.
You prepare your supplies to take notes on the first (of many) syllabus reviews to come. In the meantime, youβre privy to hearing the mumble and grumble of people around you; itβs only when a throat clears itself at the head of the class do you see a manβprobably the professor of this class, Yagaβwho has the slides already up. Ancient East Asian History is branded on the big white screen in bolded, black Arial font. Clearly, graphic design was not his passion.
His voice projects through the mic and is fairly deep and resonant, so itβs clear to everyone, despite the number of people in the room, that class is starting. As expected, the next slide is titled βWhat is Ancient East Asian History?βΒ
βLetβs delve deeper into what I mean by East Asian. Asia is a subcontinent thatβs home to a diverse set of cultures, and even so in East Asiaβ¦β
As Yaga speaks, time ebbs and flows around you. The monotonous sounds of papers flipping, pens scratching on paper, and the clicking of keyboards surrounds you. You canβt help but think the fluorescent lights, harsh and white, had to be designed to keep students from falling asleep, because their intensity paints the lecture hall in this weird lighting. The mood created by it is something akin to the filter horror movies perpetually have onβvivid, but cold and dark. Like when youβve been up for too long to the point that you donβt know if itβs night, or morning, because itβs still dark out. Then, dawn breaks, the sun enveloping the sky in its warmth.
Suddenly, the heavy set of doors that serve as your lecture hallβs entrance open loudlyβlouder than someone who is sheepishly entering late. Instead of the usual indifference reserved for a fellow student who had slept in, the room ripples with murmurs and giggles, shattering the silence that had settledβsave for Yagaβs lecturing.
You donβt look at first. You look at Yaga, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, βIn Japanese culture, punctuality is a form of respectβsomething we are clearly still learning.β
You donβt turn. You donβt need to. But, like a current pulling you under, your gaze follows the crowdβs. And you see him.
Gojo.
Suddenly, your heart clenches violently, and you can only help but gasp hoarsely and shut your eyes. If you didn't, streams of tears would flow down your face once more. You couldnβt help but swear internally; you had thought you had conditioned yourself to be stable at the mention of his name.Β
But, almost as if itβs subconscious, you wrench your eyes open, desperate to view the boy. Youβd assume something apologetic, maybe. Rushed. Someone with their hood up, mumbling an excuse as they shuffle into the shadows of the back row. But thisβ
This is someone who walks like he knows the sound of his own footsteps matters. His ivory hair is tussled, like he had just rolled out of your dream. He looks a bit younger than he did when you had seen him, but his eyes are the same unmistakable brilliant, cerulean color.
Now, heβs making his way down the stairs, skipping every third one with his long legs. Something leaves his lips, and itβs something humorousβdepending on how girls and guys around him laugh, a shared sense of adoration in their eyes. You can only help but watch as he comes closer and closer to you, and you remember belatedly that the seat next to you is the only empty one in the whole lecture hall.
Yaga huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in barely concealed annoyance. βNice of you to join us, Gojo.β
Gojo lifts a hand in a lazy wave. βYaga, you ever tried finding parking on this campus?β The lecture erupts in barely muted half-sleepy giggles.Β
Itβs only when a particularly loud high five he receivesβby the brunet in your rowβthat you break out of your reverie and turn to your laptop, flustered. Any attempt to act nonchalant would be funny as if the thing thatβs wrong with youβthat invisible thingβhasnβt been rippling violently inside your gut the moment you laid eyes on him. Like your body has just been handed proof. Like a wound cracking open in slow motion.
Heβs approaching, long legs trying to get through the sheer amount of people to where the empty seat next to you was, and when heβs there, right next to you, you shouldnβt look up.
But you do.
When your eyes meet his, something ancient and awful coils in your throat. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition so buried it aches.
Pearly teeth and bright blue eyes glistening. A breathless, βHi.β
And the invisible string, that had spiraled and corkscrewed itself into the jumble it was, pullsβuntil it is straight and wrung tight. You donβt know this boy. Youβve never seen him before.
So why does it feel like your heart just remembered how to break?
Your throat is dry, but you manage out a βGood morning.β
You turn back to your desk, your fingers quivering. By your side, heβs moving and rummaging through the contents of his backpack quite noisily, one that can be heard throughout the lecture hall if one were to tune out Yagaβs droning. In curiosity of seeing what was taking him so damn long to find, you turn your head slightly, and notice the heaps of wrappersβall pastel colored and bright, like candy and dessert wrappersβthat his backpack is almost suffocated with. Then, he pulls out his laptop, opens it, and resumes the game of Run 3 he had paused beforehand.
Respectfully, what the fuck.
As if sensing your stare, he turns to you until meeting your eyes; you were caught. Like a deer caught in headlights, you helplessly stare back at him, heat creeping up your neck, and his gaze leaves your eyes to look at your lips, which you were biting.
Then, he leans in slightlyβyou also inching yourself back because why is he getting so close and why is your heart beating so fastβand whispers, βDo I know you?β
Youβve never seen him outside of the weird dream you had, and it wouldβve been weird to admit that youβve dreamed about him. βNo, I donβt think you do,β you whisper back, voice hoarse.
His lips quirk in response, but, to your dismay, he doesnβt retract. His brows furrow while he stares at your face, as if deep in thought, and nods, flirtatiously saying, βMakes sense. I feel like I wouldnβt have forgotten you if I had met you.β
Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you canβt help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, βNo, I donβt we have. Iβm sorry.β If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you mustβve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.
And thus the lecture runs its course. Throughout, youβre tense, the heat of his presence never letting you relax. You feel every movement of his fingers, his forearms, as he played his games or typed miscellaneous things that you didnβt see because you were physically forcing yourself to stare at the lecture slides, back ramrod straight.
Itβs only until his leg starts shaking that you start feelingβ¦weird. His reaction is completely normal; you donβt blame him, because Yagaβs been going over the syllabusβ section of projects and how you canβt change project partners for over thirty minutes. But itβs the fact that a steady wave of nausea is building up inside you, until a sharp piercing sensation overwhelms your head.
Then, a vision.
Itβs hazy, as if projected on cloudy water. A shaking leg, clad in what seems like uniform pants, underneath a small wooden desk. Then, a hand reaches out to yours, grasping it firmly, and you feel a weird sense of nausea once more. However, itβs not the same feeling youβve been feeling since your dreamβinstead, itβs a stomach upturning feeling of being teleported somewhere.
A bed.
Itβs a small one, in a room that resembles a dorm. The hand grasping yours isnβt simply grabbing your hand; itβs now trailing up your sock-covered ankle, up your calves, and then under your skirtβ
The murky vision gets even murkier until you canβt register anything anymore. Then, you suddenly return, the fluorescent lights being the first thing you register after the weird deja-vu-memory thing. The feelings you felt from the vision linger, including overwhelming feelings of euphoria, lust, and sheer happiness that bloom in your heart warmly, like a flower in fresh spring.
Youβre so distraught from the complicated jumble of feelings that have thrusted themselves upon you that you donβt hear Yaga say his concluding words. Itβs the jarring, obnoxious screech! of the chair next to youβGojoβsβthat you jump to your senses and realize half of the students have left.Β
Thus, you hurriedly pack your things and book it the fuck out of there because you would rather die than be the last person to leave class, lest Yaga think you were staying behind to talk to him. Youβve had more than your fill of East Asian Studies today.
Maybe itβs best if you avoid Gojo, lest you slip up. The dreamβand the weird reactions your body seems to be having in his presenceβare tooβ¦peculiar. If something happened, you wouldnβt know how to recover.
In your haste, you donβt realize youβve left something behind, nor did you hear the βWait! You forgotβ¦.thisβ that Gojo had called out to you, staring at the object in his handβand your retreating backβwith a complicated expression.
next. Note to Self: Don't Call Random Boys your Husband (soon!)
a/n short chapter, but this series is going to contain a mixture of: a lot of crack and fluff, yearning (as always, yall know me), and debilitating angst ("who did this to you??" oh i loved writing the angst) and crazy reunion sex. comment down below to be added to the taglist!!
to be clear, unless otherwise indicated, reader is getting these moments from the past as "migraines" / flashes / dreams.
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.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
dating iwaizumi hajime has turned into a full, chaotic, and perfect marriageβheβs 31 now, terrifyingly strict with the national volleyball team, and yet the most tender, doting husband at home. youβve built a life together with a three-year-old daughter who keeps both of you on your toesβand has made iwaizumiβs possessiveness toward you even more intense.
mornings are soft and domesticβshirtless iwaizumi flips pancakes in the kitchen while your daughter climbs onto a chair to βhelp,β tiny hands patting his cheek and giggles filling the room. he hums low as he works, occasionally glancing at you with a fond smile, like he canβt believe he gets to spend his life with the two of you.
the home gym has become a family spaceβyour daughter tries to copy everything you do, stretching or folding into wobbly yoga poses while you guide her, and iwaizumi chuckles quietly from the side, proud and entertained. he gently adjusts your posture during light workouts, hands lingering a little longer than necessary, teasingly possessive under the guise of coaching.
he still never pushes you too hardβyour workouts are gentle, short, and playful, mostly to keep you active and healthy. he encourages your daughterβs movement too, whispering little praises while sneaking in soft kisses or playful nudges at you. the three of you together create a cozy, loving rhythm: yoga, stretches, and giggles filling the gym.
sex now happens only when the house is emptyβusually when your parents or his parents take your daughter for a day or two. when itβs just the two of you, iwaizumi is unrestrained and possessive, indulging fully in his breeding kink.
he pulls you into the gym or bedroom, pressing you down onto benches or the yoga mat, hips pressing into yours with full strength. every thrust is deliberate, deep, and overwhelming, making you gasp and tremble beneath him.
he grips your waist, lifting and adjusting you mid-thrust, murmuring filthy praises: βso tightβ¦so wetβ¦all mine, babyβ¦mine to fuck.β
his hands roam across your body while he fucks you, squeezing your hips, tracing your back, and teasing your breasts, making your body arch instinctively toward him.
he loves dirty, possessive whispers while he pounds you, dragging your face to the side of his shoulder, pressing his lips to your neck, and groaning your name like itβs the only thing he wants to say.
he shows off his strength, picking you up and spinning you over onto the bed without breaking rhythm, cock still buried deep, thrusting into you with full force, hips snapping harshly against yours.
favorite position is still mating pressβhe folds you in half, pressing your chest to the mattress, holding your arms above your head as he drills into you, watching your toes curl, your back arch, and your lips part for him.
he loves hearing you moan around him, telling you how perfect you feel, how he can fill you so completely, and how youβre his in every way.
when he knows youβre close, he grabs your jaw or presses a hand over your chest, forcing you to meet his gaze as he murmurs, βcum on my cock, babyβ¦only mine.β
he doesnβt let you come aloneβdrags it out, thrusting deep, teasing, whispering filthy praises and ownership, until your body is trembling, overstimulated, and completely his.
after heβs done, he collapses beside you, still glancing down at you with that soft, satisfied smile, brushing damp hair from your face, murmuring, βso goodβ¦so perfectβ¦my girlβ¦my wifeβ¦β
afterward, he cradles you like he did your daughter as a baby, kisses along your shoulders and neck, whispering soft praise while you both catch your breath.
iwaizumi balances life as a trainer, husband, and fatherβcommanding and strict at work, playful and doting at home, and completely possessive in private moments, showing that he can be all sides of himself and make them work seamlessly together.
as a father, heβs everything you knew he would beβfirm when needed, endlessly patient, and completely soft for your daughter. he melts when she runs into his arms after practice, scooping her up like sheβs the only thing that matters in the world. he reads her bedtime stories in a low, soothing voice, even doing silly voices to make her giggle, and sometimes you catch him asleep beside her crib, still in his work clothes, too tired to move but unwilling to leave her side.
as a husband, heβs fiercely devotedβalways making sure you feel loved, protected, and cared for. he checks in on you throughout the day with texts, sneaks you quick kisses in the kitchen while dinner cooks, and holds you close at night when exhaustion hits him hardest. no matter how stressful work gets, he never lets you doubt his love or his attention.
balancing his role as japanβs athletic trainer with family life isnβt easy, but he manages it with grit and dedicationβstrict, no-nonsense iwaizumi at the training facility, and gentle, soft hajime at home. he sets boundaries clearly: work stays at work, and when he steps through the door, heβs yours and your daughterβs completely.
he takes pride in being able to do it allβguiding the best athletes in the country, being the father his daughter can always run to, and the husband who never stops cherishing you.
the mix of domestic fluff with your daughter and unrestrained, filthy intimacy when alone makes life with iwaizumi full, messy, and perfectβstrong, loving, tender, and completely his.
iwaizumi hajime, at 31, is proof that he can carry the weight of the world in his hands and still come home to hold his family just as carefullyβbalancing discipline and devotion, strength and softness, until the life youβve built together feels unshakable.
no i actually love that classism is made present and obvious in haikyuu so much, like itβs made to fit so well as an important theme
the difference between the public, private and state schools is so obvious and, imo, well done (e.g. shiratorizawa vs seijoh vs karasuno)
furudate also hits on the urban/rural divide in terms of resources, security, educational standards, etc, and how that affects the tokyo teams compared with the miyagi ones, as well as others
it gets a really good balance between βppl from lower income backgrounds can and do succeedβ, and βppl from privileged backgrounds have a far higher chance of successβ and i love that
some of my favourite examples under the cut, in no particular order
kageyama and ushijima in general, and in their relationships with everyone honestly, but especially hinata and oikawa
βwhat have you been doing the last three yearsβ
ushijimaβs metaphor with plants growing in the best soil (in which the best soil is an elite public school) vs βi am hinata shΕyΕ, from the concreteβ
that line is so. fucking good.
karasunoβs vb team struggling to get access to the gym and daichi competing with other teams for facilities
the whole βyou should have come to shiratorizawaβ thing, especially ushijima and oikawaβs conversation after aoba johsai loses to karasuno (itβs really well done in the stageplay, i canβt find the link rn)
actually i feel like a lot of the fandomβs memes and jokes with ushijima stem from lines that are some of the most poignant examples of class dynamics
hinata cycling over a mountain to get to school
karasunoβs coaching team compared with the other ones, and the patchiness in having reliable teaching supervisors in the past
the timeskip jobs. shiratorizawa, nekoma and karasuno come to mind for me as schools that illustrate this really well.
also the difference in types of schools (e.g. dateko being a technical college) is really interesting when it comes to timeskip. actually, i feel like thisβll end up a whole extra post
the parallels and differences between tanaka, kyΕtani and yamamoto
team records of making it to nationals, e.g. shiratorizawa dominating the miyagi prefecture
the roles of parents and the notable absences in many instances
βthe lucky onesβ, i think is the chapter title translation - the one focusing on ushijima and sakusa post-timeskip - itβs a really good chapter
nekomaβs motto being βconnectβ - itβs a key team value, but also highlights the privilege of being well-connected and living in the capital city. it also affects their timeskips, facilities, ability to hold training camps, etc
the everyone-knows-everyone vibe of the town karasuno is in. really hits the nail on the head.
tokyo having an extra team in nationals as the event sponsor slot (i forget exactly what they call it)
it doesnβt diminish the impressive abilities of the players who went to public schools (like sakusa, reon, etc) but also acknowledges the ways class privilege helped them to get where they ended up and i just think thatβs a really good balance
oh yeah i live in the uk so in case thereβs confusion, us public school = uk state school. public schools here are an extra elite type of private school (eg. eton, harrow, etc)
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.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath himβ but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
β‘ βΛβ§ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am Iβ gaspβ" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.
You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."
Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."
Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.
Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.
Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.
"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."
"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.
You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.
"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."
Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.
Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.
You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.
"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.
Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.
Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.
The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.
He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.
Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?
He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.
You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.
He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.
Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.
You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.
Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.
The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.
Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.
Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.
The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.
Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.
Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.
And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.
He glanced to the left and sure enoughβ there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.
Not even your posture was refinedβ you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.
You stare still on him.
Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.
"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.
Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.
His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."
"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.
It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.
He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"
"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.
His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."
Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?
". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.
Something ticked within him.
His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.
"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.
Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"
"Got a problem with it?
"Watch it. I'm still your president."
"Dirty talking already?"
Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.
It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always didβ
Thump!
"What the hell!"
"Ahβ sorry. Soorryyy."
Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.
Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.
"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.
Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.
"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.
The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.
"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But it looked like you wanted to.
"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."
Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.
He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.
Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.
You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.
Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.
Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.
Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.
Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.
"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.
You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.
"It's. . . big," you murmured.
And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.
Just a jock. And a princess.
"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.
He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.
Cute.
"Wellβ yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.
You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.
"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"
"Not unless you want me to watch?"
Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?
"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.
"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"
His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.
Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.
"That'sβ that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.
He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."
"What's with that name?"
"What?"
He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?
Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.
He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.
His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"
Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.
Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.
He paused for the first time that night.
Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.
Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"
"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."
He blinked.
Spoke in that terribly stark way.
"You a virgin?"
"Must you be so blunt?"
A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.
"Yeahβ yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."
He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess wasβ
"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."
Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once againβ or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.
Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?
The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.
Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?
"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.
You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.
That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.
Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.
His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"
Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.
"Obviously! I'm not thatβ"
His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmedβ whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.
It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.
Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.
The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.
"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."
He felt your body lock up against himβ then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.
No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.
The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.
"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.
Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.
"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.
Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.
Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.
His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.
You nodded.
"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.
You squeaked. "Yesβ yes."
Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.
Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.
He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.
"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.
You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.
He drawled. "Good girl."
Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.
"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breastsβ over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.
Red, too.
Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.
He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.
He could get used to this darling side of yours.
A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.
You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.
You twitched when he reached your thigh.
"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."
"Iβ uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs togetherβ he wedged them apart with a huff.
"Fingers. . . I think."
Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.
No, here? You were just his princess.
"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.
Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.
The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just rightβ
You pitched a whine.
"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"
"Iβ Yeah. . . mnn. My clitβ"
"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"
Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.
After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finallyβ finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.
Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.
"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.
"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.
"Ryoβ"
"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."
His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.
"Suβ" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."
"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."
A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.
The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.
He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.
"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slowβ watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"
You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.
So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.
"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little moreβ
Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.
"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.
"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.
"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.
He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.
He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.
He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spotβ there.
"Fuckβ there," you whined.
"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Onceβ twiceβ maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."
Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.
"Iβ 'm gonna. . . fuck, kunaβ" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'mβ"
"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.
"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."
Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.
Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.
His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.
"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.
His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.
His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuckβ
Sweet. So fucking sweet.
"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.
So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.
But still speaking, it seemed.
"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.
"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.
He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?
"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.
Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.
His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.
A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"
His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.
"Iβ hngh. Kuna."
"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"
"Mngh."
His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.
Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.
"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."
Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.
Your hands froze.
So did he.
With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"
Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.
"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if Iβ"
His eyes softened.
"Nervous?" He murmured.
You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.
Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.
"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."
A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.
The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.
"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."
"I. . . thanks. Thank you."
"For being a decent human being?"
He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.
Fuck. He could get used to this.
"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.
The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.
His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.
"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"
A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.
The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.
A mission, a fancy hotel, one shared room, and years of feelings neither of you has been brave enough to talk about. What was supposed to be a simple overnight assignment with Satoru quickly turns into something much more complicated, especially when old tension starts getting harder and harder to ignore.
PAIRING: bestfriend! satoru x fem!reader
WC: 6.9k
WARNINGS: dry humping, a little bit of smut, no angst yet..
