tirza

His crimson eyes were fixed on his phone, preoccupied with staring at himself in the reflection of the screen, waiting for it to light up with a message from you. That garnered his interest much more effectively than Satoru’s birding talk. 

“But you won’t know until you try.” Satoru whined, nudging him again. 

Sukuna was more than aware that his friend was being intentionally annoying for the sake of attention and he wasn’t going to give in. He’d already entertained Satoru for long enough since his return from California, reluctantly letting the man show him every single stupid picture he’d taken while he talked through the whole trip. 

Talking about birds was where he drew the line. 

He was already in a foul mood - he didn’t need it worsened by discussing things he couldn’t care less about. Subsequently he didn’t fall for Satoru’s prodding, rolling his eyes and shifting away from him a little on the sofa. Unlocking his phone he opened your chat, staring down at the messages he’d sent not five minutes ago.

[Sukuna]: learnt more about birds in the last hour than I ever wanted to know  [Sukuna]: hope you’re having a better day than me

You hadn’t opened them yet - probably because you were busy with something or other. It wasn’t like he was insecure about it, the two of you had been messaging and calling practically non-stop. It was more that he was just desperately needy for you. He wanted to be talking to you all the time, and didn't want to wait even ten minutes for a message back. 

That was an unreasonable ask, he was aware, but his desire for you was at a level that defied reason. 

His heart picked up the second your typing bubble popped up in the left hand corner, Satoru’s continued rambling entirely drowned out. He knew that it was lame how insanely happy you made him, how excited he’d get over a mere conversation - but he’d accepted that as his reality now. You’d wormed your way into his heart so thoroughly that he was sure nothing would ever replace the feeling you gave him. 

[strawberry shortcake 🍰]: omg is gojo still on the birding thing? [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: thought you said it was just a phase 💀 [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: my day is going great I saw a dolphin out in the bay earlier :0 [strawberry shortcake 🍰]: it would be better if you were here though 

He smiled down at his phone, imagining that shiny look that no doubt lit up your eyes at a dolphin sighting. You’d been going on and on about wanting to see one since arriving in Kyushu, claiming that your last sighting had been so long ago that it didn’t even feel real. 

There was no doubt that you were ecstatic right now. 

It made him happy. 

Ever since you’d headed off for Kyushu he’d had this pit of anxiety in his stomach - a fear that things wouldn’t improve for you, that you’d feel just as depressed out there where it was much harder for him to comfort you. But with the exception of a couple of tearful phone calls over the last few weeks, you seemed to be doing relatively well. 

A change of scenery was clearly just what you needed.

Even if Sukuna desperately wanted you to be in Tokyo with him. 

He felt almost like an addict going through withdrawal in your absence, desperate for the smallest bit of attention from you, often catching himself daydreaming about your touch. It was okay, because he knew you’d be back in a couple of months, but that didn’t quite put to rest his desire to have you at his side right now. 

With university starting up again, that feeling was stronger than ever. 

For a while now, he’d had silly little fantasies about coming to meet you after classes, holding hands in the library, having you come along to his games to cheer for him. He liked the idea of everyone knowing that you were his and vice versa. 

But he supposed that was going to have to wait. 

“Wish I was with you too.” Satoru’s voice was mocking as he peered over Sukuna’s shoulder, reading out what he was typing aloud. This was him lashing out because he wasn’t getting enough attention. He was like some poorly trained dog pissing on the carpet. 

“Fuck off.” Sukuna hissed, locking his phone quickly. 

He’d have to reply to you later when he didn’t have an audience, because right now he had four sets of eyes peering at him. Toji and Suguru just had to finish their match at the exact moment Satoru decided to take revenge on him. Great.

“Didn’t realise you were so sweet.” Satoru prodded a little more, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Talking to girls like you’re Choso.” 

“Nothing wrong with that.” Choso interjected, shooting Sukuna a sympathetic look. 

Unfortunately, it had been well established within their friend group that acting like Choso was wrong and painfully uncool. It was an attitude that Sukuna had supported hard in their first two years of university, casting off love and affection as things lacking importance. 

He really wished he could take it all back and cut Choso some slack now that he was in love. 

He could understand it now. 

“Is it like a new play or something?” Suguru asked, tapping the switch controller restlessly while he waited for Toji to select a stage for their next match. “She’s like a prude right, so you gotta play all nice and tell her what she wants to hear so she’ll sleep with you. I get it, Satoru’s just not smart enough for that kinda thing.” 

Sukuna swallowed, caught between two paths. On one hand he could nod along with Suguru’s explanation, laugh it off and be completely free from the mocking that would follow if he told the truth. The only one that knew about how deep his affection towards you ran was Toji after all. 

However, that wasn’t much of a long term solution since he didn’t intend on breaking up with you ever which meant one day his friends would inevitably find out. Besides, it felt disrespectful to you to go along with Suguru’s words, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of how you’d feel if you ever found out. 

He wasn’t going to reduce you to some girl that he just wanted to sleep with. If that had been the case he would’ve been done with you months ago. 

Toji shot him a curious glance, sharp green eyes narrowed with interest. His best friend wouldn’t rat him out if he wanted to lie, he was sure enough about that. But he would probably make fun of him for it in private later. 

It was sort of a lose-lose situation. 

Might as well rip off the bandaid. 

“It's not a play.” He said simply, staring back at Suguru with total nonchalance. They’d only make it a big deal if he acted like it was. “I’m dating her.” 

Satoru snorted, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Come on man. She seems like a nice girl and all but there’s no way she’s actually your type. I bet you’re not hers either. She looks like she’d go running if you so much as touched her.” 

Toji barked out a momentary laugh before quickly disguising it as a cough. Sukuna glared over at him for a second, not keen on his friend revealing the fact that you had in fact run away from him following your first kiss. 

“Well she is my type.” Sukuna said firmly. “And don’t call her a prude or any of that shit, we’ve been together for most of the summer.” 

There was silence for a few beats as Satoru and Suguru exchanged looks, evidently a little thrown off over what to say next. They clearly hadn’t expected him to be so straightforward in his explanation, and despite the soft topic, his edges were no less sharp to them than they had been before.

They weren’t as keen to try their luck picking on him in the way they would with Choso. 

“Well then, why didn't you tell us?” Satoru asked, almost sounding a little upset, as if he wasn’t making fun of the whole situation two seconds ago.

He rolled his eyes. “Really? You’re asking why I didn’t tell you? I know you’re not that stupid.” 

“What? I would’ve been supportive!” Satoru bit back, really offended now. 

Choso chuckled in the corner, shaking his head in total disbelief. He was largely keeping himself out of the conversation, pretending to play on his phone but clearly listening. Satoru’s gaze snapped over to him, his brow furrowed in a disappointed manner. 

“Don’t laugh. I would’ve been.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.” Choso said sarcastically, earning him an icy death glare. 

“You literally suggested I send her your way after I brought her to that party last semester. And by the way, when have I ever brought a girl to a party? That was me telling you.” Sukuna diverted the attention away from Choso, staring at Satoru evenly, hoping that would give him food for thought. 

Although, Satoru had never really been the reflective type. 

“I thought you just wanted to fuck her though.” Satoru pointed out. “She’s not exactly easy like the girls you usually sleep with so I just figured you were putting in more effort.” 

Sukuna sighed, running a hand through his salmon hair. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t it. We were doing all kinds of relationship-type stuff before I even slept with her. She isn’t just some woman to me.” 

He didn’t particularly like admitting such a thing to his friends - he wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed being vulnerable in any way. The only person that he really wanted to share his feelings with was you. 

But that was exactly why he did need to tell them. 

“How did this even happen?” Suguru asked, taking care to monitor his tone. It was clear that he’d been thrown off, but was far more adept at regulating his emotions than Satoru was. 

“Yeah, you always told me that catching feelings was for idiots.” Choso chimed in. 

Sukuna didn’t love how smug he looked over this whole thing. Choso had gotten quite good at ignoring everyone’s comments and living his own life in the way he wanted to - a quality that Sukuna admired, but apparently he was still keeping careful track of the things said to him. 

“I was wrong.” Sukuna said. There was no point in denying that now. “And I don’t know how it happened, it just kinda did? At some point I realised that I thought she was cute and that I wanted to spend all this time with her so…” He shrugged. 

Yeah, he really hated being vulnerable. 

There was silence for a moment, the gang once again unsure how to react. Toji was the only one who seemed unbothered, already well aware of the relationship. It was clear that he was waiting for Suguru to pay attention to the TV again so they could start their next match - but Suguru was still lost in thought. 

Satoru and Suguru were definitely the ones most at a loss right now. Sukuna had always been on their side when it came to being anti-relationship, a world-view that supported sleeping with as many girls as possible because that was the spice of life. Processing that their most anti-love friend had moved on without them would take a second. 

“I’m happy for you.” Choso said. “She seems like a lovely person - Yuki talks about her a lot. Guessing she hasn’t told her friends that you’re together yet though? Yuki hasn’t mentioned it.” 

“I’m not actually sure.” Sukuna murmured. 

He was confident that you’d told Nanami about it, since you’d had a long talk with the man when you’d been mourning your father and mentioned that Sukuna had been looking after you. He wasn’t sure if you’d told the others though - it wasn’t like you’d had much of a chance to see them in person. 

“Hmmm, I won’t bring it up with her yet then. But once the cat’s out of the bag we should go on a double date or something.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice.”

He imagined that you’d enjoy something like that. Choso was by far his least threatening friend and he knew that you’d feel at ease if Yuki was there. It was something that you could look forward to when you came back from Kyushu later in the year. 

“Wait, how come Choso gets to see her and we don’t?” Satoru interrupted, once again sounding offended. 

Sukuna rolled his eyes, biting his tongue when he considered reminding Satoru that he’d already met you before summer started. It wasn’t worth the fight though, Satoru wasn’t exactly renowned for his memory of things that happened at parties. 

“Yeah, if you’re dating how about you bring her over? Yuki’s here a lot.” Suguru added. 

“She’s in Kyushu right now. Her dad died over summer so she’s gone to stay with her mom for a bit.” He explained. It felt wrong to tell his friends about that aspect of things, but at the same time he didn’t want to come up with some lie when he’d been so honest up to now. 

“Wait, so you got with her while she was grieving? Isn’t that immoral?” Satoru was pouting childishly. The idea of Satoru trying to regain the high ground by pointing out a moral failing was almost laughable. He was the last man to show an interest in morality. 

“We got together before her dad died, dumbass. I spent most of the summer looking after her.” Sukuna said firmly. 

Both Satoru and Suguru were staring at him in total disbelief. “You, you - Ryomen Sukuna, spent your summer looking after someone?” Suguru asked. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Toji can vouch for me.” 

“He did, he went chasing after her when she tried to isolate herself. It was real cute.” Toji affirmed. 

“Bro, who are you?” Satoru asked incredulously. “Also, how come Toji knew before me?” 

“He likes me more than you.” Toji said, smug smirk lighting up his face at Satoru’s instant displeasure, droning on about how that wasn’t fair and that he should be Sukuna’s best friend. He’d always been a greedy bastard, unable to accept that he already had Suguru as his dedicated bestie. 

But Satoru’s ranting did serve to lift the mood significantly, with the gang returning to their normal flow. Toji was gleefully bragging about how Sukuna trusted him the most in an attempt to further rile up Satoru, while Suguru yelled over the two of them to quit squabbling and get the next match started. 

Sukuna let out a sigh, glad that they’d moved their focus away from him - away from you. It hadn’t been as painful as he’d expected it to be and he was grateful for that. Despite their terrible personalities, they were his friends after all. 

He felt almost lighter now that the cat was out of the bag, because he had no intention of keeping you a secret forever. If you weren’t in Kyushu he’d already be showing you off every chance he got. He wanted everyone to know that you were his. 

But he’d just have to wait a bit longer for that. 

—

The next few weeks of university passed him by at a glacial rate. 

Even though his life had primarily returned to the state that it was in before he’d gotten together with you, that reality no longer felt exciting to him. It felt like there was something significant missing, bringing down his mood each day. 

He attended his lectures as normal, went to practice, played as well as ever in his basketball games. He still spent plenty of time hanging out with the guys, playing stupid games while they all got high in the living room, going along to parties that he couldn’t care less about. 

It all just felt a little more hollow than it had in the past. 

Instead of completely letting go at a party, getting drunk and having fun with some nameless girl like he used to, he spent the whole time wondering what you were up to - looking forward to the whole thing being over so that he could lie in bed and call you. Hearing your voice was far more interesting than any stupid party. 

Maybe he’d enjoy the parties a little more if not for the fact that outside of his friends group no one seemed to get the message that he was taken. 

