sunagi!!!!

Okay maybe it isn’t so easy. But it differs from what he was taught growing up.

How love was a weapon to be used. How each time Naobito would leverage them against his wives. How it was only supposed to spell your end and give you insurmountable headaches.

If he had a yen each time the women of the Zenin family were terrorised, he’d probably have enough to pay for his house. It was all he knew growing up; how Naobito beat the meaning of love into him.

Love was locking him in the storage out back as a kid when he disobeyed orders, left him to get sick and cold and dirty. Love was punching him in the face when he tried to run away, a kick to the stomach when he did anything out of line. Love was trying to drown him in the bathtub when he tried to tell on Naobito to the cops because he was looking for a way out.

Love was twisted and always violent.

And yet here you are, redefining it.

You, with your irritating ‘I like you’s before you fall asleep. You, with your stupid humming while you cook meals. You, with your adamant claim that it won’t be long before Sukuna finally says something sweet to you.

Are you hoping that he’ll say it? That he’ll verbalise that he loves—

Sukuna doesn’t think he’s capable of saying it. Not for real, anyway. But he thinks that if there was a single speck of possibility, maybe you’d be the one that drives him right over the edge.

FLASHBACK; LAST WEEK

“One day I’ll get you to say it,” you had told him one night, grinning from ear to ear while you continued to work on your jewelry.

Business was booming, he had heard.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” and he meant it. It was stupid. The notion of it all. “And it’s fucking 3am, sleep already. This shit is noisy.”

To be fair, it was.

The sounds the beads made when you accidentally dropped them. (That was another thing he learned about you—you’re fucking clumsy it was unbelievable.) The sounds of tape when you had to pull out a roll for god knows what.

Parcels, packing, aesthetics—things he’d know shit about.

That was all he could fucking hear while trying to fall asleep with a cold side of the bed.

“Can’t, I had a sale over the weekend now I have to get at least a thousand orders out before noon tomorrow,” you murmured, not even bothering to look at him.

It was weird, love. Or at least—what love meant after you rewrote it. What he thought it meant, anyway.

You didn’t have to ask. You didn’t expect a thing. Yet he offered, gave you help, sat down right next to you and grumpily stuffed the fucking bracelets and necklaces and earrings inside stupid little tiny drawstring bags with his big hands even when you told him he didn’t have to.

It took another two fucking hours and it was 5am and Sukuna was past his patience a long time ago and yet there you were, safe and sound beside him; untouched, unharmed, in every sense.

He should fucking kill you.

“Um—”

“Shut it,” he had told you, passing you the last order, huffing from how stupid it all was.

But you don’t. Because you almost never listen to him. Except for clause one of his conditions; that one you still listened to. Clause two didn’t happen yet, thankfully.

Why did he have to go and egg you on to sell your shit anyway? Smartass.

Even with his unwelcoming face and his best scowl and his deathly glare, you still wrapped your arms around him, you still pressed your lips to his chest—you wore your heart on your sleeve.

“Quit it, I wanna sleep,” he spat, though all he received was a grin. You were unbelievable. Just a little airhead, sunshine, naive little fucker.

“Say you love me.”

“Fuck off.”

But he still dragged you with him to bed, still nuzzled his face in your neck, still fell asleep with you as he did every night.

“One day, you owe me that,” you said confidently, as though he was worth believing, as though he wasn’t a bad person.

You’re stupid. So stupid.

“I wasn’t asking for a fucking essay,” Toji sighs, sitting back against the leather seats.

In a diner, not the bar, because Sukuna’s aware how manic you get when Seiri tries to get close to him. You’re a little psycho when you’re jealous, but he thinks you’re cute like that. As though Sukuna would let someone else close like that, like you.

What the fuck is wrong with him.

“Wasn’t thinking of one,” Sukuna quips, downing the last of his coffee.

It’s been two weeks since the night he’d punched Chisaki. Two weeks of nothing from Naobito, other than little side eyes and murmured insults. Which is more than a little odd. He should be chastising him publicly, he should be threatening to take everything away from him. Maybe even killing him.

He’s not.

Or not yet.

It’s unsettling. Like there’s something else going on, like something else is uncovering without either of them knowing.

For sure it’s nothing good.

Toji doesn’t like Naobito, he’d tell on him if he knew he was planning anything against Sukuna. And Sukuna thinks that Toji secretly wants to run away from everything—from the Zenin curse, from the hierarchical limitations that prohibit him from protecting anyone.

That’s why Toji has Megumi just slightly distanced from the family. Hell, he’d let the Gojos take care of Megumi before he’d let Naobito brainwash him. That’s why Gojo has been babysitting Megumi, in a twisted way, whenever he’s asked to. Aside from the fact that Toji pays a hefty sum for Gojo to follow a specific set of instructions (mainly to keep Megumi away from Naobito as much as possible), Sukuna thinks that Gojo Sr allows this only as some form of power play, like if the Zenins ever tried anything he could just threaten young Megumi’s life and they would knuckle under.