NOTES: erm there will be a part two im so sorry. it will be finished soonish! im still learning how to write in general but like specifically smut so i apologize if this doesn't read too well :( when part 2 is done, ill link it at the top here! there might be a few mistakes here and there, i didn't really edit it, but ill read through tmrw and fix wtv i can find lol. ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY
βHey, cutie. What are you doing here?β
Satoruβs playful, velvety soft, and annoyingly smug voice booms from behind you. You didnβt get the chance to turn around before you felt his arms loop around your waist.
He was so confident in his actions and made it feel so natural, like they belonged there. He pulled you back until your back met the solid warmth of his chest and leaned down as if personal space were a foreign concept to him. His breath brushed your ear, soft and warm, and your body betrayed you before your mind had time to object.
You almost shivered.
Almost.
You locked your knees and stared straight ahead.
Satoru hummed near your neck. The sound carried mischief, comfort, and the kind of familiarity that made your heart do stupid flips inside your chest.
βSatoru,β you said, voice flat. βYou know why Iβm here.β
He laughed under his breath. His arms stayed around you.
To anyone else, the scene would look intimate, too intimate. A quiet embrace in Principal Yagaβs office. His chin close to your shoulder. Your back pressed to his chest. His hands resting at your waist like they had found their favourite place and refused to leave.
But this was Gojo Satoru.
He had always been like this, a touchy, careless, and shameless man. He leaned, grabbed, poked, tugged, and draped himself over people without warning. With you, he was worse. Much worse. It started when you two were students at Jujutsu High. He would steal the chair beside you even when three others were empty. He would rest his long legs across your lap during breaks. He would tug at your hair when he wanted attention, pinch your cheeks when you ignored him, and wrap his arms around your shoulders whenever he got bored.
At first, you fought him. You shoved his hands away and told him to fuck off. You glared so hard Shoko once said your face might get stuck that way.
Satoru never cared.
The first time you snapped at him to give you space, he blinked at you through his dark glasses, smiled like you had said something funny, and leaned even closer.
So, you gave up. Definitely not because you started liking it⦠yeah definitely not. That was what you told yourself. You gave up because Satoru Gojo was a mulish man, impossible to move once he decided where he wanted to go. And for some reason, he always seemed to move toward you.
You, Satoru, Shoko, and Geto had been stuck together since your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Back then, the school felt like its own world. You spent your days running through the long halls, dragging yourself back from missions, and sitting through Yagaβs lectures like each one might last forever. Being an adult felt so far away. You were always too occupied with getting through the next curse, the next injury, the next report, and the next time Satoru opened his mouth and made everything worse.
You had all been young and reckless then, convinced that whatever pain could be laughed off if you tried hard enough. Years had passed since, and none of you were quite the same people anymore. Still, the four of you remained at the same school, bound to the same world, moving within the same familiar barriers.
The uniforms had changed. The missions had grown uglier, and the weight on your shoulders had settled in so deeply it almost felt natural now. But through all of it, your friendship with them remained one of the few things in this life you truly cherished.
Shoko was your anchor in a heavy storm with her dry humor, tired eyes, and cigarette smoke that clung to her like a second shadow. She always knew when you needed silence more than advice.
Geto had a quiet steadiness to him. He was patient, thoughtful, and strangely easy to be around. You used to tease him for sounding like he had already lived three lifetimes, always ready with some annoyingly reasonable advice when the rest of you were busy making terrible decisions.
With them, you always knew where you stood. With Satoru, nothing ever felt simple. There had always been something between you, something you could never quite name no matter how hard you tried. But you felt it. God, you felt it. In the extra second his hand lingered before letting yours go. In the way his teasing softened when it was just the two of you. In the way he looked at you with those impossible blue eyes, like there was something he wanted to say but never did.
From the first day you met Satoru, you made one very clear promise to yourself: you were never going to fall for him. At the time, it honestly did not seem that hard. Yes, he was gorgeous, annoyingly so, but he was also impossible. Spoiled, loud, shameless, always demanding attention. He flirted like it was second nature, throwing out smiles and stupid little comments just to watch girls blush when he walked by. And the worst part was that he knew exactly what he was doing. Satoru always knew.
Even with his glasses on, he was bad enoughβtall, white-haired, unfairly built, with a grin that made it hard to keep your thoughts respectable. But when he took them off, it was like everyone around him forgot how to function. His eyes were ridiculous, too blue and too pretty for one person to have. You had once watched a girl nearly trip over herself after he looked at her for all of three seconds, and another go so red she turned away before he could even say anything.
You had rolled your eyes then, convinced everyone was being dramatic. And then Satoru turned to look at you. For one awful second, you completely understood. You were not blind, and you were definitely not stupid. Satoru Gojo was, without question, the most handsome man you had ever seen. Which was deeply irritating. The kind of handsome that made you roll your eyes on purpose, mostly because admitting he was that attractive felt like losing.
But his looks were never the real issue. It was the way he cared about you. That was what got you in the end.
Because underneath all the arrogance, the teasing, and that smug little grin you constantly wanted to smack off his face with a rolled-up mission report, Satoru was always there. When you called him at three in the morning because you wanted snacks from the convenience store, he picked up on the second ring. He complained the entire walk there, obviously, but still grabbed your favorite drink before you even asked. When you forced him to watch your stupid shows, he groaned like you were torturing him, took up half the couch, and interrupted every five minutes with questions. Then, somehow, he remembered every characterβs name. And when you came back from a bad mission too drained to talk, he didnβt push or joke. He just sat beside you and stayed.
That was worse than the flirting. Worse than his face. Worse than the way his hand rested warm against the small of your back when he guided you through a crowd.
Shoko and Geto loved you. You knew that. They would be there the second you needed them, no questions asked. But Satoru was there for all the small, stupid things too. Somehow, he kept slipping into the quiet parts of your life until they did not feel complete without him there.
Maybe that was when your promise started to break. Not in some huge, dramatic moment. Just slowly, in little pieces, until one day you realized you had already fallen and had no idea when it happened.
Whatever you and Satoru were, it never fit neatly into one word. Friendship sounded too simple. Love felt like too much to admit. So, you didnβt call it anything; that felt like the safer choice.
And now you stood in Principal Yagaβs office with Satoruβs arms around your waist as if this was normal. As if your heart was not beating against your ribs like it wanted out. As if his thumb had not started tracing slow, lazy circles against your side.
You grabbed his wrist.
βSatoru,β you warned.
βWhat?β he asked, far too innocent.
βYou know what.β
βI missed you.β
βYou saw me this afternoon.β
βThat was hours ago.β
βIt was twenty minutes ago.β
βExactly,β he said, tightening his hold. βCruel.β
You opened your mouth to respond, but familiar footsteps sounded outside the office. Satoru released you at once. Not because he felt guilty. No. He released you only to lift both arms toward the door, preparing himself with the wide, dramatic confidence of a man about to annoy someone on purpose.
Principal Yaga entered and stopped in the doorway. For one silent second, he looked at Satoruβs open arms.
Satoru smiled. βYaga. Come here.β
Yaga walked past him without slowing down and sat behind his desk.
Satoruβs arms stayed in the air.
You pressed your lips together trying to stop yourself from laughing.
βI need you two for a mission,β he said.
Satoru dropped his arms and leaned against the wall. βAw. Together? Youβre spoiling us.β
Yaga ignored him. βIts an overnight mission.β
That got your attention.
You straightened. βUs?β
Yaga folded his hands on the desk. βYes.β
You glanced at Satoru. He looked delighted. That was never a good sign.
βGojo can handle most missions alone,β you said. βWhy send both of us?β
Satoru placed a hand over his chest. βSuch faith in me. Iβm touched.β
βYouβre annoying.β
βAnd yet you keep me around.β
βI donβt recall choosing that.β
βYou wound me.β
Yagaβs brow twitched. βEnough.β
Both of you went quiet and Yaga continued, βGojo has a meeting with the higher ups near the mission site. He will be unavailable at first. You will begin the investigation and containment. Once his meeting ends, if necessary, he will join you and assist with the exorcism.β
You crossed your arms. βWhat grade?β
βSpecial grade.β
Satoruβs smile faded.
Yaga turned his attention to you. βThe curses have been appearing near a commercial district. Civilian traffic is heavy during the day. Several people have already reported missing time, hallucinations, and sudden bursts of aggression.β
Your fingers tightened around your sleeve. Missing time was never a good sign and hallucinations were worse. Curses that messed with perception were dangerous in a different way. They could turn a normal street into a trap before anyone even noticed something was wrong. A safe path could lead straight into oncoming traffic. The voice calling your name could belong to no one at all. And by the time you realized your own senses had betrayed you, it was usually too late.
Yaga slid a folder across the desk. You took it and flipped it open.
The first page was filled with grainy photos from security cameras. A shattered shop window. A warped reflection caught in polished tile. Black residue smeared along one wall like something had dragged itself across it. Beneath that was a statement from a store owner who swore his own reflection had smiled at him just before he blacked out.
You sighed. This was not going to be a simple cleanup.
Satoru leaned over your shoulder, close enough that his hair brushed lightly against you as he studied the photos.
βUgly little thing,β he murmured.
You glanced at him. βYou see something?β
βMaybe.β The playfulness had left his voice. βThe residuals are all over the place. Could be more than one curse. Could be one curse splitting pieces of itself off.β
You hummed, still glancing over the file before looking back up at Yaga. βAlright. And whatβs the hotel situation?β
Yagaβs expression stayed perfectly neutral. βIjichi booked one room for the two of you.β
For a second, you were sure you had misheard him.
You slowly lowered the folder. βSorry. One room?β
βYes.β
βWith him?β you asked, turning your head just enough to indicate Satoru beside you.
Satoru pressed a hand to his chest like you had wounded him. βWow. You say that like spending the night in my presence is some kind of punishment.β
βIt is,β you said without missing a beat.
His mouth curled into a grin. βYou donβt mean that.β
An irritating warmth crept up your neck, and you immediately looked away.
You hated him.
You hated him so much.
Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of both of you. βThe school is cutting unnecessary costs where it can.β
βOf all the places to cut costs,β you said, βyou landed on making me share a room with him?β
βItβs a standard business hotel,β Yaga replied. βThere will be two beds.β
Satoru gave a disappointed click of his tongue. βThere goes my dream.β
You turned toward him slowly and saw that the idiot was already grinning.
For one very tempting second, you considered throwing the folder directly at his face.
Yaga spoke before you could. βIjichiβs waiting outside. Youβll leave now, stay near the district tonight, and start early tomorrow morning. Keep civilians out of it as much as possible.β
You looked back down at the photos. A familiar tightness settled in your chest. Not fear, exactly. Something closer to readiness. That unsettling feeling that came before a fight, when your body caught on to the danger before your mind had fully sorted through it.
Satoru noticed. Of course he did.
His shoulder brushed against yours. βDonβt do that.β
You glanced at him. βDo what?β
βThat thing where you decide the whole mission is yours to carry before weβve even left the room.β
"Well, I am starting it alone,β you said. βYouβll be busy with the meeting.β
βFor a few hours, maybe.β
βThatβs still alone.β
He tilted his head, trying to catch your eye. βIβll be nearby.β
You said nothing.
βHey.β His voice dropped, softer now, stripped of the usual teasing. βI mean it. Iβll be close.β
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest, warmer than they had any right to be.
You looked away first.
βTry not to make the higher-ups cry," you said.
Satoru gave you a lazy smile. βI canβt promise anything. They make it way too easy.β
Yaga let out a tired sigh. βGojo.β
Satoru straightened at once and threw up an overly enthusiastic salute. βUnderstood, sir. Iβll be on my absolute best behavior.β
βYou are a grown man,β Yaga said flatly.
βAllegedly,β you muttered.
Satoru turned to you, scandalized. βWow. I expected this from him, but from you? That hurts.β
Yaga exhaled through his nose, clearly at the end of his patience. βGet out of my office before I regret assigning either of you.β
Satoruβs mood brightened instantly as he headed for the door. βCome on, then. Our romantic overnight mission awaits.β
βItβs not romantic,β you said, following him.
He glanced back over his shoulder. βBut it is overnight.β
βThat doesnβt help your case.β
βAnd thereβs a hotel room involved.β
βYouβre making it worse.β
βAnd two beds,β he added, with a sigh dramatic enough to belong onstage.
You gave him a sideways look. βYouβre actually upset about that?β
βIβm just saying, it feels a little unnecessary.β
βThe beds?β
βThe separation.β
You stared at him. βKeep talking and youβll be sleeping in the hallway.β
He reached for the office door, glancing back at you with that pleased, shameless grin. βAw. Youβd miss me.β
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
You gave Yaga a quick bow, more from habit than anything else, then followed Satoru out into the hallway.
He was already a few steps ahead of you, hands tucked into his pockets, white hair catching in the afternoon light spilling through the windows. He moved with that same careless ease he always carried, like nothing in the world had ever been heavy enough to slow him down.
You watched him walk ahead of you, and that old promise twisted quietly in your chest.
Never fall for Gojo Satoru.
What a stupid thing to promise yourself.
He glanced back over his shoulder. βYou know, if you keep staring at me like that, Iβm going to start getting ideas.β
βIβm not staring,β you said. βIβm making sure you donβt trip over your own feet again.β
βThat happened once, and I still think the floor had it out for me.β
βThe floor didnβt do anything. You just tripped.β
Satoru nodded like youβd proven his point. βExactly. Thatβs what it wants you to think.β
You tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway.
Of course, he noticed. His grin softened just a little, and for a second, the air between you shifted in that quiet, familiar way it always did when neither of you knew what to say next. The hallway felt strangely still around you, like the rest of the school had faded into the background.
Then Satoru opened his mouth and ruined it.
βSince weβre sharing a room tonight, Iβm claiming the bed by the window.β
You looked at him. βYou donβt get to start making demands before weβve even left the school.β
βIβm not making demands. Iβm planning ahead.β
βYouβre testing my patience.β You brushed past him with a groan, and his laugh followed you down the hall, loud and careless, echoing off the walls of the school.
Outside, the late afternoon air felt heavy and damp. Gray clouds hung low over the campus, thick enough that rain seemed inevitable. Wind moved through the trees near the entrance, sending a few loose leaves scraping across the pavement.
Ijichiβs car was already waiting.
He stood beside it with his usual rigid posture, clipboard held tightly against his chest as though it offered some kind of protection. The moment he spotted Satoru, his expression tightened.
βGojo-san,β Ijichi said, glancing at his watch. βYouβre late.β
Satoru looked offended. βWeβre exactly on time.β
βYou were expected seven minutes ago.β
Satoru leaned slightly toward you and lowered his voice. βHe missed me.β
βHeβs afraid of you,β you said.
Ijichi opened the back door with a strained sigh. βPlease get in.β
You slid into the car first. The seat was cool beneath you, and the mission folder settled on your lap.
Satoru climbed in beside you, choosing the spot directly at your side despite the wide stretch of empty seat available. His knee knocked gently against yours.
You shifted away. A moment later, he shifted closer.
You turned to look at him.
He kept his gaze fixed out the window, smiling faintly as though heβd done absolutely nothing.
The car pulled away from the school, and Tokyo Jujutsu High slowly disappeared behind the trees and gray sky. The road curved down the mountain, carrying you toward the city, toward the mission, toward one hotel room, and toward the one man youβd spent years trying not to want.
Rain began to fall before you reached the main road. At first, it was light. Soft taps against the window. Then it grew, threading silver lines down the glass.
Satoru rested his head back against the seat. For once, he said nothing.
You looked at his reflection in the rain-streaked window. The curve of his mouth had relaxed. His glasses hid his eyes, but not the faint tension in his jaw.
βYou worried?β you asked.
His reflection smiled. βAbout sharing a room with you? A little. You kick in your sleep.β
βI do not.β
βYou do.β
You glanced down at the folder again. βWhat do you think it is?β
Satoru tilted his head, eyes moving over the reports. βCould be a curse working through reflections. Maybe sound, too. A few of them heard voices right before they blacked out.β
You flipped to another page. βOne victim said her reflection moved before she did.β
His expression sharpened. βThen itβs probably not just messing with their heads at random. It has some kind of trigger.β
βA cursed technique?β
βMost likely.β He glanced at the photos again. βThe question is how far it reaches and whether it needs direct contact or just line of sight.β
You frowned. βSo, I shouldnβt rush in blind.β
βExactly.β He turned toward you, his voice quieter now. βI know Yaga said to go in first but I think you should wait for me."
βI know how to do my job, Satoru.β
βI know.β
You looked at him.
Satoruβs face stayed angled toward yours, but his voice softened.
βI know you do.β
In that moment, the car felt too small. His shoulder bumped into yours, his knee still brushed your leg, and the smell of him, clean soap and faint sugar, filled your senses.
You looked away first and stared out the window. The city lights smeared across the wet glass like paint. Beside you, Satoru stretched his legs and sighed like a bored cat.
βSo,β he said, voice bright again. βFor our sleepover, do you prefer scary movies or snacks first?β
You closed the folder. βNeither.β
"Ugh, how boring.β
The rain kept falling as Ijichi drove on, steady against the car windows, softening the glow of streetlights outside into blurred streaks of gold and white. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space between the three of you, broken only by the occasional swish of the windshield wipers.
Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute. The warmth of the car, the low murmur of the road, and the exhaustion sitting deep in your bones all worked against you. Before you knew it, your head tipped gently onto Satoruβs shoulder.
A small, sleepy smile lingered on your face.
Satoru glanced down at you. For once, he didnβt immediately say something stupid. His expression softened, hidden from you as his fingers carefully brushed a few loose strands of hair away from your cheek.
βIsnβt she just so cute, Ijichi?β
Ijichi looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking briefly from Satoru to your sleeping form. βI will never understand your relationship, Gojo-san.β
Satoru let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, careful not to jostle you.
Honestly, he didnβt understand it either.
All he knew was that something about you kept pulling him back. For a while, heβd tried to blame it on your cursed energy. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend there was some reason he kept ending up beside you, some explanation for why leaving never lasted very long.
But that excuse had worn thin a long time ago.
You had settled into his life so naturally that he barely noticed when it happened. You were simply there now, threaded into his days, into his routines, into thoughts he didnβt always mean to have. He hovered close, never fully crossing the line, never quite stepping back either.
And sometimes, when you leaned into him without thinking or looked at him with that exasperated fondness you tried so hard to hide, he wished something would finally shift.
But for now, he stayed where he was, quiet beneath the weight of your sleeping head, letting the rain and the low hum of the car fill the silence.
By the time the car finally slowed to a stop beneath the covered entrance of the hotel, you were still fast asleep.
You ended up waking up to a sharp pain in your cheeks.
Your eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, only to land on Satoruβs grinning face inches away from yours. His fingers were pinching both of your cheeks because apparently gently tapping your shoulder or saying your name like a normal person had never occurred to him.
βOw, Satoru,β you mumbled, swatting weakly at his hand.
He giggled and finally let go, entirely too pleased with himself as he opened the car door and stepped out into the cool, rain-damp air.
From the driverβs seat, Ijichi turned slightly toward you. βIβll be back tomorrow night to pick you both up.β
βOf course, Ijichi. Thank you,β you said, your voice softening as you gave him a polite nod before stepping out and closing the door.
The first thing you noticed was the hotel itself.
It rose high into the night sky, all polished glass and dark stone. Water spilled gently from the fountains flanking the entrance, their soft splashing mixing with the rain tapping against the pavement. Tall stone columns framed the broad glass doors, and warm light poured from within, golden and inviting.