He was tired of brushing off endless flirting attempts, exhausted with telling Yorozu to fuck off when she’d try to cling to him after games and at practice. He was well aware that his reputation of being down to fuck was very much a grave that he’d dug for himself throughout his time at university, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. 

One afternoon he’d even gone as far as to tell Yorozu that she should kill herself for thinking that he’d ever so much as glance in her direction, but considering how insane that girl was, it only spurred her on. 

Sukuna did his best to ignore it, but she eventually grew so insufferable that Satoru snapped and told her to back off because Sukuna was taken. That hadn’t been ideal - Sukuna had been intentionally withholding that information for your sake, knowing that Yorozu would be insane enough to contact you with vitriol filled messages. 

He hadn’t really wanted that hag to know anything about his life, especially the amount of care and affection that he held for you. 

She’d seethed and ranted of course, thrown a whole fit in front of the team and cheerleading squad. He wasn’t sure how she didn’t feel embarrassed, but apparently she was missing the part of her brain required to feel shame. It hadn’t taken her long in her ramblings to come to the conclusion that you were the person he was dating. 

It was clear that she’d felt insecure when it came to you ever since she’d ambushed you at that damn party. 

He hadn’t forgotten about that. 

So when she’d started listing out all the things she was going to do to you, and how much of an evil conniving bitch you were, Sukuna put a stop to that real fast. He made it abundantly clear that if she so much as looked in your direction he’d ensure that he ruined every aspect of her life. 

He’d get her reported to the university, he’d spread nasty rumors about her, he even threatened to shave her head knowing that would upset her more than anything else since she was so obsessed with being beautiful. 

Admittedly, he probably wouldn’t do any of that, because it was more effort than she was worth - but if it kept her from messaging you, so be it. 

It wasn’t like she gave up after that, still constantly fawning over him at games and practice, acting like no threats had ever been sent her way. But you never heard a peep from her, so she must’ve taken his words on board. At the end of the day, his opinion mattered greatly to her, and she wasn’t going to take anything to the extent where she’d be subject to his direct wrath. 

At least, he hoped. 

The situation with his friends ever since he’d told them about you had been strangely pleasant. There had been something about his honesty that had changed the dynamic in some sort of way. 

While Toji would call him a simp whenever he was intently focussed on his phone while they were all together, the extent of actual mocking beyond that was limited - both towards him and Choso. 

Satoru and Suguru had very much taken the approach that Sukuna being off the market was a good thing for them, because it meant that they had a greater pool of women to pick from. And as such, at parties they’d stick around Sukuna and swoop in whenever he was getting hit on to see if they could score for themselves. 

Strangely, Toji had also grown more open with him. They’d always been close, but they’d never been big on conversations about their feelings - it just hadn’t been that type of friendship. And yet, there were a few instances now in which Toji had come to Sukuna’s room to ask him for advice. 

Because interestingly enough, Toji had a crush that he’d been keeping under wraps for a while. 

Some girl that he’d been working with on a group project - someone who seemed to have worked her way into his heart despite the fact that he was an overly shitty study partner. He’d been quicker to understand his feelings than Sukuna had, but still wasn’t sure if he should make a move - if his crush would be interested in someone like him. 

It felt a little weird to sit there on his bed and listen to Toji talk so candidly about something. No silly jokes or insults thrown at each other, just genuine honesty and an openness that Toji was only providing because Sukuna had been open with him. 

He had to admit that it felt nice. He could kind of understand why girls were so big on talking about their feelings - not that he wanted to centre his whole personality around it by any means. 

It was clear that Satoru and Suguru still wouldn’t place the trust in him that Toji did, with the two fools very much keeping to form. But they were careful to never insult you or your relationship, often asking questions about you and how you were doing. Satoru had even gone as far as to ask Sukuna if it was okay for him to add you on instagram. 

He’d said that he didn’t really care, but regretted it a few days later when you’d mentioned on a call that Satoru had been sending you reels featuring grumpy men and animals and following up with messages saying ‘Sukuna vibes’. 

Although, there was something about Satoru trying to initiate a type of friendship with you that made him feel happy. He had no doubt that you’d worried ceaselessly about not being good enough or liked by his friends, so if him getting ridiculed by Satoru helped ease some of that anxiety, he didn’t really mind. 

He liked that his friends were making an effort for you. He just wanted you to feel accepted and welcomed by the people that he spent most of his time with, and for a group of raucous fools they were doing a remarkably good job at being accepting. 

And at some point he realised that if you were growing closer with his friends, he should also make an effort with yours. 

Summer was bleeding into autumn, the semester already in full swing when he met up with Nanami in a small cafe that he’d visited with you a few times. It was just off campus, easy enough to reach for a quick coffee in between lectures. 

You’d been surprised when Sukuna had asked you for Nanami’s number, mumbling something about wanting to speak with the man. It was cute how worried you’d gotten, asking why he’d want to do such a thing, desperately trying to figure out his intentions. You’d notably relaxed when he’d said that he just wanted to know the guy better, eager to make amends with someone who had been there for you over the years. 

He’d realised in that short period before the funeral just how good Nanami really was with you, listening to your woes as you talked with him on the phone, offering a kind and patient view while you were spiralling. He’d been able to see the interaction from a standpoint that wasn’t seethed in jealousy, and understood that Nanami cared deeply about your friendship. 

“Sukuna.” Nanami’s voice was calm and measured as he took the seat across from him. 

That gentle tone was something that had always irked him about Nanami back when he was Satoru’s roommate in first year. He lacked any of the wildness that his friends brought to the party, and subsequently had come across as boring in Sukuna’s mind. 

He could appreciate the man’s nature much more now that he was with you. He could see the beauty in being soft and gentle in a way that he hadn’t been able to understand before. There was a part of him that actually felt a little bad for the level of disrespect that he’d shown to Nanami over the years. 

Oh well, there was no changing the past. But he could certainly improve their relationship for the future. 

“Thanks for coming.” Sukuna said. “I got you a latte.” 

Upon arriving early at the cafe he’d managed to text you to ask what Nanami would usually drink in an attempt to build an instant rapport with the man. He wasn’t totally sure how this meeting would go, unaware of what Nanami’s true thoughts on him were. 

When he’d first been hanging out with you, back before the two of you were dating, he knew that Nanami had warned you against getting too tangled up with him. Sukuna hoped that his opinion had changed since then, but considering that he hadn't exactly seen the two of you together all that much, he couldn’t be sure. 

“Thanks. Trying to sweeten me up for some reason?” He asked, wrapping his hands around the ceramic cup, warming his fingers. 

“No.” Sukuna said quickly. “Was just being nice.” 

“Really?” Nanami asked, brow raised in suspicion. “I suppose you were just being nice back in first year when you wrapped up every item in my room in Christmas paper?” 

“Sorry.” 

To be honest, he wasn’t really sorry, because he still stood by the fact that it had been a hilarious prank. Besides, it took less effort for Nanami to unwrap everything than it had taken for him and the guys to wrap it all up in the first place. 

A truly victimless crime. 

But he’d put his own beliefs aside for a moment. 

“Well, that wasn’t a word I was expecting to hear from you.” Nanami took a sip of his drink, blinking expectantly as he watched Sukuna from across the table. “So, what did you want to talk about?” 

Sukuna spoke your name gently, noticing the way that Nanami’s expression softened ever so slightly. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t ignite an uncomfortable flicker of jealousy in his chest, but he was fast to push it down. He knew that you didn’t think of Nanami in that way and vice versa. 

“I guess I just figured that since the two of you are close friends, we should put the past behind us.” 

Nanami chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, when she told me that you were all sweet to her, I genuinely didn’t believe it. I really thought you were putting on some act, because how could she possibly be talking about the same guy that used to make love to women without shame in the shared space of mine and Satoru’s dorm.” 

Sukuna pulled a face at his choice of words. He wouldn’t describe what he did with those women as making love, it was certainly nothing more than fucking - but that didn’t feel like an important distinction to point out right now. 

“I was really concerned for her, you know? She’d withdrawn after breaking up with Hiromi and I figured that you were going to take advantage of her lack of experience with guys like you. And even though it seems like I was wrong, I don’t regret acting protectively towards her - I had seen you in action first hand after all.” 

Nanami had a point, but the mention of Hiromi had a sense of anger surging through his body. Even in an alternate world where Sukuna had only intended to sleep with you and leave, he still never would’ve treated you in the way that Hiromi did. Sure, he was a jerk, but he knew how to take no for an answer. 

“Mmm, you did suggest going back to Hiromi over her hanging out with me though. You were protecting her from the wrong guy.” 

Low blow, since Nanami hadn’t been aware of all your trauma with Hiromi at that point, but it still felt prudent to point it out. Maybe his sense of a person’s character wasn’t as on point as he’d like to believe. 

“Yes, and I regret that deeply now that I know what I know. She hadn’t opened up to us about him and Hiromi was certainly never forthcoming with that information. If I’d have known, I’d never have suggested such a thing. But, I also wouldn’t have recommended her chasing after you either.” 

Sukuna sighed, understanding where your friend was coming from but also wishing he could understand just how good this relationship was for you. 

“Do you feel differently now?” Sukuna asked. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Nanami said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I still don’t really trust you. To me you’ll always be the jerk that refused to turn down the music at 3am during exam season when I was trying to sleep. So I don’t think we’ll ever be friends.”

Yeah, he supposed that was fair. He and the rest of his friend group had really put Nanami through the wringer back in the day. 

“However, lately she’s seemed much happier, and I think that’s thanks to you. I’ve seen the way you treat her - at that party before summer, at the funeral - you’re gentle with her, much to my surprise, and that’s what she needs.” He let out a sigh. “Plus, the last few times I’ve called her she wouldn’t shut up about you, it’s almost annoying.” 

Nanami paused for a moment, taking another long sip of his drink and letting Sukuna mull over his words before continuing. 

“So, while I’m not sure that you’ll ever be my type of person, I’m glad that you’re there for her. I like seeing her happy, and if you’re the person who makes her feel that way then so be it. Just don’t mess it up.” 

Nanami’s look was stern, it felt almost like talking to an overbearing father - a thought that was rather amusing considering that your actual father had been practically jumping for joy at the idea of Sukuna being a part of your life. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on it.” Sukuna said with a grin. “I do think I’ll wear you down on the friendship front one day though.” 

“Not likely.”

“Only time will tell.” 

—

“Okay, so to make that jump you need to make sure you’re sprinting first and then click space when you’re right at the edge. Let your stamina regenerate first though or you won’t make the climb afterwards.” 

You and Sukuna were currently playing Peak. It was a multiplayer game that he’d spent plenty of time playing with his friends over the past year and figured that you’d enjoy playing with him. So far, you were only in the first stage of the game, having spent over half an hour checking out all the customisation options for your character and making yourself look cute. 

It had annoyed you significantly when you realised that Sukuna had more customisation items than you thanks to all the achievements he had acquired in game, with him quickly assuring you that he’d help you get all the achievements too so that your character would have access to the full range of hats and clothes. 

He wondered if he could get you to play any game that included a character creator, since that seemed to be a cornerstone for you when it came to enjoying a game. 

“Yeah, yeah I get it, oh wait- fuck!” 

Chuckling, he watched as your pink avatar hit the edge of a wall, attempting to grapple and hold on, only to slide down the surface into the mists below. Part of what he loved about playing Peak was the proximity chat, finding great enjoyment in the way your voice faded out as you disappeared back down the mountain. 

Moments later, the ghost of your character was right next to him, your voice distorted and dejected. “I fell.” 

“I saw.” He said with a soft laugh. 

“You couldn’t have grabbed me or something?” 

“Not how the game works, baby.” 

He could practically hear you pouting, falling silent as you observed him continuing up the mountain with little struggle. He’d played the game so much at this point that the first area would never give him trouble. 

“So like, what do I do now? Am I just dead?” 

“Nah, once I get to the top of this section I can revive you.” 

You hummed, caught up in your thoughts for a few moments. 

“Isn’t this kinda boring? I just gotta watch you play?” 

He smirked. Lately you’d been growing more and more straightforward with him, voicing what you actually thought rather than hiding behind some screen of politeness. He enjoyed it a lot, because it demonstrated a sense of comfort that you clearly felt when around him. Beyond that, it also suggested that slowly but surely you were healing. 

“I guess? It's not for long though. Besides, when I play with the guys I always have more fun being a ghost than actually playing.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, because you can be really annoying. If you scroll on your mouse you can get closer or farther to the person you’re observing - if you get in real close your volume sounds bass boosted to the player. Usually I’d zoom in close to Satoru and start screaming down the mic or playing super loud phonk from my phone.” 

