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18 | the result of a rediscovered passion for writing… i write sometimes (heavy on sometimes), just for funnnnn. all my work is fem!reader directed.

dont steal my work haha, feedback is also greatly appreciated. i do take requests, ill do my best to be present and respond to given requests as early as possible!

i hope you all enjoy ₊˚⊹♡

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…..┊   my masterlist .✦ ݁˖ 

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HAHHAHAHA THANK YOUUU SO SO SO MUCH🙁🙁🙁 ur so freaking sweet no way.. DW MY FIC AINT GOING ANYWHERE LMAOOO

art by @ thatsallitchief on insta and twt !!

ryomen sukuna’s library ⊹ ࣪ ˖

my main masterlist - all my sukuna fics below ⤸

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troubles - basketball!kuna, enemies to lovers, series ongoing

valentines day special જ⁀➴ ♡

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art by @ winterrbluess !!

soft!kuna x fem!reader, early in the relationship! I wc: 2k ish!?! | a quick stupid lil oneshot…….. zzZzzzZzz

main masterlist - sukuna’s library

a valentines day special ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

pov: sukuna has genuine beef with a teddy bear..

valentine’s day starts the way most of your days do lately, with sukuna sitting at your kitchen counter. he’s scrolling on his phone, one elbow propped up, broad shoulders relaxed, expression bored in that permanently annoyed way that somehow still feels comfortable now, like home.

you’re making coffee, badly, again.

“you’re doing it wrong,” he says without looking up.

“it’s coffee,” you reply, “not a weapon.”

he snorts, “you treat it like one.” you flip him off, but you’re smiling.

sukuna is a menace, he's sarcastic, sharp-tongued, and terrifying when he wants to be. but he’s also been weirdly domestic lately. always here in the mornings, always fixing things around your apartment without being asked.

your phone buzzes on the counter, you glance at it and blink. there’s a message notification from your coworker, shoko.

kokonut: happy early valentine’s day!!! left something for you at your door <3

“…oh,” you say.

sukuna’s thumb pauses mid-scroll, “what.”

you shrug, “nothing, i think someone left me something.”

he finally looks up, red eyes sharp, “someone.”

“yeah. don’t get dramatic.”

he scoffs, “i don’t get dramatic.”

ten minutes later, you open your apartment door, and there it is, a stupidly large teddy bear.

it’s light pink, holding a little red heart. there’s a ribbon around its neck and a tiny card attached that reads happy valentine’s day! in loopy handwriting.

you stare at it, behind you, sukuna goes very, very still.

“…what,” he says slowly, dangerously, “the hell is that.”

you laugh, “it’s a bear.”

“i can see that.”

you pick it up. it’s huge, like, comically huge. you hug it instinctively, cheek pressing into the plush fur. it smells faintly like fabric softener.

“oh my god,” you say, “it’s actually really soft.”

sukuna makes a noise. not a word, just a low, displeased sound in the back of his throat. you turn at the noise, he’s staring at the bear like it personally insulted him.

“who gave you that,” he asks.

“shoko did, she's actually adorable”

“why.”

“because it’s valentine’s day?”

his jaw tightens, “does she think you're single.”

you pause, “…i meannnn.” you say smiling.

he clicks his tongue, “unbelievable.”

you grin, already sensing the shift, “whaaat?”

“nothing,” he says sharply, “it’s stupid.”

“you’re mad at a teddy bear.”

“i am not mad.”

“you’re glaring at it.”

“it’s ugly.”

you look at the bear, it is objectively adorable. “you’re just jealous,” you tease.

he lets out a short laugh, “of that?” he points at it.

you walk past him into the living room and plop the bear onto the couch. it takes up almost an entire cushion. sukuna watches every movement.

“i think i’ll keep it here,” you say innocently, “it’s festive.”

“absolutely not.”

“why?”

“it’s staring at me.”

you snort, “it doesn’t even have eyes like that.”

“it knows what it did.”

you collapse onto the couch next to the bear, hugging its side, “you’re ridiculous.”

sukuna crosses his arms, “you’re enabling it.”

“you’re competing with a stuffed animal.”

“i am winning.”

you look at him, “are you?”

he doesn’t answer, instead, he reaches over, grabs the bear by the ear, and yanks it upright. the bear flops limply.

“…you’re manhandling my valentine,” you say.

he freezes, “your what.”

you blink, “my valentine gift?”

the air changes, just slightly. sukuna stares at the bear, then at you.

“…you like it,” he says flatly.

you shrug, smiling, “it’s cute.”

he looks offended, like genuinely. “it’s pink.”

“so?”

“it’s stupid.”

“you’re pouting.”

he clicks his tongue, “i do not pout.”

you lean closer to him, lowering your voice, “you’re jealous.”

he turns to you slowly, “say that again.”

“you’re jealous of a teddy bear.”

his eyes narrow, “i could destroy it.”

“you will not.”

“i could,” he insists, “right now.”

you hug the bear tighter, “then you’d hurt its feelings.”

“it doesn’t have feelings.”

“neither did you, once.”

he opens his mouth—then stops.

you watch it happen. the way his expression shifts, irritation faltering into something quieter, something unreadable.

“…you’re keeping it,” he says.

“yeah.”

he exhales through his nose, “fine.”

he stands abruptly, “i’m going out.”

you blink. “where?”

“none of your business.” the door slams, typical sukuna, you think.

you look down at the bear, “i think you broke him.”

the bear does not respond.

that night, sukuna doesn’t come back until late. and when he does, he’s quieter than usual. his jacket tossed aside, shoes kicked off, he avoids looking at the couch.

you pretend not to notice. you do notice, however, the small paper bag he sets on the counter.

you raise an eyebrow, “what’s that.”

“nothing.”

“sukuna.”

he sighs, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

he slides the bag toward you, and inside is a smaller teddy bear.

its black, with a red stitched heart, and sharp little eyebrows sewn into its face like it’s annoyed. it looks… angry. it looks like him.

“…oh my god,” you whisper.

“it’s better,” he says stiffly, “than that thing.”

you pick it up, it fits perfectly in your arms.

“thank you kunaaa” you say, smiling hard at him.

he looks away, “…happy valentine’s day.”

the pink bear watches from the couch, the war has just begun.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

the next morning, you wake up tangled in your shared blanket and sukunas teddy bear.

the pink one is still stationed on the couch, sukuna’s bear is tucked under your arm, its little angry eyebrows staring up at the ceiling.

you blink awake slowly.

“…wow,” you mumble, “i really slept like this, huh.”

the bear does not judge you, the bear understands. you shuffle out of bed, dragging the black teddy with you, and pad toward the kitchen.

sukuna is already up. shirtless, hair still messy, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, his eyes drop immediately to the bear in your arms.

“…you slept with it,” he says.

you yawn, “yeah.”

“you didn’t sleep with me.”

you pause.

“…you left before i woke up.”

“irrelevant.”

you snort and set the bear on the counter, “you’re acting like i cheated on you with a stuffed animal.”

he narrows his eyes, “did you.”

“don’t be dramatic.”

he scoffs, “you’re the one cuddling another man.”

“it’s literally cotton.”

“it has arms.”

you laugh, pouring yourself coffee, “you named him last night, by the way.”

he stiffens, “i did not.”

“you did,” you insist, “you said, and i quote, ‘if you’re going to keep it, at least call it something respectable.’”

“…and?”

“you named him kuna.”

his jaw tightens, “i take it back.”

you grin, “too late.”

the pink bear remains on the couch, watching. sukuna notices it. he glares at it like it stole you away.

“…why is it still here.”

“because it’s cute.”

“it’s offensive.”

“to who.”

“me.”

you sip your coffee, deliberately unbothered, “you’re offended by a pink teddy bear.”

“it’s too close to you.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you’re close to me.”

“i’m allowed.”

“double standards.”

he opens his mouth to argue, then stops. you watch the gears turn, the way his gaze flicks between you and the bear.

“…fine,” he says suddenly.

“fine?”

“fine.”

that never means anything good.

-

by noon, the apartment has changed. the pink bear has been relocated. not thrown away, not destroyed. relocated!!!

it now sits on the far end of the couch, slightly angled away from you, a pillow wedged between it and the rest of the seating area. you notice this immediately.

“…did you move him,” you ask.

sukuna doesn’t look up from his phone, “no.”

“he was right here.”

“gravity.”

“gravity doesn’t add pillows.”

“must’ve been a draft.”

you laugh. “you’re insane.”

he hums. and twenty minutes later, you come back from the bathroom.

the pink bear is gone, you freeze.

“…sukuna.”

he’s in the kitchen, suspiciously quiet.

“…yes.”

“where is he.”

“who.”

“don’t play dumb.”

he sighs, “he’s not gone.”

“…where.”

he gestures vaguely toward the hallway, you march down it, and burst out laughing. the pink bear is sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, facing the wall, like it’s in timeout.

“oh my god,” you wheeze, “you put him in the corner.”

“he was being disrespectful.”

“he’s a teddy bear.”

“exactly, no manners.”

you scoop the bear up, hugging it dramatically, “he didn’t do anything wrong.”

sukuna appears behind you, arms crossed and unimpressed.

“he was too close to you.”

you tilt your head, “i haven't even touched him! are you jealous.”

“no.”

“you are.”

“i am not.”

“you’re beefing with a plushie.”

“i am asserting boundaries.”

you step closer, still holding the bear, “you could just admit you’re jealous that shoko got me something first.”

he looks down at you, really looks at you.

“…i don’t like sharing,” he says quietly.

something in his voice shifts, softer and honest. your chest warms.

“…you’re not,” you say gently. “it’s just a gift.”

he exhales, “i know.”

you reach out with your free hand and tug lightly on his sleeve, “and your bear is better anyway.”

he scoffs, “obviously.”

you smile up at him, “you picked it because it looks like you.”

“…no.”

“it’s grumpy.”

“no.”

“it’s mean-looking.”

“no.”

“it’s secretly soft.”

he stops, his gaze flickers.

“you think i’m soft.”

you shrug, “sometimes.”

he clicks his tongue, “don’t spread that around, it's a secret.”

you laugh and set both bears on the couch, side by side. the pink one and the black one.

“see?” you say, “they can coexist.”

sukuna watches them like he expects a fight to break out.

“…keep the pink one away from the bedroom,” he mutters.

“why.”

“…reasons.”

you grin, “stillllll jealous.”

he doesn’t answer, instead, he reaches out, pulls you closer by the waist, and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

“don’t push it,” he murmurs.

your heart does a stupid little flip.

that night, you’re on the couch together, watching some random romcom on the tv. kuna is between you and sukuna, and sukuna has one arm around you.

he pretends not to notice when you lean into him, the pink bear watches, sukuna glares.

“…i swear,” he mutters, “if that thing moves—”

you only laugh, wondering how he even got to this point. is sukuna secretly traumatized by toy story...?

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

the movie is still playing, but the volume’s low now. the room is lit only by the glow of the screen and lights bleeding in through the window.

you’re curled into sukuna’s side on the couch, legs tucked over his lap, his arm loose around your waist, the pink bear remains on the armrest.

sukuna keeps glancing at it like it might start talking.

“…you’re thinking again,” you murmur.

he scoffs quietly, “i’m not.”

“you are, your jaw does that thing.”

“…what thing.”

“that one,” you say, tapping his cheek lightly, and he stills under your touch.

“…it just bothers me,” he admits after a moment.

you shift so you’re facing him more fully, one knee sliding onto the couch between his legs. close enough that his breath changes. close enough that he can’t pretend you’re not looking at him.

“hey,” you say softly. “look at me.”

he does, and his expression isn’t sharp now.

“you don’t have to compete with anyone,” you tell him, “especially not shoko, and especially not a teddy bear.”

he huffs, “i know that logically.”

“then hear it emotionally,” you say, smiling, “i like the bear, but i want you.”

his ears turn red.

“you’re the one i sit like this with,” you continue, reaching up and sliding your fingers into his hair, slow, gentle. you scratch lightly at his scalp, and his shoulders drop almost instantly.

“you’re the one i feel safe with,” you murmur, “you’re the one i pick.”

he swallows, “…you’re unfair,” he mutters.

you grin, “you love it.”

you lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely there, and his breath catches. then another kiss, on his cheek. another, along his jaw. he stiffens, then melts, hands tightening at your waist like he doesn’t know what to do with all of this affection.

“hey,” he murmurs, flustered, “you’re doing that on purpose.”

“doing what?”

you kiss his other cheek.

“this,” he says, voice low, “you’re—”

you cut him off with a kiss to the bridge of his nose. his face is fully pink now, unmistakably.

“i like you,” you say softly, forehead resting against his, “a lot. okay?”

he looks away, “…you’re embarrassing me infront of the bears.”

you laugh quietly and kiss his temple, “good.”

you kiss his cheek again, then the corner of his lips, just enough to make him lean in without realizing it. when your lips finally meet his properly, its warm, and as gentle as ever.

he exhales into the kiss like he’s been holding his breath all day. his hand slides up your back, steadying you, thumb brushing absentminded circles.

when you pull back, you stay close.

“i choose you,” you whisper.

his eyes widen just a fraction. you just smile at him and kiss him once more, slow and soft, “i. choose. you.”

for a second, he just stares at you, then he tugs you forward and hides his face in your neck, muttering something dangerously close to shy.

“…you’re not allowed to say things like that.”

you laugh, fingers threading through his hair again. he leans into it immediately, like a cat pretending it doesn’t like affection while absolutely loving it.

“you’re blushing,” you tease.

“i am not.”

“you so are.”

“don’t tell anyone.”

“your secret’s safe with me.”

you settle back against him, his chin resting on your shoulder now, arms wrapped around you like he’s decided you’re staying there forever.

the pink bear watches all of this unfold from the armrest, sukuna cracks one eye open.

“…it can stay,” he mutters, “on probation.”

you grin, cuddling closer.

“i love you ryo,” you whisper.

he tightens his arms around you.

“…love you too baby” he pecks your neck, where his face is resting.

he truly doesn’t mind sharing the couch, as long as you’re right there with him.

-

happy valentines daaaaay suckassssss

ALSO thank you to everyone who has liked and reblogged any of my work so far, and to all of the veryyyy kind comments!! im trulyyyy soooo glad many are enjoying my work. i’ve only started this blog for fun but seeing so many people like my work is truly heartwarming 😓 im giving all of you a biiiiiiig fat kiss MWWWAAAAH

🖤🖤🖤

rem out

taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]

not proofread, sorry for any errorssss

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troubles. a ryomen sukuna x fem!reader uni!au ᝰ.ᐟ

chapter six: my crybaby

it’s been a couple days since that night, about two weeks left until winter break ends, and somehow, life didn’t explode the way you half-expected it to, there was no dramatic fallout, no awkward silence, nobody pretending nothing happened.

instead, things settled. every morning, without fail, your phone lights up, to a text of sukuna saying good morning, checking up on you wellbeing. sometimes it’s earlier, sometimes later, but it’s always there, consistent.

he checks in when he knows you’ve got a long day, reminds you to eat, asks if your head’s been loud again, and he never pries when you don’t feel like talking, just lets you know he’s there, and you find yourself looking forward to it more than you should.

it’s around 4pm when you’re lying on your bed, half-awake, sunlight warming your legs through the window. your room is quiet except for the distant sound of cars outside, until your phone buzzes sharply against the mattress.

you set your phone down for a second, staring up at the ceiling, a sleepover, at their place. which means sukuna will be there.

your phone buzzes again, this time a separate notification.

the rest of the afternoon drags in the best and worst way, you shower, change into something comfortable, overthink your outfit anyway, then pretend you didn’t. you keep checking the time, deciding to finally go over to yujis after packing up enough for the night.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

their place is already loud when you arrive. the door’s unlocked, because of course it is, and you barely step inside before yuji’s voice rings out.

“Y/N!” he nearly tackles you in a hug, “YOU MADE IT.”

“hi to you too,” you laugh, hugging him back.

nobara waves from the couch, “took you long enough.”

megumi barely looks up from his phone, “hey.”

and then—your eyes flick toward the kitchen.

sukuna’s there, leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, watching the scene unfold like he always does, observant. when his eyes meet yours, something soft passes over his face, not a smirk, but a smile. small and real, just for you.

your stomach flips, he nods slightly, like he’s acknowledging something unspoken, you nod back.

as the night settles in, and somewhere between a couple just dance rounds between yuji and nobara, you end up sitting on the floor near the couch, shoulder brushing sukuna’s knee.

it feels normal, safe. when you glance up at him, he’s already looking at you, not intensely, just there. and for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you’re not waiting for something to go wrong, you’re just here.

the night eases into something softer after that, at some point, somewhere between the third snack run and yuji yelling about a song “being rigged” sukuna quietly slips away toward his room. you barely notice at first, you’re curled up on the couch in your pajamas, legs tucked under you, surrounded by the low glow of the TV and the familiar chaos of your friends.

yuji flops down beside you with a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms over his head, “man, this is nice.”

you hum in agreement, eyes still on the screen. there’s a pause, then he glances at you, a little more serious than before, “hey… i hope you’re okay with sukuna being here tonight.”

you turn to look at him, surprised, but not upset.

“yeah,” you say immediately. “i’m totally fine with it.”

yuji studies your face for a second, like he’s checking for cracks, then grins, “good, just wanted to make sure.” then, without warning, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“SUKUNAAAAA—!!”

you wince, laughing, “yuji—oh my god.”

from down the hall, you hear a muffled, annoyed, “what.” sukuna appears a moment later, standing in the doorway with that familiar unimpressed look, “what do you want.”

“come chill with us,” yuji says, patting the couch exaggeratedly.

sukuna snorts, “i’m good.”

he turns like he’s about to leave, and then you speak.

“it’s fine,” you say gently, looking up at him, “come sit with us.”

he stops, actually stops, and then he sighs, resigned but not annoyed, “…fine.” he comes over, sitting down near you, not too close at first.

nobara notices immediately, she shoots you a look, an arched brow with a sharp grin. you smile back, small and knowing, she returns it, satisfied.

yuji claps his hands, “OKAY. enough emotional growth, NOBARA. JUST DANCE. AGAIN.”

“say less,” she says, already grabbing the controller.

you glance at megumi as he groans softly, and the two of you lock eyes for a second, then both burst out laughing.

“this is gonna be insane,” you tell sukuna under your breath.

he tilts his head slightly, eyes on yuji and nobara flailing in front of the TV, “oh yeah? let’s see.”

yuji shouts something unintelligible, nobara absolutely demolishes the choreography, megumi shakes his head like he’s already tired.

yuji turns to you mid-song, “ORDER FOOD.”

“on it,” you say, grabbing your phone. as they start dancing, you and megumi dissolve into laughter again, full-on, can’t-breathe laughter. your shoulders shake, your eyes water.

sukuna leans closer, voice low, “what the fuck is going on.”

you try to answer, but you’re laughing too hard, “this—this isn’t new.”

he watches for another second, then huffs a laugh despite himself, “figures.”

he throws a comment at megumi, something dry, perfectly timed, and megumi actually cracks a smile, which only makes you laugh harder. somewhere along the way, without you even noticing, sukuna’s arm settles around your shoulders. it’s natural, like it belongs there. you don’t tense, you don’t overthink it. you just lean in slightly, still laughing as yuji nearly trips over his own feet and nobara screams at him to “KEEP UP.”

the room is loud and alive. and for sukuna—this moment hits him quietly. the way you laugh so freely, the way your smile lights up your whole face, the way you look safe here. happy.

he doesn’t say it out loud, but the feeling settles deep in his chest, this is good, this is innocent. and he can’t remember the last time he wanted a moment to last this badly.

he glances down at you, laughter still soft on your lips, eyes bright, and for once, he lets himself stay right where he is.

...

the dancing doesn’t stop immediately after the food arrives. yuji and nobara are still absolutely going for it, arms flying, feet stomping. the song changes and yuji cheers like he’s just unlocked a boss level.

“THIS ONE’S MY SONG.”

megumi groans from the couch. “you said that about the last five.”

“because they WERE,” yuji argues.

you’re sitting with sukuna now, knees angled toward the TV, watching the chaos with a grin. sukuna leans back slightly, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“…this happens often?” he mutters.

you no, “you have no idea.”

megumi snorts, “unfortunately, i do.”

sukuna glances over at him, “you just let him act like this?”

“i’ve tried stopping him,” megumi replies flatly, “it’s easier to accept fate.”

that earns a short laugh from sukuna, surprised, almost. “damn- you really are dead inside.”

megumi finally looks at him properly, “coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

you blink and nobara pauses mid-dance and squints at them, “did you two just… bond?”

“don’t be ridiculous,” megumi says.

“yeah,” sukuna adds, “i’m just stating facts.”

yuji finishes the song with an overly dramatic spin and collapses onto the floor. “i crushed that.”

“i know your neighbors hate you,” nobara says.

food boxes get opened, the smell instantly filling the room, everyone crowds around the table, grabbing plates, arguing over who gets what.

“don’t touch my fries,” nobara warns yuji.

“you ordered too many on purpose,” yuji says.

“because i KNEW you’d steal them.”

sukuna watches the whole thing like he’s observing a nature documentary, then megumi nudges a box toward him.

“take some before yuji eats everything.”

“…thanks,” sukuna says, genuinely.

they eat like that for a while, standing, sitting, talking over each other.

megumi and sukuna end up leaning against the counter together, surprisingly close, both watching yuji choke on a laugh because nobara roasted his dancing again.

“he ever shut up?” sukuna asks quietly.

megumi shakes his head, “one time, when he slept.”

“honestly terrifying,” sukuna says.

megumi almost smiles, almost.

yuji suddenly points at them, “why are you two standing like divorced dads at a barbecue?”

“eat your food,” megumi snaps.

“don’t make me dance again,” yuji threatens.

“i will turn the TV off,” megumi says.

you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts, sukuna glances at you, the way your shoulders shake, the way you’re not holding back at all.

he feels something warm settle in his chest, and he hates how much he doesn’t want it to leave.

...

nobara disappears into her bag like she’s searching for something important, not her phone, something deeper, something dangerous.

you’re half paying attention, sprawled on the floor with your back against the couch, when you hear the unmistakable sound of crinkling plastic.