This was definitely not what you had expected. You had prepared yourself for something decent, maybe comfortable if the budget allowed. Not this.
You walked toward the entrance beside Gojo, casting him a sidelong glance. The doormen bowed as the two of you approached, and one of them opened the door with a practiced smile.
The lobby was even more extravagant. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, reflecting off the polished marble floors. The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive candles. To one side, a small group of musicians played live near the seating area, their music flowing softly through the open space. Guests moved through the lobby in low conversation, suitcases rolling smoothly behind them.
You looked back at Gojo, suspicion building.
βSatoruβ¦β you said slowly. βDid you change our hotel?β
He turned to you with a look of pure innocence that fooled absolutely no one. βWell, did you really expect me to sleep in some measly four-star hotel before I have to meet with those old geezers tomorrow? I need my beauty sleep.β
You sighed through your nose.
You donβt know why you bothered asking.
βJust relax,β he said, waving lazily toward the seating area. βSit down while I check us in.β
You nodded and made your way over to one of the plush chairs near the musicians. The cushions sank slightly beneath your weight, and for a moment, you let yourself settle into the comfort of it.
The music was even nicer up close.
You watched the violinist move her bow in long, smooth strokes, her fingers shifting with practiced ease along the strings. The pianist beside her followed in perfect rhythm, not needing to look up. There was something soothing about how focused they were, how calm their expressions remained as the notes filled the space around you.
A light tap on your shoulder pulled you from the music.
You glanced up to find Gojo standing beside you, room key in hand. βRoomβs ready. Come on.β
He extended his hand.
You looked at it for half a second before placing your own in his. His fingers closed around yours easily, warm and steady as he helped you to your feet. He let go a moment later, though not quite as quickly as he could have.
The elevator ride up was quiet, aside from the soft mechanical hum and the faint music still lingering in your ears. Gojo leaned casually against the wall, looking much too relaxed for someone who was almost certainly hiding something.
You should have known.
The moment the hotel room door opened, you stepped inside and stopped cold.
The room was beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city below, rain tracing slow lines down the glass. A seating area sat near the windows with a low table and a neatly arranged tray of bottled water. The carpet was thick underfoot, and warm lamps cast a soft glow over the space.
But none of that mattered because directly in the center of the room was one bed.
One large, perfectly made, unmistakably singular bed.
You stared at it for a second, just to make sure you were not missing another one tucked around some hidden corner. Then you slowly turned toward Gojo.
βSo,β you said, giving him a knowing look, βwhat happened to two beds?β
Of course, he immediately put on that fake, helpless expression of his. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked almost sheepish, which might have been convincing if you had met him yesterday.
βWell, you know,β he said. βIt was the cheapest option. Had to consider the budget and all that. Really, I made the smartest choice here.β
You stared at him.
Then at the luxury suite.
Then back at him.
βGod, I donβt even know why I put up with you.β
He smiled, entirely unbothered. βBecause Iβm delightful.β
You rolled your eyes and stepped farther into the room, setting your things down with a little more force than necessary.
The problem was that arguing about the bed would get you nowhere. Offering to make him sleep on the floor would never work. He would refuse on principle, probably with a dramatic speech about his back and his importance to society. And if you offered to sleep on the floor instead, he would absolutely drag you back into the bed the second you dozed off.
And if you were being painfully honest with yourself, sharing a bed with Gojo was not exactly the part that bothered you most.
You were not opposed to it. You would rather swallow glass than admit that out loud, but it was true.
The issue was everything around it. Your relationship was already strange enough, close in ways that were hard to explain and even harder to define. Sleeping in the same bed felt like one more step into territory neither of you seemed brave enough to name.
You needed a moment away from him before he opened his mouth again and made everything worse.
Grabbing your clothes and toiletries, you headed for the bathroom.
βIβm showering first,β you called over your shoulder.
Then you stepped inside and shut the door behind you.
You turned the shower on as hot as it would go, desperate to burn the thoughts right out of your head. When the water first hit your skin, you flinched, sucking in a sharp breath, but after a moment you forced yourself to stand still beneath it. Steam began to gather around you, fogging the glass and turning the bathroom hazy.
There was nothing inherently intimate about sharing a bed with someone. Not really.
You had slept in the same bed as Shoko plenty of times, and that had been completely platonic. You had even passed out on Getoβs bed while he laid down beside you playing video games. Sharing a bed with someone doesnβt have to mean anything.
The problem was that the person you were sharing one with was Satoru, and somehow he had a talent for making everything feel like something.
A glance held half a second too long. His hand brushing yours. A joke murmured too close to your ear. With him, even the smallest things had a way of feeling like more.
You exhaled heavily and tipped your face up into the stream of water, hoping it might clear your head. Unfortunately, it did not.
By the time you finally shut off the shower, the bathroom was thick with steam. You dried off, changed, and opened the door, sending a warm cloud spilling into the room with you.
βJesus, woman,β Gojo said from somewhere near the bed. βI think the showers in hell are cooler.β
You waved him off as you stepped past him. βYeah, yeah.β
He disappeared into the bathroom next, and you walked towards the bed. You were just about to climb in when the balcony caught your eye.
Fresh air. That sounded good. You crossed the room, slid the glass door open, and stepped outside.
The rain had softened to a fine mist, cool against your still-warm skin. Tokyo stretched out below you in glittering layers, streets shining with reflected neon, windows glowing from high-rise buildings, headlights drifting through the roads like tiny ribbons of light. From up here, the city almost looked peaceful.
You rested your hands on the railing and let yourself take it in.
You were not used to views like this. Most nights were spent at Jujutsu High, tucked away from the noise of the city, or running from one assignment to the next. Sometimes you forgot that a whole ordinary world existed outside of curses and missions and the constant threat of losing someone.
It made you wonder, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like if you had never become a sorcerer.
Maybe you would have gone to university like everyone else. Maybe you would have a regular job, a little apartment, and a partner. Maybe by now you would be married, or even have children of your own.
Instead, here you were, standing on a hotel balcony at night, trying to figure out what exactly you were with your stupid high school crush.
You were so lost in thought that the knock against the glass made you jump.
Turning around, you saw Gojo standing inside the room.
Half naked.
A towel hung low around his hips, and that was it.
For one horrible, terrible second, your brain simply stopped working.
Water still clung to his skin, catching the soft room light across the lines of his chest and stomach. His hair was damp and pushed messily back, exposing more of his face than usual. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for someone dressed so indecently in a shared hotel room.
You dragged your gaze upward with great effort and stepped back inside.
βGojo,β you snapped, trying to sound annoyed instead of completely thrown off, βwhere the hell are your clothes?β
He looked down at himself as though he had only just noticed. βDonβt you know, sweetheart? I have to air-dry. Towels are just too rough on my baby-soft skin.β He tilted his head, smiling. βDo you wanna feel?β
βAs if, princess. Go back into the bathroom and put some clothes on.β
He pouted but thankfully turned around and wandered back in anyway.
The second the bathroom door closed, you let out a breath you hadnβt realized you were holding in.
You needed to collect yourself. Mentally. Spiritually. Possibly medically.
So, in the most dignified response available to you, you sprinted to the bed and buried yourself under the covers.
From what exactly were you hiding? You were not entirely sure.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened again. Gojo stepped out, thankfully dressed this time, and climbed into bed beside you with irritating ease, like the situation was perfectly normal.
βI hope you know Iβm a cuddler,β he said.
You turned onto your side to face him, ready with a retort. βI hope you know Iβm a kickeββ
The word suddenly stuck in your throat. His face was much closer than you expected.
Close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your lips. Close enough to catch the clean mint of his toothpaste and the damp scent of soap still clinging to his skin. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the soft lamplight, were fixed on yours.
For once, he was not smiling. Your throat tightened.
You could have sworn he started to move closer.
Before your thoughts could catch up, you turned away, facing the other side of the bed. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you silently cursed your own cowardice.
βGoodnight,β you said quickly, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp.
Darkness filled the room.
βGoodnight,β he murmured behind you.
His voice was lower than usual, rough at the edges, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
This was going to be a very long night.
You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed sleep would come quickly. For a few minutes, nothing happened. The room stayed quiet except for the faint hush of rain against the balcony glass and the soft rhythm of your own breathing.
Eventually, you began to drift.
Then an arm slid around your waist.
You let out a small gasp as Gojo pulled you back against him, your body fitting into his perfectly like a missing piece of a puzzle. His arm settled lightly at your waist while his fingers began tracing slow, absent circles against your arm.
You held still until something in you finally snapped.
You turned around to face him, the movement bringing you even closer than before. His hand stayed at your waist, fingers now moving in gentle circles over the fabric of your shirt.
βSatoruβ¦β you began, though you had no idea what you meant to say after that.
His gaze softened.
Slowly, he lifted one hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His thumb brushed lightly along your skin before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
He looked at you like he was waiting for you to stop him.
Then he leaned in.
His lips hovered just shy of yours, close enough that your breath caught.
βCanβt move away from me this time,β he murmured.
And then he kissed you.
It was soft at first, careful and hesitant. It was like he couldnβt believe that this was finally happening.
The second you kissed him back, he completely changed.
A low groan left him as he deepened the kiss, tongue intertwining with yours and his hand tightening slightly at your waist. Your fingers slid into his damp hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing harder, foreheads resting together in the dark.
βTell me to stop,β he said, voice rough and unsteady. βTell me you donβt want this, and Iβll stop. We can pretend it never happened.β
βPlease, Toru,β you breathed. βFuckβplease donβt stop.β
That was all he needed.
He kissed you again, harder this time, hungrier, like the last thread of restraint had finally snapped. He pulled back only long enough to sit up, then lifted you with effortless ease and settled you onto his lap, your legs falling around his hips.
His mouth found yours again almost immediately.
He was intoxicating. Warm and overwhelming and far too good at making you forget every sensible thought you had tried to hold onto all night. Your hands slid over his shoulders as you grinded down on his hardening cock.
βFuck, baby,β he muttered against your mouth.
His hands moved to your hips, helping you move against his cock as he kissed along your jaw, then lower, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. When he lingered at that one particular spot, you couldnβt stop the soft moan that slipped out right beside his ear.
Satoru shuddered beneath you.
His restraint seemed to slip after that. His fingers found the hem of your top and pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere into the dark. His gaze dropped to your bare breasts. βYouβre so fucking beautiful,β he murmured, voice rough with disbelief. When looking wasnβt enough anymore, he latches his mouth onto your tits, sucking and biting.
The stimulation from his assault on your boobs made you move faster against him as you whimpered, βToru, please, I need more.β
βYou have no idea,β he murmured, voice thick with desire, βhow many times Iβve dreamed about this.β
Before you could respond to him, your phone started ringing from the bedside table.
The sudden sound cut sharply through the room, pulling you both back to reality. You glanced toward the bright screen and saw the name flashing across it.
Principal Yaga.
You reached for the phone, shooting Satoru an apologetic look as you answered. βHello?β
His hand stilled at your waist, though his eyes stayed on you.
Yagaβs voice came through calm, but serious enough that your body tensed almost immediately. The curses you had been sent to investigate were no longer something that could wait until morning. Civilians were in immediate danger, and you needed to head out now.
Gojo was to remain at the hotel. If anything unnecessary delayed him, he could be late for tomorrowβs meeting with the higher-ups. And this one mattered more than usual. They would be discussing Yuji Itadoriβs fate as Sukunaβs vessel.
By the time the call ended, the warmth of the moment had been gone.
You lowered the phone slowly.
βWhat is it?β Satoru asked, already reading the answer in your face.
You sat back slightly. βThe curses are an immediate threat. Yaga wants me to go now instead of waiting until morning.β
His brows drew together. βFine. Letβs go.β
You hesitated. βHe said you need to stay here.β
Satoruβs expression flattened. βThatβs ridiculous. Itβll be faster if I come with you.β
Normally, you would have agreed. Normally, having Satoru beside you would make any mission simpler, quicker, safer.
But this was not just any meeting tomorrow.
βItβs about Yuji,β you said quietly. βThe higher-ups are discussing what happens to him.β
That made him pause.
You could see the argument still sitting on his tongue. The instinct to ignore orders, to follow you anyway, to make sure nothing touched you while he was around. But Yuji was his student. His well-being came first, and both of you knew it.
Satoru looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
Then he exhaled through his nose. βFine.β
You gave him a small, grateful nod and slipped off his lap, reaching for
your clothes. The room felt colder as you dressed in a hurry, the quiet between you now laced with disappointment.
Once you were ready, you turned back toward him.
He was sitting on the bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.
You stepped close, leaned down, and kissed him. It was soft, lingering just long enough to promise that this was not over.
βIβll be back,β you murmured.
His eyes stayed on yours. βYouβd better be.β
With that, you turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind you.
a/n: i decided to change the format from "headcannon" style to full fic style, so if you notice a difference from the previous parts, that's why. but if you liked the previous style also let me know! enjoy!
Three days.
It had been three days since you spoke to frat! Sukuna, and after that, it's been radio silence.
You obviously didn't expect some grand dinner at an expensive restaurant, for fucks sake, you just met the guy!
But you thought you'd at least get a text.
The first three days were the worst; you doubted whether he was ever even interested. You were stalking his profile multiple times a day, looking for anything that might explain this. You would also meticulously stalk yourself to see if there was maybe a really ugly picture of you, and he decided that was it for him.
But then five days passed, and instead of confusion (and you had to admit, a slight sadness), you were just angry.
"So he stalked me all around campus, then asked for my Instagram, then came up to me, and asked me if I wanted to "give him a chance"!"
"I told you from the start he wasn't being serious," your friend quipped.
"Okay, but what could have possibly changed from that day? He was literally laughing at my jokes!"
"He probably realised it won't be as easy as he thought to get into your pants."
As much as you hoped that wasn't true, your friend had a point. At the end of the day, he really was just a horny frat guy.
So then a week passes, and you're over it. You stop looking through his profile, stop mentioning him to your friends, and stop looking for him in every room you enter.
Just like that, what you thought would be something fun and exciting was over. And plus, you had better things to do.
He knew it had been too long. For God's sake, he let a week pass, seven whole fucking days.
He wanted to bash his head into a wall and knock some sense into himself.
Every single day, he practiced what he would text you.
"hey, let's grab lunch." No, too casual.
"hello, would you like to get some lunch with me?" Nope, who was he, Nanami?
"your hair smelled really good that day, lunch?" The fuck was wrong with him?
He knew you were probably confused, especially since he was the one who had basically begged for a chance. And now he was ghosting you. Not purposely, of course; he just couldn't shake off his nerves. No woman had ever made him this nervous, and the worst part, he barely knew you.
But he knew if he let this go on any longer, he'd ruin the one chance he got at something good. So he swallowed his ego and knocked on Gojo's door.
Most of Gojo's advice consisted of "just text her dumbass, it's not hard!", but of course, he wouldn't understand. To be fair, Sukuna didn't understand any of this himself. If he told himself a few months ago he would be nervous texting a girl, he could have laughed in his own face.
"What are you so scared of anyway?" Gojo asked, sprawled sideways on his bed.
"I don't know, man, I just-" he stopped himself, he was not about to get vulnerable (a word that made him shudder) with this idiot, "- never mind, I'll figure it out."
"Okay, wait! I'll help. You being this fucking miserable is a problem for all of us," Gojo remarks, probably referring to the lack of Sukuna's contribution to the frat this past week.
Gojo sits up on his bed. "Okay, so what do you want with this girl? Because if it's just a fuck, I'm telling you, man, she is not giving that to you."
"No! Why does everyone keep saying that? I don't care about that," but Gojo lifts a sceptical eyebrow, "with her. With other girls yea sure, but it's different with her."
"And what's so different about her?"
The way she's never missed a lecture, or the way she laughs like she means it instead of performing. Or maybe how she doesn't dress for attention, but to feel good about herself. Her different colored cardigans, her loose, flowy skirts, her hair done differently every day. Perhaps it was the kind smiles she gave her friends, or the enthusiastic waves as she walked around campus. Or maybe in some fucked up way, it was how she didn't seem to care all that much about Sukuna, which is something he wasn't used to. Her attention was something he had to earn.
But he said none of that to Gojo and settled with, "She's sweet."
"She's sweet? That's it?"
Sukuna shrugged, really not wanting to get into this, "Just give me some advice, or I'm leaving."
Gojo runs a hand across his pale hair, "You could just show up to her dorm with food, show her you're sorry for ghosting her, and tell her the truth that you were nervous, girls love that."
"I'm not nervous, dumbass," blatant lie.
"Whatever you say, man, just do something, or someone else will. She seems like the type of girl who gets people's attention without trying. That's dangerous."
Yes, very dangerous. Sukuna's entire being was in danger, all because of a crush.
A typical Friday afternoon for you meant studying the past week's material. It didn't mean going out and partying and hooking up with strangers.
You were in your favorite sweat suit, a warm cup of tea on your desk, along with notes and everything else you'd need for a night of revising.
You started not that long ago, just getting into your flow, when you hear a knock on your door.
9:30 PM, the clock read, it was too early for your roommate to be back.
You begrudgingly get up, annoyed you had to leave such a comfortable position. You put on your pastel bunny slippers and go to open the door.
The last, and you mean the absolute last thing you expected, was to see Ryomen standing there. He was in sweats and a hoodie (typical, but something he managed to pull off too well), and in one hand was a bag of what you assumed was food, in the other a bag of drinks.
"Hope you weren't busy."
"What the fuck are you doing here?" It came out more aggressively than you wanted, but he deserved that.
He looked embarrassed.
"I know I should have texted you or something-", he started, clearly uncomfortable, "- but I-", he stopped mid-sentence.
"You what? Decided you'd rather mess with another girl?"
"No! I was just-" he looked like he was physically struggling to get his words out, but the borderline livid look on your face made him blurt out the rest, "-I was fucking nervous."
What?
A towering six feet and three inches, shoulders so broad you couldn't see behind him, a man who could control a room by simply being in it, was nervous. Nervous to text you. A girl who kept to herself and her friends, who always had a book in her bag, whether she read it or not, someone who didn't have enough time to think about dating. And yet he was nervous to text you.
For some reason, this made you smile. Did you have Ryomen Sukuna in the palm of your hand? It was time to find out.
But before you could say something smug about it, you realised something," Wait, you remembered where my dorm was?"
At this, he falters.
"I wrote it in my notes," he mumbles.
"You know that's incredibly creepy, right?" you retort.
"Or it just means I wanted to see you again."
You stare at him, very close to shutting the door on his face, until you realize just how hungry you were.
"What's in the bag?" his face visibly lights up when you say that. Strange. His usual stoic demeanor is slowly slipping.
"Fried chicken, but uh- I got veggie noodles in case you don't eat meat, I wasn't sure, but then I didn't know if you liked it spicy or not, so I got both and-," he's rambling. The tops of his ears are turning pink, and he's rambling to you about how he bought six different things because he wasn't sure what you'd like.
"Ryomen," he stops, eyes meeting yours, "Come inside."
He didn't get excited at the prospect of seeing what the inside of your dorm room looked like. He didn't get sweaty palms because a girl invited him in; that's happened countless times before. And he definitely didn't notice a pile of fresh laundry on your couch, with a pretty pink lace bra sitting teasingly on the top.
To be honest, he didn't think you'd let him in; he was entirely prepared to have the door shut on his face.
Your apartment is very you. It's cute and cozy and decorated with trinkets everywhere. You have no overhead lights on, just lamps and fairy lights. It was so different from the frat house, which was usually very loud and very messy.