He probably wouldn’t do that to you because you’d start getting mad at him. 

To be fair, Satoru would also get mad at him but that was different. 

He supposed that if you enjoyed playing the game he could always suggest that some of his friends join to play at some point. Peak was always more fun with a larger number of players, and he liked the idea of you getting to know his friends in a more chill environment. 

“Hmmm. I see.” Testing out what he’d said, a soft smile graced his features at the sight of your little ghost avatar disappearing off into the distance and then reappearing right in front of his face. “So I’m super loud now, then?” 

You weren’t. Mainly because you had a soft tone, not wise to Sukuna’s usual loudness techniques of pulling the mic as close to his mouth as possible and yelling. He couldn’t really imagine you doing such a thing. 

“Mmm, a little.” 

“Cool.” 

God, you were cute. 

“Do you think these little guys have a backstory?” 

“Maybe.” He mused, focussing as he climbed up a particularly tall ledge. “All we know is that they crash land on this island over and over again.” 

“Do you think your character felt upset when he saw my character fall to her death?” You asked. 

“For sure.” 

He hadn’t ever stopped to consider the motivations of an unvoiced character in a multiplayer video game, but he supposed you had a much more active imagination than he did. You were probably writing a whole story in your head about how the characters had known each other before the events shown in the game.

Making his way up to the top of the area successfully, he revived you, saving you from the restraints of being a ghost. The next part of the game went a little better for you, carefully following Sukuna’s instructions to help keep you alive. 

You still weren’t great, mainly because you seemed to just not grasp the concept of pressing multiple buttons on your keyboard at one time, but he could see a clear improvement. Though, all that mattered to him was that you were enjoying yourself, and that seemed evident to him. You were giggling non-stop, asking him constant questions about the lore of the game, and even getting mad at him when he picked an incorrect route up the virtual mountain. 

The two of you managed to get all the way through to the final stage of the game before you ran into a dead-end without enough stamina and fell to your death - a common experience with Peak that Sukuna had encountered many times before. 

It felt a little worse this time though, because you sounded so sad when the two of you were revived in the pre-game lobby, grumbling about how you’d wanted to see what the actual peak of the mountain looked like. 

But since it was getting late, your next attempt would have to wait for another time. 

That didn’t mean he was done talking with you for the night though. 

With the proximity chat cutting out once he left the game, he was quick to call you on Discord, grinning as you picked up on the first ring. You turned your camera on as soon as the call connected, looking ethereally beautiful staring back at him through the screen. 

During the time that you’d been away, he’d grown accustomed to the view through your laptop camera. It was a tiny little room that made up your background, but one that your mother had clearly kept for you. All kinds of posters lined the walls just like in your actual home, with several bookcases inhabiting the small space. 

Adorably, there were a number of glow-in-the-dark stars attached to the ceiling which served as a remnant of your childhood. Apparently the house had been your family’s holiday home when your parents had still been together, with your mother moving in there permanently after the divorce. 

He didn’t spend too much time staring at the background though - not when you were there in the centre of the frame looking all cute. 

“That was really fun!” You said with a bright smile. 

“You did better at that than I thought you would.” 

“Hey.” You pouted. “I’m not useless, you know.” 

“I know, but when we played Minecraft you freaked out whenever a creeper showed up.” 

“That’s because the game is annoying! It's not fair that I can be having a nice peaceful time building a cute house only for that stupid green guy to show up and blow it all up.” 

Minecraft had been the first game that he suggested the two of you play, figuring that it was nice and simple for someone who wasn’t all that experienced with gaming. It turned out he was wrong. He probably should’ve set it to peaceful mode to stop you from jumping out of your skin whenever an enemy appeared. 

Peak, on the other hand, seemed much more your speed. 

“Yeah you’re so right, can’t believe he’d come and mess up my baby’s hard work.” 

“Yeah.” You grumbled in affirmation. 

His red eyes were lit up with mischief, watching you carefully on the camera. The pout fixed on your face was so beautiful - after all these weeks apart he really wanted to touch you again, desperate to press his lips softly against yours. It was almost painful for him, his cock always growing desperately hard whenever you’d talk like this. 

He’d spent far too many an evening jerking off after he’d hung up his call with you, the image of you still burnt in his mind. He’d picture you on top of him, your warmth wrapped around his cock while you rode him. It was always disappointing to open up his eyes again and find that he’d cum into his hand rather than inside you. 

It was even more disappointing to go to bed after that, his body cold in the November chill without the warmth of your body to heat him up. 

God, he missed you. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Your voice chirped at the other end of the line, head tilted in interest, clearly done with tearing apart Minecraft. 

“You.” He said honestly.

“Oh.” Your cheeks lit up with a red flush, your eyes darting about the screen while Sukuna stared back at you evenly. “In- in what sense?” 

He smirked, biting down on his lip for a moment before deciding to test the waters a little. “Thinkin’ about how badly I wish you were in my bed right now.” 

He loved the way you were staring back at him, lips parted in surprise. In all the time that you’d been away now, the two of you hadn’t really veered into the territory of phone sex - not because Sukuna wasn’t interested, but mainly because with all the distance he could never be quite sure of how you were doing, and didn’t want to push something onto you that you didn’t really want. 

But lately you’d just seemed so happy, or at least content. Always smiling and giggling on calls together, talking excitedly about what you’d done that day. Sure, there were still days where the grief was evidently weighing you down, but he figured that on the days where your voice wasn’t quiet and timid, you might be potentially into something of this sort. 

It was fine if you weren’t, if you considered it a step too far, but he was so desperate for some form of actual intimacy with you at this point that he was willing to take the chance. 

“And- uh- what would we be doing?” Your voice was shy. Sukuna’s grin widened at how quickly you’d caught his drift, understanding exactly what he was trying to do and attempting to play along. Even if you seemed totally out of your depth. 

“Well, since you asked, I’d have you underneath me looking all cute and flushed like you do right now. I’d kiss you until you were breathless and then peel all your clothes off real slow because I’d want to savor the moment as long as possible.”

He wet his lips with his tongue, pausing for a moment to take in your reaction. Your gaze was fixed on the screen with something akin to desire - an interest that urged him to continue. 

“Then, once I’d got you naked and squirming beneath me, I’d worship every exposed inch of your body with my lips. I’d eat you out until you were sobbing and tugging on my hair in that sweet way you always do, practically begging me to just fuck you already.”

Considering that you were so well read, Sukuna was hoping that his words were eloquent enough to have an effect on you. It probably wasn’t phrased quite as well as some smutty books that you’d no doubt read, but the way you were fidgeting in your seat assured him that he was having some sort of impact. 

With a smug grin, he continued with his onslaught. 

“But I’d still take my time with you, tease you a little more, because where’s the fun in giving you what you want straight away? Maybe I’d make you beg for it, make you do something for me first to make up for all the heartache your absence has caused me.” 

It was cute how worried you looked, a gentle expression of sympathy shadowing your pretty face, clearly holding on to that last line as if Sukuna wasn’t just using it to tease you. He didn’t want you to take it so seriously, but it made him feel almost happy that you did anyway. There were times that you made him feel genuinely treasured, and he liked that a great deal. 

There was no time to linger on it though, because he was far from done with his performance.

“Maybe I’d make you put on a show, order you to get yourself off on your own fingers while I watch. I could talk you through exactly what to do, where to touch, when to cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Coming undone without me even touching you.” 

Your lips were parted softly, and his heart picked up at the sight of you swallowing nervously. He never, in a million years, could’ve anticipated the next words that came from your mouth. 

“We- I can do that now, if that’s what you want?” 

Sukuna faltered, caught desperately off guard by the offer in the best way. His idea had been to rile you up, to rile himself up with words alone so that his fantasy could be clearer than ever after he finished the call with you. He wasn’t expecting anything further than that, let alone an offer for you to indulge in his fantasy on camera. 

“Yeah? Only if that’s what you want, baby.” 

Nodding shyly, you shot him a small little smile. “I’ve been missing you a lot too, so…” You trailed off, biting down on your lip. Somehow this situation felt a little more nerve-wracking than actually having sex with you, and he could only imagine that you felt the same. It was cute that you were willing to go forward with it nonetheless. 

“Mmm. Can you take your shirt off for me, angel?” 

He’d expected more hesitation, always assuming that you’d approach new situations with the same level of shyness you’d displayed the first time the two of you had sex. But you wasted little time sliding the hoodie over your head, eyes downcast ever so slightly as the material dropped down to the floor. 

You hadn’t been wearing anything beneath the heavy material - he was aware that you had a tendency to forgo wearing a bra whenever you were relaxing at home, finding it more comfortable to go without where possible. 

His hand instantly moved down to his sweats, fingers tracing over his twitching cock, maroon eyes taking in the beautiful sight of you bare before him. It had been almost two months since he’d said goodbye to you, two months since he’d had the opportunity to witness you like this. 

There was a part of him that wished he had some nudes of you or something so that he could see you like this whenever he liked, but at the same time he enjoyed the idea of this sight being something sacred, a vision only presented to him when you wanted to allow it.

“Pretty.” He hummed. 

“Can you take off your top too? Feels weird otherwise.” Your murmured, expression bashful. 

Laughing, he did as you asked, pulling off his shirt in one quick motion and tossing it across the room. He noticed the way that your eyes darted about the screen, clearly taking in the sight of his bare chest. It was good to know that you were just as interested in the sight of him as he was in you. 

“Touch your breasts.” He ordered.

He loved the unsure look that flickered in your eyes for a moment, before bringing your hands slowly up to your chest. Your hand wrapped around the skin, the pads of your fingers running over your hardened nipple. Soft breaths fell from your plump lips, your eyes focussing anywhere but the screen.

“Does it feel as good as when I do it?” He asked, pulling your attention back to him. 

“N-no.” You shook your head. 

“Mmm, didn’t think so.” 

Sliding his hand down his sweats, he wrapped his fingers firmly around his hardened length, eyes heavy-lidded as he stared back at the screen, admiring your lightly flushed face. Your fingers were still lightly circling your nipples, your body shivering with each pass. 

It was a sight to behold. 

But he was a greedy man, and he wanted more. 

“Take off the rest of your clothes and get on your bed, baby.” 

He watched you stand up, sliding your trousers down your legs, leaving your panties on for the moment. You’d clearly understood what he meant from his barebones instructions, because you’d picked up your laptop and placed it on the bed before sitting down in front of it, positioned on your knees. 

Sucking in a breath, his eyes drifted to the wet patch on your cute pink panties. If he’d known that he could get you this worked up from words alone he would’ve utilised that a long time ago. 

Sitting pretty, you stared at the screen intently, awaiting his next order. It was cute to see you being all obedient and part of him wondered if you’d be up for trying something along the lines of light BDSM once the two of you were together again. He filed the thought away in his mind as something to bring up in the future. 

“Take your panties off too. Wanna see all of you.” 

You pouted. “That’s not fair, I should be able to see all of you too.” 

Chuckling, he put his hands up in surrender. “So demanding.” 

You didn’t seem particularly bothered by his comments, eyes dilating at the sight of him reaching for his webcam and adjusting it to allow you a view of the lower part of his body, his face still just about visible at the top of the frame. 

Shimmying his sweats and boxers down his thick thighs, he pulled them off and tossed them in the general direction that he’d thrown his shirt. He took great amusement in the way that you swallowed at the sight of him bare before you, eyes trailing over his tattooed thighs and up to his hardened cock, which was proudly pressing against his abs. 

“There you go. Time for your part of the deal.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumbled. 

Your fingers skimmed down your stomach slowly, as if taking your time to put on a show for him. They hooked delicately beneath the fabric of your panties, pulling the article of clothing down your legs, shuffling a little to pull them over your bent knees. 

Returning back to your kneeling position, which allowed him to see very little of what he actually wanted to see, you gazed back at him. A sly little smile was lighting up your pretty face, taking clear humor in forcing him to ask you to position yourself in the way that he wanted. 

He almost wanted to call you a brat, but figured he’d give you the benefit of the doubt for now. 

“Spread your thighs a little, baby.” He purred. “Need to see you properly.” 

Biting down on your lip, you did as he asked, spreading your thighs apart for him. His throat felt dry watching you act like this, so effortlessly sexy in the way that you acted before the camera, even with that shy look on your face. 

“Like this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah, good girl.” 

Stroking his cock leisurely, he gazed at the screen with hooded eyes. His heart was pounding desperately in his chest because he hadn’t really imagined that you’d be up for something like this. He’d figured that you’d maybe dirty talk for a little and then send him on his way, not this. 

“What- what next?” 

The little stutter betrayed your nerves, how cute. 