“oh my god,” you mumble, “what is she pulling out now.”

“ladies and losers,” nobara announces, slamming a stack of packets onto the floor dramatically, “it’s time.”

yuji leans over immediately, “time for what?”

“self care,” she says, deadly serious.

the packets scatter, colorful and ridiculous, each one has a different animal printed on the front. you sit up straighter, “are those face masks?”

“obviously,” nobara says, “what kind of sleepover would this be without them?”

yuji gasps like she’s just handed him a priceless artifact, “wait- can i pick first?”

“no,” nobara snaps, “everyone picks at the same time.”

megumi sighs from his spot on the couch, already resigned, “this is so stupid.” he still leans forward.

you grin to yourself, watching yuji’s eyes dart between the panda and the bunny like he’s making a life-altering decision. megumi, predictably, reaches for the wolf one, expression flat but ears faintly pink.

nobara tosses headbands at them next, yuji gets one with fluffy ears that immediately flop sideways. megumi’s is plain black, but the way it pushes his hair back makes him look even more annoyed.

you’re already laughing, shoulders shaking, and then there’s sukuna.

he’s sitting slightly apart from the rest of you now, arms crossed, he watches the chaos like it’s something happening in another universe entirely. “don’t even think about it,” he says flatly. nobara looks at him, smiles, slow and evil.

“oh, you’re definitely wearing one.”

“no,” sukuna replies immediately.

you glance over at him, amusement bubbling up, “you’re not gonna join?”

his eyes flick to you, sharp, “absolutely not.”

you snort, “wowwww, boring.”

he scoffs, “this is ridiculous.”

you push yourself up onto your knees and shuffle closer, grin widening, “come onnn, it’s just a mask, no one’s judging.”

“everyone is judging,” he says. you tilt your head, “i won’t.”

you lower your voice just slightly, softer now, teasing, “please? just for a bit.”

there’s a moment where he doesn’t respond, where he looks away, jaw tight, like he’s fighting something small but persistent. then—an irritated click of his tongue. “…fine.”

nobara actually squeals.

“yes!” she says, immediately shoving a packet into his hands before he can reconsider, “no take backs.”

you peek at the packet and burst out laughing, “oh my god- nobara.”

it’s a tiger, with dark markings. sukuna narrows his eyes. “this better not be a joke.”

“it’s fate,” nobara replies.

he opens the packet slowly, suspicious of everything, and when he finally presses the mask to his face, adjusting it with obvious annoyance, the room goes quiet for exactly half a second.

and then you completely lose it. you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes watering, “i’m sorry—i can’t—”

“it actually suits him,” yuji wheezes, pointing. megumi turns away, hand over his mouth, but you can see the way his shoulders tremble.

nobara looks victorious, “i told you.”

sukuna scowls, clearly offended, “wipe that look off your faces.”

but you’re still laughing, leaning closer, eyes bright, “no, seriously, it looks good on you.”

your laugh is warm, the kind that fills the room without asking permission. you look happy, really happy, and it’s not forced or defensive, it’s just you.

something inside him loosens, he exhales through his nose, trying to stay annoyed, but a quiet sound slips out instead, a laugh. low and genuine. everyone stares.

yuji’s jaw drops, “did… did he just laugh?”

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” sukuna mutters, but he doesn’t sound angry. he doesn’t take the mask off either, you notice that too.

...

the night settles into something softer after that. snacks get passed around, yuji keeps adjusting his headband, complaining that it’s slipping, megumi pretends not to care while absolutely caring, nobara takes pictures, threatening to post them later.

you sit close to sukuna, knees brushing, warmth familiar and grounding.

every so often, you glance at him and smile again, like the image alone is enough to make you laugh all over. he notices, he always notices.

and for once, he doesn’t mind being ridiculous, doesn’t mind the mask, or the laughter, or the way this moment feels suspended in time, because you’re happy. and if this is what it takes, if this small, stupid, thing is what makes you smile like that—then maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it.

time keeps moving without anyone checking it, someone puts on background music instead of just dance. nobara braids a piece of your hair absentmindedly while complaining about horror movies. yuji tries to convince everyone that he’s “not actually scared, just respectful of spirits.”

sukuna scoffs, “you screamed during a trailer.”

“IT WAS LOUD,” yuji protests.

megumi looks at sukuna, “he cried during a documentary once.”

“IT WAS SAD,” yuji yells.

sukuna laughs again, this time openly, “you people are insane.”

“and yet,” you say, looking at him, “you’re still here.” you poke his arm.

he meets your eyes, “…yeah.”

eventually, yuji claps his hands, “okay. movie time, before i pass out.”

you check the clock, “it’s almost one.”

“perfect,” nobara says, “maximum fear.”

they argue again, louder this time, until megumi sighs, “just pick something.”

“THE CONJURING,” yuji declares.

nobara groans, “you’re so fucking predictable.”

“you’re still watching it,” yuji fires back.

everyone settles into their spots. you sit back down next to sukuna on the couch, megumi claims the far end, yuji and nobara flop onto the floor with blankets.

as the lights dim and the movie starts, sukuna shifts, just a little. his arm rests along the back of the couch, not touching you, but close enough that you notice, he watches the screen.

but every now and then, his eyes flick to you, and for the first time in a long time, sukuna thinks, maybe this isn’t such a bad place to be.

the movie keeps playing long after it stops being watched.

somewhere between a loud jump scare and yuji muttering “i told you this was a bad idea,” the room slowly goes still. nobara’s laughter fades first, megumi shifts once, then doesn’t move again. yuji’s head lolls to the side, mouth slightly open, blanket half-slid off his shoulder.

and you fall asleep without realizing it. your head tips just slightly, close enough that your shoulder brushes sukuna’s arm, your breathing evens out, lashes resting softly against your cheeks. the tension you’d been holding all evening finally lets go.

sukuna notices immediately, he stiffens at first, like he’s not sure if he should move. then he looks down at you, really looks.

the way your brows relax when you sleep, the faint pout of your lips. the way you’ve curled in on yourself a little, like you’re instinctively seeking warmth, it hits him all at once how quiet you are now.

“…unreal,” he murmurs under his breath.

carefully, slowly, he adjusts the blanket so it covers you properly. his movements are deliberate, he’s afraid of waking you. he tucks it around your shoulders, making sure your hands are warm.

he lingers for a second too long, then he pulls away. sukuna stands, glancing once more at the room, everyone asleep, the movie still flickering on the screen, and decides it’s probably better if he gives you space. he heads to his room and closes the door behind him.

...

you wake up suddenly. that strange feeling of awareness snapping back into place. you blink, disoriented, the clock on the TV reads 1:49 a.m. the movie is still playing, volume low now, the screen casting shadows across the room. yuji is fully passed out, nobara hasn’t moved, megumi’s breathing is slow and steady on the far end of the couch.

but the spot beside you is empty, your stomach tightens before you can stop it. you sit up slowly, blanket slipping off your shoulders. your eyes scan the room again, just to be sure.

he’s not there. after a moment of hesitation, you stand and pad quietly down the hallway. you stop in front of sukuna’s door, heart beating a little too fast for no real reason.

you raise your hand, then lower it. finally, you crack the door open just enough to peek inside.

“...sukuna?” you whisper, your voice soft, almost shy.

he’s awake, sitting at his desk, screen glowing faintly in the dark, controller in hand. when he turns around and sees you standing there, surprise flickers across his face before it softens.

“hey,” he says quietly, “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, “nothing, uhm- you just… left.”

he pauses, then sets the controller down, “you wanna come in?”

his room is dim, lit only by the glow of the screen. it feels quieter in here somehow, more intimate, he stands up and walks over, stopping just in front of you.

you step fully into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. the glow from his screen is the only light, casting shadows across his face and the sharp lines of his features. he stands there, watching you, like he’s memorizing every move, and expression. the faint hum of the game he’d been playing is gone now, replaced by silence.

his hand brushes more of your hair from your face, almost hesitant, and your skin shivers at the touch. your eyes meet his in the dim light, and you realize how close you are, too close to pretend there isn’t literal sparks crackling between you.

“…you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, voice low, almost gruff.

you nod, heart beating faster than usual, “yeah… i just couldn’t sleep.” your voice is soft and unsure, the way it cracks slightly makes him frown.

he studies you for a long second, eyes flicking from your lashes to your lips, and your chest tightens again. then he takes a small step closer, and you unconsciously step back just slightly, your body sensing what’s coming, your heart betraying you.

“don’t move,” he murmurs, though his tone isn’t threatening, more like a plea.

you freeze. he’s so close now, you can feel the heat radiating from him, the sharpness of his cheek, the soft inhale of his breath. you want to say something, but your throat goes dry.

he tilts his head slightly, studying your face again, as if he’s trying to decide something, then, carefully, he reaches up and cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw, and your breath hitches. the room feels smaller, the shadows deeper, and you can’t stop the pull in your stomach.

“you look…” he pauses, eyes dropping to your lips, “so good right now.”

your heart hammers, and you instinctively look away, cheeks flaming, “k-kuna…” you whisper, voice barely audible, and the nickname slips out before you can stop it.

he smirks softly, almost amused, but there’s a shadow of raw desire in his eyes, “i like that,” he murmurs, “don't worry about calling me that.”

you can feel the heat of him against you as he leans in slightly, and it’s slow, slow enough that your chest threatens to burst. you know what’s coming, but your body betrays you, leaning in just a fraction, drawn to him.

then his lips are on yours, soft at first, testing, like he’s asking permission without words. your knees weaken, your hands tremble, and your own lips respond, moving against his. the world outside the dim glow disappears. its now only the faint scent of him, the warmth of his hand on your cheek, the pressure of his body leaning slightly into yours.

he deepens the kiss slowly, and suddenly his tongue brushes against yours, a low hum escapes from his chest, vibrating into your lips, and you can’t help the quiet gasp that slips past your teeth. your hands find his shoulders, gripping just enough to steady yourself, but your body betrays your control.

his free hand snakes to your waist, pulling you just slightly closer, and you can feel every inch of him. it’s intoxicating, the heat, the closeness, the raw want in his eyes—but there’s still that carefulness, that makes your heart ache in a different way.

when you pull back just slightly to breathe, your chest rises and falls in unison. you’re flushed, breathless, your hands still on him. he smiles faintly, dark and intense, his eyes locking on yours.

“you… you’re too perfect,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost strangled by desire, “too pretty, too soft, too- everything.”

you can only manage a shaky laugh, trying to hide how undone you are, “sukuna you’re being… intense.”

he smirks again, a little teasing, but his eyes betray it, the hunger, the want, the protectiveness all mixed together, “maybe,” he says softly, “but it’s all your fault.”

you can’t stop yourself from reaching up, tracing his jaw, feeling the warmth, the tension. he leans his head into your touch, letting out a quiet hum of approval.

“so, should i leave?” he asks, teasing, but his hand on your waist doesn’t move, doesn’t falter.

you shake your head, “no. stay.”

and he does, leaning in again, just to press his lips to yours. not a quick peck, but long, slow, filled with heat and want. you melt into it, heart racing, everything inside you on fire.

“i… wanted to see you,” he murmurs, voice husky. “just you- not anyone else today, just this.” he says between kisses, he pulls away shortly after.

you stare at him, eyes wide, chest heaving, “i missed you,” you whisper, confessing.

he swallows, jaw tight, “…i missed you too sweetheart.”

he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move. he just stands there, hand still at your waist, thumb brushing your hip lightly, eyes drinking you in.

and in that quiet darkness, with just the glow from his screen, it feels like nothing else in the world exists except the two of you, neither wanting to move, or wanting to let go.

you both stand there for what feels like forever, sukuna doesn’t pull away. “you know,” he murmurs, “i could just- stay here all night like this.” leaning slightly closer, almost brushing his forehead against yours, “i cant let you go again.”

the words make your stomach twist. your fingers find his chest, just to steady yourself, and you feel the tense muscles under your touch. his hand drifts from your waist, sliding up to your ribs, brushing lightly, teasingly, not quite touching where you want but enough to make your skin crawl.

you bite your lip, nervous, excited, unsure if you should pull away or lean in closer. sukuna notices, his eyes narrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“stop biting your lip,” he says softly, voice almost a growl, “it’s unfair, you’re way too distracting.”

you laugh nervously, heat rising to your cheeks, “me? distracting?”

“yeah,” he mutters, leaning in closer, his chest brushing yours, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

your eyes wander reluctantly, you meet his gaze again. he’s still watching you, and the intensity makes your breath catch.

“you’re gorgeous,” he says suddenly, almost a whisper, “i mean- damn. i don’t even know how someone like you exists. i-i’ve never…” his voice falters slightly, then he swallows hard, “i’ve never felt like this before.”

he leans in slowly, and your stomach flips. his lips brush yours, just a ghost of a touch, and your breath hitches. he smiles against your lips, a dangerous little one that makes your pulse spike.

and suddenly his hand moves to the back of your neck, threading into your hair lightly, pulling you closer. the kiss deepens, his tongue exploring, making you gasp softly. the sound escapes you before you even realize it, and he hums against your lips, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“shit…” he mutters, pulling back just slightly to breathe, forehead resting against yours.

you laugh breathlessly, heart racing, “you’re… ridiculous.”

he smirks, leaning back in just enough to look at you, eyes dark with desire and something softer underneath, “maybe. but you’re worth it baby.”

baby, that practically causes your heart to do eighty backflips and turns.

he smiles, and presses his lips to yours again. this time more urgent, a mix of tenderness and raw want. his hand stays at your neck, brushing lightly over your skin, while your hands explore his chest, tracing the contours beneath his shirt. the world outside fades completely. there’s just you, him, the heat, and the quiet rhythm of your hearts.

“shit- you taste like everything i’ve ever wanted,” he murmurs into the kiss, voice rough. you can’t help the small moan that escapes, muffled against his lips, and it makes him grin against you.

the kiss breaks slightly, just enough to breathe.

you realize how close you are to letting go completely, how much you want him, and yet, there’s still a thread of restraint. he doesn’t push too far, doesn’t overstep.

“you’re mine,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you, but the words hang in the air.

you smile softly, heart racing, and he notices, “don’t smile like that,” he murmurs, almost whining, “you’re making me lose my mind.”

you laugh softly, brushing your fingers along his chest, “good,” you tease. you truly have no clue where this side of you came from.

he smirks, leans in for one more kiss, its soft. when you pull back, just slightly, he rests his forehead against yours again.

“stay here,” he whispers, “i don’t want you to leave yet.”

you nod, heart full, cheeks flushed, leaning into him just a little more. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. you feel safe. wanted. like everything that happened before, all the lies, the rumors, the fear, poof just gone.

“…you okay?”

you nod, then laugh quietly, “yeah. just- yeah.”

he hesitates, then gestures with his head toward the bed, “you wanna… sit? i mean—lie down. talk- not-” he clears his throat, “not anything else.”

that alone makes your chest ache.

“yeah,” you say softly, “i’d like that.”

he guides you over gently, like he’s afraid of startling you. you both lie on your sides, facing each other, close but not touching at first. the room is dark, quiet, the rest of the house dead asleep. for a moment, neither of you speaks.

then you smile a little, remembering your friends outside, “yuji’s totally gonna wake up with a sore neck.”

sukuna scoffs, “he deserves it, man kicks in his sleep like he’s fighting shit.”

you laugh, covering your mouth, “he does not—”

“he does,” sukuna says firmly, “last week he kicked the wall so hard it woke me up.”

you’re both smiling now. it’s easy, too easy. after a bit, your smile fades just a touch, you fidget with the blanket.

“sukuna?”

he hums, “yeah?”

“i just… i wanna say this out loud so i don’t chicken out later.” you swallow, “can we- can we go slow, whatever this is, i don’t wanna rush into anything and mess it up.”

he doesn’t joke, doesn’t deflect. he only shifts closer, enough that your knees brush, “okay.”

you blink, “okay?”

“yeah,” he says, “slow is good, whatever pace you want, i’m in.”

you exhale shakily, “i wanna give us a shot, like… an actual one.”

his eyes soften in a way that makes your throat tight.

“i’d wait,” he says quietly, “weeks, months, doesn’t matter. i’m not going anywhere.”

you take a breath, “when i say slow, i don’t mean distant.”

he nods immediately, “yeah sweetheart, i get that.”

“i just—” you pause, searching for the words, “i don’t wanna feel like i’m bracing for the next thing to go wrong.”

his jaw tightens a little, not in anger, but in restraint. he shifts closer, enough that your hands brush, and this time he laces his fingers with yours on purpose.

then you say, softer, “and if i pull back sometimes, it’s not because i don’t want you. it’s just… my brain takes a second to catch up with my heart.”

he lets out a small, breathy laugh, “yeah?”

you laugh, genuinely this time.

his voice drops, “no disappearing.”

you meet his eyes, “especially no disappearing.”

he swallows, then says honestly, “i don’t wanna lose you again."

your chest aches.

“…i don’t wanna lose you either,” you whisper.

that’s it, that’s what breaks you. your eyes sting, tears spilling before you can stop them, “god, i’m sorry,” you whisper. “why am i crying again, this is so embarrassing—”

“hey,” sukuna says immediately, scooting closer, “hey, no. don’t do that.”

he pulls you into him, firm but gentle, your face tucked against his chest. his hand slides up and down your back in slow, steady motions.

“you’re allowed,” he murmurs, “you’ve been holding a lot in.”

you sniffle, “i swear i’m not always like this.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, “yeah? could’ve fooled me.”

you groan weakly, “shut up.”

he presses his chin lightly to the top of your head, smiling to himself. my crybaby, he thinks, and his chest feels painfully full. after a while, your breathing evens out. you pull back, wiping your eyes.

“sorry,” you mumble.

he shakes his head, “don’t apologize, ever, not for this.”

somehow, you end up shifting until you’re straddling him, not in a heated way, just close. his hands lift like he’s asking permission before settling at your waist.

“this okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he kisses you again, softer than before, it's unhurried. like he’s afraid if he rushes, the moment will disappear. his hands move slowly, just holding you, thumbs brushing comforting little arcs through fabric.

nothing more, and it feels safe.

you rest your forehead against his, eyes heavy. at some point, without realizing it, you go still. sukuna notices when your grip loosens, when your breathing deepens.

“…y/n?” he whispers.

no answer.

he smiles, adjusts the blanket around you, careful not to wake you. he stays right there, one arm around you, listening to your quiet breaths.

he wasn’t going to fuck this up again, not with you. and he's sure you're both in for a treat with your friends tomorrow morning.

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-

im working on so many drafts atm so my uploads will be a bit slow in the coming weeks guys! but i hope you liked this chapter its pretty short compared to the rest soz...... mwah mwah

taglist: @bonnvivre @voidkeery @kohavalon @diangelofan599 @gokurakawaii @nina-from-317@starringrcll @emforjin @tobecringeistobeme @sugusshi @yummidumplingss

content: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, suggestive content, language, violence, cursing, fluff, more tba.

lucky me. a nanami kento modern!smau ₊˚⊹♡

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WHSY THERE ANOTHER CONTENT LABEL PLS TUMB;LR

chapter three: not your place (kento pov)

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not slick sir not slick..............

taglist: @yyzxiza @vampshxde @beereadzzz @recherche-corpse @wqsrs @savagecatsuga

you meet gojo, nanami's FAVOURITE friend.

main masterlist - masterlist..

log 4 - so called nemesis.

nanami does not want to do this. you can tell by the way his shoulders are tight as you walk into the café, by the way he adjusts his glasses twice even though they’re already straight.

“ken,” you murmur, amused, “you look like you’re about to be interrogated.”

“this is worse my love,” he replies flatly, “this is gojo.”

you squeeze his hand, “you’ve known him for years, you’ll survive.”

he gives you a look, “you’ve met gojo.”

“once,” you say, “when he yelled across campus and called you—”

“do not finish that sentence.”

“—‘high school enemy boy,’” you finish brightly, laughing.

nanami sighs, “i knew this was a mistake.”

the café door opens, you don’t even get a chance to step inside before someone yells out, “KENNNNNNNN—”

gojo satoru appears like a jumpscare, sunglasses on, grinning. entirely too much confidence for a human being.

“THERE HE IS,” gojo continues, already halfway out of his chair, “MY FAVORITE.”

nanami stops walking, “…hello, gojo.”

gojo’s eyes flick to you, they widen, slowly. you just stare back confused, nanami sighs at the sight.

“…no.”

you blink, “hi?”

gojo points at you like he’s accusing nanami of a crime, “ISN’T THAT—" nanami closes his eyes. “—THE HIGH SCHOOL ENEMY???”

every head in the café turns, you choke, “the what?”

nanami mutters, teeth gritting, “please lower your voice, gojo.”

gojo slaps the table, “I KNEW IT.”

you turn to nanami slowly, “ken.”

“…yes?”

“why does your friend think i was your nemesis.”

gojo gasps, “NEMESIS? cmon now don’t downplay it.”

nanami straightens his tie, “we had academic disagreements.”

“YOU GLARED AT HER EVERYTIME WE SAW HER ON CAMPUS.”

you stare, “you glared at me? before i even knew you were there?”

“…occasionally.”

gojo leans in, stage-whispering loudly, “he was down bad astronomically.”

nanami snaps, “that is not—”

“HE AVOIDED YOU,” gojo continues, gleeful, “CROSSED HALLWAYS, ONCE WALKED INTO A POLE.”

you cover your mouth, “kennn.” you tease.

"gojo stop yelling, im begging," nanami says, clearly irritated, “also i was just distracted.”'

gojo beams, “yeah sure- by love.”

nanami rubs his temple, “we’re sitting down.”

you do, still laughing. gojo plops across from you like he owns the place, “okay,” gojo says, grinning, “formal reintroduction, we’ve technically met, but this is different.”

you smile, “how so?”

“because now,” he gestures at nanami, “you’re his girlfriend and not just the person who ruined his concentration.”

nanami mutters, “you ruin my concentration.”

you grin at him, “i do?”