You lead him to your small, round dining table in the corner of the kitchen, which only has two chairs. Before you sit down, though, you point a finger at his chest, "If you try anything, I will let your entire frat know that you were nervous to see me."
"I-," he truly was at a loss for words, "I won't try anything, I promise, I just wanna eat with you."
"Good."
You take the bags from him and start unpacking the food, your face growing happier and happier with each new food item. You had to give it to him; he knew the way to a girl's heart.
As you settle down in the chair, Sukuna watches you. The way your hair softly falls around your face, or how your delicate and small hands unpack the food. He truly doesn't understand how you already have him under your shoe. If it were any other girl, he might have slowly slid a hand across her waist, led her to the couch for a night of who knows what. But with you, he was fine if he got to spend the next hour just watching you eat the food he got you.
It all felt very strange to him.
"So, are you gonna explain why you ghosted me?"
That breaks him out of his trance. He settles on the chair opposite you, grabbing food of his own.
"I told you already... I didn't know how to talk to you."
This makes you giggle, a sound he wants to savor, one he wants to hear you make again and again, along with a few others.
"I still don't get it, you're not a mega-virgin or something, what about me makes you so nervous?"
No, he definitely wasn't a mega-virgin, he was the opposite of that. He could make girls nervous simply by staring at them.
So what made him so nervous around you? Deep down, he knew. You challenged a part of him no one else had. You made him put down all his desires and schoolboy lust. You didn't give in easily. And slowly, over the past few months, he realized he had started changing his behavior to get a chance to talk to you.
He couldn't admit that to you, though, he'd definitely scare you off.
"You seem sweet," is what he said.
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, mouth full of chicken. When you finish swallowing, you still don't say anything.
Eventually, a comfortable rhythm settles between you two. One of eating and talking. Conversation flows from one thing to another β classes, exams coming up, random drama happening on campus, what books you're currently into, how much time he spent in the gym this week. Before you knew it, 3 hours had passed, and the food was long gone. The only thing left to keep you two full were the words being exchanged.
You didn't think he could be such a good listener, but every time you were speaking, he'd watch you with such an intense gaze you'd have to look away.
The conversation finally found a pause when you yawned around 12:30 AM, a soft tiredness coating you. It made you look more real, and Sukuna couldn't help admiring your natural beauty. The way you didn't care that you had no makeup on right now, or that your hair was not done properly.
"My roommate will be back soon," you say.
"Yea, it's late," he says back.
A beat.
"I'll text you."
At this, you smile, "I've realised not to keep my expectations high with you."
He gets up, "I'll make it up to you again next time."
"And who said there would be a next time?"
You walk him to the elevator. You both felt warm and fulfilled, neither of you had a night like this in a long time.
"I promise, I'll text you," he says again.
You smile as he enters the elevator, "Goodnight, Ryomen."
Fuck. Every time you say his name it does some weird shit to his heart, a feeling like it skipping a beat.
Both of you were back in bed, moonlight filtering in through the blinds. It felt so odd that you could feel so comforted around someone so different. It was terrifying, and yet, it made you both smile to yourselves.
You knew to be careful, that all of this could come crashing down, but you couldn't help feel the flicker of hope in your chest.
a/n: part 5 soon, be patient! also, i use the em-dash on my OWN, there is no use of ai in any of my work!
a/n june 4: update coming soon! i've been very busy with class but i will get to it soon. also like i mentioned tag list is CLOSED! love u guys thanks for the support <3
TAG LIST CLOSED
masterlist
this is my original work, no ai used. please do not claim as your own. - @maroonskiesfrvr 2026
synopsis: Sukuna doesnβt fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because youβre different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortableβ¦ until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.
Only this time,you donβt chase. You donβt fight. You justβ¦ disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizesβheβs not done with you.Even if youβre done with him.
So will he learn to live with it⦠or do whatever it takes to make it right?
Wc: 12.2k!!
warnings: emotional confrontation, misunderstandings, mutual yearning, kissing in the rain, sukuna is DESPERATE, grovelling, emotional intimacy, soft happy ending
Chap 1 ch2 ch3
After the last time you spoke to him, things didnβt break the way you expected them to.
Nothing around you changed. Classes went on, people talked the same way, the campus stayed just as loud and careless as it had always been. There was no visible change, no moment where everything slowed down to acknowledge what had happened. If anything, the world felt almost indifferent to it.
And that made it easier.
You went back to your routine without interruption. You reached class on time, sat where you always did, kept your focus where it needed to be. No one stopped you in the hallway anymore. No one stepped into your space like it belonged to them. You didnβt have to anticipate anything-no unexpected conversations, no presence you had to prepare yourself for.
It was simpler like this.
You didnβt have to think about him.At least, not intentionally.
There were moments that slipped through anyway.
They were small enough to ignore if you wanted to. A pause before leaving a classroom, like you were waiting for something without realizing it. A glance toward a corridor that didnβt need your attention. The faint, unnecessary awareness of absence,something missing that you refused to define.
You noticed it once.Then again.After that, you made sure you didnβt because there was no reason to.
The first time you saw him again, it wasnβt because you were looking for him.
You were just walking between classes, focused on getting through before it filled up, when your gaze lifted just enough to register movement on the other side. Recognition settled before you could stop it.
Sukuna.
He looked exactly the same.
Same posture. Same presence, people moved around him like he pulled attention without trying. There was nothing about the scene that stood out, nothing that should have made you pause.
And yet,you did.
Someone was talking to him. Laughing, standing too close, brushing against his arm like it was natural. It was the kind of thing you would have ignored without thinking before.
You should have.Instead, your steps slowed just slightly.
He didnβt lean in.Didnβt respond the way you expected.
There was no shift in him, no engagement that pulled him closer into whatever was happening.
He just stepped back,it was small and barely noticeable to anyone else,
But you saw it.
Your gaze lingered a second longer than it should have before you looked away and kept walking.
It didnβt matter.You told yourself that immediately.And for the most part,you believed it.
On the other hand,for him,
He sees you before anything else registers.
Itβs immediate. The second you step into view, his attention shifts without asking him first, like itβs already decided where it belongs.
He doesnβt move ,thatβs the only difference.
Before, he wouldβve crossed the distance without thinking. Wouldβve stepped into your path, said something just to get your attention, just to see how youβd react. It used to be easy,instinctive in a way he never questioned.
Now, he stays where he is.Not because he doesnβt want to move.That part hasnβt changed.
The instinct is still there. His body reacts the same way it always has,the pull to close the distance, to step into your space before the moment passes, before youβre out of reach.
It hits just as fast.Just as strong.
He just doesnβt act on it andβ¦.itβs because of him that he canβt.
His jaw tightens slightly, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be.He tells himself itβs nothing,that this is how it should be now.
No interruptions. No stepping into something he already ruined. No pretending it can go back to what it was.
It should have been simple.It isnβt.
Because now that heβs not moving toward you, he notices everything else instead.
The way you walk past without looking at him. The way your attention doesnβt move, not even for a second. The way thereβs no hesitation in your steps, no awareness of him anywhere near you.
Like heβs justβanother person.
That is harder to accept than he expects.
Someone beside him says something,he doesnβt catch it.A girl laughs, closer than necessary, her hand brushing his arm like itβs nothing.He doesnβt react or lean in like he would have.He just steps back ,subtly, it comes to him naturally.
His attention is still on you.For a second, he thinks about it.
Moving. Calling out to you. Stopping you before you disappear into the crowd like another face.
The thought settles in his chest, sharp enough to make him shift forward without realizing it.
Then,he stops, he knows its not like before.
So he stays where he is and watches you walk past,and doesnβt follow.
To him,that restraint doesnβt feel like control.It feels like losing something,and not being able to do anything about it.
β-
Days pass as usual,
The routine doesnβt break.
It holds in place, steady enough, You move through your days the same way you always have, lecture, notes, the quiet discipline of keeping your focus where it belongs. Itβs controlled. Measured. Exactly what you wanted.
And still something keeps slipping,Not enough to disrupt anything.Just enough to be felt.
You notice it in the middle of things. When your pen pauses longer than it should, when your thoughts drift somewhere you didnβt send them, when your attention shifts before you can catch it.
It doesnβt stay long enough to take over,But it happens.
You donβt look for him.You make sure of that.
But your awareness shifts anyway.
A door opening.Footsteps slowing.
Someone taking a seat behind you,and your body registers it before your mind does.
You donβt always turn.But sometimes,you already know.
It gets harder to ignore than it should be.
You donβt let it settle.You donβt give it space to become anything more than a passing thought.
Still,it lingers just long enough to leave something behind.
A quiet, persistent awareness that doesnβt belong,but refuses to leave.
For sukuna,It stops being unintentional. Thatβs when it gets worse.
At first, itβs easy to dismiss.
Same classes. Same schedule. Same places he wouldβve been in anyway. Thereβs nothing strange about ending up in the same room, nothing that needs explanation.
But then,he starts adjusting.
Not enough for anyone else to notice or make it obvious.Just enough for Him to know
He gets there earlier.Not by much.But enough that heβs already seated when you walk in.
He tells himself itβs nothing.That it doesnβt mean anything.
And still he waits, Although its not something that heβd admit.
But the moment the door opensβ
his attention locks.Every time.
He watches you walk in.Watches the way you move without hesitation, like nothing around you matters enough to interrupt you.
And something in him tightens feeling so sharp.Like itβs been building all day just for that moment.
He doesnβt move toward you.But he doesnβt stay away either.The distance changes.
A seat closer than before.Then another.Not beside you yet.
But close enough that he doesnβt have to look for you anymore.Close enough that if you look up,
youβll find him-
And you do, more and more each time.Enough that it stops feeling like coincidence.
The first time your eyes meetβ
he doesnβt react.He doesnβt smirk or say anything.Doesnβt turn it into something lighter than it is.
He just-holds it.
And thatβs where it goes wrong.Because he doesnβt want to look away.
Atleast immediately, because it finally feels like thereβs something there , that it hasnβt completely disappeared.
Even if itβs just a second.Even if itβs nothing more than this.
You look away first. of course you always do.But itβs enough.More than enough, Because,that moment.That look.
That brief, unguarded awareness that slips through before you shut it down again.It stays with him longer than it should. Long enough to follow him out of the room,to settle somewhere he canβt ignore.
It makes everything else feel less.He notices it everywhere.
The conversations that donβt hold.The people who expect something from him that he canβt seem to give the same way anymore.The way he steps back without thinking, like his bodyβs already decided itβs not worth it.
The problem is not them, its you.
And the way everything else falls short of something he didnβt even realize he was holding onto.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, irritation settling in where something else is trying to take shape.
It doesnβt make sense,shouldnβt matter.And yet heβs here earlier.Sitting closer.
Watching you like heβs waiting for something he doesnβt know how to ask for.
Thatβs not something heβs used to or something he knows how to handle.But it doesnβt stop,Nothing about it does.
ββ
The lecture ends in the usual way,chairs scraping back, voices rising, people already halfway into their next conversation before theyβve even left their seats.
You close your notebook and gather your things, taking your time the way you always do, to avoid getting caught in the rush.
When you step into the aisle, you expect it to be clear.
It isnβt.
Heβs there.
Standing in the way , not really blocking you orβ¦Not trying to.
But heβs close enough that you have to acknowledge him.
For a second, you think heβll step aside but he doesnβt.
You glance up and heβs already looking at you.Thereβs something different in it.
The usual sharpness is nowhere to be seen, that easy, unreadable confidence he used to wear like it cost him nothing, also not there.
This has a hold in it.
Like heβs been standing there longer than he should have, something he decided to do.
Your grip tightens slightly around your bag.
You wait.So does he.
Thenβ
ββ¦Youβve been leaving early.β
Itβs not what you expect.
His voice is lower than usual. Doesnβt sound careless or thrown out just to fill space.Its Measured.
You blink, caught off guard for half a second.
βI havenβt.β
He nods once, like heβs already thought that through.
βEarlier than before.β
Thereβs no accusation in it.No edge.Just quiet observation.
And the fact that he noticed at all lands heavier than it should.
You shift your weight slightly, eyes flickering away before settling back on him.
βIβve always left like this.β
A small pause.
βMaybe you werenβt paying attention before.βItβs quiet.But it lands.
He doesnβt react the way he used to.No pushback.
Insteadβhis gaze drops briefly, like heβs considering it.
Like he knows itβs true.
ββ¦Yeah,β he says after a moment.
Itβs softer than you expect.
For some reason that unsettles you more than anything else.
The silence stretches again, but itβs not empty.
Thereβs something in it now. Something held too tightly, like it might slip if either of you moves too fast.
He shifts slightly, not stepping closer,but not giving you space either. Like he hasnβt decided which one heβs supposed to do.
βIββ
He stops.Your attention sharpens. Because him hesitating? Is new.
He tries again, slower this time.
ββ¦I didnβt come last week.β
You nod once.
βI know.β
The words come out before you think about them. And the second they do,you feel it.That small slip.
His gaze lifts fully to yours.With no intent of searching or questioning, its just there.
ββ¦You noticed.β It isnβt a question.
You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should.
βI notice things.β
Itβs controlled and Careful ,But itβs not nothing.
He exhales quietly, like something in him eases and tightens at the same time.
βI didnβt think you would.β Thereβs something off in that. Almost as if its uncertain.
You donβt answer immediately. Because that doesnβt match him,none of this does.
βYou still came today,β you say instead.
Itβs a small thing,It shouldnβt matter.But by now you know it does.
His jaw shifts slightly, like heβs holding something back.
βYeah.β
A pause.
βDidnβt want to miss it again.β
The words sit between you. The words are simple but anything but casual or empty.
You stand there for a bit. Because you can hear what he didnβt say. Because it feels like something is trying to reach you,and stopping just short.
You look away first,Of course.
You step past him, keeping just enough distance, your shoulder brushing the air between you but not him.
Stillβ
you feel it.
The way his attention follows.
He doesnβt turn right away.He lets you go.That is in his control.
What isnβtβis everything else.
His chest feels tighter than it should. Not enough to hurt, or so he thinks,but its noticeable.
Because that wasnβt how he meant it to go. He had more.He just couldnβt get it out right.
His hand lifts briefly, dragging through his hair before dropping back down, like heβs trying to shake off something that wonβt leave.
You noticed.Thatβs what stays. Not what you said or how you said it. But That you were paying attention at all. Even now.
And that changes something.
Because it means this isnβt one-sided, it means he didnβt lose it completely.
He exhales slowly, eyes shifting forward before he finally starts walking.
This isnβt enough.He knows that.Not even close to enough.
But itβs the first thing that hasnβt feltβempty.
Sukuna doesnβt just want to be near you.He wants to get it right.
He just doesnβt know how yet,but heβll do what it takes to figure it out.
ββ
The library is quieter than usual.
Calm enough that every small sound feels sharper. Pages turning. Chairs shifting. The low hum of people trying not to disturb each other.
Youβve been here long enough to settle into it , to be focused.Almost.
You donβt notice him at first.
Itβs only when the chair beside you pulls out, not across or behindβ
beside.
That gets your attention. Just slightly.
You donβt look at him immediately. You donβt need to. You already know.
Your fingers still against the page for a second before you turn it. You continue writing. Like nothing changed.
Sukuna sits down slower than he means to. Heβs careful with it. Like heβs aware of the space heβs stepping into.
He doesnβt say anything right away.
The silence stretches.And its different from before,tense.
He glances at you once.Then again.
You donβt look up.
Your focus stays on your notes, your posture steady, controlled,but your pen presses harder than it should.
He notices that.Of course he does.
β..You always sit here?β
Itβs quiet but itβs not casual, like youβd expect from him.
You nod once.
βYes.β
A pause.
βYouβve seen me.β
Itβs not a question. Your hand stops. Just for a second.
Thenβ
ββ¦Iβve seen you everywhere,β you say, before you can stop yourself.
Silence.
You feel it immediately ,What you just admitted.
Your gaze lifts, And heβs already looking at you. Closer this time. Too close to ignore.
Something shifts between you.And its feels so real.
His brows pull together slightly, not in confusion,something else. Something you canβt name yet.
ββ¦I didnβt mean it.β
The words come out before he can adjust them. Your expression changes.
βMean what?β
He exhales slowly, looking away for a second before forcing himself back.
βThe way I said it.β Itβs not a full apology. But itβs not nothing.
Your chest tightens.
this is different.
You donβt respond immediately.
βYou said what you meant.β Your voice is steady but softer than before.
He shakes his head slightly.
βNo.β A beat.
βI said it like it didnβt matter.β
His words hit. Because it did.
You donβt look away this time. And for a secondβ¦neither does he.
The space between you feels smaller. Not physically ,justβ¦closer.
Like something is about to shift into something neither of you knows how to handle.
His hand moves slightly on the table, theyβre not reaching but theyβre closer.
Then stops.
ββ¦It did,β he adds, quieter. thatβs the closest heβs come.
You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Because a part of you,wants to believe him. And thatβs exactly what you donβt trust.
You close your notebook.
βI should go.β
He nods immediately.Too quickly.Like he expected it. Like he knows you wouldnβt want tostay.
βYeah.β
You stand.He doesnβt stop you or reach for you,doesnβt even say another word. Doesnβt say anything else.
But when you walk past, you feel it again.That same thing.
Stronger this time , and you know this time that its not just awareness but something stronger pulling, something which is unfinished.
He doesnβt move for a long moment after you leave.
Because β¦..that was close. Closer than heβs been. Closer than heβs comfortable with. And still its not enough.
His jaw tightens slightly as he looks down at the table.He meant it. Not the words but what he tried to say. And it still came out wrong.
He exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair.
This isnβt something he can force like before ,something he can win by pushing harder. If he does,he loses you again. And,thatβs not something heβs willing to risk anymore.
He just wants to keep this from slipping through his hands again. And maybe thatβs why he starts paying attention to details he wouldβve ignored before.
The crease between your brows when you reread a line too quickly. The way your fingers pause against the page whenever your concentration drifts. The quiet habit you have of tapping your pen twice before continuing your notes.
Tiny things.
The kind of things that settle into him before he realizes heβs memorizing them.
The distance between you changes slowly after that.
He starts sitting closer during lectures, close enough that your shoulder brushes his line of sight whenever you shift in your seat. Somewhere along the way, it stops feeling strange to find him there.
You stop reacting to his presence immediately. Your body no longer stiffens every time he sits beside you, and your gaze doesnβt dart away as quickly when you catch him looking.
The tension remains.It simply changes shape.
One afternoon, you miss part of a lecture while searching through your bag for a pen you swore you packed. By the time you look back up, his notebook is angled slightly toward you.
The missing lines are already there.
Your eyes linger on the page for a second before you copy them down quietly.
When you finish, he pulls the notebook back without comment and continues writing like nothing happened.
Something about that stays with you longer than it should.
Not the gesture itself. The ease of it. The fact that he noticed at all.
You begin expecting him in small ways after that.
A seat occupied before class starts. A familiar presence beside you in the library. The low sound of pages turning a few minutes before the lecture begins.
The awareness settles carefully, slowly enough that you almost miss it happening. Almost. Sukuna notices the shift immediately.
Your guard still exists. He can see it every time your attention catches itself lingering too long. Every time you seem to remember, halfway through a moment, that you should probably pull back.
But you stay. And for him, that changes everything. Because every second you allow him near you feels painfully earned. And every second makes him want to keep earning more.
Somewhere along the line, the space between you changes as well, without either of you acknowledging it.