“You know what to do, baby.” He said with a grin, smile only widening as your hand moved down to your pussy, fingers rubbing against your clit for a few moments, drawing soft little whines from your lips. 

His cock twitched with need at the sound, pre-cum dripping from the tip. Squeezing harder with his hand, he picked up the pace slightly, fascinated by the sight before him. Your hand had travelled further down, fingers brushing softly against your opening, gathering up slick on the digit just like Sukuna usually would. 

“That’s it.” He hummed. “Make yourself feel good.” 

Body shuddering, you pressed a finger into yourself. It was marked with a muted cry of his name from your throat, as if you were making a conscious effort to be quiet considering that you were at your mom’s house. But you let yourself feel the pleasure all the same, pushing the finger deep into you, massaging your clit with the heel of your hand. 

Idly, he wondered how often you’d done this. 

It wasn’t a conversation that the two of you had ever really had, but considering the amount of times that he’d masturbated thinking about you, he couldn’t help but hope that you’d done the same. 

Had you spent many an evening laying back on those sheets and thinking of him with your hand between your legs? Had you looked at his pictures, listened to his voice notes and whined his name wishing that it was him making you cum? 

He really hoped so. 

“Shit, look at you. So fuckin’ pretty.” He rasped, eyelids heavy with lust. 

All he wanted was to transport himself straight into your room, press you down into the sheets and ravish you until you couldn’t remember anything but his name. 

But for now this would have to do instead. 

“Imagining it's my fingers filling you up, baby? Or are you picturing my cock instead?” He asked with a deep groan, observing the way that your eyes had fluttered shut, your brow creased with concentration. It was a sure sign that you were close, your breaths coming out in short little huffs. 

“You- your cock.” You whined. 

“Mmmm, you must really miss it, huh? Miss me filling you up?” He was struggling to keep his voice even, blinding desire tugging at his gut with each practiced stroke of his hand.

“I do- I really do. Need you so bad Kuna-” 

“Yeah? Aren’t you so damn cute, huh? How about you cum for me, baby? Give me a show.” 

He wasn’t sure if it was his words that sent you over the edge or if you’d simply been on the precipice already. But either way, with a few more flicks of your wrist you were tumbling over the edge, whimpering his name breathlessly and clenching your thighs together in desperation. 

It was beautiful. 

You were beautiful. 

Groaning your name under his breath, he shuddered at the feeling of his own orgasm hitting him, cum splattering against his abdomen. It was always a slightly disappointing feeling, sobering almost, to feel that warm liquid hit his skin. He desperately wanted to be finishing on or inside you, not all over himself. 

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, nothing beyond the sound of ragged breathing. 

Reaching out, he adjusted his camera back to how it had been positioned before, offering himself some modesty, and granting you a clearer view of his face. You did the same, pushing your laptop screen up ever so slightly as you brought your thighs back together carefully. 

“That was really hot, angel.” He said with a bright grin. 

“Yeah?” You asked bashfully, cheeks burning. 

“Yeah, insanely hot.” 

“I liked it too.” You confessed with a sweet giggle before starting to shiver a little, wrapping your arms around your bare body. “I’m kinda cold now though. It's really starting to feel like winter.” 

“Put the hoodie back on, don’t want you catching a cold.” 

You disappeared for a second, reappearing wearing the grey hoodie that was unmistakably his. He wasn’t quite sure when you’d swiped it from him before heading off on your trip, but he was glad that you had it. It looked better on you anyway. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, because we’ll definitely be doing that again. I feel like I’m going crazy without you here, I’m just desperate for you all the time. It's almost embarrassing.” He ran a hand through his disrevelled hair, almost embarrassed to openly confess to such a thing. 

“I feel the same.” You said earnestly, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “I mean, I’m happy here, but most of the time I can’t help but wish you were here too. I got so used to you being in my house that I feel kinda lonely without you. And, it gets so cold at night now, I wish I had you to cling to.” 

He laughed. “It sounds like what you actually want is an electric blanket.” 

“An electric blanket wouldn’t tenderly stroke my hair.” You said with a pout, earning you another chuckle. 

“Mmm, I suppose it wouldn’t.” 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence. Your eyes darted about for a moment, nibbling on your lip like you were trying to word something correctly in your head. Sukuna didn’t push, because he was perfectly happy sitting silently on a call together for as long as you wanted. 

After all, the sight of his girlfriend wearing his clothes was just about the best view he could ask for. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to come back to Tokyo yet. I still feel like the grief is too heavy and, to be honest, being as far away as possible from both university and the bakery has felt freeing.” 

“That’s okay, angel. I wasn’t expecting you back until at least December.” 

It was only early November now - you’d only been gone for two months, and the estimation had been that you’d stay away for almost the entirety of the autumn/winter semester. As much as he wanted you to come back as soon as possible for his own selfish reasons, he had realistic expectations of what was going to happen. 

And to be honest, opening up the door to have more calls like this one would ease the pain a great deal. 

He’d wait for you patiently for as long as you needed him to. Healing from grief wasn’t exactly a linear process, and even though he’d watched you improve significantly over the last few weeks, he knew that you were still hounded by it whenever confronted with something that reminded you of your father. 

He wasn’t going to rush you. It was fine. 

“I know, I know.” You said. “But I do really want to see you.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Imagine how good it’ll feel to make out for the first time again in December though, just think about that.” 

He’d been thinking about that ever since you’d left. That first night upon your return was going to be incredible - it was the main thing he’d been holding onto. 

“I was actually- uh- I was wondering if you wanted to come down here and visit soon?” You were playing with your fingers as you asked the question, almost as if you were nervous that he’d say no, like he wasn’t just as desperate to see you as you were to see him. 

“Come to visit you? In Kyushu?” He asked. 

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t considered that as an option before. Perhaps because he’d believed that you’d wanted space from everything for a little while, including him. He didn’t want to assume and impose his desires upon you. 

“Yeah. I know that it's Reading Week soon so you’ll have some time without classes. I’m not ready to come back but maybe it would be nice for you to come here? I could show you all the cool spots around the area, and we can hang out and stuff. It's okay if you don’t want to though.” 

He scoffed. “Why would I not want to?” 

You really needed to stop convincing yourself that he had something better to do than hang out with you. He’d literally drop all his plans in favor of spending time at your side. You should really get that through your head. 

“I don’t know.” You said with a shrug. “Thought you might have something going on with the guys, or maybe you wanted to use that week for its actual purpose and study.” 

“As if.” 

He wouldn’t be caught studying any earlier than the night before an exam, so all of that could wait until January. He’d usually spend Reading Week catching up on sleep and partying, but a visit down to Kyushu sounded way more ideal. 

“It sounds like a great idea, baby. I’ll buy a train ticket.” 

a/n: might write a toji oneshot about him and his crush set in this au hehe

next chapter should be out in a couple of weeks, I'm currently splitting my time between this and my new mini-fic about magical girl!reader x villain!sukuna!

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

taglist (open!): @call-me-nyxx @mad-katsuki @ilovesmolkittycats @cupidxml @solarlovesxyz @serenadesvt @fushiguroooozzz @surgikull @yuujispinkhair @himezoro @etsuniiru @lkukaknka @svnarxnn @chaos-4baby @rinofcike @eepydeepysleepy @linaaeatsfamilies @tisuruxx @grimm3r @minasuniverse @hanaegoaway @beereadzzz @00frenchfries00 @sukubusss @poopooindamouf @himbosexual @yatsuyu @thejujvtsupost @shewhoscreamssilently @kalulakunundrum @xxkay15xx @madison777x @thoreeo @saltypuffin1040 @t4ters @sugarysc @sussiesushi @silviscosplay @inthedarkshadows000 @slipperypudding @p1nkfl0wers @philiasoul @emochosoluvr @tweetybomb @ynishalee @camsdrzd @jupitereleven @anguuubb @dawnsoblivion @christinezz33

Even though you sent screenshots, detailed notes, requested they check the style guide again, the response you got was dismissive and so matter-of-fact it made your stomach turn: It doesn’t matter. It’s good enough and the client won’t notice. Instead of taking your feedback seriously, someone actively chose to ignore you. Worse still, they pushed the flawed version live to the client’s staging server. The client noticed immediately, exactly as you had known they would.

Suddenly, you were the one being called in to answer for mistakes that were not yours. You were answering for the developer’s carelessness and the product manager’s arrogance. The tone in your boss’s reply email was icy, making it brutally clear that, in their eyes, you were the problem. In the end, you had raised your voice and taken it personally. That, of course, was another thing your boss did not tolerate: emotional outbursts. As far as they were concerned, the only path to continued employment was to pretend everything was fine while you were berated for something that wasn’t your fault.

To protect yourself and your work, you spent this morning documenting everything and screenshotting the conversations with developers where you flagged the issues and the responses they gave you.

Now, hours later, there was nothing in the world you needed more than a complete mental reset. To relax, sleep until eleven in the morning, eat an unholy amount of deeply satisfying junk food, and for just one single day, forget you even had a job.

The first is the only one you feel you could actually achieve. You won't admit it, not even to yourself, but it’s Pink who helps with that. Instead, you cling to the idea that it’s the routine of grocery shopping itself, the familiar loop through the aisles, that does the work.

You’re halfway down the snack aisle when you realise you’ve picked up the same bags of gummies three weeks in a row now. A silly, small habit, but one you can’t seem to break. Holding the bag in your hand, you glance toward the end of the aisle, when something moves in the corner of your eye.

He’s coming toward you, and you can spot him from a mile away, not just because of the distinctive, faded pink hair, but because of the sheer predictability of his outfit. Dressed the same as always: black jeans, slightly worn at the knees, and a black oversized hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the inked bands around his wrists.

There’s a basket in one of his hands, nearly full with his usual haul of nut mix bags and energy drinks, and his free hand is digging through the groceries, fingers fishing for something specific.

When you reach the middle of the aisle, you both lift what’s in your hands at almost the exact same moment.

You’re holding your gummies. He’s holding a small brown-gold packet of something you don’t recognise at first, named using a kanji you haven’t read in a long time. You glance at it in a slight confusion, but finally realise it’s roasted kinako sticks, the cheap snack that used to sit near register counters in corner shops when both of you were kids.

You blink once, caught off guard by his choice, then lift your bag slightly higher in response and his head tilts a little. For a moment he doesn’t look like the stoic man you’re used to, but like a younger version of himself. It doesn’t really matter what the shift is, because it makes you grin widely anyway. 

To your surprise, he smiles back. It’s a little reluctant, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it’s undeniably real. And it lingers just long enough for you to be sure you didn’t imagine it.

As you walk through the rest of the aisles together, you pause briefly at the drinks shelf, knowing you’ll need something cold for tomorrow’s lunch break. He steps ahead toward the refrigerated section and picks up a protein shake, the same one he’s been grabbing for the last few weeks. He drops it into the basket, then grabs a few more and does the same, stocking up without a second thought.

You turn into the last few aisles, pick up a large bag of rice, then check the perpetually half-empty shelf with the canned tomatoes, snagging the last two. He stops to scan the shelf with instant noodles but doesn’t grab anything, just lets his eyes move over the options. The fact that he’s still there beside you, like it’s not even a question, gives you the peace you’ve been craving all week.

At the checkout, he moves to the express lane on the left, which is miraculously empty, while you take the one next to it with one person waiting. He finishes first, gathers his bags, and waits just outside the automatic doors, same as always.

You finish scanning your things, carefully separating the chilled items from the dry goods as you bag them. You pull your totes over your shoulders, cradle a paper bag of fruit in your arms, and step outside into the mild evening air.

He meets your eyes the moment you exit and gestures with his chin toward the lot. You nod once, already moving in the direction you know by heart now.

You reach your car first, balancing the bags awkwardly against your hip and setting the heaviest one down on the asphalt so you can pop the trunk. The latch sticks the way it’s been sticking for weeks, the hinge catching halfway before it finally releases with a small shudder, and you mutter under your breath about replacing it when you finally have a day off.

He’s only a few steps to your left, his own bags hanging low against his side. When the hinge snags again as you lift the trunk lid, he speaks for the first time today, his voice a low, gravelly sound.

“Careful with that hinge.”

You look up at him, one hand still gripping the stubborn latch.

“It’s been doing that for a while,” you explain with a small shrug. “I keep meaning to look up how to fix it, but I always forget.”

He sets his bags down next to your bumper, reaches out a hand but stops short of touching anything. Instead, he angles his wrist and gestures. “Lift it higher first, just a little. Then pull.”

You frown slightly, skeptical, but try it the way he shows, lifting the lid higher before pulling. The latch comes free with a smooth, quiet click, the resistance gone. It’s such a small, ridiculously simple thing you almost laugh at your own weeks of struggle.