“…frequently.”

gojo clutches his chest, “SEE? HE ADMITTED IT.”

the barista approaches, eyes flicking between the three of you like this might become a problem. before nanami can speak, gojo says, “earl grey for the emotionally repressed one.”

nanami blinks, “…yes.”

you snort. gojo points at you, “and for her—whatever she wants. because clearly she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

nanami opens his mouth, and closes it. what did i get myself into, he thinks.

you smile sweetly, “latte, please.”

the barista leaves, and gojo leans forward, elbows on the table, “sooooo, how did THIS happen?”

you tilt your head, “we grew up.”

nanami nods, “communicated.”

gojo squints, “you guys are boring.”

“you’re boring,” nanami replies mildly.

“ONLY BECAUSE I’M HAPPY.”

you laugh again, and nanami watches it happen with the resigned fondness of a man who knows he’s lost, gojo notices immediately.

“oh my god,” he says, “he does that soft look thing.”

nanami stiffens, “i do not.”

“you do,” you say gently.

gojo slams the table, “SHE SEES IT TOO.”

nanami’s ears go pink. gojo leans back, “okay... listen, this is important.”

he points at you, “you.”

you blink, “me?”

“geto,” gojo says solemnly, “has to meet you.”

nanami groans, “absolutely not.”

“YES,” gojo insists, “geto, shoko, ijichi, the whole group.”

you glance at nanami, “should i be scared?”

“…a little,” nanami admits.

gojo grins, “don’t worry, if they like you, you’re in, if they don’t—”

nanami cuts in, “they will.”

you smile at him, “you sound confident.”

“i am,” he says quietly.

gojo stares, “…wow nanami, love really softened you.”

nanami replies without missing a beat, “worth it.”

gojo freezes, slowly. “…did you just say—”

“worth it,” nanami repeats calmly, fingers brushing yours.

your heart swells. gojo presses a hand to his chest, “I NEED TO CALL GETO.”

nanami deadpans, “do not.”

“I’M CALLING HIM.” gojo pulls out his phone.

“gojo.” nanami grits his teeth for the millionth time.

“HELLO?? GETO?? YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS—”

you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. nanami sighs, but his arm slides around your shoulders anyway, steady and warm.

“i apologize,” he murmurs, “this is my fault.”

you lean into him, “don’t you dare apologize, this is the best day ever.”

gojo hangs up, triumphant, “he says hi and also ‘about time.’”

nanami mutters, “…of course he does.”

gojo stands, stretching, “okay! i’ve seen enough.”

he points at you, “you- you’re perfect.”

points at nanami, “don’t fuck this up.”

nanami answers immediately, “i won’t.”

gojo grins, “good.”

he pauses, “seriously though, dinner soon- group thing.”

nanami exhales, “we’ll see.”

you smile, “i’d like that.”

gojo gasps, “SHE’S COMING.”

nanami sips his tea, “…i warned you.”

you beam at him, “you didn’t warn me enough.”

he shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“i love you,” you say softly.

he turns to you, expression gentle, “i love you too, darling.”

gojo is halfway to the door when something clicks. he stops, and turns slowly, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses.

“…wait.”

nanami doesn’t look up from his tea. this alone should have warned gojo. “why do i feel,” gojo says carefully, “like i’m missing crucial information.”

you glance at nanami, then back at gojo, trying not to smile. “oh,” you say lightly, “i’ve already met the rest.”

silence follow, and gojo blinks. “…the rest rest?” he asks.

you nod, “the rest rest.”

gojo’s jaw drops, “EXCUSE ME?”

nanami sighs, looking down at his cup. “when,” gojo demands, “DID THIS HAPPEN?”

“a while ago,” you say, “we all had dinner, geto tried to psychoanalyze me.”

gojo clutches his chest, “YOU MET GETO BEFORE ME?”

you tilt your head, “was that not supposed to happen?”

“NO,” gojo wails, “I’M THE GATEWAY FRIEND.”

nanami finally looks up, “you’re the last friend,” gojo continues, pointing at him accusingly, “why am i the last one?”

nanami takes another sip of tea, unbothered, then, calmly says, “…i think it’s obvious.”

gojo squints, “what’s obvious.”

nanami meets his gaze, “you would have been the most annoying.”

you choke on your latte, gojo stares, “…yeah,” he says slowly, “that’s fair.”

nanami’s hand slides into yours under the table, thumb brushing your knuckle, voice softer when he adds, “i wanted to protect her peace.”

your chest warms, gojo exhales dramatically, “god, you’re in love in the most disgusting way.”

you grin, “he really is.”

nanami hums, “proudly.”

gojo throws his hands up, “fine. whatever, i’m honored to be last.”

he points at you one more time, “but i’m stealing you for sibling-level friendship, no backing out.”

nanami replies instantly, “absolutely not.”

you laugh, squeezing his hand, and you think, yeah. meeting his friends was always going to be chaos, but it’s our chaos now.

-

y/n n gojo bsf arc coming soon, js watch

taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]

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also can we pls ignore the fact that the chats say friday… i forgot to change the dates ☹️☹️☹️☹️

troubles. a ryomen sukuna x fem!reader uni!au ᝰ.ᐟ

chapter five: cookies n cream

the car door shuts with a heavy thud that feels sort of authoritative, in a way you’re not ready for. the noise from the party disappears instantly, replaced by a ringing silence that presses in on your ears. your breath uneven, hands cold in your lap, it takes a second for you to realize you’re shaking.

sukuna gets in after you, slamming the driver’s door hard enough that the car rocks slightly. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything, just starts the engine, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking in his cheek.

the car pulls away from the curb, streetlights blur past, your reflection in the window looks pale, eyes too big, mascara and eyeliner ruined. you swallow, throat dry.

“…where are we going?” you ask quietly.

his hands tighten on the steering wheel, "i don’t know,” he says.

it’s flat, honest in a way that unsettles you more than anger would, you blink, “what do you mean you don’t know?” a hint of mocking lacing your words.

he exhales through his nose, a harsh sound, “i just needed you out of there.”

silence falls again, its thick and uncomfortable. you shift in your seat, the leather cool beneath your palms, your eyes drift down without meaning to, and then you see them, his hands.

his knuckles are scraped raw, red and swollen, skin split in places. there’s blood, drying now, dark against his skin. it’s not pouring or anything dramatic, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten painfully, “…your hands,” you whisper.

he doesn’t look down, “i know.”

you don’t know what to say to that, your mind replays the scene against your will. gojo on the floor, sukuna above him, rage in his eyes so intense it scared you, not because you thought he’d hurt you, but because you’d never seen someone so consumed by anger before, and because part of that anger was for you.

the car slows at a red light, the engine hums softly, its the only sound between you.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice trembling..

his grip tightens again, “yeah,” he mutters, “i did.”

you look away, staring out the window as the light turns green and he drives on. your emotions tangling into something messy and overwhelming. fear, gratitude, hurt, confusion, all layered on top of each other.

“he said—” you start, then stop, your voice cracks.

sukuna glances at you then, just for a second, his eyes soften immediately, something dark and regretful flashing through them.

“don’t,” he says quietly, “don’t repeat it.”

you nod, biting your lip hard enough to ground yourself. minutes pass, maybe more, the music and chaos of the party feeling unreal now, like it happened in another lifetime.

your phone buzzes repeatedly in your pocket, you ignore it, sukuna suddenly slows the car again, then pulls over. the tires crunch softly against gravel as he stops on the side of the road, hazard lights clicking on in a steady rhythm, the engine stays running. he exhales, long and shaky, and finally turns to face you.

your eyes meet his, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath. the hazard lights keep blinking, slow and steady, painting the inside of the car in soft orange flashes, on. off. on. off. it feels like time is stalling on purpose, like the universe is giving both of you room to think.

sukuna’s hands are still wrapped around the steering wheel, he’s staring straight ahead, then he exhales, it’s controlled, but barely.

“i’m sorry,” he says.

you stiffen at the apology. he turns to look at you again, really looks this time, eyes dark and tired and too intense all at once, there’s no smugness there, no arrogance, just something heavy sitting behind his gaze.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, “you didn’t need to see that, none of it.”

you don’t answer right away, your hands are folded in your lap, fingers twisted together like you’re holding yourself down, your chest feels tight, breathing shallow.

“that wasn’t your problem,” he adds, quieter, “it shouldn’t have been.”

a bitter laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, “funny,” you say, voice trembling, “because it kind of feels like everything with you ends up being my problem.”

the words hang there, sharp and fragile at the same time.

“…yeah,” he says after a moment, “i deserve that.”

silence rushes back in, thick and suffocating, the engine hums beneath your feet, somewhere outside, a dog barks, the world keeps going like nothing just happened.

“y/n,” he says carefully, like he’s testing the sound of your name, “we need to talk.”

your heart sinks, and you turn toward him fully now, eyes hard even though they burn, “no- we don’t.”

his brows knit together immediately, “what?”

“we don’t,” you repeat, steadier this time, “you made that clear already.”

his mouth opens, then closes. he drags a hand down his face, fingers brushing over his jaw, then through his hair, the blood on his knuckles smears faintly against his skin, and you flinch at the sight.

“i’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks,” he says, frustration bleeding through despite his attempt to stay calm, “i’ve wanted to text you, i’ve tried catching you after class, you won’t even look at me.”

you laugh again, but there’s no humor in it, “yeah? because you told me you were done.”

he stiffens.

“you told me,” you continue, voice shaking now, “that you didn’t need me- that you didn’t want anything to do with me, so what exactly was i supposed to do after that? chase you?”

“that’s not—” he starts.

“don’t,” you cut in quickly, “don’t explain, i know what you meant.”

his jaw tightens, “you don’t.”

“i do,” you insist, pain creeping into your voice whether you want it to or not, “you needed help, you got it, and when it started to mean something more, you bailed- and honestly? fine, but don’t pretend it was anything else.”

his eyes flicker, something dark and wounded flashing through them.

“that’s not what happened,” he says, low.

“then what was it?” you shoot back, “because from where i’m standing, it looks exactly like what everyone said it was.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, “i already know what gojo said.”

that makes you pause, “…what?” you ask.

“yuji told me,” sukuna says, voice tight, “he told me everything, what he said to you, what he said in front of everyone.”

your chest tightens painfully, “then why are we even doing this?”

“because it’s bullshit y/n,” he snaps, then immediately softens his tone, “because none of it was true.”

you shake your head, “he didn’t sound like he was lying.”

“he was,” sukuna says firmly, “about all of it.”

you look away, staring out the window, lights blurring together, “he said you got bored, that i fucked up your playing, that i was just some toy.” your voice cracks on the last word.

sukuna’s hands curl into fists again, knuckles flexing, “i never said that, never even thought that, not once.”

“but you let him say it,” you whisper, “you let everyone think that.”

his shoulders drop slightly at that, “…i know,” he says quietly, “and that’s on me.”

the honesty in his voice hurts more than defensiveness would have.

“i didn’t disappear because i didnt give a fuck,” he continues, slower now, “i disappeared because i didn’t know how not to fuck it up.”

you scoff, though there’s no heat behind it anymore, “congrats, you fucked it up anyway.”

he nods, “yeah.”

another stretch of silence. being this close to him again, hearing him say these things, it makes everything ache in a way you thought you’d already processed and gotten over. gotten over lmfaooo

“sukuna,” you say quietly, “we really don’t have anything to talk about.”

he looks at you then, eyes intense, almost desperate, “that’s not true.”

“it is,” you insist, “i know what this was.”

“no,” he says firmly, “you know what gojo wanted you to think it was.”

you swallow.

“i didn’t use you,” he adds, voice rough, “everything he said was a fucking lie.”

you finally meet his gaze again, searching his face for something, anything, that might tell you if he’s telling the truth.

“then why did you push me away?” you ask softly.

he hesitates, “…because i got scared,” he admits, “and because i thought if i ended it on my own shitty terms, you’d be better off.”

your chest tightens painfully at that.

“you don’t get to decide that,” you say, “you don’t get to hurt someone and call it protection.”

he flinches, “i know,” he says, “i know now, i knew the moment i told you to not meet me again and i heard you cry at your house that night.”

the hazard lights continue blinking, the night presses in around the car, quiet and heavy.

you take a shaky breath, “sukuna… i know what gojo said.”

he leans closer, eyes locked on yours, voice steady and unyielding.

“and i’m telling you,” he says, “he lied.”

the silence stretches even longer after his last words, its uneasy. your fingers dig into your sleeves, nails pressing into your palms like you need something solid to hold onto.

you swallow, “why,” you ask quietly, “should i even listen to you?”

the question isn’t sharp, it’s tired, worn down, like you’ve already spent all your energy believing people who ended up hurting you anyway.

sukuna doesn’t answer right away, he looks down at his hands again, flexes his fingers slowly, like he’s grounding himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is lower, but there’s something raw underneath it.

“because i’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, “and i’m not asking you to forget anything, i just… need you to know the truth, even if you still walk away after.”

you scoff softly, “that’s convenient.”

“it’s not,” he replies immediately, “it’s actually the worst possible outcome for me- but i’d rather you hate me for what’s real than for something he made up.”

he shifts in his seat, turning toward you fully now, “gojo’s been trying to get me off the team for months,” he continues, “before you, before any of this, he doesn’t like that i don’t kiss his ass."

you frown, “so this is… what? revenge?”

“control,” sukuna corrects, “he wants to break me down until i either quit or fuck up bad enough that the coaches have no choice.”

you think back, how people whispered, how suddenly the narrative shifted, how everything wrong somehow traced back to you.

“he started running his mouth about you,” sukuna goes on, jaw tightening, “because he knew it’d get under my skin, and when he realized you actually mattered to me? that was it.”

“mattered,” you repeat softly.

his eyes flicker, “yeah.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself, “he said that stuff on campus on purpose, said it loud, wanted you to hear it from him instead of me, wanted to fuck shit up so bad i’d never be able to fix it.”

your throat burns, “and you let him.”

“i was trying to protect you,” he says, then immediately shakes his head. “—no. i thought i was, i didn’t want you anywhere near that mess, or near him, didn’t want you getting dragged into team bullshit and his fucking ego.”

you laugh weakly, “well, that backfired.”

“yeah,” he admits, “it did.”

another pause.

“i haven’t touched anyone else,” sukuna says suddenly.

your breath catches despite yourself.

“since the first day i saw you at the house,” he continues, voice rough but honest, “not flirted, not hooked up, nothing, i don’t even look- i cant.”

you stare at him, stunned, “why are you telling me this?”

“because he made it sound like i was treating you like something disposable,” sukuna replies, anger creeping in again, “and that’s the one thing i won’t let stand.”

he rubs the back of his neck, jaw clenched, “i don’t even know what the hell i’m feeling,” he admits, “i just know it’s… intense, and it pisses me off.”

“why?” you ask quietly.

“because i want you,” he says plainly adds, “not like that- not just that. i want you around, i want to hear you talk, laugh, argue with me, and that scares the shit out of me.”

your chest aches at the sincerity in his voice.

“i’m not good at gentle,” he continues, “i’m not good at safe, and the second i realized you weren’t just some passing thing, my brain went straight to ‘you’re going to ruin her.’”

your eyes sting.

“so i pushed you away,” he says, “said shit i didn’t mean, let you believe i didn’t care, because if you hated me, at least you wouldn’t get hurt by me later.”

you shake your head slowly, “you don’t get to decide what hurts less.”

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time, “yuji told me that too. called me an idiot.”

despite everything, a tiny, broken smile tugs at your lips.

“i’m not asking you to trust me right now,” sukuna finishes, “i just couldn’t stand knowing you thought i saw you the way gojo described- because i don’t, i never did.”

the car is silent again, your heart feels tangled, anger, hurt, confusion, and something dangerously close to hope all colliding at once. you don’t respond yet, but for the first time since you got into the car, you don’t feel like running either. you let out a slow breath.

“…take me home,” you say finally.

sukuna’s grip tightens on the steering wheel for half a second, then relaxes, he nods once.

the car eases back onto the road, the silence between you isn’t sharp anymore, it’s tired. you stare out the window, streetlights blurring past, then you speak again, quieter.

“and… thank you. for the fritters.”

his head snaps toward you for just a second before he forces his eyes back on the road, “huh?”

“the apple fritters,” you repeat, “from the café.”

there’s a pause, “…you ate them?”

you nod, “a couple, over a few days.”

his ears turn red instantly, not angry red, embarrassed red.

“shit,” he mutters, “i-i didn’t know if you’d even want them, or if yuji would tell you it was from me.”

your lips twitch despite yourself, “i figured it out.”

another quiet stretch passes, his shoulders seem a little less tense now, like that small acknowledgment mattered more than he expected. the rest of the drive is calm, just the soft sound of the road and the heater humming against the cold night air.

when he pulls up in front of your apartment, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t turn it off right away.

neither of you moves, the glow from the dashboard lights up his face, still bruised at the knuckles, still sharp around the edges, but softer than you’ve seen him in weeks.

you're not sure what compells you to ask, but you do anyway, “do you… want to come in?” you ask swallowing.

his head turns slowly, “are you sure?”

you nod, “yeah, i’m just—” you hesitate, then admit it honestly, “i’m kinda tired of being alone.”

something in his expression changes, something careful, and respectful.

“…okay,” he says, “if you’re sure.”

you both get out of the car. he instinctively steps a little closer to you as you walk to the door, not touching, just there, like he’s making sure you’re okay without crossing a line.

inside, the apartment is quiet and dim, you flick on a lamp, the soft light filling the room. shutting the door behind you, the click of the lock sounding louder than it should. the apartment feels different with him in it, smaller somehow.

...

sukuna doesn’t say anything at first, he just… looks.

not in a creepy way. it’s quiet, more observant. his eyes trace the room. he sees the couch with the throw blanket half-slid off the arm, the shoes by the door, the faint smell of apples and sugar still lingering from the fritters in the fridge.

then his gaze drifts back to you, to your outfit. he notices it immediately, the skirt. the way you clearly put effort into it, even if you’d probably tell yourself you didn’t, the way you’d gotten ready tonight not knowing how the night would end, only that you didn’t want to feel invisible.

his jaw tightens, not with anger, something closer to regret …you really tried, he thinks, and that hits harder than anything gojo ever said.

“you can sit,” you say, voice soft.

he nods and moves to the couch, sitting like he’s not sure how much space he’s allowed to take up. you follow a second later and sit right next to him, close enough that your knees almost touch, close enough that you’re painfully aware of each other’s presence.

the silence is awkward, not uncomfortable exactly. you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. your eyes meet, and for a second neither of you looks away. his expression is rawer up close, its tired, angry at the world, but careful with you, like he’s holding himself back with both hands. he exhales slowly and drops his gaze to his own hands.

“…i’m sorry,” he says.

you blink, you weren’t expecting him to start so soon.

“i know i already said it,” he continues, voice low, steady but strained, “but i need you to understand that i mean it, i shouldn’t have dragged you out of that house like that, shouldn’t have let you see any of it.”

you swallow but don’t interrupt.

“i shouldn’t have disappeared on you,” he adds, jaw clenching, “and i sure as hell shouldn’t have left you alone to deal with dumbass rumors i knew would get ugly.”

his fingers curl against his palms like he wants to punch something that isn’t there, “none of that was fair to you.”

you study his face, there’s no arrogance in it right now, just someone who looks like he’s been carrying guilt around and finally set it down between you.

“…you hurt me,” you say quietly.

he nods immediately, “i know.” no excuses, no deflection. that alone makes your chest ache. he risks looking at you again, and when he does, his voice softens just a little.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me tonight,” he says, “or trust me, i just—” he stops, shakes his head once, “i couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t matter, you do, too much.”

your throat tightens, but you stay still, sitting there beside him in the quiet glow of your apartment, both of you finally in the same space again, it’s awkward but honest for the first time in a long while. you swallow, fingers twisting together in your lap before you even realize you’re doing it.

“i wanted to reach out,” you admit quietly, “so many times, i’d open your chat, type something, delete it, over and over.” you let out a small, tired laugh that doesn’t have any humor in it, “i kept telling myself i was being stupid, that i barely knew you, that i should just… let it go.”

sukuna’s eyes don’t leave your face. he notices it then, the puffiness around your eyes, like you’ve cried more than you’ll ever admit, the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes when you look at him. it hits him harder than any punch ever could.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

before you can react, he shifts, standing up abruptly like he can’t stay still anymore, for a second you think you said something wrong, then he sits back down, closer this time, not crowding you, but close enough that the space between you feels intentional.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, more firmly now, “i know i keep saying it, but-” his voice roughens, “seeing you like this… i did this, even if i didn’t mean to.”

you look down at your hands, “i didn’t make it easy either.”

he shakes his head immediately, “no, don’t do that, don’t put this on yourself.”

there’s a sharp edge to his tone—not anger at you, but at the idea that you’d blame yourself for his mistakes.

“i should’ve talked to you,” he continues, “should’ve trusted you enough to tell you what was going on instead of deciding everything on my own like an asshole.”

you glance up at him then, “why didn’t you?”

he hesitates, jaw tightening.

“because i don’t know how to do this shit right,” he admits, “because every time i thought about getting closer to you, all i could think about was how bad it’d hurt if i fucked it up.”

your chest aches at that. he exhales slowly, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at you.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he says, “i don’t know how yet, but i will y/n, i swear.”

you don’t answer right away, and then he says something that makes you freeze.

“…it wasn’t even about the studying.”

your brows knit together, “what?”

“i mean- at first, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “the first session, i actually needed help, i was lost as hell.” a faint, almost embarrassed huff leaves him, “but after that? i got it, i could’ve handled the class on my own.”

you stare at him now, confused, “then why’d you-“

“because i wanted to see you,” he cuts in, not harshly, just honest, “because i liked sitting with you, talking to you, hearing you explain shit like it mattered.” his eyes meet yours again, steady, “it stopped being about grades real fast.”

your heart stutters.

“i just wanted to be with you,” he finishes, voice low, “didn’t know how to say that without sounding like an idiot.”

silence settles between you, but it’s different now, softer. you look at him, really look at him, this guy who looks so dangerous to the rest of the world, sitting on your couch, confessing something simple and terrifying all at once.