It shows up in small ways first.
His shoulder ending up close enough to yours during lectures that you become aware of the warmth before you realize why your focus slipped.
You notice it. You stop reacting to it. Thatβs the dangerous part.
youβre reaching into your bag for a pen when your fingers brush against his by accident.
The contact lasts less than a second,your hand stills immediately after. So does his.
Neither of you says anything.
You pull your hand back first, finding the pen a moment later than you should have.
When you finally look up again, his attention is already on the front of the room.
But the grip he has on his own pen has tightened slightly. And for some reason,it came to your notice.
Another time, the lecture hall empties too quickly around you.
You stand at the same moment he does, both of you stepping into the narrow aisle at once. Too close. Your shoulder brushes his chest lightly before either of you can stop it.
The contact is brief.Its barely there.
Still, something in Sukunaβs posture changes instantly, his body going still in a way youβve never seen before.
Like he felt all of it.
You murmur a quiet apology and try to move past him.
His hand lifts instinctively. Not grabbing or holding. Just settling lightly against your waist for half a second to steady you before letting go again.
The touch burns long after itβs gone. You feel it all the way back to your seat. Sukuna feels it longer. Because you didnβt pull away immediately.
You looked at him first. And for one dangerous second neither of you moved.
After that, he becomes more careful with himself.
Ironically, it only makes everything worse. Because now every accidental touch feels deliberate in the moments after.
Every brush of your hand. Every shift of your knee beneath the desk. Every second you remain close instead of creating distance.
And you let it happen. Slowly, reluctant. But enough that the tension between you begins settling into something warmer. Something softer around the edges. Something that almost feels safe.
Thatβs what ruins him.
The way he starts getting used to it. The way he starts waiting for those tiny moments like they mean more than they should. Like theyβre proof that maybe, slowly, youβre letting him back in.
Gojoβs voice carried over half the room effortlessly, something animated and exaggerated spilling out of him while Geto sat across the table looking deeply regrettable about ever responding in the first place. Shoko was barely participating, curled into her chair with a drink in one hand and the expression of someone enduring a long-term inconvenience.
It felt normal. Easy.
The kind of scene you hadnβt realized you missed until you were standing in front of it again.
βThere she is,β Gojo announced the second he noticed you. βThought you died.β
βI was in class.β
βExactly. Suspicious.β
You rolled your eyes softly, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you stepped closer to the table.
Geto gave you a small nod in greeting. Shoko lifted two fingers lazily without looking up from her drink.
And despite yourself,you relaxed.Just a little.
βSit down before he starts crying,β Shoko muttered.
βI cry beautifully,β Gojo said immediately.
βYou cry loudly.β
A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Gojo pointed at you triumphantly. βSee? She likes me.β
βThatβs not what happened.β
βIt basically was.β
You shook your head, still smiling faintly as you moved around the table,then stopped. Because Sukuna was walking toward the group.
Your attention caught instantly. Not intentionally, It just did.
He slowed slightly when he reached the table, gaze flickering toward you first before anyone else. The look lasted maybe a second. Still enough that something low in your chest shifted unexpectedly.
βMove,β he muttered toward Gojo, nudging the empty chair beside you lightly with his foot.
Gojoβs grin appeared immediately.Dangerous.
βOh, this is interesting.β
Sukuna ignored him completely. Which somehow made it worse.
The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out and sat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Not across from you. Beside you.
You became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he was.
The warmth of him settled near your shoulder almost immediately, familiar enough to make your chest tighten before you could stop it.
Gojo looked delighted.
Geto looked like heβs fighting a smirk.
Even Shoko glanced up briefly over the rim of her drink before looking away again like sheβd expected this already. And that unsettled you more than anything else.
Because suddenly it didnβt feel contained anymore. Whatever had been happening between you and Sukuna over the past few weeks had stopped existing only in quiet moments and lingering eye contact, Other people could see it now.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.
Instinctively, your gaze shifted sideways, And found Sukuna already looking at you. Not intensely , not carelessly either its,
Justβ¦.there. Aware.
Like his attention kept settling on you before he realized he was doing it. Like it happened naturally now.
Your breath caught softly.You looked away first.
Conversation drifted around you again after that, easy and overlapping, but your awareness stayed split strangely in two.
Half listening to Gojo argue dramatically about something meaningless. Half aware of Sukuna beside you. Every small movement registered.
The brush of his sleeve near your arm when he reached for a drink. The quiet shift of his posture whenever you spoke. The way his attention flickered toward you before anyone else whenever the group laughed about something.
None of it was obvious. That was the problem.It felt unconscious. And somehow that made it harder to dismiss.
βYouβre quiet,β Gojo said suddenly, looking between the two of you with immediate suspicion.
βSheβs always quiet,β Sukuna answered before you could.
Your eyes lifted immediately.So did Gojoβs brows.
There was something strange about hearing him say it. Not teasing butβ¦familiar. Like heβd spent enough time paying attention to know.
The realization hit harder than it should have.Because he had.
Sukuna seemed to realize it a second later too.
A faint tension pulled briefly through his shoulders before he leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze shifting away.
Gojo looked moments away from losing his mind.
βThis is insane,β he muttered dramatically into his drink.
βPlease shut up,β Shoko sighed.
You tried focusing on the conversation again. It didnβt really work. Because every few seconds, your attention drifted sideways again without permission.
And every timeβ
you found Sukuna already there.
Then Gojo spoke again.
βSo,β he said lazily, stretching back in his chair, βweβre all still alive enough for tomorrow night, right?β
Shoko groaned immediately. βNo.β
βYou say that every time.β
βBecause every time I mean it.β
Geto glanced toward you. βYou coming?β
You blinked once. βComing where?β
βThe party.β
The word settled strangely in your chest. Your gaze shifted toward Sukuna automatically. His expression flattened almost immediately, like he already disliked where the conversation was heading.
βAnd our Frat king here actually agreed to show up.β Gojo continued, far too entertained by this entire situation.
βHistoric moment, honestly.β
The thought caught uncomfortably against everything else that had been building these past few weeks.
The carefulness.The lingering looks. The quiet touches that never seemed intentional until they were over.
And thenβa party.
Crowds. Music. Girls draped across him like before. Like nothing had changed at all. Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Because you suddenly couldnβt tell which version of him was real.
The one beside you now,or the one youβd spent so long trying to forget.
βIβm only showing up because you people wouldnβt shut up about it.β Sukunaβs voice cut through the table quietly.
βYou donβt have to come.β He said to you, carefully.
You looked at him immediately. He was already watching you again. And there was something restrained in his expression now. Almost wary, like he was trying to spare you from something before it happened. The look settled somewhere dangerous beneath your ribs. Because it felt sincere.
And that,that was becoming harder to protect yourself from.
You end up outside one of the campus buildings with Shoko almost by accident, the evening air cooler now, carrying that faint tiredness that settles over campus after sunset. Sheβs leaning against the railing near the vending machines, tapping the bottom of a cigarette pack against her palm while you stand beside her with your bag hanging loosely from your shoulder.
For a while, neither of you says anything. Itβs comfortable enough that the silence doesnβt need fixing.
βYouβve been weird lately,β Shoko says eventually.
You glance at her immediately. βThatβs rich coming from you.β
βIβm always weird. Yours is recent.β
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, looking away toward the dim lights scattered across campus.
βIβm fine.β
Shoko hums softly like she doesnβt believe you for even a second. The image from earlier keeps circling quietly in your head despite yourself.
Flat.Detached.Different. Dangerously easy to believe.
βYouβre thinking about him again,β Shoko says observing you.
Your shoulders tense slightly.
βThat obvious?β
βTo me? Yeah.β
You stare ahead quietly for a moment.
The worst part is that you donβt even know what exactly youβre thinking anymore. Not clearly. Not in a way that makes sense. Because things have changed. You know they have.
You feel it every time he sits beside you without hesitation now. Every time his hand brushes yours and neither of you pulls away quickly enough. Every time his gaze settles on you like itβs become instinct.
And somehow,thatβs exactly what scares you.
βI donβt know what he wants,β you admit finally, quieter this time.
Shoko glances sideways at you.
βNeither does he.β
A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Tired. Brief. Then the silence settles again.
Not awkward. Just thoughtful.
βYou going tomorrow?β Shoko asks after a while.
You already know what she means.
βI wasnβt planning to.β
Shoko finally pulls a cigarette free but doesnβt light it yet, rolling it slowly between her fingers instead.
βYou should.β
You blink once. βWhy?β
She shrugs lightly.
βBecause youβve been orbiting this thing with him for weeks.β
The words land more directly than you expect. Your brows pull together slightly.
βIβm notββ
βYou are.β
Still calm. Still matter-of-fact. Shoko tilts her head back slightly, looking out across campus.
βAnd honestly? Whether heβs miserable or having some identity crisis over you isnβt really the point.β
Your chest tightens unexpectedly at the word miserable. You hate that she notices. Because of course she does.
βThe point,β Shoko continues, βis that youβre allowed to exist outside of whateverβs happening with Sukuna.β
You stay quiet.
βYou donβt have to avoid places because he might be there,β she says. βAnd you definitely donβt have to sit around wondering whether every look means something.β
That one hits a little too accurately. A faint smile pulls at the corner of Shokoβs mouth when she notices your expression.
βGo to the party. Have fun. Ignore him if you want to. Talk to other people. Remember your life doesnβt stop every time Ryomen Sukuna starts acting emotionally constipated.β
You laugh despite yourself. A real one this time. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you stare ahead quietly. Maybe sheβs right.
Maybe youβve spent too much time reading into every glance, every careful touch, every almost-word like they carried more meaning than they should. Maybe going would finally settle it one way or another.
βI guess I could go for a little while,β you murmur eventually.
Shoko snorts softly beside you.
βThatβs the closest thing to recklessness Iβve ever heard from you.β
You roll your eyes lightly, but a small smile stays on your face this time.
And somewhere deep down,beneath all the hesitation and caution and doubt a quieter thought lingers.
You want to see him there.
ββ-
The party swallows you in pieces.
First the music. Then the heat. Then the blur of bodies moving through colored light like the whole house is breathing around you.
For a moment, you linger near the entrance beside Shoko, fingers curled around a drink you havenβt touched yet while people brush past your shoulders laughing too loudly, already drunk enough to lean into each other without caring.
Rain taps steadily against the windows outside, soft beneath the bass vibrating through the walls.
You tell yourself to relax. To stop thinking so much.
βYou look like youβre preparing for war,β Shoko says beside you.
βIβm standing.β
βYouβre standing aggressively.β
You glare weakly at her over the rim of your cup.
Shoko only snorts softly before glancing around the room.
βYou know, normal people usually come to parties to enjoy themselves.β
βI am enjoying myself.β
βYouβve looked at the door six times.β
Heat crawls unpleasantly into your chest.
Because the worst part is, you hadnβt realized you were doing it. Not consciously.
Your attention just keeps shifting every few minutes before you can stop it. Toward the hallway. Toward the stairs. Toward every flicker of pink hair moving through crowded rooms before disappointment settles quietly afterward.
You hate it.The automaticness of it. The way some part of you keeps waiting anyway. You came here for yourself. You remind yourself that immediately.
Because Shoko was right.
Your life shouldnβt tighten around Sukuna every time he enters it. You shouldnβt still be carrying him around inside your head this heavily after everything.
Tonight was supposed to prove that. That you could still exist somewhere he existed too and remain untouched by it.
And maybe, if you were being honest, some quieter part of you wanted to know if heβd look for you too.
The thought settles heavily enough that you immediately shove it away.
Gojo appears before you can spiral further. Naturally.
βThere she is!β he announces dramatically, nearly sloshing his drink onto both of you as he throws an arm around your shoulder. βI knew you secretly wanted to comeβ
βYou invited me three hours ago.β
βAnd yet you still came. Beautiful character development.β
A laugh escapes you despite yourself. Real enough that it surprises even you.
βSheβs been here five minutes and youβre yelling.β
βIβm creating atmosphere.β
βYouβre creating public disturbance.β
The night gets easier after that slowly.
You let yourself get pulled into conversations instead of standing quietly at the edges of them. You argue with Gojo about something stupid enough that halfway through neither of you even remembers what side you were defending anymore. Someone drags you into a blurry group photo you definitely didnβt agree to.
And somewhere along the way, the tightness inside your chest starts loosening. Not completely, Never completely. Because Sukuna still exists in every corner of your awareness whether you want him there or not.
Every low laugh behind you makes your attention shift instinctively before your brain catches up. Every tall figure moving through crowds pulls at your focus for half a second first.
You keep wondering if heβs seen you yet. You hate that you keep wondering.
But eventually even that begins softening beneath the warmth of the night around you.
Shoko disappears somewhere upstairs. Gojo gets distracted by literally everything at once. Rain crashes harder outside now, silver streaks racing down dark windows while thunder rumbles faintly overhead.
And for the first time in weeks,you breathe. Actually breathe.
Maybe this is what you needed. Maybe Shoko was right, whatever has been. happening between you and Sukuna lately doesnβt have to consume every part of you. You can exist around him without unraveling,perhaps.
And beneath all those thoughtsβanother one slips in quietly.
You want to see him tonight. Not for closure or for any answers. Just to know if heβll look at you the same way he has lately. Like something in him shifts every time you enter a room. Like he feels this too.
Your chest tightens around the realization.
Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being afraid of wanting him.
And started being afraid he might not want you back in the same devastating way.
The thought is still sitting low beneath your ribs when your attention shifts suddenly. No reason.Just instinct.
Your eyes lift across the room, and find him immediately.
Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.
Sukuna stands near the open patio doors, rain-heavy air curling into the house around him while dim gold light cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. His dark shirt clings slightly at the collar like heβs already stepped outside once tonight, pink hair damp near the edges from rainwater.
And even from here,he looks restless. He doesnβt seem drunk or entertained, like the Sukuna everyone else sees at parties.
His gaze moves distractedly through the crowd, shoulders tense beneath the flashing lights like heβs searching for something without fully realizing it.
And suddenly, your chest softens.
Because some horrible, hopeful part of you wonders if heβs been looking for you too.
The thought lands gently.Deeply.
Enough that your pulse stumbles around it.
Then someone stumbles into him. A girl.
At first, you barely react. People have been colliding into each other all night ,but she doesnβt move away after.
She grabs onto his arm laughing breathlessly, body swaying slightly from alcohol as she nearly slips near the wet patio entrance. Sukuna catches her automatically before she falls, one hand circling briefly around her waist while the other steadies her wrist.
Your stomach drops. The girl laughs again getting closer this time.
Her fingers slide upward slowly against the chain resting near his collarbone while she leans toward him, saying something near his ear with the kind of easy familiarity that makes your chest tighten instantly.
Sukunaβs brows pull together immediately. Not softened or amused.He looks Distracted. Like he barely even registers what sheβs saying.
His hand stays at her waist only long enough to steady her before it loosens again, attention already shifting elsewhere through the crowded room.
But from where youβre standing that distinction barely matters. Because suddenly it all comes rushing back at once.
Every party you ever saw him at before this.
Girls draped across him effortlessly. Lipstick-stained glasses. Hands touching him like everyone already knew heβd let them.
The version of him that never belonged to anyone long enough to matter.
Your throat burns violently. And the worst part?
For weeks now,you let yourself forget. You let yourself believe in quieter things instead.
Library tables.Lingering eye contact. The warmth of his hand steadying your waist.
The way his gaze softened around you lately before he even realized it was happening.
The almost apology in the library.The carefulness.
God.
The carefulness ruined you most. Because you believed it. You actually, genuinely started believing he meant it.
Your eyes sting immediately.
Hot enough that you blink hard against it on instinct. Because standing here now, watching another girl lean into him while rain crashes outside the windows and music drowns the room around youβ
you suddenly feel unbearably stupid.
Not angry.Not even jealous.
Humiliated.
Like every hopeful thing you carried carefully these past few weeks existed only because you wanted it to. Because you kept mistaking scraps of softness for something real.
The girl says something else, leaning closer into his space.
Sukuna looks like heβs about to answer when his gaze shifts absently over her shoulder instead, restless, searchingβ
Then stops,
On you.
Everything in him stops,like the world stopped. You see it happen in real time,the confusion first,then recognition.
Then absolute fucking horror crashing across his face so fast it almost doesnβt look real. His hand drops from the girl immediately like the contact burns him alive.
The color drains from his face. His entire body goes rigid. Because he knows.
He knows exactly what this looks like. Exactly what youβre thinking. Exactly what just shattered inside you.
βWaitββ
The word rips out of him rough enough that several people nearby actually turn. The desperation clear in his voice.
The girl beside him startles when Sukuna jerks completely away from her now, attention locked entirely onto you with something frantic breaking apart behind his eyes.
Like heβs watching a car crash happen in slow motion and canβt stop it. But itβs already too late. Because something inside you has broken open completely. And suddenly you canβt breathe in this room anymore. Canβt stand inside his world another second.
Not where you let yourself believe, even briefly, that maybe this time, maybe this time he was finally reaching for you the way youβd been reaching for him all along.
You turn before he can get to you.
Rain crashes violently outside as you shove through the crowd toward the front door, pulse hammering painfully beneath your skin while behind you-
you hear Sukuna calling your name.
And for the first time since you met himβ
Ryomen Sukuna sounds terrified.
ββ
Sukuna doesnβt think.
The second you turn away from him, something primal tears through his chest so violently it almost knocks the breath out of him.
Pure panic.
Heβs moving before the girl beside him even finishes reacting.
Her hand slips from his sleeve as he jerks away from her completely, eyes already locked on the space where you disappeared through the crowd.
βWait, Sukuna, I was justββ
He doesnβt hear the rest.Doesnβt even register her voice.
Because all he saw, all he can still fucking see β¦is your face. The look in your eyes. It wasnβt anger. He couldβve handled anger, You yelling at him,Hating him,Slapping him across the face. Anything.
But that lookβ
Like something inside you had quietly given up. Like every fragile thing heβd spent weeks trying to rebuild between you collapsed in a single second.
Like you finally regretted believing him. Fear hits him so hard it borders on nausea.
People turn as he shoves through the crowded house, shoulders slamming hard enough into strangers to send drinks splashing onto the floor. Someone curses at him. Someone says his name.
Gojo maybe, maybe Toji, He doesnβt know.
Nothing matters except getting to you before that look settles permanently into your eyes.
Rain crashes against him violently the second he steps outside. Cold enough to sting. Heavy enough to soak through his clothes instantly.
His eyes search frantically down the street before he finds you halfway across the sidewalk, walking too fast through the storm with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like youβre physically trying to hold your chest together.
And something inside him fucking caves in. Because youβre crying. Not loudly, or dramatically but,
Worse.
Silent.
Your shoulders shake once beneath the rain before you wipe harshly at your face, still moving like if you stop for even a second youβll completely break apart.
And Sukuna,
Sukuna has never felt terror like this before. Because this is his fault.
Not the girl. Not the party.
This.
You hurting like this because he was too late. Too stupid. Too fucking blind to realize how fragile your trust in him still was.
βHeyββ
His voice comes out wrecked and its barely recognizable.
You donβt stop walking.Panic claws viciously through his chest. Sharp enough to hurt.
He catches up quickly, shoes splashing hard against flooded pavement before instinct takes over completely and his hand closes around your wrist.
His touch is Warm,desperate,shaking slightly.
You gasp softly as he pulls you back before you can slip against the slick pavement, your soaked body colliding lightly against his chest for half a second before you stumble back again.