“That’s it?”

His expression stays neutral, but the smallest hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. “That’s it.”

You exhale a soft, genuine laugh anyway, then glance up at him with a bright, appreciative smile. “Thanks, Pink.”

Something like the beginning of a smile flickers across his mouth, that he seems to swallow as quickly as it forms. 

Turning back to your task, you load the bags into the trunk, then tug the blanket you keep in the back free from underneath them and sling it over your arm. When you turn toward his Jeep, he’s already setting his groceries onto the backseat. His shoulders are angled slightly away, like he’s focused on arranging things, but as he leans in, you catch a glimpse of his ear. The tip of it is faintly pink, the colour unmistakable this close, standing out against his skin.

The sight makes your chest warm, but you don’t say anything about it, smiling to yourself as you adjust the blanket over your arm and follow him around the car.

Before he steps away from the side of the car, you climb fully into the back and cross your legs, leaning back against the interior wall. A moment later, he sits down across from you, one leg folded low against the mat, the other bent, an arm resting loosely across it.

For the first time since you met, you’re sitting directly facing each other instead of side by side, close enough now that you can clearly see the dark lines of ink on his wrists even in the dim light.

You rip open your bag of gummies with a satisfying tear and set it down on the floor between you. His roasted kinako sticks follow a moment later after he tears the wrapper neatly and lays it flat. The faintly sweet, nutty smell reaches your nose almost immediately.

“It’s kinako sticks,” he explains before you can ask. “Corner shop near my school had them by the register. Ten yen each back then. We’d save change for them.”

You nod slowly, picking one up and biting into it. It’s soft and sweet, dissolving on your tongue, the roasted soybean flour leaving a slight, pale powder on your fingers. “‘s good,” you say quietly, enjoying the simplicity of the taste. “I remember seeing them before, but I never tried them.”

He takes one too, chewing slowly, his gaze distant for a moment. “Comfort food,” he says, then lifts his chin toward your gummies. “This yours?”

You chuckle, staring at the brightly coloured packaging, tracing a cartoon character with your finger. “Kind of. I’ve been buying them since high school. It’s not even the taste anymore. Just… habit.”

“Makes sense.” He runs one hand slowly through the pink strands of his hair, stopping at the back of his neck and pressing his fingers there. Your head tilts slightly in concern, but you don’t ask.

You eat like that for a while, trading between the gummies and the kinako sticks, while the low hum of the radio from the front seat drifts into the cabin. It’s warm enough that you don’t need the blanket, but you drape it across your lap anyway, fingers playing idly with the edge of the wool as you think of his question.

“I cook when I actually have time,” you start. “Nothing fancy, nothing you’d see in a restaurant, but still real meals. Miso soup from scratch with proper dashi, grilled fish with daikon, soft-boiled eggs in soy marinade. Sometimes fried tofu, if I’m not too tired to deal with the oil. I like things that take a bit of time. Especially stuff my grandmother used to make. I think it makes me feel like I’m doing something useful with my hands when everything else feels too much, or when my job turns to shit again and I feel like I’m constantly losing control.” 

You take a breath and glance at him, then back down at your lap.

 “It’s stupid, I know. It’s just food, but there’s something really… I don’t know, grounding about washing rice until the water’s perfectly clear and cooking it properly. I like the routine of it.” 

You pause for a second, not embarrassed, just realising how much you’ve said. 

“Anyway. I don’t do it every week. Usually I don’t have the energy or really… just time. But when I feel like I’m going to break a little… like really break down… I make ochazuke. Rice, hot green tea, some salmon or pickled plum, nori, whatever I have in the fridge. It’s so simple I don’t have to think about the steps, and I always feel better afterwards.”

You give a small shrug. “That’s my comfort food, I think.”

The way he listens makes it feel like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to be telling him all this. When you finish, he stays quiet for another second, then tilts his head slightly, the pink of his hair catching the light. 

“Ochazuke’s good. Haven’t eaten it in a long time.” He looks away from you, shifting his gaze to his left, watching the people moving in the parking lot. “I don’t cook much. Simple things. Rice, eggs, whatever’s easy. Mostly, I just eat konbini food when I’m tired. Stuff I don’t have to think about.” He exhales softly. “But that doesn’t really… fix anything.”

You glance at him, watching his profile, and he doesn’t meet your eyes, keeping his gaze on the flicking light of the store sign.

“Maybe that’s why I don’t cook,” he finally murmurs, his voice a little quieter. “If I did, I’d have to stop long enough to feel like shit.”

It doesn’t feel right to fill the space just because it turned personal, so you don’t. He didn’t ask for comfort or solutions, and you’re not trying to give them either, letting the moment exist the same way he lets your rambling do when you talk too long without meaning to. You sit with it, holding the silence with the same patience he’s shown you for weeks.

Eventually, fidgeting with the corner of your blanket again, you offer quietly, “That makes sense.”

The song playing now is one of the slower, moodier ones on his CD, a low, repetitive bassline with a quiet melancholy threaded through it. You’re not actively listening, but at some point you realise you’ve started to sway your head a little to its rhythm.

Still watching the lot, his gaze fixed on an invisible point near the horizon, he murmurs, “Joy Division.” You lift your eyes to his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice until he adds, almost as an afterthought, “This one’s called Atmosphere.”

Somehow, the man looks more distant than before, even sitting this close to you. And it’s yet another time you’re listening to this band in his Jeep, so you guess it must be one of his favourites and promise yourself to finally look it up later.

You pop another gummy into your mouth, more for something to do with your hands than anything else, and when the song fades out, you add the first trivial, unrelated thought that comes to mind.

“I miss those pens from school,” you say. “The ones with six colours you’d click back and forth.” You let out a soft laugh. “I didn’t even need them, but I liked the sound.”

“Those were everywhere,” he snorts quietly, his eyes closing for just a brief moment. “Everyone tried to click all the colours at the same time and jammed them.”

You smile, absentmindedly folding and smoothing the fabric of the blanket in your lap. “You?”

He looks down at his hands, watching his fingers worry the edge of the kinako packet, then lifts his gaze back to you. “Used to get melon ice from a street cart near my school. Bright green. Tasted kind of fake, but it was better than school lunch.” He pauses. “My brother loved it too.”

You try to picture it in your mind, the way he might have looked as a kid or a teen, the ghost of a smile on his face, his younger brother beside him, wondering how similar they were back then and are now. 

“Sounds nice.”

His posture eases slightly, his head tilted just a little as he looks at you across the narrow space of the Jeep. The phone resting near his thigh lights up, and you glance at it automatically before looking away just as quickly, hoping he didn’t take it as prying. Before you do, you catch the time on the screen, the clock shows ten-fourty.

Remembering how long tomorrow is going to be, you start gathering the wrappers, smoothing them out of habit before folding the blanket neatly over your knees and stacking it in your arms. You’re focused on doing it properly, and you miss the way he shifts once, like he’s about to say something, then doesn’t.

Instead, he settles back against the interior again, one hand resting idle on his knee, watching you finish as if there’s no reason to hurry you along. By the time you finally move to climb down from the trunk, he still hasn’t moved nor looked away.

“Drive safe, Red,” he says when your feet meet the asphalt.

You smile, warmer than before. “You too, Pink.”

And like every week before, he stays inside until your lights come on and doesn’t leave until you’re gone.

tags: @5seos @nerdjoenjoyer @nakiich  @sspiralma

you’re quiet most of the way back.

he doesn’t fill the silence. just walks next to you, close enough that your knuckles brush sometimes.

you pretend not to notice when he glances over at you every other block. or when he presses the button for the crosswalk even though you’re closer. or when he shifts your bag higher on his shoulder like he’s going to carry it forever if you don’t ask for it back.

by the time you reach your building, your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile.

“room?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know it.

you hesitate.

then: “…it’s messy.”

he grins. “so am i.”

you roll your eyes, but your fingers still curl into the hem of his hoodie once you’re inside. he pulls you in by your waist, lets the door click shut behind him, and starts kissing you like he’s been starving for it. like he didn’t just walk you home twenty minutes ago. like he needs to feel your mouth again to remember what peace tastes like.

he picks you up halfway through the kiss. doesn’t ask. just grabs under your thighs and carries you toward your bed like it’s instinct, like this is what he does. your legs wrap around his waist. you’re already breathless by the time he drops you into the mattress and crawls on top of you with that same greedy, cocky, sleepy-eyed look.

you whisper his name. quiet. a little breathless.

his mouth is on yours again instantly. “missed you today,” he mumbles, even though he saw you at lunch. even though he texted you through lecture. even though you haven’t gone a full day without seeing him in weeks.

he grinds down into you slow. you can feel how hard he is through his sweats. thick and heavy, dragging against the thin cotton between your legs as he breathes you in like he wants to ruin your sleep schedule again.

you gasp when he ruts against your clit just right.

“there she is,” he murmurs, smirking against your mouth. “my pretty girl. thought about this all day.”

he palms at your thighs, presses a kiss right under your jaw, then mumbles it against your skin like it’s an afterthought.

“your roommate gonna be back soon?”

you shake your head quickly. “she’s sleeping over at her boyfriend’s.”

“good.”

it comes out low. thick with that same heavy-lidded want he always wears around you. his fingers curl around the back of your knee and drag it higher around his waist. your skirt bunches up between you, and you can feel how hot his skin is even through your tights.

you try not to make eye contact. he always teases you when you get like this—shy, squirmy, looking anywhere but his eyes like that’ll make you less obvious. like he can’t feel how much you want him.

he leans down closer, nose brushing yours.

“why’re you looking at the ceiling?”

you swallow. “no reason.”

“what,” he grins, voice low and teasing, “nervous?”

your face heats instantly.

he laughs, kisses the corner of your mouth. “you’re cute when you get all quiet.”

“i’m not—”

“shhh,” he hums, kissing you again. “let me take care of you.”

and you let him.

you always do.

he moves slow, almost annoyingly so, like he wants to make you squirm. like he wants to see how much you’ll feel your face warming before he even gets your tights off. his hands are so big they make you feel small, and the way he touches you, and makes you dizzy in the way only he can.

he palms your cunt through the fabric, feels how soaked you already are. hums deep in his throat like that’s exactly what he expected.

“fuck, baby. all that just from me grinding on you?” he smirks, dragging his fingers up and down the damp seam of your tights. “you’re so sensitive.”

you try to close your legs.

he doesn’t let you.

“nuh-uh,” he says, nudging your thighs apart again with a rougher grip. “don’t get all shy now. you were making those pretty little noises earlier, weren’t you?”

your hands fly up to your face. he laughs.

“that’s what i thought.”

and when he finally slides your tights down, slow and careful, peppering kisses along your legs as he goes—he keeps murmuring, like you’re his favorite secret.

“my girl’s so fuckin’ cute. you know that?”

you don’t answer.

you can’t. not when his mouth is already between your thighs, and you’re trembling again just from the way he moans like you’re the one ruining him.

he noses along the inside of your thigh, breath hot against your skin. doesn’t kiss your pussy yet—just stays there, mouth so close it makes you ache. your hips twitch, but he doesn’t move. just palms them gently, keeping you still, smirking like he’s trying to see how long it takes you to beg.

“this where you get all quiet again?” he murmurs, voice dark and low. “’cause you weren’t so shy a second ago, grinding on me and shit.”

you make an embarrassed, needy sound, and he chuckles and licks a long, slow stripe from your hole to your clit. it makes your whole body jerk.

you nod before you can stop yourself.

he hums against your clit, lips wrapping around it gently just to suck enough to make your thighs shake. he doesn’t go fast—not at first. not until you’re clutching the sheets, breath catching in your throat, trying so hard to stay quiet even though your roommate’s gone and no one’s gonna hear you except him.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, holding your hips down when you start to squirm. “you always get this sensitive?”

“j-just with you,” you breathe.

and that’s the thing—sukuna acts like an asshole most of the time. cocky. sharp. loud in a way that should make you feel small.

but the second you say shit like that, he’s silent. like he feels it somewhere deeper. like you handed him something and he doesn’t know exactly where to put it.

he presses a kiss to your thigh, almost too soft. then one to your hipbone. your tummy. the underside of your breast. until he’s climbing back up your body, cock hard against your inner thigh, face flushed and mouth glistening with your slick.

he kisses you slow, and so wet, like he’s drunk on the sweet taste of you—and you kiss him back, dazed, dizzy, already fucked-out from just his tongue.

you murmur against his lips, voice small. “sukuna…”

“mm?”

you glance down. he’s hard, thick and heavy where it rests between your bodies, hot against your skin. you shift a little beneath him, just enough for your thighs to squeeze around his hips. “aren’t you gonna…” you trail off, swallowing. “you know. f-fuck me?”

he just smirks, and leans back down again. “not tonight,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. “don’t need to.”

you blink. confused. still panting.

his hands settle under your knees, spreading you open again. he’s still wet from before, his chin sticky with your slick. “just wanna taste you, baby. that’s all i want.”

you whimper as he sinks lower. “kuna—”

he groans, mouth already on your cunt again, tongue parting your folds and licking deep like he’s starving. like you’re dessert and he’s not done yet. he sucks softly on your clit, presses slow, lazy kisses all over like he’s making up his own pattern. and he doesn’t rush it. doesn’t get greedy. he savors you.