“…you could’ve just said that,” you whisper.

he lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sigh, “yeah, turns out i’m really bad at the obvious option.”

you smile before you can stop yourself. it’s small, tired, a little shy, but it hits him anyway.

sukuna notices everything, the way your lashes fan out when you look up at him, the softness in your eyes that wasn’t there earlier, the way the tension in your shoulders finally eases just a bit, for a split second, he forgets where he is.

then his gaze drops, instinctively, to your legs where you’re sitting close to him. not in a weird way, just an acknowledgment of the fact that you’re there, with him.

you catch it, not angrily, not accusingly. you just lift your eyebrows slightly, amused, and then your eyes flick to his hands, “your knuckles,” you say gently, “they’re still bloody.”

he follows your gaze, then exhales through his nose, “yeah, guess they are.”

before he can say anything else, you reach out and take one of his hands, it’s warm, a bit rough, trembling just a little.

“you need to clean this up,” you say, already standing, “come on.”

you don’t wait for permission. you just tug him along toward the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world. sukuna freezes for half a second, then follows. his ears are burning, his face feels hot, he absolutely does not know what to do with the fact that you’re holding his hand like this.

“i- uh,” he clears his throat as you flick on the bathroom light, “you don’t have to—”

“i know,” you say softly, “i want to.”

that shuts him up. you guide him to the sink, gently turning on the tap, the sound of running water fills the space, grounding and intimate all at once, you pump soap into your palm and carefully take his hand again, this time focusing on his knuckles.

he watches you, the way your fingers are careful, the way your brows knit in concentration, how close you are, close enough that he can smell your shampoo, and faintly sweet. his heart is doing something stupid. you rinse the blood away, slow and gentle, like you’re afraid of hurting him. the irony isn’t lost on either of you.

he coughs suddenly and looks away, staring at the wall like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, you glance up.

“…you okay?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says too fast, then, quieter, “just- sorry. didn’t mean to stare.”

you laugh, soft and breathy, the sound easing something tight in his chest, “it’s okay,” you say, “you’re allowed to look.”

that does not help him at all. you finish cleaning his hand, patting it dry with a towel, for a second, neither of you move, you’re standing close, still holding his hand. then he speaks, voice low and a little unsteady.

“you… you look really good tonight.”

you blink, he winces immediately, “i mean- fuck, i didn’t mean like-” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, flustered, “you always do- look good, i just, tonight you look… really cute.”

your face warms instantly, “thank you,” you say, smiling again, “you’re not so bad yourself, kuna—”

the nickname slips out before you can stop it.

your eyes widen, “oh- sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“no,” he says quickly, “don’t.”

you pause, he meets your eyes, something soft and almost shy there, “it’s okay,” he says, “i like that.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward this time. it’s warm and fragile. full of something new, something careful and real, sitting quietly between you as the water drips in the sink and neither of you quite wants to let go.

you both just stand there for a moment. his hand is still hovering near yours, not touching, like he’s unsure if the moment’s already slipping away or if it’s safe to stay in it a little longer.

you’re the first to move, you turn the tap off, the click loud in the small bathroom, grounding you both back into reality.

“all done,” you say softly.

he looks down at his hand, flexes his fingers once, then looks back at you, “thanks,” he says, real and sincere, “for… yeah, all of it.”

you shrug a little, suddenly shy again, “no problem.”

you step past him, “i’m just gonna, uh, change real quick, one sec.”

he nods, “yeah, take your time.”

you disappear into your room, closing the door behind you. sukuna exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and makes his way to the living room. he takes it in, your place is small but warm. fairy lights tucked along one wall, books stacked neatly on the coffee table.

it feels very you, he sits down carefully, elbows on his knees, eyes wandering, this is the first time he’s been inside your space, and the thought makes his chest feel weird.

the door to your room opens. he looks up—and freezes. you walk out wearing some cute sweats, and a random shirt, most importantly, a pair of fuzzy gray werewolf slippers, ears and all. he stares, then laughs, it’s not loud or mocking, just surprised and genuine.

you immediately get shy, arms crossing over yourself, “heyyy, ignore those.”

“nah,” he says, grin spreading across his face, “those are fire, i like ’em.”

you blink, “you do?”

“yeah,” he says easily, “they suit you.”

your face warms instantly, “shut up.”

he just smirks, clearly enjoying how flustered you look. you clear your throat and gesture toward the kitchen, “uh—want a fritter?”

his eyebrows lift, “from the box?”

“yeah,” you say, “they’re actually really good.”

“sure,” he says, “i’m down.”

you head to the kitchen, grabbing one from the fridge and placing it on a plate, as you slide it into the microwave, you glance back at him.

“okay but listen,” you say seriously, pointing at the microwave, “you cannot heat it too long or it literally becomes a weapon, like- rock hard, and also on fire.”

he snorts, “a weapon?”

“i’m not joking,” you insist, “i almost took out my hand yesterday.”

he laughs again, shaking his head, “noted.”

the microwave beeps, and you carefully take the plate out and hand it to him. he steps closer, standing right next to you now, too close, close enough that you can feel his warmth. he takes a bite, his eyes widen slightly, “shit,” he mutters, “that’s good.”

you grin, “told you, they're even better fresh.”

he chews, glancing at you sideways, “you want a bite?”

you shake your head quickly, “no, no, it’s fine. i can just get my own.”

instead of responding, he lifts the fritter and brings it toward your face, “ah,” he says casually.

you stare at him, “…are you serious?”

he raises an eyebrow, “what?”

your heart is pounding, you hesitate for half a second, then lean in and take a bite, right where he did. the moment your teeth sink in, you realize what you’ve done, you pull back fast, cheeks burning. he watches you, eyes dark and unreadable, then smirks slightly.

“good,” he says quietly.

you swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is, how warm the room feels, how the silence between you is buzzing with something unspoken. yeah, this is dangerous.

sukuna keeps eating your fritter. it starts off normal, almost domestic in a way that makes your chest feel all ticklish, but then it turns into something softer without either of you really meaning it to. every time he takes a bite, he tilts it toward you right after, no words, just a quiet offer, you shake your head at first, “you don’t have to keep sharing.”

he shrugs, mouth full, “don’t wanna eat it alone.”

so you take a bite, again, and again. it becomes this stupid little rhythm. him chewing, glancing at you, holding it up to your face. like it hasn’t turned into the most intimate thing that’s happened to you in weeks.

you’re standing close, not touching, but close enough that your arm brushes his every time you shift. the kitchen light hits him from above, shadows cutting across his face, and he looks calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

he watches you more than the fritter, the way your lashes flutter when you laugh quietly at something dumb he says, the way your lips curve when you smile, still a little shy, still unsure, and the way you look up at him like you’re waiting for permission to exist in the same space. kissable. the thought hits him out of nowhere, sharp and unwanted. he swallows hard and looks away, jaw tightening, don’t. don’t go there, don’t fuck this up again.

he clears his throat, “i should probably head out.” the words land heavier than he expects, you blink.

“oh,” you say softly, “yeah, okay.”

you try to sound fine, like you’re not suddenly very aware of how quiet the apartment feels. he’s halfway toward the door when you grab his sleeve.

it’s instinctive, you don’t even think about it. your fingers just curl into the fabric like your body decided for you, he stops immediately, and turns around.

“hey,” he says, confused, yet gentle, “what’s wrong?”

you don’t answer, you just step forward and hug him.

it’s awkward for half a second, like he doesn’t know where to put his arms, then they come around you slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast, and then it hits you, everything.

the weeks of silence, the humiliation, the rumors, the party, gojo’s voice, the way sukuna walked away that night. all alongside the fritters in your fridge that you pretended meant nothing.

your face presses into his chest and you start crying, like really crying.

“shit,” you whisper, “i’m sorry, this is so embarrassing—”

your voice cracks and that just makes it worse, your hands clutch at his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. sukuna’s heart drops straight into his stomach, “hey,” he says immediately, holding you tighter, “hey, it’s okay. it’s okay.”

you cry harder, he feels it all, every sob, every shaky breath, and it makes something ugly twist in his chest, anger, regret, all of it tangled up together.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, “i’m so fucking sorry.”

again and again, he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to stop. just holds you like he’s got all the time in the world, one hand resting between your shoulders, the other firm at your back.

when you finally pull away, cheeks wet, eyes red, you won’t look at him. he lifts a hand and gently wipes your tears with his thumb, careful, like you’re fragile.

“don’t cry, pretty girl,” he says quietly, “i hate seeing you like this.”

your lip trembles at the softness.

“i’m really sorry,” he adds, “for everything.”

you nod, sniffling, “it’s okay.”

he frowns, “no, it’s not.”

you wipe your face with the back of your hand, “you don’t have to stay, really, you can go if you want.”

the words don’t sit right with him at all, he doesn’t answer, instead, he grabs your jacket from the hook by the door, steps closer, and gently helps you into it, zips it up, tugs the sleeves down over your hands.

you stare at him, confused, “sukuna…?”

he grabs his keys, already moving, “come with me,” he says, firm but gentle, “i know what to get you.”

your brows knit together, “get me… what?”

he opens the door and looks back at you, expression unreadable but determined, “trust me.”

you hesitate, heart still racing, but something in his voice makes you nod. you kick off your slippers and quickly slide on some uggs. and just like that, you follow him out into the night. as he opens the door, cold night air slipping in, he pauses for just a second, like he’s thinking about it, then his hand finds yours.

it’s slow, his fingers curl around your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he’s been doing it forever, his palm is warm, grounding, and you feel it all the way up your arm. you look down at your joined hands, startled. he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t tease, doesn’t even look back.

he just gives your hand a small squeeze and guides you out, positioning himself slightly in front of you as you step into the night, like he’s instinctively shielding you from the cold, from the world, from everything.

when you reach his car, he still doesn’t let go. he opens the passenger door with his free hand, waits until you’re safely inside, then finally, releases your hand to shut the door.

the warmth lingers long after. the car is quiet for a minute once you’re both inside. streetlights streaking past the windows, your heart’s still doing that stupid uneven thing, emotions sitting too close to the surface, like one wrong word could tip you right back into tears.

sukuna reaches over and takes your hand again, this time it’s firmer. he laces his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing once over your knuckles. he doesn’t look at you right away, eyes fixed on the road, but the tension in his jaw eases just a bit.

you swallow, “where are we going?”

he finally glances over, the corner of his mouth lifting, “you’ll see.”

that’s all he gives you. you don’t push, part of you doesn’t want to break whatever fragile calm this is, so you just lean back in your seat, watching the city thin out, lights growing softer, air cooler as the road curves closer to the coast.

when he pulls into a small lot, you blink. it’s an ice cream shop.

one of those cozy, slightly old-school ones with warm yellow lights and a big window facing the water. you can hear the ocean nearby, waves rolling in slow and steady, benches lined up along the edge.

you look at him, confused, and then a little amused, “ice cream?”

he nods, like it’s obvious, “yeah.”

you tilt your head, “unexpected.”

he shrugs, a little sheepish in a way that feels illegal on him, “guilty pleasure.”

your lips curve before you can stop them, a small smile, but real. you both get out of the car, he stays close as you walk up to the counter, still holding your hand like he’s afraid letting go might undo everything.

when it’s his turn, he orders without hesitation, “cookies n cream.”

you glance at him, “so classic of you.”

he smirks, “best flavor.”

you order yours, your favorite, the one you always get, and when the cashier hands you both the cones, sukuna looks at yours and hums softly.

“yeah,” he says, “that’s so like you.”

you raise a brow, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he just shrugs again, “don’t know, it fits.”

you head over to one of the benches near the water, sitting side by side, knees almost touching. the ocean stretches out in front of you, dark and endless, you both eat in silence for a bit. it’s nice, the cold sweetness helps settle your nerves, gives your hands something to do besides shake. after a minute, guilt creeps back in.

“hey,” you say quietly.

he looks at you immediately, “yeah?”

you stare at your ice cream, “i’m sorry, for earlier, for crying and… being annoying.” you force a small laugh, “you probably wanted to go home.”

his expression hardens, not angry, just serious. “don’t be dumb,” he says flatly.

you blink.

“don’t apologize for that,” he continues, voice firm, “ever, and don’t decide shit like that for me.”

you glance up at him. he’s looking at you fully now, eyes steady, “i’ll stay as long as you want me to, got it?”

“…okay,” you whisper.

for a moment, everything feels still, like the world’s paused just for you and the quiet lap of the water.

then your phone buzzes, over and over again. you frown and pull it out, the screen lighting up your face, your notifications are flooded. messages, missed calls, texts stacking on top of each other. your stomach drops as you stare at the screen, heart starting to race again. you turn your phone toward him, screen glowing between you like a tiny, overwhelming sun.

“everyone’s texting me,” you say softly, a little embarrassed, a little touched.

he leans in, shoulder brushing yours, eyes scanning the screen. his brows knit together, not annoyed, not jealous, just attentive.

you open the group chat with yuji.

“they’re worried about you,” sukuna murmurs.

you nod, “yeah. they’re… they’re good people.”

he watches the messages disappear down the screen, something soft settling in his expression, “i’m glad you have them.”

you glance at him, “me too.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything. the ocean fills the silence instead, waves rolling in, distant laughter from somewhere down the beach. you finish your ice cream slowly, fingers numb from the cold. when you stand, sukuna stands with you without thinking, like it’s instinct now.

“walk?” he asks.

you nod. the sand is cool beneath your shoes as you make your way down to the shoreline, the beach mostly empty at this hour. the moon reflects off the water, and everything feels quieter here.

somewhere between steps, your hands find each other again, you’re not even sure who reaches first. his fingers slide into yours, tentative at first, like he’s giving you time to pull away if you want, when you don’t, when you squeeze back just a little, he exhales through his nose like he’s relieved.

you walk like that for a while, not talking, just listening to the water, the sand shifting beneath your feet, then you stop.

it’s sudden enough that he turns to you immediately, concern flickering across his face, “what’s wrong?”

you swallow, your grip tightens around his hand, knuckles white, “i—” your voice wobbles, and you hate it, “i missed you.”

there it is, out in the open. you laugh weakly, blinking fast, “like, a lot, and i kept telling myself it was stupid because i barely knew you and,” your breath stutters, “i tried really hard not to.”

he doesn’t interrupt. just listens, when you finally look up at him, his expression is raw in a way you’ve never seen before.

“i missed you too,” he says quietly.

your eyes burn, you step closer without thinking, close enough that you can feel his warmth, smell the faint trace of soap and night air on him. for a split second, you want to kiss him, really kiss him, mouth to mouth, everything poured into it. instead, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek, it’s gentle.

his breath catches, you pull back quickly, cheeks flushed, “c’mon,” you say, cracking a small smile, “let’s go back.”

you tug on his hand, already turning toward the path back to the parking lot, for a second, he doesn’t move, like his feet forgot how.

then he laughs under his breath, low and stunned, and follows you willingly, heart somewhere in his throat. as you drag him toward the car, he’s pretty sure he’s never felt lighter in his life, cloud nine doesn’t even begin to cover it.

you turn your phone toward him, screen glowing between you like a tiny, overwhelming sun.

he never thought a tiny little peck on his cheek would set him back 2000 years, sukuna truly felt like a little high school boy, having his first crush. except this crush wasn’t a silly little one, a but a big fat crush that he never wants to get over.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

he parks outside your building like before, the night feels calmer, like something finally clicked into place. you both stand at your door for a second, hands still loosely linked, neither of you quite ready to let go.

“thank you,” you say again, softer this time, “for tonight, for not giving up, for everything.”

he shakes his head slightly, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “i meant it, all of it.”

you swallow, then smile, “i’m glad you were honest with me, kuna.”

the nickname hits him again, his ears flush immediately, mouth tugging into a shy, almost disbelieving smile.

“of course,” he says quietly, “y/n.”

you squeeze his hand once, firm and reassuring, “goodnight.”

“goodnight.” he smiles gently.

you step inside, close the door, lock it, and the second the latch clicks, your knees nearly give out, you don’t even make it two steps before grabbing your phone.

you call nobara. she answers instantly.

“BITCH.”

you laugh, breathless, “okay- okay, don’t yell, but—”

“NO. YOU DON’T GET TO ‘OKAY’ ME,” she says, “YOU VANISHED, GOJO WAS BEING A FERAL ASSHOLE, YUJI WAS READY TO COMMIT MURDER, AND THEN YOU JUST—POOF.”

you sink onto the couch, “i know, i know, i’m home, i’m safe.”

“…with sukuna?” she asks, voice lowering just a bit.

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“…okay, start talking.”

you tell her everything. practically everything. nobara gasps so loud it nearly blows out your speaker.

“HE TOOK YOU FOR ICE CREAM?”

“yes.”

“BY THE BEACH?”

“yes.”

“AND APOLOGIZED LIKE—ACTUALLY APOLOGIZED?”

“multiple times.”

she groans dramatically, “i hate that this is working on me.”

you laugh, wiping at your eyes, “there’s more.”

you tell her about the conversation, about gojo lying, about sukuna not touching anyone else, about him being scared of hurting you. there’s a long silence on the other end.

“…okay,” nobara finally says, “first of all, fuck gojo, i knew he was a slimy little bitch.”

your grip tightens on the phone, “what happened after we left?”

her tone sharpens instantly, “ohhh, it got messy babes”

you sit up straighter, “what do you mean?”

“gojo was pissed,” she says, “clearly hella embarrassed, and fucking soaked. he kept running his mouth—said you were dramatic, said sukuna was unhinged and should get locked up.’”

“yuji lost it,” nobara continues, “i’ve literally never seen him that mad, megumi had to hold him back, thennn todo kicked gojo out.”

“good, shoulda done that sooner,” you mutter.

“yeah, and geto chewed his ass out too, like- actually, told him he crossed a line and that everyone saw it.”

you exhale shakily, “thank god.”

“so no,” nobara adds firmly, “this was not on you, and sukuna? from what i saw tonight—he wasn’t lying.”

your chest tightens again, but this time it’s something warmer.

“…thank you,” you whisper.

“anytime,” she says, then, softer, “just… go slow, okay? i still don’t fully trust him, but i trust you.”

you smile, “i will.”

after you hang up, you open the group chat, messages are stacked.

you set your phone down, leaning back against the couch, heart still racing but lighter now. outside, somewhere, sukuna is probably replaying the night in his head too.

and for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep not feeling alone. not feeling the same suffocating pressure of the silence you had to deal with.

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hope you all enjoyed this chapter, i promise were getting somewhere i just want this story to not be tiny asf :) slowburn 4eva. next chapter is prob my fav by far, im already working on it!

taglist: @bonnvivre @voidkeery @kohavalon @diangelofan599 @gokurakawaii @nina-from-317@starringrcll @emforjin @tobecringeistobeme @sugusshi @yummidumplingss

content: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, suggestive content, language, violence, cursing, fluff, more tba.

lucky me. a nanami kento modern!smau ₊˚⊹♡

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chapter two: mr noble?!

idk why my post is flagged for mature content but okay thanks tumblr

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nanami thinking he slick huhhhhh also yes i used the spongebob pic idrc LMAOAAAA

taglist: @yyzxiza @vampshxde @beereadzzz @recherche-corpse @wqsrs @savagecatsuga

taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]

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troubles. a ryomen sukuna x fem!reader uni!au ᝰ.ᐟ

chapter four: apple fritters

a couple days into winter break and your apartment has officially turned into a second campus lounge. jackets tossed over chairs, nobara’s boots kicked off by the door, megumi sitting cross-legged on the floor with his laptop on the couch, yuji sprawled out on his phone, someone’s half-finished iced coffee sweating onto your coffee table.

and yet, you’re not really here. your body is, sure. you laugh at the right moments, throw popcorn at yuji when he says something dumb, let nobara braid a piece of your hair while she complains about winter break being boring as hell. but your mind? your mind keeps circling back to yuji's hallway, to the voice that said hey like it mattered, and to your own voice when you said the bathroom’s free.

you press your lips together, staring at nothing. maybe i was too harsh, the thought slips in quietly, unwelcome. you replay it again, the way he looked confused, and way his hand dropped from your wrist immediately.

he didn’t even get to explain, then, just as quickly, another memory slams into place, got bored of her. your jaw tightens, no, you tell yourself, don’t do that. you can’t keep rewriting him into something softer just because it hurts less that way. he didn’t say anything when it mattered, he walked away, and he let people talk. he let you cry.

you fold your arms tighter around yourself.

“earth to y/n,” nobara says, snapping her fingers in front of your face, “you’ve been zoning out for like five minutes- whatchu thinking about, just dance?”

you snort despite yourself, “god, no.” megumi glares her.

“boys?” yuji guesses immediately, sitting up.

“no,” you say too fast.

megumi glances at you over his laptop, unimpressed, “that was the most obvious lie i’ve ever heard.”

you groan, “can you all not psychoanalyze me for five seconds?”

nobara smirks, “absolutely not.”

before you can respond, the doorbell rings. the sound cuts through the room, sharp and unexpected, and everyone pauses.

“you expecting someone?” yuji asks.

you shake your head slowly, “no.”

a weird feeling settles in your stomach as you stand up, walking towards the door. your heart starts doing that annoying thing, beating faster for no reason.

don’t be stupid, you tell yourself, it’s probably the food. you open the door and a delivery guy stands there, holding a large brown box tied with twine, there’s a small sticker on the side with a familiar logo.

your breath catches, the café.

“delivery for y/n,” the guy says.

“…yeah,” you answer faintly, “that’s me.”

you take the box with shaky hands, mumbling a thank you as the door closes behind you, the smell hits you immediately.

apples, sugar, fried dough, your chest tightens.

“what is it?” nobara asks, already standing.

you turn around slowly, box cradled against you like it might disappear.

“…apple fritters.”

silence, and then—yuji grins. not a teasing grin or a smug one, a knowing grin. your eyes snap to him, “don’t.”

he presses his lips together, shoulders shaking, “i didn’t say anything.”

“you don’t have to,” you say, “i can see it on your stupid face.”

megumi peers into the box, “that’s… a lot of fritters.”

it is, its a full box of them, neatly arranged and still warm.

“it’s from him,” nobara says quietly.

it’s not a question, you swallow, “…yeah.”

your stomach flips, half sick, half aching.

“how,” you ask slowly, turning back to yuji, “how on earth does he have my address?”

yuji scratches the back of his neck, suddenly way too casual, “uh. funny story.”