But not before he feels it. How badly youβre trembling.
And God.
That nearly fucking destroys him on the spot.
Rain pours violently between both of you now, thunder cracking somewhere overhead while water streams endlessly down Sukunaβs face, his hair plastered against his forehead, his chest heaving unevenly beneath a shirt soaked through completely.
And for a second,he just stares at you. Because you look heartbroken. Painfully heartbroken. Your eyes are red beneath the rain. Your lashes clumped together with tears and water.
Your mouth trembling slightly every few seconds like youβre trying so hard to stay composed and failing anyway.
The sight tears something open inside him so violently he almost physically recoils from it.
Because he did this. He did this to you.
And suddenly Sukuna realizes with horrifying clarity that he would rather let someone carve him open alive than have you look at him like this again.
βIt wasnβtββ His voice catches hard.
His voice catches hard.
Too many things trying to come out at once. He tries again immediately.
βIt wasnβt like that.β
You laugh softly. And the sound absolutely fucking ruins him. Because it sounds exhausted. Humiliated.Like youβre trying not to completely fall apart in front of him.
βPlease donβt,β you whisper.
Rainwater drips endlessly from your lashes as you look away from him, jaw tightening hard enough to shake.
βI canβt do this right now.β
Sukunaβs chest caves inward so violently he physically steps closer without meaning to.
Because you sound done. Not angry. Done.
βNo.β
The word leaves him instantly in such panic. Desperate,Almost pleading.
βNo, donβtβ donβt fucking say it like that.β
You finally look at him again. And, heβs losing you. He can feel it happening in real time. Like sand slipping violently through his hands no matter how hard he tries to hold on.
βShe grabbed onto me,β he says immediately, voice uneven in a way heβs never heard from himself before. βI wasnβt even fucking paying attention to her.β
Rainwater drips from his jaw as he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair.
βI was looking for you.β
Your breath catches. Tiny.
And suddenly heβs talking too fast, panic ripping every sentence out before he can think.
βIβve been looking for you all fucking night,β he says roughly. βThatβs why I kept looking around. I didnβt even realize she was talking to me untilββ
His voice breaks violently.
βUntil you looked at me like that.β
Your throat moves sharply as you swallow. But your expression doesnβt soften and somehow that terrifies him more than if you screamed.
βOkay,β you whisper.
Okay. Thats all you say.
The word hits him like a knife straight through the chest. Because it doesnβt sound like belief. It sounds like surrender. Like youβre already trying to kill your feelings for him before they hurt you worse.
βNo.β
He steps closer immediately. Too close now. Close enough that your rain-soaked breaths mix between both of you.
βDonβt say it like that.β
Your composure finally cracks then.Not dramatically but if thereβs something Worse than that.
Your face crumples slightly before you look away again, one shaking breath leaving you hard enough that Sukunaβs chest physically aches hearing it.
βThen how am I supposed to say it?β you ask quietly, voice breaking apart. βHow am I supposed to react to this?β
Sukuna freezes Because there it is. Not jealousy. Not anger. But pain.
Raw enough that it strips him open instantly.
βYou know what the worst part is?β you whisper, eyes burning now despite the rain washing endlessly down your face. βI actually started believing you.β
Something inside Sukuna shatters completely.
βYou looked at me likeβ¦β Your voice breaks so hard you stop speaking entirely for a second, shaking your head once like you hate yourself for even admitting this. βGod, you looked at me like I mattered to you.β
βYou do.β
The answer leaves him violently fast.
Immediate ,Like breathing ,as if him not saying it fast enough would make it worse. Your eyes widen at his words slightly.
And Sukuna steps closer again before he can stop himself, hands hovering helplessly near your arms like he wants to hold you together physically but is terrified youβll pull away.
βYou do,β he says again, rougher this time, rain soaking through every word. βYou matter so fucking much itβs driving me insane.β
Your breath catches sharply. And suddenly Sukuna canβt stop anymore. Weeks of restraint split open all at once.
βI canβt fucking sleep anymore,β he admits, voice wrecked now. βEvery room I walk into, I look for you first.β
Rain streams endlessly down his face while his eyes stay locked desperately onto yours.
βI sat through that stupid fucking party hoping youβd show up.β
Something in your chest twist sharply.
βAnd when you didβ¦β His voice catches roughly. βFuck.β
He laughs once in disbelief Like even now he canβt believe how badly this has ruined him.
βYou looked so beautiful tonight I couldnβt fucking think straight.β
The confession lands between both of you like lightning. Its raw, ugly and honest .
βAnd then you looked at me like thatββ
His voice cracks completely this time. Actually cracks. Like he physically cannot survive replaying that moment again.
Before you can reactβ
he drops.
Straight onto his knees against the flooded pavement. The sound of it shocks you visibly.
βSukunaββ
βI donβt care.β
His voice is wrecked now. Absolutely wrecked.
Rain pours over him mercilessly while he looks up at you from the ground like heβs watching his entire life walk away from him in real time.
And maybe he is.
βI donβt care if this is pathetic,β he says hoarsely. βI donβt care if I look fucking insane right now.β
Your chest tightens painfully. Because Sukuna never begs. Never. But he is now.
βYou can yell at me,β he says, breathing unevenly. βYou can hate me if you want to. But donβt stand there and tell yourself none of this was real.β
His voice breaks hard around the last sentence.
And suddenly he looksβ¦something which isnβt,arrogant like his usual self, he looks β¦ terrified.
βI meant every fucking thing,β he says desperately. βEvery look. Every touch. Every second.β
Your composure visibly splinters then.
A shaky breath leaves you as your hand rises instinctively toward your mouth.
And Sukunaβs expression crumples completely the second he realizes youβre crying harder now.
βFuck,β he whispers brokenly, like the sound physically hurts him. βBaby, please donβt cry.β
The nickname slips out accidentally.
Raw. Unthinking. And somehow that ruins you even more. Because Sukuna is kneeling in the middle of the storm looking at you like losing you would destroy him completely
Rain crashes endlessly around both of you. Cold water streams down Sukunaβs face, soaks through his clothes, drips from his lashes every time he looks up at you from the pavement beneath your feet.
Still, he doesnβt move. Doesnβt even seem aware of the storm anymore. The only thing he sees is you.
Shaking. Crying. Looking at him like heβs broken something fragile beyond repair.
And itβs killing him.
βSukunaβ you whisper shakily.
He looks up immediately.Like your voice physically pulls at him.
βStand up.β
He shakes his head once instantly. Small.Desperate.
βI canβt lose you.β
The words leave him before he can stop them. Raw enough that your breath catches.
Rainwater slides down the sharp line of his jaw while he stares at you like heβs drowning in front of you and doesnβt care who sees it.
And suddenly he looks nothing like the Sukuna everyone else knows. No arrogance. No control ,just fear.
βSukuna,β you say again, voice cracking harder this time. βStand up.β
Slowly,hesitant enough,he does.
But the second heβs close again, your hand presses hard against his chest instinctively. Holding space there.
Keeping him from getting any closer before you completely lose yourself in him again. Your fingers fist weakly into his soaked shirt.
Sukuna looks down at them like the contact alone nearly destroys him.
βYou donβt get to do this to me,β you whisper.
Rainwater clings to your lashes while your voice trembles apart more with every word.
βYou donβt get to look at me like Iβm everything to you and then make me feel this replaceable.β
Sukuna physically flinches. Like the words hit somewhere deep enough to bruise.
βYou think I wanted her there?β he asks roughly.
Your jaw tightens immediately.
βThatβs not the point.β
βI know itβs not the fucking point.β
His voice breaks suddenly. Violently. And that shocks both of you into silence for half a second. Because Sukuna never sounds like this. Never.
Rain crashes harder around both of you while he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair, chest rising unevenly like breathing itself hurts now.
βYou know what the problem is?β he says hoarsely. βI donβt know how to do this right.β
Your eyes flicker toward him again despite yourself.
βI donβt know how to stand in front of you without feeling like everything Iβve ever been is suddenly disgusting.β
The confession lands hard between both of you because its Ugly and honest.
βYou look at me now and I can see you trying so hard to trust me again.β His voice roughens further. βAnd every fucking second Iβm terrified Iβm gonna ruin it.β
Something in your chest twists painfully.
βYou think I donβt know what people say about me?β he laughs once softly.
Thereβs no humour in it.
βTheyβre right.β
You shake your head immediately. But Sukuna keeps going before you can stop him.
βNo, listen to me.β His eyes lock onto yours desperately. βI spent years acting like none of this mattered. None of them mattered. Drinking too much, sleeping around, acting like I didnβt give a shit about anything because it was easier thanβ¦β His voice catches hard. βThan feeling something real.β
Your grip tightens involuntarily against his chest.
βAnd then you happened.β
The words leave him quietly this time.Almost disbelieving. Like even now he canβt fully understand what you did to him.
βAnd suddenly I couldnβt breathe properly every time you looked at me.β
Your breath catches sharply.
βI started noticing everything.β His voice shakes. βThe way you play with your rings when youβre nervous. The way your face changes when youβre trying not to smile. The way you always look for everyone else before yourself.β
Rain drips endlessly from his chin while his eyes stay completely fixed on you.
βI tried so hard not to want you this badly.β
The honesty in his voice hurts , it hurts so much.
βBut you kept getting under my skin anyway.β He laughs again softly, devastated this time. βAnd then one day I realized I was rearranging my entire fucking life around the chance of being near you for ten minutes.β
Your composure visibly cracks.
βI stopped going to parties because they felt empty without you there.β His voice lowers roughly. βI sat in classrooms I didnβt care about because you were in them.β
Tears mix endlessly with rain on your face now. Sukuna notices every single one. And it destroys him more each time.
βWhen you stopped talking to meβ¦β His throat moves sharply.
βFuck.β
He looks away for the first time. Only for a second. Like the memory physically hurts to touch.
βI thought that was it,β he admits quietly. βThought I finally pushed too far and lost the only person Iβve ever looked at and thoughtβ¦β
His voice breaks completely. You stare at him with your heart hammering.
Sukuna swallows hard, eyes finding yours again with something unbearably vulnerable split wide open inside them.
βThe only person Iβve ever wanted to be better for.β
Something inside you caves inward violently.
βAnd tonightββ His breathing turns uneven again.
βWhen you looked at me like thatβ¦β
He presses a shaking hand briefly against his own chest like he physically canβt steady whatβs happening inside it.
βI swear to God it felt like someone ripped my fucking heart out.β
Your eyes sting harder instantly.
βYou wanna know why I panicked?β he whispers.
He steps closer despite your hand still against his chest. Not enough to overpower you. Just enough that warmth collides between your soaked bodies again.
βBecause I knew exactly what you saw.β
Your breath trembles.
βYou saw every reason you ever had not to trust me standing right in front of you again.β His voice cracks hard. βAnd I couldnβt fucking survive knowing I put that look in your eyes.β
The storm roars around both of you. Neither of you notices anymore.
βYou donβt understand what youβve become to me,β Sukuna whispers brokenly. βYou walk into a room and suddenly everything else disappears.β
Your hand tightens in his shirt. Instinctively.
βAnd yeah,β he laughs softly again, devastated. βMaybe this is pathetic.β
His eyes burn into yours.
βBut Iβd rather kneel in the rain begging for you than spend one more second pretending I donβt belong completely to you already.β
Sukunaβs words hang between both of you beneath the storm. Heavy. Breathless. Still vibrating somewhere deep inside your chest. For a second, neither of you move.
Rain crashes endlessly around you, soaking through everything, thunder rumbling low somewhere above the city while your pulse pounds so hard it almost hurts.
And suddenly, you realize Sukuna is shaking. Your hand is still twisted tightly in the front of his soaked shirt, fingers trembling against his chest while he looks at you like heβs waiting for the final blow. Like he genuinely believes you might still walk away. And somehow that hurts worse than anything else tonight.
βSukunaβ¦β you whisper.
His eyes close briefly at the sound of his name in your voice. Like it physically wounds him. You hate this. You hate him. You hate the terrifying amount of power he has over your heart.
βI hate you,β you whisper shakily.
The words collapse halfway through because neither of you believes them anymore. Something helpless flickers across his face. Not defensive or angry. Just devastated.
βI know.β
Your throat burns harder instantly. Because he sounds like heβd let you.
Like heβd stand here and let you destroy him if thatβs what you needed.
You shake your head sharply.
βNo, you donβt.β
Rainwater slips down your cheeks endlessly now, your breathing uneven and fragile while Sukuna watches you with complete, terrifying attention.
βYou donβt understand how terrifying this is for me,β you admit finally.
And there it is.The truth. Raw and shaking between both of you.
Sukunaβs expression crumples instantly. Because suddenly he understands. This was never about another girl. This was about you finally allowing yourself to hope. And thinking he destroyed it.
βI know,β he says again, rougher this time. βI know I fucked this up, I know I scared you, I know Iβve given you every reason not to trust me butββ
His voice breaks hard.
βBut please donβt give up on me nowβ
The plea nearly destroys you. Because Sukuna never asks for anything.Never. And yet here he is in the middle of a storm looking at you like youβre the only thing keeping him alive.
Your composure finally gives out completely. A broken sound leaves your throat before you can stop it, fingers tightening harder in his shirt as tears mix violently with rain against your face.
And the second Sukuna sees it, something inside him snaps.
He stands abruptly. Not to leave but to catch you. His hands find your waist instantly, careful for all of half a second before he pulls you against him like he physically cannot survive another inch of distance between you.
You gasp softly against his chest.Warm. Solid. Shaking just as badly as you are.
βSukunaββ
βIβm sorry,β he says immediately.
The words spill out against your wet hair desperately, uneven and wrecked. βIβm so fucking sorry.β
Your chest aches violently. Because he means it. Every single word.
βI didnβt know how bad this got,β he admits roughly, hands tightening at your waist. βI didnβt realize how much of you I already had until I thought I lost it.β
Your eyes squeeze shut instantly.
βAnd you have me,β you whisper brokenly before you can stop yourself.
The confession hangs there. Both of you freezing slightly beneath the rain. Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you. And the expression on his face absolutely ruins you. Because he looks stunned. Like nobody has ever handed him something this precious before.
βYou canβt say shit like that to me right now,β he whispers hoarsely.
Your breath catches sharply.
βWhy?β
A broken laugh leaves him. Wrecked.
βBecause Iβm already one second away from losing my fucking mind over you.β
And suddenly you canβt take it anymore. Not the way heβs looking at you. Not the honesty splitting him wide open. Not the unbearable tenderness underneath all that desperation.
So you kiss him.
Your hands slide into his soaked hair before you pull him down toward you hard enough that his breath catches violently against your mouth.
And for one stunned heartbeat, Sukuna freezes. Like he canβt believe this is happening. Like he thought you were about to leave him here instead.
Then he kisses you back. And it isnβt smooth , Isnβt polished. Its desperate. Weeks of restraint collapse between you all at once beneath pouring rain and shaking breaths.
Sukuna kisses like heβs starving.
Like every quiet look and lingering touch and swallowed confession finally shattered open inside him at once.
And God, the sound he makes against your mouth nearly breaks you apart completely. Because it sounds relieved.
His hands slide up your back instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer while rain pours endlessly over both of you. You can feel his heart hammering violently through his chest.
Feel the way he keeps holding you like heβs terrified youβll disappear if he loosens his grip. When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you gets far.
Your foreheads stay pressed together, breaths tangled, eyes still half closed while the storm rages around you unnoticed.
And finally in the entire night, the panic inside Sukuna finally starts settling. Only slightly. Just enough to breathe again.
βI meant everythingβ he says quietly .
Your eyes open slowly. Sukuna looks wrecked still.
βI know,β you whisper back this time.
And the relief that floods his face is so raw it almost makes you cry again. A quiet laugh escapes you suddenly through the remains of tears.
Youβre an idiot.β
Sukuna huffs out the faintest laugh against your forehead.
βYeah,β he murmurs. βProbably.β
Rainwater drips from his lashes while his thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, wiping away tears even though more immediately replace them.
The touch is impossibly careful. Like he still canβt believe heβs allowed to hold you like this.
Then quieter he says,
βSo donβt scare me like that again.β
You blink at him in disbelief. A laugh escapes you despite everything.
βYouβre blaming me?β
βNo.β His arms tighten instantly around your waist again. βIβm saying I almost fucking died.β
The dramatic sincerity in his voice makes another wet laugh break from your chest. And Sukuna stares at the sound like he wants to memorize it forever.
The storm hasnβt softened yet. Neither have your feelings. Neither have your feelings or hurt.
But for the first time in a while, neither of you is running from it anymore.
Sukuna presses one last lingering kiss against your forehead before resting his against yours again, eyes finally closing properly this time.
And standing there beneath pouring rain with your heart still shaking violently inside your chest,
you realize something quietly. Youβve never seen Ryomen Sukuna look more terrified. Or more in love.
ββ-
The storm still crashes endlessly around you, rain soaking through your clothes, dripping from tangled lashes and trembling fingers, but somehow it feels farther away now.
Muted.
Like everything narrowed down to this one moment instead. To him.
Sukuna keeps his forehead pressed against yours, breathing unevenly while his arms stay locked around your waist like heβs still scared youβll disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.
And Maybe he is.
Your heartbeat hasnβt settled yet. Neither has his. You can still feel it hammering violently through his chest every time your body shifts against his.
Still feel the occasional tremor running through his hands when they tighten unconsciously at your back.
Then quietly, almost too low beneath the rain, he says,
βIβm sorry.β
The words land differently this time. Because the words arenβt out of panic, but honesty.
Sukunaβs eyes close briefly, lashes wet against his cheeks while he exhales shakily through his nose.
βFor all of it.β
Your eyes sting immediately. Sukuna notices.
βFuck,β he whispers softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye carefully. βDonβt cry again, baby, Iβm hanging on by a thread here.β
A watery laugh escapes you despite yourself.
And the relief that floods Sukunaβs face at the sound of it is almost unbearable to look at.
Like hearing you laugh again physically brought him back to life.
The storm softens slightly after that. Not fully.
But enough that the rain becomes steadier instead of violent, washing quietly through empty streets shining gold beneath streetlights.
You finally become aware of how cold you are.
Your clothes cling heavily to your skin now, fingers stiff from rain while your entire body shivers suddenly beneath Sukunaβs hands.
His expression changes instantly.
βYouβre freezing.β
βIβm fine.β
βYouβre shivering.β
βYouβre also shivering.β
βDoesnβt matter.β
You stare at him tiredly.
βYouβre impossible.β
βAnd youβre cold.β
Before you can argue again, Sukuna is already shrugging off his soaked jacket despite the rain still falling lightly around both of you.
You blink immediately.
βSukuna, thatβs literally worse.β
βI donβt care.β
βYouβll freeze.β
βI said I donβt care.β
The jacket settles around your shoulders anyway, still warm somehow despite the storm. And your chest aches quietly at the gesture. Because old Sukuna wouldnβt have noticed. Wouldnβt have cared enough to.
This Sukuna does.
You just stand there beneath dim streetlights while rainwater drips steadily around your feet.
And then, Sukuna reaches for your hand.
Heβs careful, no confidence just care. Like heβs still asking permission. Your fingers slide into his before he can second-guess himself. And even such a small gesture makes his breath hitch.
The walk back is quiet. Not awkward. Just soft.
The frat house comes into view slowly through the rain after that, lights still glowing warm behind fogged windows while distant music hums faintly from somewhere inside.
For a second, your steps slow down, he sees that.