“god,” he groans, voice low against your cunt. “you’re so fucking sweet. like this little pussy’s made for my mouth.”

your face burns. your legs twitch. “but—but you’re hard—”

he pulls back just long enough to glance up at you, eyes half-lidded. “i know,” he says. “so what?”

you make another helpless noise, thighs closing around his head before he pries them open again.

That was enough to make him stand abruptly, his hands clenching, cursed energy barely held back.

“You’re using your mouth more than you should—and for the wrong purpose, at that,” Naoya said, his voice low. “Seems your clan failed to educate you.”

You stood as well, far calmer than he was. “If it weren’t for the education I was given, you wouldn’t be breathing anymore.”

He leaned over the table, convinced that the way his body cast a shadow over yours would intimidate you into backing down.

It didn’t.

“Naoya—” the Gojo clan representative rose, seeing that the man was already at his limit, but he was silenced immediately.

“Shut up!” Naoya barked. “I’ll educate her.”

Of course he would react that way. Men always reached for the same weapons when threatened: condescension, authority, and the promise of violence, you thought.

“And are you capable of that?” you asked coolly. “Educating someone requires intelligence first. All you know how to do is repeat what half-dead old men whispered into your ear.”

Your eyes didn’t even blink when his hand slammed into the table, the poor wood cracking slightly under the impact.

Noritoshi stood up at once as well, instinctively placing his arm between the two of you. “Enough! This is a diplomatic meeting!”

“Exactly! That’s why an emotional, irrational creature like her shouldn’t be—”

You didn’t let him finish the sentence. Your hand struck his cheek cleanly.

Silence settled over the room once more. The feeling was mixed, but shared—disbelief, anxiety, and anger.

Naoya grabbed your wrist. You read the red on his face as part fury, part consequence of your well-aimed strike, the flush at the tips of his ears and the tremor in his hands going unnoticed.

“Enough,” the two spectators said in unison—the excuse the Zenin needed to pull himself out of the humiliating situation he’d put himself in.

“That’s why women like you die alone,” he snarled, releasing your arm.

You stared at him. “And that’s why men like you die early. You never know when to shut your mouth.”

He stopped breathing for a second, as if you’d struck him again, harder this time. Every instinct in him screamed for retaliation, physical or verbal, but Kamo was faster.

“This meeting is adjourned,” he said loudly, his voice shaking despite the effort to sound authoritative. “Immediately.”

You watched Naoya leave the room, shoving the unfortunate servant in his way to the floor. A sigh slipped past your lips as you felt your companions’ eyes on you.

“Well,” Gojo swallowed dryly, “that escalated.”

It wasn't the workload itself that was the issue. It was the expectation that you should instantly abandon a project you'd poured days of effort into and walk straight into another fire, all without complaint. Thanks to that, however, an invisible barrier inside you finally shattered, and you decided you would finish your Friday at a reasonable hour, and you were going to stick by it. There won’t be late-night fixes, retouches over the weekend or exported files in bed at two in the morning. This time, you are going to end your week like a normal human being and actually rest.

But more than that, you won’t be spending your weekend alone. Your best friend’s coming over this time and she stays from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. Two glorious nights of comfort food, endless girl talk, watching truly terrible tv shows, and way too many snacks. 

That thought is what keeps you going through Thursday. Well, that, and the quiet hope of maybe seeing him again. Not that you’d ever say it aloud of course.

Stepping into the grocery store, the air conditioning gives you chills, and you instinctively tug the sleeves of your hoodie down, covering your bare elbows that were exposed while driving. A small shiver runs down your spine as you grab a cart and set off with a folded list in your hand.

The pasta aisle is half-restocked, the metal cart with the stacked boxes still in the middle, forgotten by the staff. 

You’re crouching by the lower shelf, contemplating the existential importance of penne versus fusilli as if the success of the entire girls’ weekend depends on it, when a low, rough “Hey” comes from your side.

The voice is distinct, so you know it’s him right away, even if it is raspier than you remember. You tilt your head and blink, surprised at how hoarse it sounds, which gives you the strange feeling that this might have been the first word he'd spoken all day.

An involuntary smile appears on your face as you stand up to meet his eyes. For the first time since you started running into him weeks ago, he isn’t dressed in black. He has a loose, ash-grey set of sweats that looks weirdly... domestic. Otherwise, he is the same: way taller than everyone else and, most definitely, way quieter.

“Hi!” Your voice feels different this time too, brighter, more careless, already warmed by the thought of the weekend ahead. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can picture the absurd blanket fort your best friend will absolutely insist on building.

Still, you’d be lying if you said it was only because of that.

He offers a single nod, a gesture you’ve grown to understand despite how small it is. You smile again and push your cart past him, as if running into him in the pasta aisle were the most routine thing in the world.

Next on the list is restocking for the weekend, so in the drinks aisle you load up on several soft drinks. Then your hand pauses, hovering near a row of tall glass bottles you’ve never seen before. A new kind of sparkling juice, imported, judging by the label.

You pick up two without hesitation. As you set them into your cart, a single, startling thought appears: it would feel wrong to show up empty-handed. 

What is wrong with you? You just simply assumed you would see him again, and that the night would end with you both on the tailgate of the Jeep. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. You didn’t ask when he approached and he didn’t offer either, and here you are, expecting it, even just a little and that sits uncomfortably in your chest.

Shaking the thought away, you turn into the wine aisle, grabbing your favourite bottle and three more for good measure.

Minutes later, standing at the checkout, you’re facing the impossible task of fitting half the store's contents into your two tote bags. It obviously doesn't go well, and you end up paying with three extra plastic bags piled on the floor around your feet, irritation flaring as you glare at them.

“Why didn’t you take more wine? You absolutely have the space and strength for at least four more, you should go back and get them,” you mumble under your breath and that self-mockery helps you gather some strength to pick the bags up and take three steps toward the automatic doors.

You’re considering leaving the two heaviest bags by the cashier and making two trips to the car, but before you can actually decide, a familiar hand reaches in and effortlessly snatches them from your grip, leaving you momentarily startled.

“Here,” Thursday Man rasps beside you, now holding two of his own bags and two of yours without the slightest sign of strain. It doesn’t seem fair, but you’re overwhelmingly grateful so you simply nod, letting him carry them.

As soon as you reach your red car, you hurry ahead to pop the trunk open. He sets the bags down inside without a word, steps back, and adjusts his hold of the remaining ones in his hands. You move to drop the rest of your haul beside them, brushing a stray lock of hair off your face with your wrist before reaching into the tote still looped over your arm.

You’re about to thank him, but when you straighten and turn toward him, he’s already watching you. In his hand, held up slightly with a questioning tilt of his head, are two bottles of bright yellow lemonade.

For a beat you don’t react, merely blinking at the surprise. Then your mouth pulls into a wide grin, and a quiet chuckle slips out. You raise a finger in the air playfully and dig into your own tote, pulling out the glass bottles you picked up in the drinks aisle, the imported ones with the unpronounceable label.

You lift them toward him in the same gesture he used, a slight tilt of your head. He huffs something under his breath that sounds like amusement, then nods once, you nod back, and without a word, you both move toward the Jeep.

He opens the tailgate with one firm pull, lets it drop gently, and disappears around to the passenger side, opens the door, and you hear the plastic bags sliding.

A second later, a low click comes from the dash, followed by a faint burst of sound: music, a little muffled, then the door shuts again, and his footsteps circle back around the vehicle, and he climbs in beside you.

Just like his outfit, the way he’s sitting changes as well, one leg bent up with his foot flat on the tailgate, the other stretched out so only his heel touches the asphalt, his elbow resting across his knee. It’s different, but somehow still very much him.

His lemonade bottle cracks open, and he takes a long sip as you settle in more comfortably, crossing your legs. The imported bottle you push toward him slides across the trunk floor, and he catches it smoothly just before it tips over.

The music plays louder, as if what came before was only a prelude. Now you can distinguish a guitar, then a synth. It’s low and rhythmic. You can’t name it, but it feels familiar as old songs sometimes do, even when you’re not sure you’ve heard them before.

You lean back on your hands, tilting your head toward the dark sky, and ask, “What’s that?”

He doesn’t turn his head toward you, his voice a low rumble when he answers, “Joy Division.”

Nodding slowly, as if that explains everything, you bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t tell if the strain in his voice is sadness, but you don’t see any of it in his expression, so you let the thought go. After all, you don’t know him well enough to assume anything.

“Old favourites,” he adds after a comfortable stretch of silence.

You take another sip of your drink, listening to the rhythm. Your foot taps lightly to the beat without meaning to. 

The wind isn’t strong tonight, but you feel it in the sleeves of your hoodie. You’re not sure how long the silence lasts. At least a few minutes, you decide, because a different song is playing now. 

Pulled up from somewhere beneath the tiredness, you speak again, a little brighter this time. “My best friend’s staying over this weekend. Girls’ night… except it’s actually two nights. I just bought four bottles of wine, and she’s definitely bringing something ridiculous for dessert. We’re gonna rewatch that one show we swore we’d never touch again because we’re grownups now, and then probably stay up until three talking about people we don’t even like.”

You pause, glancing at him, but he doesn’t look skeptical. In fact, he doesn’t look like anything except actively listening, so you keep going.

“I told myself I wouldn’t touch work. Like, not even check Slack, not one draft review, nothing. Just—fort building, movies, takeout, maybe matching socks if we’re feeling fancy.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “God, that sounds silly when I say it out loud… But I just can’t wa—” you stop yourself, brows pinching together as the next song comes through the speakers.

The man beside you looks slightly puzzled by your abrupt silence, but you aren’t paying attention to him, intensely focused on the music. Your head lifts, resting back against the edge of the Jeep’s interior, and your eyes half-close as you finally recognize the familiar sounds.

“Is that… The Police?”

He nods initially, then, realising you might not see it, adds quietly, “Yeah.”

A genuine smile breaks across your face as your eyes open and a wave of warmth washes over you. “That’s my mom’s favorite band.”

He holds your gaze, not turning away.

Then, his phone lights up, and you both see the screen flicker to life against the dark interior at the same time. It buzzes once, then again, then stops. A few seconds later, another buzz comes.

He doesn’t reach for it until the fourth insistent vibration, muttering a low, “Sorry,” before checking the screen. You remain still, watching the subtle way his jaw tightens as he reads the last messages.

Without much explanation, he closes the screen, shoves the phone into his hoodie pocket, and says, “Something came up. I have to go.”

“Yeah. Of course.” 

You slide off the tailgate before he has a chance to move. He gets out behind you, and you wait for him to close the trunk before speaking again. “Bye.”

At the exact same time, he says, “Drive safe.”

You blink, then nod, echoing it back softly as you turn toward your car. “You too.”