“yuji,” you warn.

he laughs nervously, “okay, okay—before you yell at me—”

“you gave him my address?” you interrupt.

“not like that!” he says quickly, “i mean—he asked where you lived weeks ago, i didn’t think anything of it then.”

nobara crosses her arms, “you just… tell people where your friends live?”

“i didn’t think he’d actually use it!” yuji protests, “and it was before everything went to shit.”

you stare at the box again, your heart feels like it’s being squeezed.

“why would he do this?” you whisper.

no one answers immediately, then yuji’s voice softens. “because he’s trying.”

you laugh, sharp and humorless, “trying what? to buy my forgiveness with pastries?”

“no,” yuji says firmly, “to apologize.”

you shake your head, “cut the bullshit yuji, he had his chance.”

“and you didn’t let him talk,” yuji replies gently.

that makes something crack, you look up at him, eyes stinging. “you weren’t there.”

“i know,” he says, “but i know my brother.”

nobara steps closer, hand brushing your arm, “you don’t owe him anything, you know that, right?”

you nod, even though it doesn’t feel that simple.

yuji continues, quieter now, “he’s not good at words, or timing- or emotions in general.”

“that’s not an excuse,” you murmur.

“i know,” yuji says, “but it is a reason.”

you exhale shakily.

“he’s been miserable,” yuji adds, “like, genuinely, not sleeping, not talking, snapping at everyone.”

your chest aches at that.

“if he didn’t care,” yuji continues, “he wouldn’t send this"

you stare down at the fritters, vision blurring slightly.

“i don’t want to get hurt again,” you admit.

yuji’s grin fades, replaced with something sincere, “then don’t, just… listen. next time he tries to talk to you, hear him out. that’s all i’m asking, there's a lot you dont know.”

silence settles over the room, the box is warm in your hands, too warm. like it’s carrying something more than sugar and dough.

you nod slowly, “…okay.”

nobara raises a brow, “okay as in okay okay or okay as in i’ll think about it?”

“…i’ll think about it,” you say honestly.

yuji smiles anyway, “that’s enough.”

you set the box on the table, lifting the lid, steam curls into the air, for a second, everything smells like that night again. and whether you like it or not—something in you softens.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

practice is already pissing sukuna off.

not because he’s rusty, he isn’t. his shots still land, his body still knows what to do. it’s everything else, the way the court feels too loud, the way everyone’s pretending nothing happened- they all knew, the way gojo’s laughter cuts through the gym.

sukuna keeps his head down the entire time. he doesn’t talk, doesn’t joke, doesn’t even shove back when someone bumps his shoulder. choso eyes him carefully, toji clocks it too, he always does, but says nothing.

sukuna heads to the lockeroom, practically praying no there talks to him. the air is thick, sweat clinging to everything. sukuna opens his locker and focuses on untying his shoes. don’t engage, just get in, get out.

“soooo,” gojo says behind him, voice too casual, “you’re alive.”

sukuna doesn’t turn, “move.”

“damn, straight to bitch mode,” gojo chuckles, “i was starting to think you dropped off the face of the earth after finals.”

sukuna grips the locker door, hard.

“i’m not in the mood,” he says flatly.

“oh, i know,” gojo replies, “you’ve been playing like shit lately.”

that gets his attention, sukuna straightens slowly, shoulders rolling back, “say that again.”

gojo grins, “stats don’t lie, man. missed shots-sloppy passes, kinda sad.”

sukuna steps closer, “you’re really committed to this.”

“to what?”

“trying to get your face rearranged.”

gojo laughs, “relaxxx, you’re the one who let his little girlfriend get in his head.”

something ugly twists in sukuna’s chest.

“don’t call her that.”

“why?” gojo shrugs, “she was, wasn’t she? for like-what? two weeks?”

sukuna’s voice drops, “watch it.”

gojo tilts his head, eyes sharp now, “or what?”

silence stretches, heavy and electric, then gojo says it.

“i saw her, you know.”

sukuna’s blood goes cold.

“on campus,” gojo continues, like he’s stating something amusing, “she looked like shit, eyes all red.”

sukuna’s fists clench.

“she cried,” gojo says lightly, “right there in front of everyone, so embarrassing.”

the locker room goes dead quiet.

“you went up to her,” sukuna says slowly, dangerously.

“yeah,” gojo smirks, “figured she deserved to know what kind of guy you are.”

“you don’t know shit about me.”

“please,” gojo scoffs, “you used her, then you dumped her, classic.”

that’s when sukuna snaps.

“you ran your fucking mouth,” sukuna snarls, stepping in close, “and you think you get to rewrite what happened?”

gojo shrugs, “i just told her what everyone already knows.”

sukuna’s vision blurs.

“you told her she was my toy,” sukuna says, “you told her i got bored.”

gojo’s smile widens, “did i lie?”

that’s it. sukuna punches him, hard.

gojo slams back into the lockers with a metallic crash, teeth clacking together, someone shouts, someone else swears.

“holy shit—”

gojo staggers, wiping blood from his mouth, still laughing like a fucking psychopath, “wow, i struck a nerve.”

sukuna lunges again, toji is there instantly, arm locking around his chest, dragging him back, “enough.”

“let me go,” sukuna roars, “i’ll fucking kill him.”

“you won’t,” toji snaps, “not today.”

gojo straightens slowly, eyes cold now, no humor left, “guess she mattered more than i thought.”

sukuna strains against toji, breathing hard, “you ever go near her again—”

“what?” gojo interrupts, “you’ll hit me?”

sukuna’s voice drops to a promise, “i won’t fucking stop.”

the room is silent and toji tightens his grip, “that’s enough, both of you.”

gojo scoffs, backing away, “relax toji, i was just having fun.”

sukuna’s glare could burn a literal hole through him.

“stay away from her,” sukuna growls, “you don’t look at her, you don’t speak to her, you don’t even fucking think about her.”

gojo raises his hands mockingly. “sure, whatever helps you sleep.”

sukuna rips free and storms out, grabbing his bag, ignoring the calls behind him, outside the locker room someone catches his arm, firm and controlled.

“ryomen.”

nanami’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade. sukuna turns sharply, chest still heaving, adrenaline buzzing under his skin. nanami’s grip doesn’t tighten, doesn’t loosen.

“let go,” sukuna snaps.

nanami doesn’t, instead, he meets sukuna’s eyes calmly.

“you’re not wrong for being angry,” nanami says evenly, “but if you keep going like this, you’re going to ruin more than just him.”

sukuna scoffs, “he deserves worse.”

“he does,” nanami agrees, “but that’s not the point.”

sukuna yanks his arm free, running a hand through his hair, “he made her cry.”

nanami’s expression darkens, just a fraction, “i know.”

that stops sukuna cold.

“the team knows,” nanami continues quietly, “what gojo’s been doing, the shit he’s been stirring, he’s been trying to provoke you.”

sukuna lets out a harsh laugh, “he’s been trying to get me off the team since midterms.”

“yes,” nanami says, “and he won’t succeed.”

sukuna studies him, “you sure?”

“very,” nanami replies, “no one here is blind, you’re not the problem, and they’re not going to let him push you out because he can’t stand losing control.”

sukuna exhales slowly, shoulders slumping just a bit.

nanami steps closer, “but you need to do what’s right, not what feels good in the moment.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens, “what’s right doesn’t fix anything.”

nanami’s gaze sharpens, “it fixes the part that matters.”

your face flashes through sukuna’s mind again, the way you’d looked hurt, furious and quiet all at once.

nanami releases him, “don’t let gojo be the loudest voice in this.”

sukuna nods once, stiff, “i won’t.”

“good,” nanami says, “then stop running.”

sukuna doesn’t respond, he just turns and leaves. outside, the cold air hits him like a slap. his phone buzzes in his pocket. group chat, team chatter, stupid memes, but he ignores it, walking faster, fists clenched. his hands shake, your face won’t leave his head. eyes glossy, lips trembling, because of him, because he didn’t protect you.

he slams his bedroom door shut and collapses onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. anger coils in his chest, tangled with something worse. regret and immense guilt, and the sickening realization that punching gojo didn’t undo a single one of your tears.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

your fridge hums softly when you open it, like it’s judging you, middle shelf, pushed a little to the side, its still there- the box.

it’s not full anymore. you told yourself you’d just have one the first night, just to see if it still tasted the same, it did—warm apples, sugar sticking to your fingers, that stupid comforting softness that made your chest ache more than it should’ve. then another the next morning. then one late at night when you couldn’t sleep.

now there are only a few left, wrapped back up like you’re trying to preserve something fragile. you shut the fridge door and lean against it, arms crossed, staring at the wall.

don’t text him. you’ve thought about it more times than you want to admit, a simple thanks for the fritters. nothing emotional, just polite and normal. except you know it wouldn’t be normal.

because it wouldn’t stop there, because one message would turn into questions you don’t want answered and answers you’re scared to hear, because if he replies, it’ll undo whatever thin layer of healing you’ve managed to build. so you don’t.

you grab your phone, open it, close it again, you toss it onto the couch, pick it back up ten seconds later. your apartment is quiet, too quiet. winter break does that—everything slows down, leaves you alone with your thoughts longer than feels fair.

you’re halfway through scrolling mindlessly when your phone buzzes.

you stare at your phone for a full minute after the group chat goes quiet, what if he’s there.

the thought keeps looping, annoying and sharp. you try to shove it down, tell yourself you’re overthinking, that the world doesn’t revolve around him, but your thumb is already moving. i need to text nobara.

you toss your phone onto the couch and sit there for a second, heart thudding. the idea of going out still scares you, the idea of seeing him scares you more, but nobara’s right. you deserve to have fun, to exist outside of whatever almost-relationship wrecked you.

you stand up, heading toward your room.

“okay,” you mutter to yourself, “party.”

...

nobara shows up exactly twelve minutes later, bursting through your door like she owns the place.

“okay,” she announces, dropping her bag on the floor, already toeing off her shoes, “no backing out, you texted me, that’s legally binding.”

you laugh nervously, shutting the door behind her, “i didn’t sign anything.”

“verbal contract,” she says, “plus, i brought eyeliner, you’re doomed.”

your room is a mess in that very specific i don’t know what i’m feeling so everything is everywhere way. clothes are draped over your chair, a pile on the bed that’s been through three outfit changes already, nobara takes one look and clicks her tongue.

“wow,” she says, “this is tragic.”

“i know.”

“don’t worry,” she adds, cracking her knuckles, “i’m here.”

she starts digging through your closet like she’s on a mission, pulling things out, holding them up against you with a critical eye.

“no.” “absolutely not.” “this is cute but it’s giving ‘library not party.’”

you hover nearby, arms crossed, chewing on your lip, “i don’t wanna look like i’m trying too hard.”

nobara pauses, turns to you slowly, “listen to me.” you meet her gaze.

“you are not dressing for him,” she says firmly, “you’re dressing for you, and also maybe to look hot, those are not mutually exclusive.”

you snort, “thanks for the pep talk.”

“anytime.”

eventually, you settle on a skirt, paired with a cute little off shoulder top, nothing crazy, but flattering in that effortless way. cute, comfortable, not screaming for attention but not hiding either.

you step back, looking at yourself in the mirror.

nobara grins, “you're adorable.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, “you have to say that.”

“nope,” she says, “if it was bad, i’d tell you- brutally.” you know shes telling the truth.

you move on to makeup, sitting cross-legged on the floor while nobara literally commandeers your vanity. there’s music playing softly in the background, something upbeat enough to keep your thoughts from spiraling too hard.

she hands you a brush, “okay, subtle but hot.”

“what does that even mean?”

“you’ll see.”

you do your makeup together, trading products, laughing when one of you messes up and has to redo eyeliner. she curls your hair while you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, thumb hovering over yuji’s contact before you lock the screen again. you didn’t tell him you were coming.

“you thinking about him again?” nobara asks casually, like she hasn’t been watching you out of the corner of her eye the whole time.

you sigh, “is it that obvious?”

“only to people with eyes.”

you hesitate, “what if he’s there?”

she doesn’t sugarcoat it, “then he’s there.”

you frown, “that’s not comforting.”

nobara sets the curling iron down and turns to face you fully, “look- i don’t trust him, you know that, but tonight isn’t about him.”

you pick at the hem of your skirt, “what if it ruins everything?”

“then we leave,” she says simply, “but what if it doesn’t?”

you look up at her.

“what if you actually have fun?” she continues, “what if you dance and what if you laugh- what if you remember that your life doesn’t stop just because one emotionally constipated asshole made bad choices?”

you huff a laugh, “you’re really selling this.”

“i’m serious,” she says more gently, “even if he is there… you having fun is the win.”

that sinks in, you take a breath. “okay.”

“good,” nobara says, grabbing her bag, “because we’re going.”

you both sit on your bed for a minute after, waiting for the right time to head out. the quiet is filled with nervous energy, excitement buzzing just under your skin. you check your reflection one last time.

you look… good, almost perfect. nobara nudges your knee, “ready?”

you swallow, then nod, “yeah.”

and for the first time all night, you believe it.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

yuji stops in front of sukuna’s door, knocking once before pushing it open halfway. it’s already past six, the house smells like cologne, music faint in the background.

“hey,” yuji says, “todo’s throwing a party tonight, you should come.”

sukuna doesn’t even look up from where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, “nah.”

yuji frowns, “come on, man, it’ll be fun- plus you never miss a party.”

“not interested.”

yuji steps further into the room, “why not?”

sukuna exhales through his nose, irritated already, “because i’m not in the mood to deal with bullshit.”

“it’s not gonna be that bad,” yuji says, trying again, “todo’s cool, he doesn’t mess with—”

“and gojo,” sukuna cuts in.

the name drops heavy, yuji blinks, “he won’t be there.”

sukuna finally looks at him, unimpressed. “yeah?” he says, “since when does todo throw a party without half the campus showing up?”

“todo doesn’t mess with gojo like that,” yuji insists, but his voice wobbles just a little, “they’re not even in the same circles.”

sukuna lets out a low, humorless huff, “todo messes with the cheer girls.”

yuji pauses, “…sooo?”

“so gojo will be there,” sukuna snaps, “he always is, wherever there’s alcohol, and girls who laugh too loud.”

the room goes quiet. yuji swallows, the thought forming a little too late. images flash through his head, gojo’s grin on campus, the way he’d run his mouth that day, the shit he said about you.

“shit,” yuji mutters under his breath.

sukuna watches him, eyes narrowing, “you didn’t think about that, did you?”

yuji shifts uncomfortably, “i—i didn’t realize.”

“you didn’t,” sukuna says flatly, “that’s the problem.”

yuji rubs the back of his neck, nerves creeping in, “…yeah. he’ll probably be there.”

“exactly.”

they stand there for a second, tension thick. then yuji hesitates, like he’s debating whether to say something.

“…y/n might come,” he adds, carefully, “maybe.”

sukuna stiffens instantly, “what?”

“it’s just a maybe,” yuji rushes, “i don’t even know if she’d want to go. it’s not really her scene, right?”

sukuna scoffs, turning away, “she wouldn’t go.”

but the way his jaw tightens says otherwise. yuji watches him for a moment longer, unease settling deep in his chest. “okay,” he says quietly, “but if you change your mind… you know where we’ll be.”

he backs out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. in the hallway, yuji pauses, heart beating faster than it should. he really didn’t realize. and now that he does, the knot in his stomach refuses to loosen.

...

its almost 8. sukuna stays where he is, staring at the blank wall across from his bed like it might give him answers if he looks long enough.

y/n might come, his jaw tightens. she wouldn’t. she couldn’t. that wasn’t her scene, shits too loud, too messy, full of people like gojo. he knows that, he’s sure of it… mostly.

he exhales slowly and leans back, dropping onto the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. the mattress dips under his weight. his phone buzzes on the nightstand. not a message, just a notification, he ignores it.

his mind drifts anyway. your face, the way you looked the last time he tried to talk to you, hurt sharp enough it still twists something ugly in his chest. the way you walked away without looking back, the words he never got to say stacking up like a fucking landslide.

shit. maybe tonight’s the perfect night.

not in person, not with everyone watching, not with gojo lurking somewhere nearby, ready to open his mouth and ruin everything. just… a text. you’d be home, probably curled up somewhere comfortable and safe.

he’s sure you won’t be at that party. his hand drifts to his phone before he can stop himself, he doesn’t unlock it yet, just holds it, thumb hovering over the screen, heart beating slower and faster at the same time.

what the hell would he even say? hey. too casual. we need to talk. too heavy. are you okay? he almost laughs at that one, of course you aren’t. not after what he let happen.

he swallows, throat tight, he deserves the silence, he knows that, but the thought of another night passing without hearing from you sits wrong in his chest, heavy and restless.

tonight might be his only shot.because if you really do go to that party, if gojo’s there—his fingers curl around the phone, grip tightening. no, she won’t go. he’s sure of it.

and with that fragile certainty holding him together, sukuna unlocks his phone, staring at your name like it might disappear if he looks away.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

by the time you and nobara get to todo’s place, it’s already loud enough that you can hear the bass from halfway down the street.

it’s 7:30 on the dot, lights spill out through the windows, silhouettes moving behind thin curtains. there are way more cars parked along the curb than you expected, and for a second your stomach flips.

“well,” nobara says, popping her gum as she looks around, "at least this won’t be boring.”

you huff out a nervous laugh, “that’s one way to put it.”

the door opens before you can knock properly, warm air and noise crashing into you all at once. music is blasting, something fast, bass-heavy, impossible to ignore. the house is packed, bodies everywhere, people shouting to be heard.

there are girls everywhere, dressed up, glittery tops, messy ponytails, the smell of perfume and soda and something sweet hits you all at once. your grip tightens on nobara’s sleeve for half a second before you force yourself to relax. you’re fine, you tell yourself, you wanted to come.

“okay,” nobara leans in, yelling directly into your ear, “rule number one: if anyone annoys you, we disappear together. rule number two: snacks first.”

you smile despite yourself, “deal.” you weave through the crowd, careful not to spill anything on anyone, until you finally spot a familiar shock of pink hair near the kitchen.

“yuji!” nobara shouts.

yuji turns, eyes widening when he sees you. genuinely widening.

“wait—” he grins, surprised, “you actually came?”

you shrug, suddenly very aware of your hands, “yeah- hope that’s okay.”

“of course it is,” he says quickly, “i just- i didn’t expect it.”

there’s something else in his expression, something relieved. his gaze flicks past you, scanning the room for just a split second before coming back.

“don’t worry,” he adds, lowering his voice a little, “you’re good, i haven’t seen him.”

you know exactly who he means. your chest loosens just a bit. megumi appears beside him, holding a plate stacked way too neatly for a party like this, “hey,” he says calmly, “nobara.”

“emooo,” she replies affectionately, then eyes the plate, “is that food?”

megumi nods, “i guarded it with my life.”

“respect.”

the four of you migrate toward the back of the house, away from the worst of the noise, the music is still loud, but it’s less suffocating here. someone’s strung cheap fairy lights along the wall, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. there’s a long couch pushed against the wall, you sink into it.

yuji hands you a drink, just soda, and a bowl of chips appears between you and nobara.

“see?” he says, sitting on the arm of the couch, “not so bad.”

you glance around, people are dancing in the open space nearby, shouting lyrics, bumping into each other. someone nearly drops a cup and gets cheered for saving it. the energy is chaotic, but… not threatening. you lean back, letting the music wash over you.

for the first time all day, your shoulders unclench. megumi scrolls through his phone beside you, occasionally glancing up to comment on the song choice, nobara critiques outfits over and over again. yuji juts laughs too loud at everything, as usual.

you find yourself smiling, actually smiling. this is nice, you think, surprised. no pressure, no overthinking every movement. for a moment, just a moment, you forget about sukuna entirely.

you reach for a chip, then another.

“see?” nobara nudges you with her knee, “told you you deserve to have fun.”

you nod, soft, “yeah. you were right.”

yuji watches you from across the couch, expression gentle, like he’s relieved just seeing you like this.

“if you wanna leave early,” he says, not too loud, “just tell me, no pressure.”

“thanks,” you reply, “but… i think i’m okay. for now.”

and you are. the music keeps playing, the lights flicker, the night stretches out ahead of you, full of noise and people and possibility. eventually nobara leaves to go dance, megumi tags along, you remain with yuji, still munching on chips.

...

sukuna’s phone is in his hand for longer than he wants to admit. he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, screen glowing dim in the dark room. he scrolls up and down your chat. there isn’t much there, that almost makes it worse.

his thumb hovers over the keyboard. you home? too empty, he snorts under his breath. pathetic. he exhales slowly through his nose, he told himself he wouldn’t do this. told himself he’d give you space, that bothering you now would only reopen shit he barely knows how to face.

“fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

he finally types something anyway. then—buzz. a notification pops up before he can hit send.

sukuna doesn’t respond, he doesn’t really need to. rage and worry twist together in his gut, suffocating him. the idea of gojo anywhere near you, smiling, joking, opening his mouth—makes his blood boil.

he grabs the first hoodie he sees, yanking it over his head without caring how it looks, keys jingle as he snatches them off the dresser.

he storms out of the house, cold night air hitting his face like a slap, he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t think, doesn’t give himself a second to reconsider. he gets into his car, tires crunching against the gravel as he pulls out. the only thought in his head, loud, don’t let him touch her, don’t let him say a word to her, not again.

he grips the steering wheel tight and floors it, he was gonna kill gojo.

...

you’re still curled into the couch next to yuji, legs tucked under you, the bass of the music vibrating faintly through the cushions. then your bladder reminds you that you’ve been nursing the same drink for too long.

you shift, standing up, “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

yuji looks up immediately, “you know where it is?”

“yeah,” you nod, “i saw it earlier”

he smiles, “don’t get lost.”

you roll your eyes softly, but you’re smiling as you walk away.

the hallway is quieter, the music muffled by walls and distance. the bathroom light is harsh, buzzing slightly overhead, you wash your hands longer than necessary, grounding yourself in the cool water. you’re fine, you tell yourself, this is fine, you’re having fun. you dry your hands, take a breath, and open the door.

and freeze, gojo is right there. leaning casually against the wall across from the bathroom like he’s been waiting, hands in his pockets, head tilted when he sees you, that grin spreads slow and lazy across his face.