His fingers tighten around yours slightly.
βYou okay?β
Your eyes linger on the house quietly.
This place used to feel like proof that you could never have him properly.
Too many stories attached to it. Too many girls. Too many nights where Sukuna belonged to everyone except himself.
But tonight, standing here soaked through while his hand holds yours so carefully it almost hurts,
the feeling is different.
βYeah,β you whisper finally.
And Sukunaβs shoulders loosen so subtly.
The second you step inside, warmth wraps around your skin hard enough to sting. The party has mostly died now.
Music still hums quietly somewhere downstairs, low conversations drifting through the house alongside the smell of alcohol and rain-damp clothes.
Gojo looks up first from the kitchen island. Then pauses dramatically. His eyes flick toward your joined hands. Then your soaked clothes.
Then Sukuna standing absurdly close beside you like heβs terrified distance might happen again if he allows it.
Silence.
βOh my God,β Gojo breathes.
Shoko looks up from the couch immediately afterward.
One glance at both of you and understanding settles across her face instantly.
βYou cried and fixed your lives in the rain, didnβt you?β Gojo whispers dramatically.
βShut the fuck up,β Sukuna says immediately.
But his grip on your hand tightens instinctively afterward.
And Shoko nearly smiles into her drink. Nearly.
βCalled it,β she mutters quietly.
Geto looks deeply exhausted by all of you.
Heat creeps unexpectedly into your face which doesnβt go unnoticed by sukuna. And before anyone can continue further, his hand settles gently against your lower back.
Protectively, guiding you toward the stairs.
The walk upstairs feels strangely intimate now.
The frat house quieter here, distant bass fading beneath rain tapping softly against windows while Sukuna keeps glancing back at you every few seconds like he still needs visual confirmation youβre following him.
And suddenly,you realize heβs nervous. That realization nearly ruins you all over again.
Because Ryomen Sukuna can beg in the rain, confess his feelings with his heart practically bleeding out of his chest,
and still look scared bringing you into his room.
Sukunaβs room is warm. Warmer than the rest of the house somehow. Maybe because itβs quieter here.
No flashing lights. No shouting. No chaos vibrating through the walls.
Just soft rain against the windows and the faint sound of both your breathing still trying to settle after everything.
The door clicks shut behind you.
Sukuna just stands there staring at you like he still hasnβt fully recovered from the fact that you followed him upstairs willingly.
That you stayed.
Then his expression tightens suddenly.
βYouβre still freezing.β
Before you can answer, heβs already moving.
βSit,β he says, grabbing a towel from somewhere near his closet.
You blink once.
βYou sound bossy for someone who cried in public ten minutes ago.β
Sukuna pauses mid-step. Looks at you completely seriously.
βIβll cry again.β
A startled laugh escapes you instantly.
And the relief that flashes across his face at the sound of it is almost embarrassing in its intensity.
Like hearing you laugh physically keeps him alive now.
You settle onto the edge of his bed while Sukuna kneels in front of you again, towel draped carefully over your head before he starts drying your hair with surprising gentleness.
The intimacy of it nearly undoes you. Because Sukuna touches you now like heβs aware you can bruise.
βYou really got on your knees in the middle of the street,β you mumble again while he works carefully through damp strands.
He exhales quietly through his nose.
βYeah i didβ
βYeah?β
You glance down at him finally.
His pink hair still damp. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Eyes softer than youβve ever seen them before.
βYou looked one second away from proposing.β
That actually gets a laugh out of him. Its small and rough around the edges but its real.
βWouldβve if you kept walking away.β
Your chest tightens painfully at how honest he says it. No ego. Just truth.
βYouβre insane,β you whisper.
Sukunaβs hands still briefly in your hair.
βProbably.β
He disappears for a moment after that before returning with one of his hoodies.
Black. Too big. Still warm from the dryer somehow.
βPut this on.β
You take it slowly, fingers brushing his accidentally. Sukunaβs breath catches so softly you almost miss it.
Almost.
By the time you finish changing in his bathroom, the rain outside has softened into a quiet steady rhythm against the windows.
When you step back into his room wearing his hoodie, Sukuna looks up from where heβs sitting against the headboard.
And completely freezes.
Your stomach flips instantly beneath the intensity of his stare.
βWhat?β
Sukuna blinks once like heβs trying to recover from a thought.
Then he says,
βNothing.β
A beat.
βYou just look really good in my clothes.β
Heat crawls immediately into your face.
βYouβre annoying.β
βYou love it.β
The words leave him easily. Then suddenly both of you go quiet. Because that means something different now. His expression softens afterward.
Like heβs still getting used to the idea that heβs finally allowed to say things like that openly.
βCβmere,β he says quietly after a moment.
You go without hesitation.
And Sukuna visibly melts the second you settle against him. Actually melts.
His arms wrap around you carefully at first before tightening slowly, like heβs still convincing himself this is real.
Your head rests against his chest while the steady sound of his heartbeat fills the quiet room between rainfall and distant music downstairs.
And for the first time in weeks, neither of you feels restless.
Sukuna presses a lingering kiss against the top of your head.
Then another. Like he canβt stop.
βYou know,β you mumble sleepily against his chest after a while, βGojoβs never letting you live this down.β
Sukuna groans softly above you.
βIβll kill him tomorrow.β
βYou cried in the rain for me.β
βI said donβt tell people that.β
A tired laugh slips from your chest.
And Sukunaβs arms tighten around you immediately at the sound.
Silence settles softly after that and this time its Warm.
Outside, the storm finally passes.
Inside, Sukuna keeps one arm around your waist while his fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin beneath oversized sleeves.
Still touching you like heβs afraid this might disappear by morning.
But it wonβt.
And this time,
when he reaches for you,
you reach back. β‘
note:AHHHH i know that this took so long, but i didnβt want to rush it, i needed some time to think because i wanted it to be as realistic as it can be π
Also thank you to the reader who gave me the idea for the rain scene in the comments in the previous part. This is the last part but Iβll post some drabbles for this couple <3 it was so hard to fit 12k words in one post omg , tell me what you think??
synopsis: Sukuna doesnβt fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because youβre different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortableβ¦ until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.
Only this time,you donβt chase. You donβt fight. You justβ¦ disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizesβheβs not done with you.Even if youβre done with him.
So will he learn to live with it⦠or do whatever it takes to make it right?
Wc: 5k!
Warnings: Sukuna is CRUEL, sukuna being a typical fratboy,reader insecurity, suggestive ,ANGST, sukuna gets close then leaves, reader catching feelings implied, heartbreak, ghosting behaviour, confrontation scene, soft reader, avoidance, Sukuna being verbally mean. Sukuna has unknown feelings which he realises late.
Ch 1 , Ch 2 ch3
The music was loud enough to feel before it could be heard.
It pulsed through the walls, through the floorboards, through the cheap plastic cups stacked along the kitchen counter. The music bled into everything, turning voices into fragments, laughter disappeared as quickly as they came. The frat house was already too full, bodies packed,heat clinging to skin, alcohol thick in the air.
And somewhere in the middle of it,
Sukuna stood like he belonged to it.
He wasn't lost in it...ever.
Part of it in a way that felt⦠intentional.
His back rested against the kitchen counter, one hand loosely wrapped around a bottle he hadnβt bothered to set down, the other braced behind him as people moved around without asking for space. They adjusted instead. Leaned away, curved around him, made room without thinking.
It had always been like that.
Effortless.
There was a girl pressed close to his side, laughing at something heβd said a minute ago or maybe a few. Her hand slid up his arm, fingers tracing over the ink that disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt, lingering there like she expected him to react.
He didnβt.
Not like he needed to.
He glanced at her, just enough to acknowledge her presence, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, sharp-edged smirk that gave people exactly what they wanted without offering anything real.
βYouβre not even listening to me,β she complained, though there was no real irritation in it.
Youβre not even listening to me,β she complained, though there was no real irritation in it.
βI was,β he said, voice low, unconcerned.
βYou werenβt.β
βThen say it again.β
She laughed, like that was charming.
Like that was enough.
It usually was.This was routine to him.
Upstairs, the air was marginally cooler, though not by much. The hallway lights flickered faintly, music muffled just enough to feel distant but never gone. A door slammed somewhere. Someone stumbled into the wall, laughing too hard at nothing.
Sukuna pushed into his room without knocking, not checking if anyone else was inside.
There was. Of course there was.
Another girl. Different face. Same expectation.
She looked up when he entered, already smiling, already shifting toward him like she knew how this would go. Like they all did.
There was no conversation that mattered.
No questions.
Just the familiar rhythm of something that started and ended without leaving anything behind.
For Sukuna, it was less about desire and more about habit.
A way to pass time.
A way to fill space.
A way to keep things exactly as they were, temporary, controlled, forgettable.
By the time he stepped back out into the hallway again, pulling his shirt back on with one hand, he had already moved on.
To him...nothing stayed long enough to matter.
By the time morning came, the house had quieted into something almost unrecognizable.
The aftermath of chaos. Empty cups scattered across surfaces, the faint smell of alcohol soaked into furniture, doors left half-open, bodies passed out in places they wouldnβt remember ending up in.
Sukuna stepped over someone asleep on the couch without looking down, grabbing his keys from the counter as he moved toward the door.
Rarely ever hungover, just another day to him
Campus in the late morning felt like a different world entirely.
Sunlight cut cleanly through the space between buildings, students moving in steady streams, conversations softer, more contained.
Sukuna fit into it just as easily.
Like he hadnβt been somewhere else entirely just hours before.
He walked through the courtyard with that same loose, unbothered posture, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze moving without really settling. A few people greeted him as he passed. He acknowledged some, ignored others. It didnβt make a difference.
Sukuna was bored of people easily.
And thenβ
His eyes caught something β¦ or someone,
You were sitting at the far edge of the courtyard, where the noise softened into something manageable.
His steps didnβt stop but his eyes did stop as he looked at you.
You werenβt there in a hidden way,
Just⦠in your own space?
There were people around you, but not close enough to intrude. A small pocket of quiet in the middle of everything else. You sat beside Shoko, angled slightly toward her, your attention fixed entirely on whatever she was saying.
You werenβt trying to be interesting.
That was the first thing he noticed.
No exaggerated reactions, no careful awareness of who might be watching, no subtle adjustments meant to draw attention. You just stayed in your space.
Your hands were wrapped around a cup, fingers absently tracing the rim. Your posture was smaller than it needed to be, shoulders drawn in slightly, like you were used to taking up less space without thinking about it.
And your faceβ
Sukunaβs gaze lingered there a second longer.
Pretty.
Not in the way that demanded a reaction,or in the way that made people look and know immediately.
But in a way that settled in quietly.
The kind people noticed after a moment,then couldnβt quite stop noticing.
You were laughing at something that shoko said, just naturally not in a practiced way.
Sukuna didnβt realize he had slowed until someone bumped into his shoulder.
βWatch it,β they muttered, already moving past.
He barely registered it.
Because he was still looking at you.
Not with hunger just yet,something else which was sharper in a way that had him drawn to you,it was new.
βDonβt,β Shokoβs voice cut in, suddenly closer than he expected.
He hadnβt noticed her approach.
Sukuna shifted his gaze to her, one brow lifting slightly in question.
βI didnβt say anything,β he replied.
βYou donβt have to.β She said with a humourless serious expression.
Sukuna glanced back at you, still sitting exactly where you had been, still unaware of the way his attention had fixed on you.
A slow, almost lazy smile pulled at his mouth.Interested.
βYeah?β he murmured.
Shoko didnβt respond.
Because the look in his eyes had already answered her.
Across the courtyard, you shifted slightly in your seat, adjusting your grip on your cup, completely unaware of the way something had just⦠begun.
And sukuna didnβt look away for once.
Then it started , not even intentional, at first.
Just a thought that lingered a second longer than it should have.
Sukuna didnβt usually do repetition.
That was one of the few unspoken rules he followed without thinking about it. Faces changed, places blurred, nights overlapped into something indistinct. Nothing held his attention long enough to become routine.
And yet,
Three days after he saw you first time,
He noticed you again.
You were sitting in the same lecture hall as him.
You were already there when he walked in, head slightly tilted down, pen moving steadily across your notebook, in your own space. People were still settling, chairs scraping, conversations overlapping, but none of it seemed to touch you.
You didnβt look up when he entered,didnβt notice him,till he walked up to your seat and took a seat next to you.
Your hand stilled mid-sentence, your gaze lifting just enough to register him in your periphery before turning fully.
ββ¦Hi,β you said,quietly.
He leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, like this was the most natural decision he could have made.
βYou always this early?β he asked.
You blinked.
βI like being on timeβ
βThatβs boring.β
Your brows pulled together just slightly. βItβs practical.β
He huffed out a short breath that almost resembled a laugh.
βYou actually care about this stuff?β
βI have to pass.β
βPeople pass without caring.β
You looked at him for a second longer this time, like you were trying to figure out if he was being serious.
βThen theyβre luckyβ, is all you said before turning to your notes.
And just like that,
You dismissed him.
Just⦠naturally.
__
It shouldβve ended there,as a brief interruption. A passing interaction. Forgettable.
Thatβs always how it was with him.
People entered, overlapped for a while, and then dissolved into the blur of everything else.
But thisβ
This didnβt dissolve.
After that day, it was like Sukuna had quietly, deliberately woven himself into the fabric of your routine.
Not in a way that could be pointed out and named.
Just⦠consistently.
Youβd step out of class and find him leaning against the wall across the hallway, phone in hand, looking up just as you walked past like heβd been there longer than necessary.
The next day, heβd fall into step beside you without asking, matching your pace like it was instinct rather than choice.
In the library, the chair across from you stopped being empty.
Then it stopped being surprising.You didnβt notice when it shifted.Not exactly.
There wasnβt a moment you could trace back to and say this is where it changed.
It happened somewhere between shared silences and small conversations, between him interrupting your focus and you no longer minding it.
Somewhere betweenβ
ββ¦you always write this much?β he asked once, glancing at your notebook, pages filled edge to edge.
βI have small handwriting,β you muttered, not looking up.
βThatβs not small, thatβs obsessive.β
βItβs efficient.β
He leaned closer, just enough to scan a line.
βYou even organize your notes. Colors and everything.β
βIt helps me remember.β
βOr you just like things neat.β
ββ¦Whatβs wrong with that?β
βNothing,β he said, straightening slightly. βJust means youβre predictable.β
That made you pause.
Your pen hovered mid-air before you finally looked at him.
βIβm not predictable.β
He smirked, slow and knowing.
βYou sit in the same seat every class.β
βThatβs habit.β
βYou order the same coffee.β
βThatβs preference.β
βYou reread your notes twice before closing your book.β
ββ¦Thatβs called studying.β
His smirk deepened, like heβd proven something.
You frowned at him, but there was no real irritation behind it.
βWhy are you even paying attention to all that?β
There it was.The question.
Unassuming.
But it landed somewhere deeper than it should have.
Sukuna held your gaze for a second too long.
And just saidβ¦β¦βnothing better to do.β
You didnβt question it.
You should have.
But you didnβt
__
You found yourself smiling more when he was around, even when you didnβt mean to.
Laughing at things you probably wouldnβt have found funny before.
Saying things without overthinking them first, words slipping out before you could measure them, filter them, decide if they were worth saying at all.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
He noticed everything about you in a way no one else ever had.
The way your voice softened when you got comfortable mid-conversation.
The way you looked at him when you were trying to understand something he said, brows slightly drawn together, completely focused.
The way you forgot yourself sometimes,
And just⦠existed.
βSay that again,β he said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair.
You looked up from your notes. βWhat?β
βWhat you just said.β
βI didnβt say anything important.β
βYou laughed.β
Your lips pressed together immediately, like you were trying to take it back.
βI always laugh.β
βNot like that.β
You frowned. βLike what?β
He didnβt answer right away.
Just watched you.
Then, quieterβ
βLike you forgot to hold it in.β
Something warm crept up your neck before you could stop it.
βThat doesnβt mean anything.β
βIt does.β
You shook your head quickly, looking away.
βIt doesnβt β
But your smile lingered.
After that, it stopped feeling like effort.
You were justβ¦ there. In the hallway, in the library, somewhere on campus where he didnβt have to look too hard. It became routine without ever being named as one. Your presence slipped into his days quietly, until it no longer felt like something he chose, but something that simply existed.
___
There was a part that unsettled him.
Not you.
Not the closeness.
But the way it lingered even when you werenβt there.
The way his attention didnβt shift as easily as it used to. The way moments with you stayed sharper than everything else, clearer, harder to blur into nothing like he was used to.
It didnβt fit into anything he understood.
So he refused to understand it.
Pushed it down. Flattened it into something simpler, something familiar, something he could control.
It didnβt matter to Sukuna.
Not when he had a goal in mind.
__
The party had already tipped past control by the time Sukuna started paying attention to anything.
___
Music thudded through the walls, heavy bass rattling the staircase, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder like the house was built to hold less than half of them. Someone had spilled something sticky near the kitchen, people stepped through it anyway. Laughter rose in bursts, cut through by shouting, by someone calling for another round that no one needed.
Upstairs, the balcony overlooked all of it.
And Sukuna stood there like he owned it.
One arm hooked lazily over the railing, a drink in his hand he hadnβt finished, half-listening to Gojo talking absolute nonsense beside him while a couple of girls hovered a little too close.
ββIβm telling you,β Gojo was saying, grinning like he always did, βif you had just listened to meββ
βI didnβt,β Sukuna cut in flatly, not even looking at him.
Gojo snorted. βYeah, obviously.β
From the other side, Toji leaned back against the wall, watching the crowd below with the kind of disinterest that only meant he was noticing everything.
βBoring night,β he muttered.
Sukuna almost agreed.Almost.
Then his gaze shifted.
And stopped.
You.
It clicked instantly this time.
Not gradually or subtly.
Immediate.
The dress.
Tight enough to matter.
Soft enough to look like it wasnβt meant for a place like this.
Shorter than anything heβd seen you in before,way shorter,and it showed in the way you carried yourself. Not confident, not practiced. You kept adjusting it without thinking, fingers brushing the hem, shoulders pulling in just slightly like you were still figuring out how to exist in it.
Like you hadnβt worn it for this.
Like you didnβt know what it did.
Sukunaβs smirk came easy.
Slow and certain.
βWell, thatβs new,β Gojo said suddenly, following his line of sight. βDidnβt know your type came to parties.β
Sukuna didnβt answer.Didnβt need to.
Toji huffed quietly. βShe looks like sheβs gonna leave in ten minutes.β
βNot tonight,β Sukuna said, already pushing off the railing.
That was all.
Decision made.
Downstairs, the air hit warmer, heavier, the noise louder the second he stepped back into it. People moved out of his way without thinking, someone called his name, someone grabbed his arm,he shrugged it off without breaking stride.
His focus didnβt shift.
You didnβt see him until he was already there.
Close enough that the space around you felt⦠different.
You turned,
And your expression changed the second you recognized him.
That softness again with that ease.
Sukuna stopped in front of you, gaze dropping immediately.Slow.
ββ¦Youβre full of surprises.β
Your fingers brushed your dress again, instinctively.
βI just-tried something different.β
βYeah,β he said, voice low, amused, βfigured.β
You hesitated under his gaze, but you didnβt shrink. Didnβt step back.
You stayed exactly where you were.
βShoko make you wear that?β he asked.
Your brows pulled together slightly. βNo.β
βThen what?decided to switch it up?β
ββ¦Something like that.β
He leaned a little closer.