He walks toward the driver’s side, gets in, but doesn’t start the engine until you unlock your car, slide into the seat, and shut the door behind you. Only then do you hear the Jeep’s engine come to life and by the time you glance in your rearview mirror, he’s already gone.

fratboy!sukuna has to force himself not to fuck your face when you get on your knees for him. the sight of you kneeling drives him up the damn wall. he’ll rest his hand on the back of your head guiding you gently. when you wrap your mouth around him he lets out a curt breath and , “look at you… my pretty girl.” sometimes he has to dig his fingers into his thigh so he doesn’t grab your face and take over. when you pop off the tip for a second, he’ll tilt your chin up with two fingers. “look at those pretty eyes... you're doing so well for me.”

fratboy!sukuna is obsessed with finishing inside you. there’s something about the moment he gets close to coming that makes him lose the last bit of restraint he has. he’ll grab your hips, pull you up against him, and whisper, “let me give you all of it.” he loves the way you tense when he spills deep. afterward he stays inside you, breathing against your neck, holding your waist still like he doesn’t want a drop of his cum escaping. “stay like that for a second,” he mutters. “fuck, i’m not done feeling you yet.”

fratboy!sukuna gets insanely jealous. one time at a party, he saw gojo starring a little too long at your ass and his mind went haywire. he almost immediately grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap on the couch, wrapping his big biceps around your waist. "kuna? are you okay?" you'd ask so obliviously, squirming on his thighs. "just fine, baby." he'd grit, staring gojo down.

fratboy!sukuna gets unbearably horny in lectures when you’re not near him. he’d sit in the back row man spreading, pretending to take notes while he kept glancing at the empty seat beside him. it made his mind wander in the worst possible way. he’d rest his hand over his mouth like he was focusing, but really he was picturing you sitting on his lap bouncing up and down, instead of two buildings away in your own class. when the professor called on him he barely heard the question. after lecture he’d text you, “come over now. i'm not kidding, i can’t think straight when you’re not here.”

fratboy!sukuna loses it the first time he hears you moan. he swears he wasn’t going too rough, but the second you let out that soft little sound he lost every bit of composure. it wasn’t loud or filthy. it was timid and breathy and so you that it sent a jolt straight to his soaked cock. he’d grip your thighs, eyes fixed on your mouth as you tried to hide your face. “don’t do that,” he’d mutter, tugging your chin up. “let me hear you, precious girl.” every time you let out another tiny sound, his grip would tighten and he’d push in deeper, almost desperately, like each noise from you made him harder and harder.

fratboy!sukuna wants to ruin you, but you’re just too sweet. he had the strength and the drive to toss you around, fold you in half, keep fucking you until your eyes blurred. he wanted to. it sat in the back of his mind every time you touched him. but then you’d look up at him with that shy expression, fingers fisting in the sheets. he’d lean down, kiss your jaw, and breathe out a quiet laugh. “you don’t even know what you do to me.” he’d move slow, controlled, holding himself back even when he felt his restraint slipping. you were too sweet for the things he imagined doing. so he kept himself steady and gentle until you were ready for more.

fratboy!sukuna loves overstimming his sweet girl… especially when he’s eating you out. sukuna could stay between your thighs forever. he’d hook your legs over his shoulders, grip the backs of your knees, and settle in like he had nowhere else to be. the first release he drew out of you only made him hungrier. he’d dive back in before you could caught your breath, tongue flicking up and down over your clit, savoring every twitch of your hips. you’d whimper his name, hands gripping the sheets, trying to close your legs. he’d keep you open easily and glance up at you with that hungry look. “aww, i’m not stopping, baby." he’d say, voice low. “c'mon, give me another.”

fratboy!sukuna loveeeees pushing your limits, seeing how far you can really go. of course he never forces anything, but he loves showing you just how much you can take. he’ll start slow and watch you take him, then grin when you whimper his name over and over and... then he’ll shift your hips higher, testing how far he can go. “you can handle more,” he whispers, voice thick with need. when you nod, he drags you back onto him harder, murmuring praise against your cheek. “good girl. don’t hide your face from me.”

fratboy!sukuna has a massive kink for pinning your hands above your head. the moment he realised how small your wrists looked in his hand, something in him ignited. he’d push you back onto the mattress, fingers wrapping around both your wrists with ease, pressing them above your head. your breath would hitch and your legs would tense. he’d grin down at you, leaning close so his nose brushed yours. “stay like that,” he’d groan while guiding himself in. he liked the way you squirmed, the way you tried to move your hands only for him to hold you still with one arm like it was nothing. “good girl. keep them there.”

fratboy!sukuna loved dragging things out just to see how flustered he could get you. he’d lay down between your legs looking at you with those lustful eyes. his fingers would circle your clit without actually giving any real relief, he was slow on purpose. “why’re you wriggling?” he’d tease, leaning close so his breath fanned over your sensitive skin. “thought my shy girl liked taking things slow.” you’d try to glare at him but he’d just laugh under his breath and kiss your jaw, voice softer. “just say you want me and i’ll give you exactly what you need, baby girl.”

fratboy!sukuna has a fixation on you riding him. he’ll sit back against the headboard with his hands resting softly on your thighs while you climb onto him. he loves the way you sink down slowly, your breath catching as you take all of him to the base. “use me how you want, precious,” he says, watching every little thrust you make. when you start getting overwhelmed or tired, he grips your waist tighter and lifts you up and down himself with ease. “thought you wanted to be on top. come on, baby, keep going.”

fratboy!sukuna uses his size to fold you however he wants, he's not necessarily rough, just fast. god, he loves how easily he can move you. he’ll grab your hips and flip you onto your stomach before you even process it. he’ll push your legs apart with his knee and slot in behind you, leaning over your back. “you fit so perfect,” he smiles, dragging his mouth along your neck. he likes bending your knees to your chest while he’s inside you, holding your ankles with one hand like it’s nothing. your little gasp always gets him. “yeah. that’s it. take all of it.”

fratboy!sukuna gets off on how tight your cunt grips him. he was already massive, so your tight pussy made it even worse. the way your body squeezes around him drives him insane, he’ll slow his thrusts sometimes just to feel every inch. he’ll groan against your shoulder, “you’re gripping me so tight… you trying to keep me in there? hmm?” when you shake your head he smirks, pushing deeper. “then relax. or don’t. i like it when you cling like that.”

fratboy!sukuna was obsessed with your hands. he’d stare when you fidgeted with your sleeves or played with the necklace he bought you. it got so much worse when you touched him. the first time you wrapped your fingers around his cock he had to squeeze his eyes shut in ecstasy for a good while. “yeah… fuck, like that,” he’d grunt watching your wrist move. he’d guide your hand at first, then let you take over while his breathing grew uneven and he'd come undone much faster than usual. afterwards he’d kiss your knuckles, "your hands are so cute, baby."

fratboy!sukuna doesn't need photos or videos, he jerks off to the thought of you alone. he's lay in his room after football practice, replaying how you looked earlier in chem when you fiddled with your pens and gave him that adorable smile. fuck you were cute. he dragged a hand down his stomach and wrapped his fingers around his dick, huffing unevenly as he pictured you kneeling between his legs, eyes big and wide. he’d whisper your name under his breath, hips lifting into his palm. sometimes he’d stop right before finishing just to imagine how you’d react if you walked in and saw him like that, hand around his length, chest rising, groaning for you.

fratboy!sukuna likes making you beg without saying a word, he’ll hover right at your entrance rubbing the head of his cock against you slowly while watching your face contort. he grins. “c'mon, sweetheart." you whisper that you need him and he still shakes his head. “not enough.” when your voice gets small and shaky and oh so desperate, he finally pushes in, groaning at the way you immediately tighten around him. “yeah. fuck, that’s what i wanted.”

fratboy!sukuna gets dangerously turned on when you cry from the pleasure, those tiny tears at the corner of your lashes? they make him so much hornier. he’ll kiss them away stroking your cheek. “fuck, y/n,” he whispers, sliding deeper. “you look so pretty like this.” he slows down for a moment, letting you breathe, then drives back in with more focus. “i’ve got you honey, let me take care of you.”

fratboy!sukuna groans into your throat when you scratch his back, every time your nails drag down his shoulders his thrusts shudder. he leans over you, mouth pressed to your throat, breathing hard. “do that again.” when you tug his hair he actually laughs under his breath and pushes in harder. “yeah. that. don’t be shy with me.”

fratboy!sukuna loves when you leave marks on him, he’ll tilt his head to the side, exposing his thick, meaty neck. “go on.” when you bite or suck lightly he moans like a porn star and pulls you closer. the next morning he checks the marks in the bathroom mirror with a satisfied smile. he doesn’t cover them up. he wants people to see.

fratboy!sukuna finishes on your stomach just because he loves watching it drip, sometimes he pulls out at the last second just to see it. he pumps himself fast, staring at your flushed tits and swollen lips. when he spills across your stomach, he drags his fingers through it, spreading it lightly. “pretty.”

nothing makes fratboy!sukuna hornier than his sweet girl.

go read the long fic these are based off, chemically bonded!

you were at the other end of his spectrum, where he was a wild party animal, you were soft and quiet. that's what drew him in, you sitting alone in the front row of his economics class, how different you were to his usual indulgences. your pretty outfits and shy demeanor knocked him off his feet, so he sat next to you and that was that, you'd been dating for around five months now and all was going smoothly... well, smoothly by satoru's standards.  

the thing was, he'd still attend his insane ragers where almost everyone was half naked, fucking around like rabbits upstairs.

ah, the high life.

he thrived in this setting, grinding and dancing, laughing and talking shit with his friends, it was his perfect sanctuary.

he could have you at home, waiting for him to come back with open arms and dinner in the oven, as well as doing whatever the fuck he wanted at the frats.

you'd never told him he couldn't after all, so what was the issue? obviously not because you were just too shy to? right? obviously not because you were a complete push over and he

knew that. nah, you were most likely just a chill girl! that's gotta be it.

pffft, whoever said you couldn't have your cake and eat it too was so wrong.

.

gojo slips his key into the lock, he misses it once, then gets it the second time. he cracks a laugh at himself, he's not drunk just tipsy from whatever garbage punch they served at the mixer.

the hallway light outside your apartment shines behind him, catching on his chain when he leans forward. he giggles something under his breath about the silly maintenance never fixing anything, then pushes the door open with his shoulder.

your place is so quiet, so pretty. he’s gotten used to your decor, the air warm from the little heater you always turn on at night. god, you were so cute.

he scuffs off his jordans at the front door and steps inside, reaching back to tug the door shut.

he pictures you asleep, snuggled up in his shirt that swallows you whole. he smiles a little as he imagines it. cute, sweet, soft. all his.

except, as he draws closer inside, the light from the living room is still on?

"hmm." he pauses.

the tv is off and the candles are unlit. but you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you and your shoulders curved in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

your phone glows against your pretty little face, you’re so focused on whatever's on the screen you don’t hear him.

your lips are pouty and sad, that alone guts whatever leftover buzz he had going. your eyes look swollen, your lashes wet, cheeks a little blotchy. he’s never seen you like that. never seen that kind of silent with you, it's not the shy kind, it makes his chest feel off balance.

“oh… shit,” he whispers under his breath.

because now he sees the screen.

it’s him shirtless, beta cap turned backward and his chain dangling against his chest. he’s smiling that charismatic smile, mouth open like he just said something funny that made everyone laugh. that one girl in the tiny bikini he barely remembers presses her fingers to his shoulders, leans down, body tilted against his, she takes a shot off his collarbone while her friends cheer. he throws his head back laughing.

oh fuck..

really, it was just another moment in the mess of the party. someone yelled his name, shoved salt into his palm, the girl had licked it from his fingers like some pornstar then she poured the tequila and leaned in.

shit.

your thumb shakes as you close your phone and stare at the ground.

gojo feels his stomach rip in two, but he forces himself to breathe normal. he lifts his chin, and lets that fratboy grin slide into place.

just act normal. that’s his first instinct. be goofy, be loud, be charming! pretend nothing’s wrong. that always works.

“baby!" he calls lightly, stepping toward you. “you’re up? what’re you doing awake? it’s late, y'know."

you jump a little but you just hum very shyly and don't look at him.

he comes around the side of the couch, he plops down behind you, slipping his arms around your shoulders from behind like he always does when he wants to distract you from something. stretching over the back of the couch, he nuzzles your cheek with a grin.

“i missed you,” he says brightly.

you shudder against his arms.

his smile ticks.

“hey,” he says leaning a little to see your face. “what’s wrong?” like he doesn't know.

you keep looking down at the floor like looking at him would really break you.

“nothing, toru,” you whisper.

that hits him in a place he seriously doesn’t like.

“doesn’t look like nothing.”

you set your phone on the cushion beside you, eyes stuck on your knees.

gojo watches every tiny move you make, feeling something yucky pull tight in his aching chest. he swings himself over the couch so he’s sitting next to you, one knee bumping yours. he smells like sweat, cheap liquor, and someone else’s perfume. he doesn’t realise it. he doesn’t notice the way you subtly lean away.

gojo drags in a slow breath and leans back against the couch with his legs spread, he feels the tension humming through the room but refuses to let it land anywhere close to him. gross. his irritation rises really fast, he was never good at dealing with girls who don't fight back.

he stares at your knees, not your face, the smile gone. “so,” he drawls, “you gonna tell me what's wrong, y/n? or are ya just gonna sit here and mope.”

you hesitate before trying to respond to him, but that tiny silence ignites something unsavoury.

he scoffs under his breath and sits up straighter. “come on. seriously? you’re acting like i fucking murdered someone.”

you've entered that state where you want to talk, but your throat just won't let you speak.

and god, that sets him off even more. his patience fractures clean down the middle.

“i don’t get why you’re so sad,” he says, louder this time. “like, genuinely. i don’t get it.”

you squeeze at your hands, trying to stay small. trying not to take up space.