“hey,” he says, “hi, pretty.”

your stomach drops, your spine straightens instantly, “leave me alone.”

his brows lift, amused, “damn, straight to business.”

you try to step past him, he shifts. not blocking the hallway entirely, but enough that your shoulder brushes the wall when you stop short, your pulse spikes.

“move,” you say, sharper now.

gojo chuckles softly, “relax princess, i’m just talking.”

“i don’t want to talk to you.”

his gaze drags over you in a way that makes your skin crawl, its slow, deliberate, lingering too long on your skirt.

“you look really good tonight,” he says, “that skirt? fuckin’ dangerous.”

your chest tightens, “don’t talk about me like that.”

he steps closer, the wall presses cool against your back before you even realize you’ve retreated.

“why not?” he asks lightly, “sukuna doesn’t get to own you.”

your heart is pounding now, loud in your ears.

“get away from me,” you snap, pushing at his chest, he barely budges.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, coaxing, “you really think he’s the only one who can take care of you?”

your stomach twists, “i didn’t say that.”

he leans in just enough that you can smell alcohol on his breath, “i could treat you better than him,” he murmurs, “he’s got a temper, he disappears, hurts people. i wouldn’t do that to you.”

your hands shake, anger flares hot and sudden, burning through the panic.

“don’t talk about him,” you say, teeth clenched.

gojo smirks, “hit a nerve?”

that’s it. you lift your foot and stomp down as hard as you can. his reaction is instant, a sharp curse, body jerking back.

“fuck—”

you don’t wait, you slip past him, heart racing, breath coming too fast as you rush down the hallway. the music gets louder with every step, the noise and lights crashing back over you all at once.

you spot yuji immediately.

“yuji,” you say, voice trembling despite yourself. he looks up, and his expression changes instantly when he sees your face.

“hey—what’s wrong?”

you don’t even answer, you grab his sleeve, fingers digging in as panic finally hits full force. gojo’s laugh echoes faintly behind you, and you don’t look back.

“running already?”

gojo’s voice cuts in from behind you, loud, like he wants people to hear.

yuji turns instantly, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

gojo strolls closer, completely unbothered, eyes dragging over you in a way that makes your skin crawl, “damn, guess i scared her.”

“leave me alone,” you say, voice shaking.

he grins, “relax, i’m just talking.”

yuji steps forward, putting himself between you and gojo, “nah man, you’re done, back off.”

gojo laughs, “oh my god, you’re serious,” he looks past yuji at you, “is he your bodyguard now? you got both brothers now?”

your stomach drops.

“don’t talk about her,” yuji snaps.

“why?” gojo shrugs, “i’m just being honest, sukuna gets bored, she starts fucking with his brother, happens when you mess with girls like that.”

“shut the fuck up,” you whisper.

he tilts his head, “hit a nerve?”

yuji’s voice rises, “you don’t know shit about her.”

“i know enough,” gojo says easily, “she didn’t look so innocent when she was—”

“stop.” the voice comes from the side.

geto appears from the corner, expression tight, jaw clenched, “cut it out, gojo. now.”

gojo doesn’t even look at him, “stay out of this geto.”

“i’m serious,” geto says, “this isn’t funny.”

gojo rolls his eyes, “you always gotta ruin the vibe.”

then he looks at you again, smile sharp and cruel, “anyway, guess you really were just a toy, huh? fell right into it.”

something inside you caves. tears spill before you can stop them, hot and humiliating, your chest aching like it’s being crushed from the inside.

“i didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, voice breaking, “i didn’t.”

gojo scoffs, “sure you didn’t, princess, girls like you never do.”

yuji is shaking now, “you’re a fucking piece of shit.”

“and you’re an idiot,” gojo fires back, “defending someone who knew exactly what she was getting into.”

that’s it. yuji grabs the drink off the table and throws it straight into gojo’s face. the splash is loud, ice scatters across the floor, some people gasp and turn.

gojo freezes, dripping. nobara and megumi rush over, eyes wide.

“what the hell happened?!” nobara demands, taking one look at your face and immediately stepping closer to you, megumi’s gaze hardens as he takes in the scene.

gojo wipes his face slowly, eyes dark, smile gone, “you’re dead,” he says to yuji.

yuji doesn’t move, “say one more fucking word about her.”

gojo steps forward, fist clenching—and someone slams into him from the side, knocking him back hard before he can swing.

...

the second sukuna steps inside the house, the noise hits him like a fucking wall. all too familiar, music too loud, bodies too close. his jaw tightens immediately, this is exactly why he hadn’t wanted to come.

and then—

“sukuna!”

a hand grabs his wrist, he looks down and sees shoko, already half-smiling, half-annoyed, eyes sharp and curious like she’s been waiting for him to show.

“where the hell have you been?” she says, fingers curling tighter around his hand, “you blocked my number, i tried calling you like a million times.”

irritation flares instantly, he yanks his hand back, hard.

“get off me,” he snaps.

she blinks, offended, “wow, rude.”

“i said get off me, bitch,” he growls, already moving past her, not even sparing her another glance. people turn, murmurs start, he doesn’t give a fuck.

his eyes are scanning the room now, sharp and focused, adrenaline already pumping, yuji, he needs to find yuji, or you.

and then he sees it. gojo. wet, fucking dripping. hair plastered to his forehead, shirt soaked, eyes wild and furious as he storms straight toward yuji like he’s about to murder him in front of everyone.

everything in sukuna’s body goes cold. then red. he doesn’t think, he moves.

“HEY.”

he shoves gojo hard from the side, sending him stumbling before he even realizes what’s happening.

gojo turns, startled—just in time for sukuna’s fist to slam straight into his face. the sound is sickening, gojo hits the floor, people scream.

“what the fuck—” someone yells.

sukuna doesn’t hear any of it, he’s on him instantly. another punch. another. and another.

rage pours out of him unchecked, raw and violent and fueled by everything he’s been holding back for weeks. every word gojo said, every rumor, every tear you cried because of him.

“you fucking touch her,” sukuna snarls, punching him again, “you ever say her name again—”

gojo groans, trying to shield his face, blood already starting to smear across the floor.

“i’ll fucking kill you,” sukuna growls.

hands grab at his shoulders, voices shout his name, someone’s yelling to stop. he barely registers it. then—

“sukuna—!” your voice.

it cuts through everything, he hesitates for half a second, but the rage drags him back under, another punch.

“sukuna, please!” you cry, voice breaking, “get off him!”

he ignores it, chest heaving.

“sukuna!” you sob, louder now.

nothing, then you’re right there, right in his line of sight, tear-streaked, shaking, eyes wide and terrified, not of gojo, but of him. something in his chest cracks open, his fist stops mid-air, he looks at you fully now. fuck.

he pushes himself up abruptly, breathing hard, knuckles aching, blood smeared across his hands, gojo groans beneath him, curled in on himself.

sukuna doesn’t look at him again, instead, he grabs your wrist, not rough, but urgent.

“we’re leaving,” he says, voice low and shaking with leftover fury.

“what—” you gasp.

he doesn’t answer. he pulls you through the stunned crowd, past staring faces, past shouting voices, straight out the front door and into the cold night air.

your wrist is still in his hand as he marches you toward his car, eyes burning, whole body buzzing like he’s barely holding himself together, he then opens the passenger door.

“get in.”

previous chapter < series masterlist > next chapter

-

well safe to say gojos prob done playing LMFAO

hope u guys liked this chapter, im gonna work on some shorter stuff for a min, cus im kinda tired of writing long work, and ill be a bit busy for the next couple weeks! mwah mwah to all :)

taglist: @bonnvivre @voidkeery @kohavalon @diangelofan599 @gokurakawaii @nina-from-317@starringrcll @emforjin @tobecringeistobeme @sugusshi @yummidumplingss

content: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, suggestive content, language, violence, cursing, fluff, more tba.

lucky me. a nanami kento modern!smau ₊˚⊹♡

series masterlist > next chapter

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chapter one: keep it professional

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i kinda dont like this whole idea, but ill see what i can come up with!!?!!

taglist: @yyzxiza @vampshxde @beereadzzz @recherche-corpse @wqsrs @savagecatsuga

art by @ thatsallitchief on insta and twt !!

lucky me. a nanami kento modern!smau ₊˚⊹♡

synopsis: you and your coworker, nanami, get paired up to work on a company project by your boss, insisting how immature both your behavior is. you both happen to not stand eachothers guts whatsoever, but heyy, maybe he isn't so bad after all.

content: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, suggestive content, language, violence, cursing, fluff, more tba.

taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]

main masterlist - nanami's library

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chapter index ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ ongoing

chapter 1: keep it professional

chapter 2: mr noble?!

chapter 3: not your place

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taglist: @yyzxiza @vampshxde @beereadzzz @recherche-corpse @wqsrs @savagecatsuga

art by @ thatsallitchief on insta and twt !!

nanami kento's library ⊹ ࣪ ˖

my main masterlist - all my kento fics below ⤸

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mint flavoured kisses - oneshot/drabble collection ongoing

lucky me - modern!smau, enemies to lovers series ongoing

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art by @ zeilorene on insta !!

a/n: lil nerdy gojo, scrumptious ngl I wc: 3k.

nerd!gojo x fem!reader I content: uni!au, fluffy asfasfff asf, quick lil make out sesh for the soul lmfao

main masterlist - gojo’s library

geniuses do it best . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

gojo satoru sits two rows ahead of you in advanced theoretical physics, always in the same seat by the window. not because he wants the light, not because he wants the view, just because it’s where he landed on the first day and never bothered to change.

gojo is… unremarkable at first glance. not in a bad way, just in the way people overlook things that don’t ask to be seen. he doesn’t slouch like the stereotypical awkward nerd, doesn’t make himself smaller to fit the image people expect. he’s just… comfortable and quiet. gently floating in his own world.

black slacks, simple sweaters, framed glasses that always slip a little too low on his nose. no one calls him cool, and no one calls him lame either. he exists somewhere in between, untouched by gossip, untouched by rumor, untouched by the invisible social wars everyone else seems obsessed with.

the only thing anyone agrees on is that he’s ridiculously smart. not in the corny try-hard way or arrogant in any way. not in the “let me correct you” typa way. he never raises his hand, never interrupts, and never shows off.

but when the professor asks a question and the room falls silent, he answers like it’s nothing, like he already solved it before class even started, like the numbers and concepts are just… there for him.

you notice him because of that, you notice him because he never looks for attention, but still somehow commands it. and maybe you notice him because something about him feels… gentle, like he isn’t trying to be anyone else.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

on a random wednesday, you’re sitting in the campus library, surrounded by open notebooks, your brain absolutely fried. the physics assignment you had is due at midnight, and no matter how many times you reread the problem, it makes less sense.

you sigh, pressing your forehead to the table.

“do you… need help?”

the voice you hear is soft, and hesitant. you look up and nearly flinch when you realize it’s him, gojo satoru.

he’s standing there with a book tucked under his arm, glasses slightly crooked, hair messy in that effortless way that looks like he forgot to brush it but still somehow suits him.

“oh—uh,” you say, straightening, “yeah. i mean, if you know how to solve this.”

he steps closer, careful, like he doesn’t want to invade your space. he leans over the table just enough to read your notes, his sleeve brushing yours, he smells faintly like laundry detergent and something clean, in the most comforting sense.

“this part,” he says, pointing, “you’re overcomplicating it.”

you blink, “i am?”

he nods, lips pressing together like he’s thinking how to explain it, “you’re trying to account for all the variables at once- but you only need to isolate one first.”

he picks up your pen before you can stop him, hesitates for half a second like he’s worried you’ll mind, then begins to write. and suddenly, the impossible problem… isn’t. his handwriting is VERY neat, and small.

he explains it quietly, patiently, like he’s guiding you through a story instead of a formula, and when he finishes, you stare at the page in disbelief.

“that… actually makes sense.”

he smiles a little, not wide. red tints your cheeks at the sight infront of you. is he even real holy shit, you think.

“yeah. it usually does, once you see it.”

something shifts then, not dramatically, just a small click inside your chest.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

after that, you start noticing him everywhere- in the hallway, walking alone with his earbuds in, at the vending machines, carefully counting change. you tell yourself it’s coincidence, that you’re just more aware now.

until one afternoon, you run into him in the common area of your dorm building, you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone, when he passes by with a stack of books, one of them slips.

he freezes, you both stare at it for a second.

“i’ve got it,” you say, picking it up.

a couple colorful cards slip out the book in the process, like they were hidden in-between the pages. digimon.

you look up, smiling a bit, “is this… digimon?”

his ears turn pink instantly, “i—uh—yeah.”

you expect him to snatch it back, to look embarrassed, but he doesn’t, instead, something in him… relaxes.

“it’s kind of stupid,” he mutters.

“it’s not,” you say, “i used to watch it when i was a kid.”

his eyes widen slightly, you can still see the faint pink on his cheeks, “really?”

you nod, “mhmm, i don’t remember much, though.”

and that’s when it happens, another shift, a bigger one.

“do you want to?” he asks, suddenly his words seem to not come out right,, “i mean—i-i can explain it, if you want, it’s actually really interesting.”

you laugh softly, “sure. i'd like that.” you cant even comprehend how you managed to keep your composure right then and there.

he sits down across from you, setting the book on the table between you, and then he starts talking, passionately. it almost caught you off guard, who knew someone like gojo would be so dedicated to something like digimon.

his voice changes while he's explaining—warmer, faster. his hands move as he explains the digital world, the partners, and everything else beyond that.

he talks about it like it matters, like it shaped him, and you realize you’re not listening to digimon anymore, you’re watching him. the way his long lashes cast shadows under his glasses when he looks down. the way his lips part when he gets excited, slightly chapped, but pinkish, moving quickly as he speaks. the way his eyes light up, blue and vivid, when he looks at you to see if you’re following.

his hair falls into his face, and he pushes it back absently, holy fuck he’s beautiful. you swallow.

“you’re really passionate about this,” you say.

he pauses, blinking like he’s just realizing how much he’s said.

“oh sorry," he sighs a bit, "i get carried away sometimes.”

“don’t be sorry,” you say quickly, “it’s… cute.” you have no idea how that slipped out, you startle yourself, and you can see how it startled him as well.

his breath catches, just for a second, right there, something unspoken settles between you.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

after that, you and gojo begin to talk more, you're not sure how it happens, but it all felt right. you talk about your shitty classes, music you both share, putting each other onto tracks sometimes. about childhood shows and favorite snacks, and you begin to know each other on a- warmer level. again it all feels right.

he walks you home sometimes, you start sitting closer to him in class. he still doesn’t seek attention. still doesn’t change, but you see him now, he sees you. you see how comfortable he is in himself, how he doesn’t pretend.

and slowly and quietly, you fall. shit. for the nerd who explains digimon like it’s the most important thing in the world, for the genius who never brags.

your feelins dont change in an instant, it’s quiet. it’s the kind of thing you only realize after it’s already been happening for a while.

it begins with small, ordinary moments, gojo sitting next to you in class instead of two rows ahead, you realise you're saving a seat for him without thinking, and truly cannot wait. him texting you at midnight because he found a dumb tiktok that reminded him of you. you walking home together, even when it’s out of the way for both of you.

you start studying together more often, not in loud groups, not with friends drifting in and out. just the two of you, tucked into corners of the library or empty classrooms, your notebooks spread across the table, your knees brushing under it.

sometimes you talk more than you study and sometimes you barely talk at all, existing in the same quiet space, breathing the same air. and you realize—slowly, softly—that you feel safest when he’s near. he never pushes, never crosses lines, buuutttt he remembers everything.

your favorite vending machine drink, the way you always tap your pen when you’re nervous, how you hate mornings but love rainy afternoons, the exact tone your voice gets when you’re pretending not to care.

he notices you in ways that feel… sacred. it does unexplainable things to you. and you fall harder and harder, month by month, without ever meaning to.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

it’s been almost five months of quiet companionship. five months of glances and late nights and soft laughter, and now you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room, controller in your hands, staring at the screen of an old ps3 game you don’t even recognize.

the room is dim, lit by the glow of the tv and a desk lamp in the corner, his curtains are half-drawn, letting in slivers of evening light. his room smells like clean laundry. it feels… like him.

“you’re cheating,” he says, nudging your knee with his foot.

you scoff, “you’re just mad i’m winning.”

he smiles, that small, quiet smile that makes your chest feel strange.

“rematch,” he says, “i’ll beat you this time.”

you laugh, “kkayyyy- we'll see about that.”

halfway through the next round, he sets his controller down.

“bathroom,” he mutters, “one sec.”

the door clicks shut behind him, the room feels too quiet, suddenly. you glance around, your heart beating faster for no reason. you’ve been here before, dozens of times, you know where everything is.

but something in you stirs, curiosity, not sure what compels you but, you stand slowly, like you’re afraid the room might judge you. his desk is neat, organized, pens lined up, books stacked carefully, sticky notes with equations and reminders.

and then you see it, a small, black notebook tucked beside his laptop, you tell yourself not to touch it, you tell yourself it’s none of your business, but your hand reaches for it anyway, you open it, and the world stops.

your name is written on the first page, in his handwriting. your breath catches, whats all this? you turn the page.

likes: - vanilla coffee - rainy days - her cute cat keychain (get her another) - when i tuck my hair behind my ear - digimon (still)

your heart starts to race, you genuinely think you're gonna srop dead right there in his room, you flip another page.

things she does when she’s happy: - hums under her breath - sways slightly when she stands - smiles with her whole face - asks to go eat

your cheeks burn, another page.

things i love about her: - her laugh - her eyes (especially when she’s focused) - the way she listens - how kind she is - how she makes me feel seen

you press a hand to your mouth, it’s too much, way too intimate, way too honest. your eyes sting, but you keep reading, every page is you. every small detail, every unnoticed habit, every quiet moment you thought no one saw.

he’s been loving you in silence, and then—

“what are you doing?”

his voice is soft, but there’s something fractured in it. you turn so fast the notebook almost slips from your hands. gojo stands in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, eyes wide behind his glasses.

for a second, neither of you move, then his gaze drops to the notebook. you jump, heart leaping into your throat, eyes wide, face pale.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, voice shaking, his expression changes, he reaches for the notebook, panic flashing across his features, he snacthes it.

“i’m sorry,” you say quickly, “i didn’t mean to—i just—”

shit, fears of you ruining your friendship storm your mind. he runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard, “i shouldn’t have written any of that down, i didn’t think you’d—”

you step closer, “gojo, it’s okay.” he looks at you like he’s afraid.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “i didn’t mean to go through your things, i just—”

he shakes his head quickly, stepping forward, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i didn’t think you’d ever read it," you can see the panic, it worries you, "it was never meant to be… real.”

you gently take his hand.

“sit with me.”

he hesitates, then nods. you both sit on the floor, backs against the bed, he stares at his hands, notebook tossed somehwere on his bed now.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “i never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

you shake your head, “you didn’t.”

you take a breath.

“i’ve liked you for a long time,” you admit softly.

his head snaps up.

“really?”

you nod, “i just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

he lets out a shaky laugh.

“i noticed you the first day.” his words tumble out like he’s been holding them in for years.

“you were sitting in the back, chewing on your pen- i-i couldn’t stop looking at you. i told myself it was nothing, she's just a pretty girl, t-that it was stupid, that i didn’t have a chance.”

his hands tremble at his sides.

“that’s why i helped you,” he admits, “not because of the assignment, because it was the first excuse i had to talk to you- i thought… if i could just be useful, you might let me stay.”

your chest tightens.

“i’ve been in love with you since the day you let me explain my stupid digimon to you,” he whispers, sligthly laughing, “i just didn’t think you’d ever choose someone like me.”

your heart swells, your eyes bluring.

“gojo…” you breathe.

he laughs softly, bitter and shy all at once.

“you deserve someone better than an invisible guy.”

you inch closer, shaking your head.

“you were never invisible to me.”

his eyes lift to yours, stunned, he’s still looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks, your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. you inch even closer.

“gojo,” you whisper.

he swallows, “yeah?”

you don’t answer with words, instead you lean in. it’s slow at first hesitant, almost unsure—your lips brushing his like you’re both asking a question at the same time. he freezes for half a second, then he exhales, shakily, and kisses you back.

his glasses press awkwardly between you, slightly crooked now, the frames cool against your cheek. his lips are soft, careful, you rest one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

the kiss deepens, not rushed, not desperate just… fuller. like neither of you wants to be the first to pull away, your heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of your chest. somehow, without either of you really deciding, you shift.

the next thing you know, you’re straddling him on the floor, you gasp softly at the change, hands tightening in reflex, his arms lift, hover in the air like he’s not sure where to put them, like he’s asking without words. when you don’t pull away, he lets them settle at your waist, grounding you. his hands are warm through the fabric of your clothes, thumbs pressing lightly like he’s making sure you’re real.

the kiss doesn’t break, if anything, it grows steadier, not messy. its like he’s been waiting for this exact moment and wants to be present for every second of it. his lips move against yours with certainty now, still full of that unmistakable care that makes your chest ache.

you cant help but ever so softly grind your hips against his- the movement is small, and unconscious, just enough to stay connected. gojo's breath hitched in his throat at the movement, It was a subtle motion, almost unconscious, a soft grinding that sent shivers down his spine.

he inhales sharply, a quiet sound caught in his throat before he exhales again, slower this time. his hands tighten just a little at your waist, guiding you, like he needs the reassurance that this is real.

you barely manage to catch your breath when you pull apart the first time, your forehead rests against his, your noses brushing, both of you still a little shaky, his glasses are crooked, fogged slightly at the edges. you reach up, carefully, and slide them off his face.

he blinks at you, suddenly exposed, you hold his gaze.

his eyes are impossibly blue up close, softer without the lenses between you. you notice things you’ve never let yourself notice before—the strength in his jaw, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the way his lashes flutter when he swallows, how truly gorgeous he is up close.

“you’re really handsome,” you whisper, confesing, “you know that, right?”

his breath hitches.