Not enough to trap you.
Just enough.
βLooks better on you than the whole quiet act.β
That caught you off guard.
Your lips parted slightly. βIβm notββ
βYou are,β he cut in, not harsh, just certain. βJust donβt notice it.β
Heat crept up your neck.
But you didnβt argue.
Didnβt deflect.
You just looked at him.
ββ¦Do you think itβs too much?β you asked, quieter now, almost like you werenβt sure why you were asking him at all.
Sukunaβs eyes flickered,just for a second.Then his smirk deepened.
βNah,β he said, taking the cup from your hand like it was his to take, fingers brushing yours without pause. βThink youβre just not used to people looking.β
Your breath caught.
βPeople arenβtββ
βThey are.β
You didnβt finish your sentence or look around to check.You justβ¦ believed him.
He set your drink aside without asking.
Your hand stayed suspended in the air for a second before dropping.
βRelax,β he added, quieter now, eyes still on you. βYou look like youβre trying not to.β
βIβm not,β you said, but it came out softer than you meant.
He huffed a quiet laugh.
βYeah, you are.β
There was a pause.
Not empty.
Just⦠close.
And then
His hand found your wrist.
His grip was not rough but firm.
βCome on.β
This time, you didnβt ask where but you knew because you felt it in the way he said it.In the way he was looking at you.
In the way the space between you had already changed.
Your fingers tightened slightly before you let him pull you forward.
You didn't resist it,just went along with it.
Upstairs, the music dulled into something distant, the noise fading behind you with every step. The hallway stretched quieter, dimly lit, the air cooler,but it didnβt settle anything.
If anything, it made everything clearer.You were aware now of where you were going,of what this was.Your steps slowed for half a second not to stop but just enough to take it in.
Sukuna noticed.
He glanced back at you, something sharper in his gaze now,not questioning, not checking but registering.
You didnβt pull your hand away or step back.
You met his eyes for a second and they didnβt look uncertain which was all he needed.
Inside his room, the door shut behind you with a quiet click.
The sound landed heavier than it should have.
The shift was immediate.
No noise. No distractions.
Just the two of you,and everything that had been building.
You exhaled softly, your hand brushing down the side of your dress again, smoothing it without thinking.
But this time,you didnβt look away.
Sukuna stepped closer.Slow and measured.
His hand came up to your waist again, firmer this time, pulling you in until there wasnβt space left to hesitate in. The fabric of your dress shifted under his grip, your breath catching as your hands came up to him,not unsure now, justβ¦ instinctive.
There was no teasing left or any need for it.
His hand moved higher, slower now, like he was taking his time for once,not out of care, but because he could. Because you werenβt pulling away. Because you were right there, letting him.
Your grip tightened in his shirt.Your breath unsteady.
And when he leaned in, his lips on yours, melting.
you didnβt hesitate.
Everything after that blurred into heat and closeness.The kind that built fast once it started.
Your back meeting the wall for a second, then the bed, the space shifting under you as the dress youβd been so aware of earlier became something in the way more than anything else.
Fabric pulled, pushed aside, slipping out of place under impatient hands.
His skin on yours.
Your breathing broke first.
Then steadied into something else entirely.
Sukuna didnβt slow down or stop to think.
Didnβt question the way this felt slightly different from everything else because to himβ
it wasnβt.
It was exactly what heβd expected.
Exactly what heβd decided.
And he moved through it like he always did, like it would end the same way it always did.
___
The Morning came.
The room didnβt feel like the night before.
What had been loud and close and overwhelming was now still, the air cooler, thinner somehow. Light slipped in through the curtains in soft lines, cutting across the bed, across the floor, across you.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Sukuna was already awake.
Not fully out of bed, not rushing, just⦠there. Sitting at the edge, leaning forward slightly, phone in hand, scrolling without really looking.
Like heβd already stepped out of whatever last night had been.
You stirred behind him slowly.
The shift in the sheets, the quiet sound of movement,
He noticed. But he didnβt turn immediately.
ββ¦Youβre up early,β you said, voice softer than usual, still carrying the weight of sleep.
He hummed, noncommittal.
βYeah.β
You pushed yourself up slightly, the sheets gathering around you, your eyes adjusting to the light, to the room, to him.
βAre you leaving?β you asked after a pause.
Not accusing....Just unsure.
Sukuna glanced back then, brief, almost distracted.
βGot stuff.β
That was it,you nodded like that made sense.
Like you werenβt expecting anything more.
The silence stretched for a moment after that.
He stood, pulling his shirt on without much thought, movements easy, familiar, like this was routine.
You watched him quietly, trying to take him in.
Trying to understand something you couldnβt quite name yet.
βYou have class today?β you asked, quieter now.
βMaybe.β
A small pause.
Thenβ
ββ¦I do.β
He didnβt respond to that or ask when and where. Perhaps, that was the first shift
So small it couldβve been ignored.
But it stayed.
By the time he left, it felt like the room had changed again.
Not empty.
Just⦠different.
You stayed a little longer.
Not because you had to.
Because leaving felt like acknowledging something you werenβt ready to name yet.
___
On campus, everything moved like it always did.
Classes filled. Conversations overlapped. People passed by without looking twice.
Nothing had changed.
Except what had.
You noticed it first in the lecture hall ,the seat beside yours, empty.
You told yourself it didnβt mean anything,he didnβt always come early or come at all.
Stillβ
You found yourself glancing at the door.
Once...Then again.
He came in late.Of course he did like always.
But this time,he didnβt sit beside you.He took a seat further back.Didnβt look your way or acknowledge you.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.
You told yourselfβ
It didnβt mean anything.
It kept happening.
In the hallway, youβd catch a glimpse of him,surrounded, laughing, moving through people the way he always did.
Effortless.
But not with you.
In the library, the chair across from you stayed empty.
Days passed like that.
And slowly,
That quiet, unspoken shift turned into something harder to ignore.
Because he wasnβt gone, he was just not there with you anymore
And Sukunaβ
Sukuna didnβt think about it.
Not really.
Not when he was drinking again, laughter loud, someone pressed close to his side.
Not when the nights blurred back into something easy, familiar, forgettable.
It was back to normal.Exactly how it should be.
And yetβ
There were moments.
Small ones.
A pause in the middle of a conversation when something didnβt feel as interesting as it should.
A glance toward a space before realizing why he was looking.
A flicker of recognition that didnβt settle into anything he could name.
It didnβt make sense or matter.So he ignored it.
Because whatever that was,it wasnβt enough to mean anything...just yet.
___
At first, it was easy to explain.
He didnβt sit beside you in class-fine. He was never consistent.He didnβt come to the library-fine. He never liked it anyway.He didnβt walk with you after lectures-fine.
It was all fine.
You told yourself that enough times that it almost sounded true.
But the problem was that it didn't feel the same.
Once, you caught his eye in the hallway.Just for a second.
And something in your chest lifted before you could stop itβ
But he didnβt slow.
Didnβt stop.
Didnβt even acknowledge it.
Like it hadnβt happened.
That stayed longer than it should have.
You started leaving the library earlier.
Stopped sitting in the same place sometimes.
Changed your routes between classes without thinking too much about why.
It didnβt help. Because it wasn't about the place to begin with.
Shoko noticed but she didn't say much.
Just watched you a little more carefully, her expression tightening every time Sukunaβs name came up around you,even when it wasnβt directed at you.
___
And thenβ
there was another party,one you almost didnβt go,but staying in felt worse.So you did.
The music hit the second you stepped inside, loud and overwhelming, the same chaos as before,but this time, it didnβt feel unfamiliar.
It felt...distant.
You spotted him quickly.You always did.
He was cross the room.Surrounded.
A girl leaned into him, laughing at something he said, her hand resting too comfortably against his chest. Another stood close enough that their shoulders brushed every time he moved.
He didnβt push them away or look uncomfortable.
Didnβt look like anything had changed.
He looked exactly the same.
Your chest tightened, something sharp and quiet settling in your throat, making it hard to breathe properly.
You stood there longer than you should have.
Watching.
Waiting for something.
A glance,anything at all,but nothing came.
before you could stop yourself,you moved.
The crowd blurred as you pushed through it, your steps faster than you meant them to be, your thoughts louder than the music around you.
He noticed you before you reached him, ofcourse.
His eyes flicked to you briefly.Then stayed.The girl beside him said something.
He didnβt respond immediately.
Because now,you were standing in front of him.
Too close.Too exposed.
βWhat are you doing?β you asked.Your voice was quiet.
But it didnβt shake.
Not yet.
His brows lifted slightly.Not confused.Just⦠mildly surprised.
βWhat does it look like?β
You swallowed.
βThatβs not what I meant.β
A pause.
The noise around you felt distant now.
Like everything had pulled back just enough to leave the two of you standing there.
βThen what did you mean?β he asked, tone lazy, almost bored.
You hesitated.
For the first time since youβd walked up to him.
βI meanββ you started, then stopped, trying to find the right words. βYouβve beenβ¦ avoiding me.β
The word sat there.Between you.
He exhaled slowly, like the conversation had already tired him.
βIβve been busy.β
βThatβs not true.β
That slipped out before you could stop it.
Something in his expression shifted.Not much but just enough.
You pushed forward anyway.
Because now you couldnβt stop.
βYou were there,β you said, quieter now, but more certain. βBefore. You used toββ
You cut yourself off.
Used to what?
He watched you struggle to finish the sentence.
And something about that,
made his mouth curve.
βUsed to what?β he prompted.
Your chest tightened.
βI just thoughtββ
You stopped again.
Because you didnβt know how to say it.
And he knew that.
He stepped closer.
Not gently.
Not harshly.
Just enough to take control of the space again.
βYou didnβt let it get to your head, did you?β
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
You blinked.
βWhat?β
His expression didnβt change.
Still that same, easy, almost amused look.
βThat night,β he said, like it meant nothing. βYouβre not still thinking about that, right?β
Your stomach dropped.
βIβno, I justββ
βGood.β
He cut you off before you could finish.
Because then,
he leaned in slightly.
Just enough that only you could hear it.
βYouβre not all that.β
It wasnβt loud.Wasnβt harsh.Wasnβt even said with anger.
Just,dismissive.
Like he was correcting something small.
Like you had misunderstood your place.
And that-
....that hurt more.
Your expression didnβt break immediately.
That was the worst part.
It happened slowly.
The way your eyes lost something first.
Then the way your lips parted, like you were about to say something,and couldnβt.
The way the words just⦠stopped.
Sukuna saw it.Saw exactly what heβd done.
And for a second,
something unfamiliar flickered in his chest.
Sharp and Uncomfortable, but he ignored it.
Because this,
this was how it was supposed to go.
You nodded,looking small.
ββ¦Okay.β
Your voice was quiet.
Flat.
And then,you stepped back.
Not rushing or running but just leaving.
And this time,he watched you go.
Not because he wanted to...but because he couldnβt look away.
This is what he always did, what he always wanted, what was normal to him,
So what was this feeling creeping up in his chest as he watched you leave?
note: I donβt know if this turned out how i wanted , please let me know if you like it, then Iβll continue with the next parts, after this i NEED to post some fluffy sukuna drabble soon AGHH.
Also let me know if youβd like to be tagged when or if another part is releasedπ«ͺπ
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.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who spends the next few days after getting your Instagram stalking you.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna you has a stupid small smile on his face as he taps through your stories. there's ones with you beside friends, some of you alone where you're smiling so brightly at the camera. then there's pictures of sunsets and cafes and bookstores.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna listens to each song you have posted with careful precision, trying to somehow figure something about you through it.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who realises he's going insane. he's never been this obsessed with anyone, ever. he was a hookup kind of guy. the kind who took a girl home after a party and forgot her name the next day. he was definitely not someone who spent 30 minutes dissecting a singular story of a girl holding a cat.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna feels stuck. he's not sure if he should send you a message or try and forget all of this. he's never asked out a girl on a date. his "dates" consisted of locked rooms and clothes on the floor, with no "good-morning" texts the next day.
Β»-β‘β you on the other hand, were freaking out much more than he knew.
"girl I'm telling you, he's just trying to fuck."
that's what your friend told you after you explained what happened. that ryomen sukuna, star stoic fuck boy of the biggest frat on campus, asked for your instagram. and the weirdest thing, he seemed more nervous than you.
"i don't know...he seemed like, I don't know, sincere?"
"the only thing sincere about that man is his good looks, everything else is a lie."
Β»-β‘β so you decide to test something out. you get ready one day after school and take a few cute pictures. with the perfect song to go with it, you post on your story.
Β»-β‘β when you stalked ryomens instagram, there honestly wasn't much. a few gym pictures, some pictures of the city at night, and of course, his car.
Β»-β‘β you nervously wait for him to view your story, checking every few minutes like a maniac.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who's sitting on a couch at the frat house, his frat brothers surrounding him.
"bro, just fucking text her, why are you being a pussy all of a sudden."
that was gojo, of course. him and sukuna were either fighting like enemies l or getting along like birth brothers.
"it's not that simple," sukuna mumbles.
"you have a million girls in your phone, how is this one any different?"
geto was good at pointing out the obvious. and yea, sukuna did have lots of girls on his phones. at any moment he could text any of of them and ask her to come over for a quick hookup. but for some reason, he hasn't been feeling it lately. maybe he was cursed.
"maybe he actually likes this one," nanami says.
now that pissed sukuna off. he got up from the couch, pushing gojo out of his way.
"oohh, looks like he does!"
that earned gojo an elbow in the gut. as gojo cursed him out, sukuna retreated to his room.
why the fuck was he acting like this? why couldn't he just send her a simple message. just two letters, hi.
and then comes the notif. she posted. was it weird he had her notifs on? probably. did he care? nah.
he clicks on the notification, and displayed on his screen is a picture he thinks is worthy to be his wallpaper. it's a mirror selfie, her hair is done up, her smile so adorable he has to look away for a second. and she's clad in a light pink cardigan.
now what he wanted to do was message her and say "let me take you out i swear i'll treat you good". but he knew that might scare you away. you didn't seem like the type of girl who'd want his attention like that. and for some reason that made him harder than the girls who would drape themselves on his lap.
but he had to do something. he had to let you know one way or another. so he pulls a middle schooler move, and likes your story. and then he shuts his phone off and throws it under his bed. fuck this, he needed to shut his brain off. he takes gojo on an offer from earlier, and heads to the campus bar.
Β»-β‘β you're scrolling on your phone when you get the notification.
ryomen.su liked your story
Β»-β‘β you get up so fast you hurt your neck. what is he playing at? you call your friends right away, but instead of excited squealing, they repeat the same mantra of , "he's just trying to fuck."
Β»-β‘β and so your friends decided, to get your mind off of this, you should go to the bar with them. the bar totally was't your vibe, but waiting for frat boys to like your story wasn't either. so you got up, shook your head, and got ready.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna is already the life of the party. he's pouring shots down the throats of girls who would do anything for his attention. he's laughing and roughhousing with gojo and geto. clad in low waist sweats and a black muscle tee, he's in his element. that is until you walk in.
Β»-β‘β up until now, he's seen you as cute, adorable even. but when you walk in wearing jeans and a top he could only describe as murder, he almost drops his drink.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna came here to get his mind off of you, not to want to get on you.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna downed his drink in one go; he shouldn't be thinking these things about you. for some reason, it makes him feel gross to think of you like something to have.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna watches you enter the bar with unease. your friends immediately start mingling, while you stand beside them, offering small quips of conversation here and there. he knows you haven't noticed him yet.
Β»-β‘β and then you do. you spot him leaning against the bar counter, next to some other frat guys, girls surrounding them. the eye contact makes your stomach drop, and you have to look away quickly.
"guys! what is he doing here?!"
your friends spot him and start freaking out, "go talk to him!"
"weren't you guys against this?"
"girl, with the way he's looking at you, you need to get your ass over there."
your friends didn't even need to say anything though, because soon enough his large frame is making its way towards you.
all you can think is, oh my god oh my god oh my god.
and then he's there, right in front of you.
"didn't think you'd be here."
"yea, not usually my kind of place."
he takes a moment to think, still staring down at you.
"then let's get out of here."
huh?
"what?"
he leans down to your ear. you feel his warm breath against it, and a slight shiver goes up your spine.
"let's leave, we can find something more your vibe."
your friends are throwing up big thumbs up behind him, and you try not to giggle. from the bar counter, you see his frat brothers staring at the two of you, nudging each other and laughing.
what had you gotten yourself into?
"sure."
the smile on ryomens face can only be described as erotic. one side is more lifted than the other, a sharp canine in view, as well as a dimple.
he leads you out of the bar with a hand hovering at your lower back. he's not touching you, but you feel the energy from how close he is to you.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who is so nervous he's sweating. why was he nervous?
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who walks in complete silence for the first few minutes, staring at anything but you.
Β»-β‘β you finally break the silence, "i have a question."
Β»-β‘β fuck, he thinks. he should have said something first. why couldn't he even look at you?
Β»-β‘β he hums in response. "why did you even talk to me, i know the type of girls you surrounce yourself with, and, to be blunt, they're not like me."
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna wish he knew the answer to this himself. he takes some time to think, then answers with complete sincerity.
"not to come off a corny but-" he swallows, "that's exactly why."
"what do you mean?"
"i've always been around people like me. loud and crazy and fucking annoying. no one has ever been disciplined. and i guess when i saw you... it was something different."
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who feels like he's walking outside of his body. he doesn't even feel his own words coming out of his mouth.
Β»-β‘β now you're silent. he nervously glances at you, wondering if he said the wrong thing."
"are you just looking for sex?"
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna trips, literally trips.
"w-what?!" he splutters, "no! who the fuck told you that?"
"no one! it's just because... your reputation," you say the last part quietly.
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna who knew his reputation would come back one day to bite him in the ass. he just didn't think it was because he finally had a normal crush on a normal girl.
"yea, there's not much i can say to defend that," he stops walking and finally, finally, turns to face you.
to say he was handsome would be an understatement. his face and body sculpted, his features perfectly placed on his face. his blush colored hair sat atop his head with messy precision.
"if you give me a chance, even just one date, i can show you i'm not as horrible as everyone says. and i won't touch you, promise," and then he smirks that thigh clecnching smirk again, "unless you want me to of course."
you softly smack his chest, "shut up, weirdo."
he laughs, a low rumble that goes straight to your core.
Β»-β‘β you and frat! sukuna stand there for a while, under the campus trees, as the sun slowly sets.
"i guess it's worth a try," you say.
"i'll treat you like no other, princess."
princess. now that you could get used to.
"ew, don't call me that."
Β»-β‘β frat! sukuna and you ended up walking for another hour, talking about this and that, until he finally dropped you to your dorm with a soft goodbye.
Β»-β‘β neither of you was in each other's orbit, but something about being so different made you want to come closer.
Β»-β‘β and you both fell asleep that night, wondering where it would lead. would he break your heart and you'd learn your lesson that all frat boys suck, or was he seriously different?
the day after your first time with katsuki... and he's smug asf at how nervous you are
you can barely look at him without being flooded with memories of last night and getting flustered so you silently distance yourself and offer to go buy something from the store.
asking him to pass you the car keys and all you can do is watch as he just shoves them in his own pocket. when you stare at him all confused he tells you to 'come get them yourself'β¦
and when you do, you can feel him watching your every move while you fumble with the keys through his jeans because the feeling of his eyes on you and the limited distance between you two has suddenly made your hands stop working.
and he does absolutely nothing to help cause he thinks it's cute