"i... that girl, she-"

“it was just a body shot,” he interrupts. “big deal. everyone does them. it’s not like i kissed her, it wasn’t even fun. the tequila probably tasted like sprax.”

you softly flinch again when he raises his voice. he acts like he doesn't notice as irritation swells in him like static.

“why are you acting blindsided? you know who i am. you knew before you dated me.” he throws his hands up. “i’ve always been like this. i go to parties. i drink. i mess around with my friends. i’m not some stay at home boyfriend who knits blankets on weekends.”

still nothing from you.

you sit still and small, taking every word. you feel like you deserve it.

it makes him angrier, he can’t explain why. something about the sadness on your face, something about how soft you look, something about how he’s too aware of his own guilt, makes him latch onto the only thing he knows how to do when cornered.

he lashes out.

“god, are you really this insecure?” he snaps. “over a party? over something stupid like a shot? this is what college is like, babe. people have fun. you wouldn’t know because you never go to shit like that, you wouldn't have a fucking clue.”

your chin falls as your shoulders tuck in even tighter.

“you just… sit here at night,” he says, waving an arm at the room, “you study, you cook, you watch shows, you bake, you… whatever. you stay in your little routine. and that’s fine, that’s you, but don’t project that shit on me.”

you try so badly not to cry, he hates how that looks on you. it makes his neck muscles jerk.

he leans foward “you don’t get it. you don’t get my life! you don’t get how things work with my friends. you don’t get how parties are. you never have. you’re a shut in, babe. you barely talk to anyone unless they come up to you first. you get nervous around people you don't know.”

your hands get clammy and you squeeze your knees tighter..

but he just keeps on going.

“you think i’m cheating on you? is that it?” he challenges. “you think i’m out there hooking up with girls just because they’re pretty and wearing tiny outfits? you think i’d cheat over some girl licking salt off my hand? seriously?”

your lip tucks inward for a second.

“say something!” he demands. “come on. don’t just sit there like a kicked puppy. if you’ve got something to accuse me of, spit it the fuck out.”

you shake your head frightened. “i’m not... i'm not trying to.. accuse you, toru, i-.”

“then what?” he bites. “what are you so upset about?”

your voice is barely there. “i just… didn’t know you still let girls do things like that.”

he groans and drops his head back against the couch. “oh my god. it’s not deep! why do you always assume the worst?”

your body starts to subtly shake.

“i’m not assum-" you whisper.

“yeah, you are,” he throws back. “you wouldn’t be whining if you weren’t.”

you stiffen but don’t sob.

he digs the heel of his palm into his brow, frustration pulsating through him. “you’re so dramatic sometimes.”

your breath stutters, but you swallow it down fast. your hands tremble just once before you force them still again.

“god,” he mutters, shaking his head.

"...maybe this was a mistake.”

the second the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re cruel. he knows they’re a lie but he’s too far into his childish anger to stop.

that one hurt, because that's all you'd been thinking lately. maybe this was all too much for a girl like you. you'd be a better fit for someone softer and quieter like you...

he stares at you expecting you to argue back or something. to deny it, to grab his sleeve and plead the way past girls did trying to get him to love them, to give him something he understands.

but you never do.

you weren't like them, you were shy and sweet. you hated how hard it was for you to speak up and express how you felt, but that's just how you were.

and something about that makes him crash out harder.

“say something,” he barks. “stop acting like i’m some monster for having a life outside of you!"

you open your mouth but no words come out. you just shake your head softly.

that subtle movement ignites him again.

“you can’t just sit here and look sad every time i go out,” he says. “you can’t expect me to change everything about myself because you get overwhelmed by basic social shit. you’re dating me. me! not some guy who stays home reading textbooks every night.”

your shoulders rise a smidge, then drop.

his stress and confusion doesn’t know how to handle you. he feels cornered by emotions he’s never dealt with before.

“god, you’re impossible,” he mumbles. “i can’t deal with this shy routine when it’s twisted around like this. it’s like talking to a wall. do you even hear me? do you even care how insane this looks? you’re acting like i fucked some chick over a body shot! you need to grow up,” he says sharply.

“seriously. this is college. this is how it works. people party. people have fun. people get stupid sometimes. you can’t expect me to act like some perfect boyfriend when i don’t even know how to be one. i’m trying! okay? this stuff is normal. it’s harmless. you’re just… sensitive. too fucking sensitive.”

your lips open for a second. you want to say something.

again, nothing comes out.

you just nod once, heartbreakingly polite.

and that’s when it all hits him.

not slowly.

not gently.

it slams into him like a fucking semi truck.

your cheek glistens with one tear.

then another.

they slip down your face without a sound, falling over your jaw and landing on your lap, darkening the fabric.

your shoulders don’t shake. your breath doesn’t hiccup. you don’t sniffle or wipe them away.

you just let them topple downward.

gojo stops talking in the middle of his forest speel. the last word dies on his harsh tongue.

your tears keep flowing, you don’t defend yourself. you don’t argue. you don’t yell back. you don’t move away from him or push him or tell him to fuck off like any normal person should of.

you just sit there.

letting him rip your heart out and pummel it on the ground over and over and over.

letting him say awful things because you’re too gentle to fight back.

and suddenly he can hear his own voice echoing in his head. every insult. every jab. every cruel, thoughtless messed up word.

fuck, his stomach had never dropped quicker.

he stares at your beautiful face covered in salted tears, at the way you hold yourself so small and polite even while he ripped into your chest.

his throat tightens up, his hands go limp and his whole body goes scarily still.

what the hell did he just do?

the sniff he hears you swallow so fast it barely comes out gouges a deep hole through his brain.

his chest caves in.

oh no.

oh no no no.

“baby…” he whispers.

you don't dare look at this man's face. you only wipe at your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, like you’re apologising for making a mess.

gojo’s breath pulsates in his lungs as if he was about to start sobbing aswell.

he feels sick.

he feels cold.

he feels like he'd be better off jumping out the window to put you out of your misery.

what the fuck was he doing?

what kind of guy yells at his girlfriend like that?

what kind of boyfriend calls his shy, gentle girl insecure?

what kind of person tears apart someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting him back?

he thought he was irritated. he thought he was defending himself. he thought he was justified.

now he just feels disgusting.

you sniff again as quietly as you can, gojo’s heart implodes and chokes him up.

he presses his knuckles to his mouth, eyes burning while he stares at you while he tries to figure out how to speak without making things worse. he doesn’t know how to say sorry without choking on the words. he doesn’t know how to own what he just did without wanting to shove a knife down his throat.

he tries to open his mouth but he knows if he speaks again he'll sob.

he hates himself for that.

you feel so bad, you feel like you'd just made gojo feel terrible, stressed, like you were an anchor he wanted to free himself from.

before satoru gets the courage to try again, he feels the couch dip as you move closer.

he wants to run away, never burden you with his egotistical attitude ever again, then your arms slip around his bulky side, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt.

he goes completely stiff, you’re... hugging him?

after everything he said, after all the mean ugly things he tossed at you, you’re the one reaching out? he stutters, stunned. he expects you to say you’re leaving his sorry ass, that you’re scared of him, that you don’t want this relationship anymore.

hell, that's what you should say.

“i’m sorry.”

his breath stumbles in his throat. he turns to you fast, eyes wide. “what?”

you sniff quietly, still not looking up at him. “i’m… i’m sorry for being clingy. and annoying. and making you feel stressed. i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i... i didn’t know i was doing something wrong.”

fuck he was such an asshole. he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he can’t believe that after everything, you still think it’s your fault.

“hey,” he says, voice cracking. “no. no. stop. baby, no.”

but you keep whispering shakily. “you’re right. i don’t really know how frats work. or parties. i don’t know what’s normal for you. i just… i saw the video and i got overwhelmed. i shouldn’t have made you feel guilty, toru.”

never in his messed up life had he experienced such a pain in his gut.

“sweetheart…” his hand rises halfway, then falls because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you without shaking. “please don’t say that. please don’t apologise. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you keep clinging to his side gently. it's as if you’re trying to make him feel better about the pain he gave you.

“look at me,” he chokes out.

you don’t, or, you can't. so he moves slowly, tipping his head down until he can see your face. your lashes are stuck together with tears. your eyes stay lowered. your mouth keeps trying to stay steady for him. he hates himself so much he feels nauseous.

he cups the side of your head with a trembling hand. “you’re not annoying. or clingy. or anything like that. i swear, sweetheart... i swear.”

more quiet sobs rack your body as you squeeze him tighter. “no. hey. baby, no, listen. i messed up. this whole thing is on me... just.”

he leans closer pressing his cheek to your forehead. “i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have said any of that shit, y/n. i shouldn’t have talked to you like that. i’m… i’m so sorry.”

he feels like scraping his eyes out, he wants to tie his throat closed, but the words spill out, “i’ve never been in a relationship before. i know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. i didn’t know how to handle… feelings. yours or mine. i freaked out and i took it out on you, y/n. i'm just... i'm an insecure piece of shit, i don't deserve you."

you can't handle this, you really can't handle anymore of him on the verge of tears.

“i’m really sorry you saw that video. i'm sorry i was even in it, that i ever did it,” he says. “and i’m sorry i did something that made you feel small. i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t even trying to hurt you. i was just being self centred... y/n, you have every right to be upset about it.”

when you finally look up his blue eyes are glossy with tears.

“you didn’t deserve a single thing i said,” he whispers. “you didn’t deserve any of it.”

you part your lips, but he shakes his head before you can talk.

“don’t say sorry again,” he mutters. “please. i can’t handle hearing that from you.”

his arm wraps around you, pulling you into his chest. the moment your face tucks against him, he breaks. a wet sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. his arms lock around you tighter as he hides his face against your shoulder.

“i’m sorry,” he borderline croaks. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t mean any of it. not one word. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i treated you like that. i’m sorry.”

your hand rises hesitantly and rests over his heart. he clutches your waist like he needs you to breathe.

“i’ll stop,” he says suddenly, desperate. “i mean it. the parties. the dumb shit i do. i’ll stop. if something makes you sad, i don’t want it anymore.”

“i’m not trying to change you, satoru.”

“i want to change,” he insists. “i want to be better. for you.”

he lifts you up, arms sliding under your legs holding you against him. he stands and you cling to his shoulders, he carries you down the hall, steps steady like he’s afraid to jostle you.

when he sets you gently on the bed, he sits beside you, hands resting on your thighs.

“i’ll never talk to you like that again,” he promises. “i swear. i’ll never yell at you. i’ll never make you cry like that. i’ll learn how to be a real boyfriend. i’ll learn how to communicate. i’ll tell you where i’m going, what i’m doing. i’ll cut off anything that disrespects you.”

yeah, you could tell by the tone of voice that he really meant this.

“you can tell me anything,” he sighs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “no matter how small it feels. even if it’s just that something made you uncomfortable. i want to hear it. i want to know. you matter to me.”

you can see how hurt he looks, how badly he regrets what he did.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers again. “i’m so sorry, baby.”

satoru kisses your cheek, then you wrap your arms around him. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close.

his fingers drift through your hair in slow careful ministration. “you’re my girl,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. i’ll take care of you. i’ll be better, y/n, i swear.”

...

he whispers praise until your eyes shut..

gojo slips out of the bed once your breathing settles into a soft, sleepy sound he knows off by heart. he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, then stands there for a second just staring at you with immense guilt twisting through his bones.

he pushes a hand through his fair hair and lets out a tight breath before heading to his drawer. the cigarette box inside is old, the last time he touched it was months ago, the last time he felt this same sort of self loathing itch.

he grabs one and steps out onto the cold windy balcony, and clicks the lighter with a horribly shaky thumb.

the city vibrates below with the windows of far away apartments glowing, cars driving by, shit, he can't even look at any of it. he just stands there leaning on the railing with his head bowed deep, smoke puffing out of his lip.

every sentence he spat at you floating through his mind, munting him harder each time. he can’t believe how easily he slipped into that revolting version of himself, the one who never cared who he screwed over. he swears he left that guy behind the day he met you. tonight proved he hadn’t.

he takes another puff.

he hates himself for yelling.

he hates himself for making you cry.

he hates how small you tried to get and how you tried to comfort him even when he was the one who mercilessly ripped you down.

he flicks ash over the railing... no one’s ever trusted him the way you do. he doesn’t get how someone like you ended up loving someone like him.

he lets loose a stray sob, he won’t let tonight happen again. he’ll learn. he’ll grow the hell up. he’ll earn you. he’ll become the boyfriend you deserve, because you deserve the world, everything he can give you.

he makes himself that promise right there on the balcony, whispers it into the night like a vow. he'll never treat you like that, never again.