“…no one’s ever said it like that.”

your heart twists at his honesty, he shifts, his handssettle at your hips, firm, like he needs to know you’re still there. his thumbs press lightly, almost hesitant—then he pulls you closer.

his lips find yours again, this kiss is different. not rushed, but deeper. there’s still tenderness there, but now there’s confidence too, like he knows you’re choosing him. you melt into him, your hands curling into his hair, brushing up against his undercut, that emits a small sound from him, almost unnoticed.

when you finally break apart again, you’re both breathless, smiling softly. he rests his forehead against yours, voice barely above a whisper.

“i never thought i’d be brave enough to do that.”

you smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“you were brave the whole time, you just didn’t know it yet.”

“i’ve wanted that- you,” he whispers, “for so, so long.”

your face feels warm, your hands shake a tiny bit, you lean forward and rest your cheek against his neck, wrapping your arms around him in a quiet, innocent hug, like you just need to feel him there. he closes his eyes, holding you like you’re something fragile and precious.

for a moment, the world is completely still, and you think, maybe geniuses really do it best.

-

i might acc eat him

taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]

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troubles. a ryomen sukuna x fem!reader uni!au ᝰ.ᐟ

chapter three: just dance- for the soul duh.

the first time you tutored sukuna didn't go as bad as you'd expected.

the third floor of the library feels like a held breath, it’s the kind of quiet that presses against your ears, where every movement feels too loud and too seen. you hear the faint sound of pages turning somewhere, alongside chairs scraping softly across the floor.

you sit at a long oak table near the windows, backpack at your feet, laptop open, notebook already filled with scribbled quotes and bullet points. you’ve been ready for ten minutes.

your phone screen lights up, 3:56 p.m, two minutes. two minutes till sukuna arrives, supposedly. you truly expect him to either be late, or not show up at all. at least that's what nobara has convinced you. your leg bounces beneath the table, a nervous habit you’ve never managed to shake. you press your palm flat against your thigh, signing it to stop, but it doesn’t.

it’s just tutoring, you tell yourself. you’re overthinking. except you can still remember the way he looked at you when he asked, how his voice dropped, how his eyes lingered a bit too long.

you swallow and glance toward the stairs for the tenth time, then your phone buzzes.

sukuna: here

your heart does twenty backflips at the text, you lift your head and he’s already walking toward you. a dark hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. his hair is damp, and there’s a faint scent of clean soap when he stops in front of you.

he doesn’t smile, he just looks at you, it’s not rude, or careless, it’s just quiet, as if he's assessing you and everything in sight, like he’s taking in every detail he missed before.

“hey,” he says calmly.

“hi,” you answer, voice smaller than you expect.

he pulls out the chair across from you and sits, the table suddenly feels too narrow, the space between you too small, his knee brushes yours beneath the wood. neither of you moves. you open your notebook, grateful for something to focus on.

“so… um. what part are you stuck on?”

he shrugs, “all of it.”

you give him a nervous laugh, “okay, then we’ll start at the beginning.”

you slide the book toward him, pointing to the first highlighted passage. you explain slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to scare him off. he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.

his eyes aren’t on the page, they’re on you. you clear your throat, “this part is about—”

he blinks, “sorry. yeah.”

you pause, pressing your lips together, “you’re not listening.”

“i am,” he says quickly.

you tilt your head, a faint rosy color covering your cheeks, you’re skeptical, but then continue anyway. you talk about, symbolism, the way the author hides meaning between lines. your voice steadies the longer you speak.

he listens this time, really listens. but ever so often, you catch him watching you instead of the book. not in a way that feels gross, or uncomfortable, in a way that feels… heavy. a way that makes you shy.

your skin prickles under his gaze and you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

he finally looks back at the page, “so… it’s not just about the story.”

you smile softly, “it never is.”

and for a moment, neither of you speaks. the library hums around you, but it feels like the two of you are in your own quiet world.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

the second time you meet sukuna feels different the moment you sit down. it’s still the third floor, still the same oak table, the same faint smell of old books and cleaning spray. but now, when you see him walking toward you, your chest doesn’t seize the way it did the first time. it just… tightens gently.

he looks more relaxed today, some dark blue hoodie, but his hair is dry, styled messily like he ran his hands through it too many times. he nods at you instead of hovering awkwardly. you catch a glimpse of the dark tattoos covering his fingers, and cant help but wonder where else he may have them. your mind turns into mush at the thought, you stare forward for a few seconds before he speaks.

“you’re early,” he says.

“so are you.”

he sits across from you, close enough that your knees brush almost again, immediately, you freeze. he doesn’t move away and neither do you. you pull out your notebook, pretending not to notice the way the contact sends a warm spark up your leg, it’s stupid, it shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does.

you start where you left off last time, flipping pages, pointing at notes. he listens better today, asks questions, actually follows your explanations, at one point he smiles, not the sharp, cocky grin you’ve seen on campus, something softer, something smaller, like it surprised him too. you practically look back at him with heart eyes–but only for a moment. you look away before he notices your glance.

midway through the session, he leans back in his chair, “can i ask you something?”

“about the book?”

“not exactly.”

you hesitate, then nod.

“why do you like this stuff?” he asks, “literature, all of it.”

you think for a moment, “because it lets you feel things without saying them.” you answer, “but honestly im thinking of switching to psych, i don’t really see much of a future in this.” you add on, you didn't want to bore him with an explanation, he wouldn't care about any of that, you think.

he hums in response. you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you when he does, the silence that follows isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, feels safe.

and truly, you didn't want the session to end. you wanted to stay, to explore what he's truly like, you wanted him to ask more, you wanted to know more. but it was probably for the best that he had to leave, you assert on that idea.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

a couple weekends pass by, but this specific weekend passes silently, no texts from sukuna, except the day of the last session you had, planning the next, which happened to be today. your phone dings, snapping you out of your nerves, the text comes while you’re still packing up your bag after class, you already know it’s him.

you cant help but notice his texts got longer, yet he's still as dull as he used to be, you figured you'd get used to it.

a few hours pass and you find yourself right outside the cafe. its warm when you step inside, the cold air clinging to your jacket before melting away. the smell of espresso and sugar wraps around you immediately, sweet and comforting. fairy lights hang above the counter, casting a soft glow over the wooden tables, calm music hums quietly through the speakers. you can see a whole lot of students in here today, it usually isn't this crowded.

it feels like somewhere meant for conversations. you arrive early—of course you do—and pick a small table by the window. you take off your jacket, drape it over the chair, set your bag at your feet.

you smooth your sweater, once, then twice. get it together, you scold yourself. the bell above the door rings, you look up—and there he is. he pauses when he sees you, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. for a second, he just stands there, like he’s recalibrating.

then he walks over, and sits right next to you, oh.

“this okay?” he asks, gesturing around.

“yeah,” you say softly, “it’s… cozy.. more crowded than usual though”

his lips twitch upwards a bit, “yeah, dunno what the deal is, but i thought you’d like it.”

he glances toward the counter, then back at you, “i’m getting you something, what do you like here?”

your head shakes immediately, and you wave your hand around softly “oh- no no, you don’t have to.”

“i want to, as a thank you”

“no, really, it’s fine.”

he raises a brow, that familiar look that says he’s already decided, “you’re not winning this.”

you sigh, defeated, “okay… i like the apple fritter.”

he nods once, then heads to the counter, you watch him while pretending not to. when he comes back, he's holding a tray, your fritter sits there, directly next to it is a cheesecake- strawberry at that. you smile a bit, not expecting someone like sukuna himself to enjoy something like a strawberry cheesecake, its too.. cute. he sets the plate in front of you like it’s something precious. your heart flips.

you break off a piece, smiling without thinking, his ears turn red. you don’t notice. he notices you smiling at his cheesecake though.

"whatchu laughing at?" he says, slightly pink.

"o-oh nothing, just didnt expect you to get that." you reply, blush intensifying at the way hes looking at you.

"its good, want some?" he scoops a bit up in his fork, holding it up.

"umm no, its okay." you say, slightly startled, "you're missing out" he replies. you just smile a bit. moments of comfort pass. you open your notebook, starting the lesson, unaware that he stopped listening a long time ago. because right now, all he wants is this moment, with you. the way his heart practically almost explodes at all the smiles you gave him today definitely doesn't go unnoticed to him.

you're study session goes smoothly, your almost done with todays material, when sukuna suddenly stops paying attention, instead he keeps looking out the window.

you’re mid-sentence, explaining something, your finger tapping lightly on the page. sukuna then he freezes. it’s subtle, barely there. his jaw tightens, his eyes flick—not to you, not to the door, but to the glass.

"so you're supposed to- oh, sukuna, you okay?" you ask noticing hes just staring out the window, you cant make out at what.

he’s not hearing a single word. outside, framed by the foggy window and neon reflection, are two tall silhouettes.

a white haired man you've seen around campus, isn't he on sukunas team, you think, all loose limbs and loud presence even from a distance, laughing at something, and beside him, a dark haired male, tied into a bun, he seems calm, unreadable, hands in his pockets.

they’re not looking in, they don’t see you, but sukuna sees them, and he can tell they want to come in. something in him snaps. he’s on his feet before you even finish your sentence. the chair scrapes back loudly, your heart jumps.

“what—”

he grabs your wrist, not painful, but clearly urgent.

“we’re leaving, get your things.” he says.

your pulse spikes, “what? why?” you pack your things up like its muscle memory, fast, you didn't even notice you did. he doesn’t answer. just pulls you up, already moving, already walking toward the door like he’s afraid to slow down.

“sukuna, wait—what’s wrong?”

“can’t explain,” he mutters. “we just need to go. now.”

you glance back instinctively, confused, heart pounding. you don’t understand what’s happening, but the look on his face makes your stomach twist. it’s anger, mixed with something closer to panic.

the bell rings as he pushes the door open, cold air rushes in. the street noise crashes around you, he doesn’t stop walking. he turns the opposite direction of the window, long strides, jaw clenched, grip still firm around your wrist.

“you’re scaring me,” you say softly.

he exhales through his teeth. “fuck. i know, i’m sorry.” he finally slows a little, but he doesn’t let go.

you look back again, the two males are still outside the café, laughing, unaware.

“who are they?” you ask, you can see his shoulders tense.

“people i don’t want you around,” he says, voice low.

you look him dead in the eyes, your heart hammers. “why?”

he swallows, eyes forward. “because they don’t know how to shut the fuck up.”

and for the first time since you met him, you feel like you’ve stepped into something deeper than you expected, something messy.

you keep walking, he doesn’t stop until your lungs start burning and the city noise thins into something distant and hollow. you finally tug back, and instead of letting go, his grip changes. not your wrist anymore, but your hand. his fingers slide down like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, your heart stutters.

“sukuna,” you say softly, half-laughing, half-breathless, “what the hell is going on?”

he freezes, looks down at your hands, his thumb hooked around yours, knuckles brushing, skin warm. his eyes widen just a little. he lets go immediately, like he’s been burned.

“shit—” he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“it’s fine,” you say quickly, even though your pulse is still going crazy, “just— you scared me a little.”

he swallows, “yeah. i’m not great at… not doing that," he huffs, “dragging people into my bullshit.”

you walk a few steps together again, slower now. the streetlights flicker on one by one, soft gold against the blue-dark sky.

“what do you mean they don’t shut up?” you ask.

he keeps walking, eyes fixed ahead, “i can’t explain.”

you frown, “that’s not an answer.”

he exhales, jaw tightening, “they’re just… not good people.”

“okay,” you say, “start explaining, because ‘they’re not good people is vague as hell.” you suddenly snap, but not really.

his eyes widen, attitude, he thinks, scoffing, “you want the long version or the one that keeps you from thinking i’m insane?”

“try both.”

he hesitates, jaw tight. “they don’t shut up, they never have, everything’s a joke, everything’s a fucking game, people are just… things to them.”

you glance at him, “even you?”

especially me, he thinks, but doesn’t say it.

“aren’t they on your team?” you ask.

he lets out a sharp breath, “only one of them, his names gojo, the albino looking freak, the other just… tags along, his names geto, he's so loud and messy, thinks he owns every room he walks into.”

you listen, laughing a teenie tiny bit, you wrinkle your nose, “sounds fun.”

he laughs once, bitter, “yeah, you could say that.”

you reach a small park before you realize it. the path opens up, trees framing the dim glow of streetlamps, the air feels cooler, calmer.

you stop, “did you mean to bring me here?”

he looks around, smiling, surprised, “no. i just… kept walking.”

you sit on the edge of the bench, tugging your jacket tighter, “so you dragged me into the night for no reason? im gonna tell on you" you joke, suddenly. you go red, too comfy y/n, chill.

he smirks faintly, relaxing you, “guess i owe you an apology for that too.”

you just smile at him, everything goes quiet, then he speaks again, quietly, “i don’t want them near you.”

your heart flips, “wha- whys that?”

“because they don’t know how to treat people like people,” he says, “and i don’t trust what they say, about anyone, especially you.”

you swallow, his words catching you off guard, “you barely know me.”

“yeah,” he admits, voice low. “that’s the fucked up part.”

the streetlight hums above you, and for a moment, neither of you moves, the park is exxtra quiet. streetlights glow around you. somewhere in the distance, a car passes, then everything settles again.

you're now sat on a bench beside him, hands tucked into your sleeves, knees drawn in slightly. the night is cool, but you don’t really feel it, all you can feel is him, his presence heavy beside you, the way his shoulder is just barely brushing yours, the way his large figure is practically a walking radiator.

you take a look at your phone, 8:07pm, you take that as your que to stand first, slowly, like your body is arguing with itself.

“it’s getting late,” you say softly, “i should probably go.”

he doesn’t answer right away, you're about to say goodbye when his hand catches yours, not tight or rough, just enough to stop you.

your breath stutters, oyu have no idea whats going on, at first insict you'd push his hand away but you dont move, “sukuna…”

he looks up at you like he’s trying to memorize your face.

“wait.”

you hesitate, then sit back down, but you’re closer now, closer than before, your knees almost touching, the proximity is killing you, creating an unbearable warmth in your throat and chest, both of your hands still connected. neither of you says anything. the silence stretches, it feels thick, and suffocating. what's he doing, you think.

his thumb moves without thinking, brushing over your knuckles. he stiffens like he realizes what he’s doing, but he doesn’t stop.

“i should walk you home,” he murmurs.

“you don’t have to.” you're internally screaming at this point.

“i want to.”

your heart thumps. you look at him. he’s already looking at you. the moment feels fragile, like it's never going to happen again. he leans in before you can overthink it, not fast. you follow his movements, no one knows how this happened but suddenly your lips touch his. it’s soft and unsure, he freezes for half a second, then kisses you back.

still gentle and careful, like he’s terrified of doing it wrong. you pull back just enough to breathe and suddenly his hand comes to your face, warm against your cheek, and he kisses you again.

his hand comes up to your neck, warm and steady, thumb resting just under your jaw like he’s grounding himself there. it’s different this time, not hesitant. its slower but deeper, like he’s decided to feel it even if it ruins him.

you make a soft sound before you can stop yourself, barely louder than a breath, and he exhales against your mouth like it hits him straight in the chest.

the kiss isn’t rushed, his lips move against yours with more confidence now, like he’s learned the shape of you in seconds. your bodies lean in without permission, knees brushing, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

he tilts his head, forehead brushing yours between kisses, breath uneven, like he’s fighting himself and losing. for a moment, everything else disappears, the park, the dark, the rules he keeps breaking in his head.

then he pulls back sharply like it hurts, his hand drops, his jaw clenches, his eyes don’t leave your face.

“fuck,” he mutters, “that’s— no. that’s wrong.” and the way he says it makes it sound like the lie of the century.

your heart drops, “what?”

he stands abruptly, pacing a step away like he’s trying to outrun himself.

“i shouldn’t have done that,” he says, “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t—”

you stand too, “sukuna—”

he turns back to you, expression conflicted, almost pained.

“i’m not saying i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i just… shouldn’t.”

the air feels heavier now, after a beat, he exhales.

“i’m walking you home,” he says, voice steadier. “it’s too dark. i’m not leaving you alone.”

you nod, even though your chest feels tight.

...

the walk home is quiet in the worst, the city feels different now, everythings too still for what’s sitting in your chest. you walk beside him, close enough that your sleeves brush, but he doesn’t reach for you again. his hands stay buried in his pockets.

you blink a few times, once, twice-doesn’t help. your eyes burn anyway. you hate it. you hate that this is getting to you, hate that you barely know him and yet your throat feels tight like something important is slipping through your fingers.

he notices, of course he does. his steps slow just slightly, like he’s matching your pace without meaning to. his head turns a fraction, eyes flicking down to your face.

“…are you crying?”

you shake your head immediately, too fast, “no.”

he stops walking, you almost bump into him.

“hey.” his voice is lower now, “look at me.”

you don’t want to, you really don’t, but you do anyway, and the second he sees your eyes, his jaw tightens.

“shit,” he mutters. “i didn’t—”

“i’m fine,” you say quickly, wiping at your cheek with your sleeve, “it’s stupid. just—ignore it.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s pissed at himself, “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“pretend you’re not hurt.”

you look away, “i said i’m fine.”

he watches you for a second longer, then nods once, like he knows pushing will only make it worse. he starts walking again, slower now. closer. your building comes into view too fast, you wish it wouldn’t. the silence stretches again, thicker this time, wrapped in everything unsaid. you reach the entrance, fingers curling around your keys, he stops beside you but doesn’t move closer.

“listen,” he says. his voice is steady, but there’s something strained underneath, “i need to say this.”

he continues before you can interrupt.

“i’m sorry, about the kiss, about everything tonight.”

you shake your head, “it’s okay.”

“no,” he says immediately, way firmer, “it’s not.”

you swallow, “why are you acting like i did something wrong?”

his eyes widen slightly, “you didn’t.”

“then what is this?” your voice cracks despite your best effort, “because it feels like i fucked something up.”

he steps back half a step, like the thought hurts him, “don’t think like that.”

“then explain.”

he hesitates, looks past you, at the door, the hallway behind it, anywhere but your face.

“we shouldn’t do this,” he says finally, “we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

the words hit harder than you expect.

“…what?”

his jaw clenches, “i’m not good- im not good at this- my crowd isn’t good, this whole thing— it’s not something you should be anywhere near, im not someone you should be anywhere near.”

your chest tightens, “so that’s it?”

“yeah.” his dryness stings you.

you laugh weakly, because if you don’t you’ll cry harder, “wow, okay. that’s… sudden.”

he nods, “i know.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?” you ask quietly.

he looks back at you immediately, you cant quite read his expression anymore, “no.”

“did i read things wrong?”

“no.”

“then why does it feel like you’re punishing me for something?”

he closes his eyes for a brief second, when he opens them, there’s resolve there. cold- cold resolve.

“i don’t need your help anymore,” he says bluntly, “with class, or anything.”

your breath catches, that one hurts, more than the rest.

“oh,” you whisper.

he nods once biting his lip, “yeah.”

your eyes blur again, you don’t bother wiping them this time.

“okay,” you say, voice shaking. “if that’s what you want.”

he watches the tears fall like it’s costing him something, like every one is carving into him, but he doesn’t take it back. doesn’t soften.

“take care,” he says quietly.

you don’t answer, you turn, unlock the door, step inside and slam it shut behind you. the sound echoes down the hall. you lean back against the door immediately, chest heaving, hands trembling as the tears finally spill over. it feels stupid, and so so dramatic.

you barely know him, how could you let a couple study sessions and a few days of texting affect you this much, you scold yourself through sobs. get it together. this is nothing. you’ve had worse. he’s just a guy. but your chest doesn’t listen.

and somewhere outside, on the other side of that door, sukuna stands there for a long moment, listening to you cry, before forcing himself to leave.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

weeks blur together in the way they only ever do when you’re tired and pretending you’re not. finals week creeps in like a threat you saw coming and still weren’t ready for, your calendar is a mess of red circles and highlighted deadlines. aaaaand sukuna doesn’t exist anymore- at least, not in the way he used to.

he’s still there, physically, you see him in class, slouched back in his chair like he owns the place, legs stretched out, jaw sharp and unreadable, but his eyes never find yours. not once.

not when you walk in, not when you sit down, not even when the professor drones on about themes and symbolism and the kind of shit you usually love but can’t seem to focus on anymore.

it’s like you’re invisible, and god, it hurts more than you want to admit. you try to tell yourself it’s fine, that it makes sense, that this is what he said he wanted. but knowing that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see him laughs quietly at something someone whispers to him around campus, or when he packs up his bag without looking in your direction.

you feel stupid for watching him at all. you hate yourself for it.

he used you, he just wanted help, he got what he needed and dipped., classic sukuna. all these thoughts linger, and hurt much more than you'd anticipated.

you hear it between lines of conversation, in half-jokes and casual comments, in the way people talk about him like he’s a known quantity, a walking, talking red flag with a pretty face.

and maybe they’re right, maybe that’s all he is.

you sit in the library one night, surrounded by open books and color-coded notes, and finally let the thoughts settle in fully. it makes too much sense. the timing, the way he pulled away so abruptly, the way he said he didn’t need your help anymore, like you were just a means to an end. like he was good at his craft.

you swallow hard and keep reading, even though the words blur together, still—you can’t shake it, that look in his eyes.

the night at the park replays in your head when you least expect it. when you’re brushing your teeth, when you’re staring at the ceiling at three in the morning. he didn’t look smug, he didn’t look satisfied. he looked… sad. like he was making a choice he hated. you brushed it all off as delusion.

but if it was all fake, if he really was just like everyone says—then why did his voice shake when he apologized? why did he look like he was bracing for impact when he told you it was over?

you hate that you’re still giving him the benefit of the doubt, you hate that you’re still thinking about him at all.

finals week grinds you down to your bones. you spend hours hunched over your desk, typing and deleting and typing again. sometimes you catch yourself wondering if he’s struggling too, then you shut that thought down immediately.

in class, the distance between you feels deliberate. he sits farther back now, you sit closer to the front. the professor hands out final instructions and your stomach twists, but not just because of the exam. you sneak a glance at him once-just once.

he’s staring at his desk, jaw clenched, tapping his pen like he’s barely holding still. for half a second, his eyes lift—and you think, maybe—but he looks away before you can meet his gaze.

by the time finals week reaches its peak, you’re exhausted in every sense of the word, mentally fried. you lie in bed one night, notes scattered around you, phone face-down on the mattress.

you don’t expect a notification, you don’t expect anything from him anymore, but you still think about him. a small thing you can’t stop noticing during finals week is that neither of you ever blocked the other on instagram.

it’s stupid, almost embarrassing how often you notice it. how his username still sits there in your following list like a loose thread you’re afraid to pull. you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that people forget to unfollow all the time. but then he posts something.

a photo dump on his story, locker room mirror, a blurry group shot with someone’s arm slung over his shoulder. he looks the same, unreadable. it makes your chest ache in that quiet, dull way.

you don’t tap forward right away. you stare at the corner of the screen, at his icon glowing, and you hate that part of you that still wants to know. you’re still just sitting there with notes spread out in front of you and a final you haven’t studied enough for.

later that night, you post something too. nothing sad, just your desk, coffee gone cold, a single line about finals killing you.

minutes pass, then his name appears at the bottom. viewed. no message or reaction. just that silent little confirmation that he’s still there watching, choosing not to say anything, it keeps happening like that, like whatever existed got paused instead of ended.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

the last day of finals feels unreal.

you sit on the cold steps outside the humanities building with yuji, nobara, and megumi, your backpack slumped at your feet, legs pulled in close. the air is sharp but clean, winter teasing at the edges of the afternoon. people are everywhere, laughing too loud, crying openly, pacing while rereading notes like it’ll change something now.

it’s over, almost. your brain feels like mush. your body feels hollowed out.

no one mentions his name, that’s how you know they know.

yuji sits closest to you, shoulder brushing yours every so often when he laughs at something nobara says. it’s not accidental, none of it is. he’s been like this for weeks now, closer, quieter, more careful. like he’s guarding something that already got hurt once.

nobara’s softer too, in her own way. she’s still loud, still opinionated, still calling professors assholes under her breath, but she checks in on you with looks instead of words, passes you snacks without comment, nudges you when you zone out.

megumi sits just a little apart, hands tucked into his sleeves. he doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s always directed at you. asks if you slept, ate, if your exam went okay. simple things-grounding things. you hate that they can tell, you hate that it shows.

“okay but tell me why that final was actually criminal,” nobara says, breaking the quiet, “bro pulled half those questions out of his ass.”

they all laugh, and for a second, it almost feels normal. almost. then you feel it, that shift in the air. nobara’s voice cuts off mid-sentence, yuji stiffens beside you, megumi’s gaze lifts, sharp and immediate.

you follow their line of sight before you even realize you’re doing it, gojo satoru is walking toward you. tall, loud, sunglasses on even though it’s cloudy, hands shoved into his pockets like he owns the ground beneath his feet. beside him is a black-haired guy you’ve seen around campus before—older-looking, sharp-eyed, always hovering at gojo’s side. same guy from outside the cafe, geto, you think. someone once mentioned his name in passing.

they’re laughing about something, your stomach drops. nobara leans in close, lips brushing your ear, “ugh. here comes the stuck-up bitch.”

you snort despite yourself.

“i fucking hate his face,” she mutters. “like genuinely, it offends me.”

yuji glances between you and them, jaw tightening, “don’t engage,” he says quietly, “whatever they say, just ignore it.”

you blink, “what?”

he doesn’t look at you, his eyes stay locked on gojo, who’s now unmistakably heading in your direction, “just—y/n, trust me.”

they slow as they reach the steps, gojo’s smile widens when he spots your group, too wide, like he’s been looking for you specifically.

“well, well,” gojo says, voice obnoxiously bright, “if it isnt little yuji"

nobara rolls her eyes so hard it’s impressive, geto chuckles under his breath, eyes flicking over all of you before lingering on you just a second longer than necessary. you shift uncomfortably. gojo’s gaze lands on you fully now, sharp in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“hey,” he says, casual, “you’re y/n, right?”

yuji’s hand tightens into a fist.

you nod slowly, “yeah.”

“figured,” gojo says, “you’re kinda hard to miss these days.”

your stomach twists.

nobara immediately leans forward. “okay, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

gojo grins, “relax. just saying, word travels fast.”

yuji stands up.

“say what you came to say,” he snaps, “or leave.”

gojo raises his hands mockingly, “damn, touchy is this a generational thing.”

geto finally speaks, “we were just curious.”

about what? you want to ask. about who? but something tells you you already know the answer.

gojo tilts his head, studying you again, “how’d your literature final go?” your chest tightens.

“fine,” you say.

“good,” he hums, “would’ve been awkward if someone bombed after all that… extra help.”

yuji’s jaw clenches, “shut the fuck up.”

nobara’s already on her feet now too, “yeah, actually, shut the fuck up. you don’t get to say shit.”

gojo’s smile falters for just a second before snapping back into place, “woah guys calm down, tooooo defensive.”

geto’s eyes narrow, “we’re not here to start something.”

“then leave,” megumi says flatly.

gojo looks between all of you, then back to you, his expression shifts, something calculating sliding into place.

“tell sukuna i said congrats,” he says lightly, “finals and all.”

your heart sinks, you don’t respond, you don’t have to. yuji steps forward, fully blocking you from view, “don’t talk about him, and don’t talk to her.”

gojo stares at him for a long moment, then laughs, “damn, guess we struck a nerve.”

geto sighs, “let’s go.”

they turn away, footsteps retreating down the path. the sound of their footsteps should’ve been the end of it, it isn’t. gojo stops halfway down the path and turns back around like he forgot something important.

“actually,” he says, clapping his hands together once, loud, “i’m here to talk to y/n.”

nobara stiffens immediately, “the fuck you are.”

yuji’s shoulders tense beside you, “keep walking.”

gojo ignores them both, eyes locking onto you like you’re the only person there, “relaxxxx, it’s nothing serious.” he smiles, “i was just wondering,” he continues, voice light, almost bored, “if you noticed how shitty sukuna’s been playing lately.”

silence.

“because,” he adds, tilting his head, “he’s been off, hella distracted. too sloppy, and i’m thinking—” his gaze flicks over you slowly, deliberately “—it might be because he got bored.”

nobara snaps, “don’t you fucking—”

“of her,” gojo finishes, smiling, “no offense of course.”

it feels like the air gets punched out of your lungs. you don’t say anything. you can’t, your throat closes up, body freezing like if you don’t move maybe this won’t be happening.

gojo keeps going. “i mean, come on,” he says, shrugging, “classic him, right? finds a pretty thing, plays nice, gets what he wants, drops it when it stops being fun.”

yuji steps forward, “shut the fuck up gojo.”

geto shifts uncomfortably beside gojo, but doesn’t intervene.

gojo chuckles, “what? am i wrong?” he looks back at you. “you kinda fell right into it, just his type... quiet... sweet... easy to impress.”

your vision blurs.

“you’re just mad because he’s playing like shit,” gojo adds casually, “and yeah, i’ll say it—you probably fucked up his head, messed with his rhythm. coaches are already on his ass.”

he smirks, “so congrats, guess you were useful for something.”

that’s when it hits. tears well up, fast and hot, betraying you before you can stop them. you stare at the ground, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“toy,” gojo says, almost thoughtfully, “that’s what you were. he has a habit of breaking those, sorry princess.”

yuji loses it, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts, voice cracking with anger. “don’t talk about her like that, don’t talk about anyone like that.”

gojo raises an eyebrow. “damn, relax.”

“no,” yuji snaps, stepping closer, “you don’t get to say shit about her or my brother, ever.”

nobara moves to your side, “say one more word and i swear to god—”

gojo holds up his hands, amused. “okay, okay, everyone chill.”

he takes a step back, eyes still on you.

“anyway,” he says lightly, “i just thought you should know. don’t blame yourself too much. this is just who he is.”

“bye, pretty.”

and with that, he turns and walks away, geto following without a word. the world feels too loud after, too much.

nobara immediately turns to you, “hey. hey—are you okay?”

you nod, it’s automatic. yuji’s breathing hard, fists clenched, staring after gojo like he wants to chase him down and break something.

you don’t cry openly, not yet. but inside, something settles. now you understand, now you really understand why sukuna didn’t want you near them, because they knew, because they all knew, because he didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.

and as much as it hurts, the worst part is the thought you can’t push away—maybe everything they said was true.

only when they’re gone does your body start shaking, nobara swears under her breath, “i fucking hate him.”

yuji exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair, “i’m sorry.”

you look up at him. “for what?”

“for not stopping this sooner.”

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

the apartment is too quiet when yuji gets home. the lights are off, a faint sound coming from sukuna's room.

he drops his bag by the door harder than necessary, shoes kicked off with a sharp flick of his foot. his chest is tight, jaw clenched so hard it almost hurts, the image won’t leave his head, your face, crumpling in on itself, the way you tried not to cry and still did anyway, and the agitating sound of gojo’s voice. yuji then storms down the hallway.

sukuna’s door is open, of course it is. he’s sprawled on his bed, one arm behind his head, phone discarded somewhere on the mattress like he’s been staring at the ceiling for hours.

“we need to talk,” yuji says.

sukuna doesn’t look at him, “not now.”

“now,” yuji snaps, “or i’m gonna lose my shit.” sukuna just sighs.

“get up,” yuji says from the doorway.

sukuna doesn’t move, “fuck off.”

“i’m not doing this tonight,” yuji snaps, “sit the fuck up ryo.”

that does it, sukuna pushes himself upright, eyes already narrowed, “what’s your problem?”

yuji laughs, but there’s no humor in it, “you.”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

yuji laughs, but it’s bitter, like it scrapes his throat on the way out, “you don’t get to ask that.”

“try me.”

yuji steps fully into the room, the doorframe at his back like a barricade, he doesn’t shut the door, just stands there, arms loose at his sides, jaw tight enough to crack, “i warned you.”

sukuna’s brows knit, irritation flaring hot and fast, “fuck are you on about- about what?”

“about y/n,” yuji says flatly, “i told you not to fuck with her.”

something ugly coils in sukuna’s chest, “i didn’t.”

yuji’s eyes flash. “don’t fucking lie to me ryo.”

“i’m not lying,” sukuna snaps, standing now, anger rising to meet yuji’s, “i did nothing wrong- fucks' the issue anyway?”

yuji shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping right in front of him, “she was crying today, in front of everyone.”

the words don’t just land, they sink and sukuna freezes mid-breath. the room goes quiet except for the distant noise of traffic outside.

“…what?”

“gojo,” yuji continues, voice climbing despite himself, “that fucker walked right up to her and ran his mouth, said you got bored of her, said she fucked up your playing, called her your toy.”

something dark flashes behind sukuna’s eyes, something feral and immediate, his hands curl into fists without him noticing.

“he made her cry,” yuji says, quieter now but sharper, “right there- and she didn’t even defend herself.”

sukuna stands so fast the bed creaks violently behind him.

“that piece of shit,” he growls, “i’ll fucking—”

“don’t,” yuji cuts in hard, “don’t make threats, explain.”

sukuna turns away, breath heavy, teeth grinding so hard his jaw aches, every step feels like pressure building with nowhere to go. he sees it too clearly, your face folding in on itself, eyes shining, mouth trembling while you force yourself to stay still. the same way you looked that night. you hate making scenes, you’d rather break quietly than give them the satisfaction. he knows that.

his chest tightens painfully.

“he fucking lied,” sukuna says finally, voice low and vibrating with rage, “all of its bullshit yuu.”

yuji scoffs, “convince me.”

sukuna stops dead and turns around, really looks at him this time. “i haven’t touched anyone,” sukuna says, every word is deliberate, “haven’t flirted. haven’t fucked. haven’t even looked twice at anyone since the first day i saw her- damn it every girl thats tried to reach outs been blocked, every single one yuu.”

yuji blinks, thrown. “…what?”

“i swear it,” sukuna snaps, “on whatever the fuck you want.”

yuji stares, trying to reconcile that with everything he’s heard, “then why does everyone think—”

“because gojo wanted them to,” sukuna interrupts, “he’s been tryna get me off the team for weeks, hates that i don’t kiss his ass, hates that i don’t laugh at his jokes. this?” he gestures sharply, “this was just another way to fuck with me.”

yuji’s anger wavers, confusion seeping through, “you’re serious.”

“dead fucking serious.”

silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable.

“then why,” yuji asks slowly, carefully, “did you cut her off?”

sukuna’s shoulders tense like he’s been struck. “…because i’m an idiot.”

yuji doesn’t laugh this time.

“i didn’t use her,” sukuna continues, voice rough, “i got scared, i saw where this was going and i panicked, i thought if i walked away first, she wouldn’t get dragged into my mess, she's too fucking perfect bro.” he asserts.

“congrats,” yuji snaps, “you hurt her anyway.”

the words hit harder than yelling ever could. sukuna flinches visibly, hand flexing at his side like he wants to grab onto something solid, “i know.”

“no,” yuji says, stepping closer, “you don’t get to just say that, you don’t get to decide what protects her.”

sukuna drags a hand down his face, “i thought—”

“you thought you knew better,” yuji cuts in, “you thought disappearing was somehow noble.”

sukuna looks away, “i thought it was safer.”

“for who?” yuji demands, “because it sure as hell wasn’t for her.”

another flash, you standing there today, nodding when nobara asks if you’re okay, lying with your whole face. it makes him feel sick.

“i wanted to keep her away from them,” sukuna mutters, “from the shit people say, form what everyone knows, from me.”

yuji laughs again, sharp and hollow, “and instead you handed her to them.”

sukuna’s chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.

“do you know what she said?” yuji continues. “nothing. she didn’t fight back. she just stood there and took it, like maybe she already believed it.”

that’s what breaks him. the idea that you might think gojo was right. that you might replay every moment with him and decide it was all fake, that you might blame yourself for trusting him.

“i should’ve been there,” sukuna says hoarsely.

“yeah,” yuji agrees, “you should’ve.”

they stand there, facing each other, both breathing hard, anger turning into something heavier.

“i want to end him,” sukuna says suddenly, raw and honest, “im gonna shut him the fuck up forever."

yuji stiffens, “don’t.”

“he made her cry,” sukuna snarls, “because of me.”

“because of lies,” yuji corrects.

sukuna swallows, “i can’t stand the thought of her thinking i treated her like that.”

"yet you're the one who walked away ryo," yuji’s voice softens despite himself, “then don’t let her.”

“she won’t listen to me.”

“she will,” yuji says firmly, “maybe not right away- but she will.”

sukuna shakes his head, “she shouldn’t have to.”

“but she deserves the truth,” yuji replies, “not silence, not rumors.”

sukuna exhales shakily, pressing his palms into his eyes like he’s trying to erase the image of you crying, “i thought leaving would make it easier.”

“for you,” yuji says gently.

“…yeah.”

yuji studies him for a long moment, “you care about her.”

it isn’t a question. sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

then, quietly “…yeah. more than i wanted to.”

“then stop running,” yuji says.

sukuna nods once, slow and heavy, “i’ll talk to her.”

“soon,” yuji adds.

“…soon.”

and for the first time since everything fell apart, the anger in sukuna’s chest shifts, not forgiven, but aimed. not at you. god- never at you.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

winter break hits like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding. finals end, and for the first time in weeks you wake up without the immediate urge to scream into a pillow. you sleep in, you eat real meals, you almost—almost—forget how heavy everything felt near the end of the semester. almost.

so when yuji texts the group chat—

—you laugh. genuinely. and for a few seconds, it feels normal again, then the second thought hits. sukuna lives there, fuuuuck.

your thumb hovers over the phone longer than necessary, you stare at yuji’s name, then at the ceiling, then back at the phone like it might change its mind and tell you never mind, plans canceled, false alarm. you haven’t seen sukuna since finals week, not really, not properly. just passing shadows, the way his shoulder would disappear around a corner before you could look up, the way he never sat where you could see him.

you consider making up an excuse, a headache, a family thing, literally anything, but you’re tired of hiding. tired of letting the thought of him decide what rooms you’re allowed to be in.

...

yuji’s house is waaay louder than you remember. the moment the door opens, you’re hit with warmth, noise, and the unmistakable smell of something fried. yuji practically bounces in place when he sees you, grinning so wide it should be illegal.

“you made it!” he says, "i got chinese." he smiles bright

“barely made it,” you joke, slipping your shoes off.

nobara appears behind him, already holding a drink, “she survived finals, she can survive this.”

megumi gives you a small nod from the couch, “hey.”

there’s no immediate sign of sukuna, your shoulders loosen a fraction. yuji launches into host mode immediately, snacks shoved into your hands, coat taken. it’s chaotic in the way that only yuji can manage, disorganized but somehow welcoming. then yuji claps his hands together like a cartoon character with an idea.

“okay, important announcement.”

nobara squints at him, “if this is another ‘who can eat the most in ten minutes’ thing, i’m opting out.”

“worse,” yuji says cheerfully, “just dance.”

megumi groans, “absolutely not- please yuji”

nobara’s eyes light up, “absolutely yes.”

before anyone can protest, yuji is already dragging furniture around, hooking something up to the tv. the familiar loading screen appears, bright and aggressively cheerful.

you snort, “yuji, it’s winter break, not a punishment.”

“wrong,” yuji says, handing nobara a controller, “it’s a celebration.”

nobara cracks her knuckles, “i was born for this.”

megumi sinks deeper into the couch, “i’m judging both of you.”

“good,” yuji says. “judgment fuels me.”

you sit beside megumi, legs tucked under you, watching as the two of them argue over song choices like it’s a matter of life and death. nobara refuses anything older than five years. yuji insists on something “iconic.” they settle on that one justin bieber song, that power.

the music starts. the dancing well.. it’s… bad- like, impressively bad. yuji is all enthusiasm and zero rhythm, limbs flailing with complete confidence. nobara is sharp and aggressive, dancing like she’s fighting the air. you laugh, you actually laugh, head tipping back, stomach hurting, megumi snorts.

"megs- what the f-fuck am i watching." you say unable to contain your laughter, “he dances like he’s being electrocuted,” megumi mutters.

yuji spins at the wrong time and nearly wipes out, “i heard that!”

“you were meant to,” nobara says without missing a beat.

they play another round. then another. at some point yuji’s shirt rides up and nobara screams about “visual crimes.” someone knocks over a bowl of chips, no one cares.

it feels… good, super easy. you forget to be nervous, forget to scan the room. you’re just there, with your friends laughing. after a while, your laughter settles into that warm, fuzzy hum that comes with being comfortable. you shift on the couch, stretching.

“i need the bathroom,” you announce casually, standing up. “before yuji’s dancing kills me for real.”

yuji points down the hall without looking away from the screen, “second door on the left! don’t open the first one, that’s—”

“none of my business,” you finish, “got it.” you wave him off.

you head down the hallway, the noise fading behind you. the house feels quieter back here, the air cooler. you find the bathroom easily, flick on the light, and lock the door. you lean against the sink for a second longer than necessary. you didn’t think about sukuna for almost an hour. the realization is strange, relieving, and honestly sad.

you wash your hands, splash some water on your face, and take a breath, it’s fine, you tell yourself, you’re fine.

when you open the door—you nearly run straight into a tall figure.

your breath catches so hard it physically hurts. its him. sukuna stands there like he’s been carved out of the hallway itself, broad shoulders blocking half the light, expression unreadable. his hairs damp like he just showered.

for a second, neither of you move. then, awkwardly, he steps back to give you space.

“…hey,” he says.

your brain short-circuits, a thousand responses crash into each other, none of them make it to your mouth in time.

“h-hi sukuna,” you manage.

the silence stretches- then gojo’s voice crashes into your head. got bored of her, his toy. reminders of the past you wish you could fix.

your eyes slide past him, down the hallway, anywhere but his face. something sharp twists in your chest, you cant tell if its hurt, anger, humiliation, all tangled together.

you step around him, putting distance where there used to be none.

“the bathroom’s free,” you say. that’s it.

you walk past him like he’s just another person in the house, and fuck—he feels it. he turns slightly, watching your back retreat toward the living room, the stiffness in your shoulders, the way your steps are faster than before.

shit. the word hits him hard. she’s mad. and that scares him.

“wait,” he says, sharper than he means to, reaching out without thinking.

his hand closes around your wrist, you stop at the sudden contact. slowly, you turn back to face him, eyes flashing now, something wounded and furious sitting right behind them, his grip loosens immediately.

“we need to talk,” he says, voice urgent, “please.”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it, none at all.

“talk?” you repeat, “about what, sukuna?”

he swallows, “about—”

“no,” you cut in, pulling your wrist out of his hand, “we don’t have anything to talk about.”

his chest tightens, “that’s not—”

“you’ve already said enough,” you continue, voice shaking now despite your effort to keep it steady, “you made it pretty clear what you think of me.”

his eyes widen slightly, “what are you talking about?”

you shake your head, disbelief mixing with anger, “don’t.”

“i didn’t—”

“just don’t,” you snap, “i’m not doing this.”

he steps closer, frustration bleeding through the cracks now, “i never said—”

“you don’t have to,” you say, voice breaking just a little, “your silence did it for you.”

that lands hard. he opens his mouth—ready to deny it, explain it, fix it, but you’re already turning away.

“leave me alone,” you say quietly, “you already did enough.”

and then you walk away. he stands there in the hallway, frozen, the echo of your footsteps fading into laughter that suddenly sounds wrong, fake. his hand hangs uselessly at his side, fingers curling slowly. fuck, he thinks.

when you return to the living room, yuji immediately yells, “SHE LIVES!”

“barely,” you say, dropping back onto the couch, “i almost got taken out by secondhand embarrassment.”

nobara bows dramatically, “you’re welcome.”

you glance toward the hallway once more. sukuna doesn’t come out. the night continues, the laughter resumes, and even though something inside you feels newly unsettled, you let yourself stay. just for tonight.

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omgomgomgomggmgdd sukunas prob gna become a yearner or sum shit ngl. mwah mwah to all, i hope u enjoy this chapter :)

taglist: @bonnvivre @voidkeery @kohavalon @diangelofan599 @gokurakawaii @nina-from-317 @starringrcll @emforjin @tobecringeistobeme @sugusshi @yummidumplingss