That’s the kind of person Gojo Sr is, anyway.

“You know she’s going to get targeted, right?” Toji asks, matter-of-factly.

Sukuna doesn’t miss the note of disapproval in Toji’s voice. Toji didn’t intend for him to not notice it either.

After all, he knows better than anyone what happens when you marry someone Naobito doesn’t approve of. It’s not hard to imagine the trials and tribulations Naobito will put you through.

In Naobito’s head, compared to Mei Mei, you can’t offer anything. Mei Mei’s family offers boundless connections, endless privileges. That’s what Naobito’s after. And after failing to force Toji to agree, he went for his only other option: Sukuna.

Frankly, Toji never understood why Sukuna agreed anyway. Maybe just to shut Naobito up? Having Mei Mei on his side would inevitably mean that Naobito can’t willy nilly order him around, not if she says anything about it. And maybe Sukuna would have stayed salty about how everything unfolded if he didn’t meet you.

You, who’ll be subject to the Zenins’ torture. You, who will inevitably crack under the pressure. Now Toji likes you; you’re nice, you’re fiesty, you’re smart—but none of that is even close to enough to stay in this family. After all, that’s what you’re after if you’re this crazy to stay with Sukuna. It’s why you barely see any of the women who married into the Zenins; all driven away or just driven crazy, all disappearing mysteriously and running away looking for asylum someplace else.

“I know,” Sukuna says, all too relaxed.

Toji smirks, “oh? You’re gonna protect Y/N? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Because really, seeing Sukuna bothering about someone other than himself is… weird. How the hell did you manage that?

Sukuna rolls his eyes, “she can protect her damn self, I’ll just help her when she fails is all.”

Stubborn little liar. Always has been since he was a kid, lying about things like how he was fine with being beaten around by Naobito and the other elders because boys are tough. It wasn’t even about gender; kids aren’t supposed to be abused by their parents, period. Didn’t help that Naobito kept Toji away, separate from Sukuna when they were kids, never let him visit—he always knew who were the defiant ones. Toji was one, though being blood related might have saved him a little.

This guy on the other hand, Toji thinks as he looks at Sukuna, got the brunt of all child abuse. If the police were just, Naobito would be in jail by then. Instead he got away scot-free when he shouldn’t. Especially not from trying to drown Sukuna in his own house. He was only ten then.

Toji only knew because of some offhanded comment Sukuna had made about it years after the fact.

It’s really no wonder how Sukuna grew to be so fucked up, when the closest parental figure he had was Naobito.

“So, you bringing her to the dinner party next month?”

The grand dinner that’s going to be held at the Gojo family mansion. A weird occasion, considering how none of the elders from the opposing families get along. Gojo Sr is an uptight piece of shit, and Grandpa Gojo avoids any conversation of substance in a bid to stay diplomatic. Obviously the latter is the more preferable of the two but that doesn’t mean Naobito cares enough to build bonds with any of them.

Until now.

Sukuna cocks a brow, “of course,” confidently, surely.

Toji wants to warn him against it, especially since Naobito made a whole point to call Sukuna out during the meeting yesterday, telling him just bring yourself, we have no need for a useless swine like her.

Naobito really doesn’t like you. Maybe he senses how you are, how your loyalty could never be bought by money, how you’re uncontrollable for him, how you’d only listen to Sukuna if it ever came down to it. And Naobito doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like pretty little things he can’t control, doesn’t like good people that offer no status privileges.

And Toji thinks you’re naive, definitely, but you’re headstrong. You decide Toji’s a good guy just based off of what you see, but you never think to question him about where he is when he’s not in the office. You always accept his half-hearted reasons of last minute appointments and it’s confidential, even though you know something’s off.

Smart girls like you always find out in the end though. Smart girls like his wife used to be. Toji can’t even decide whether telling you would do more harm or good; to tell you of the nightmare-ish things that Naobito forces upon all his potential successors, or to let you live in ignorant bliss.

He takes one last sip of his coffee, green irises falling onto the passport in his lap. Sukuna doesn’t notice a thing, too busy on his phone, probably you, because you’re the only one capable of caging and distracting the great Ryomen Sukuna anyway.

Toji considers Megumi one last time before he makes up his mind.

This is for the best.

IN ANOTHER PART OF THE CITY

“Still in your little rebellious phase?”

Ah, daddy dearest. Why oh why isn’t he dead yet?

Gojo takes the napkin off his lap and whips it down onto his unfinished meal. He ignores his father, taking advantage of the fact that his grandfather is there too.

“Gramps, let’s take a walk,” Gojo suggests, though he’s not done with his dinner too, but he holds no protests. He only smiles knowingly and lets his grandson lead the way out into the garden, the flowers almost in full bloom, in time for next month’s dinner party.

It’s a relatively peaceful night, save for his father’s relentless nagging about coming back to Six Eyes.

Company this, money that, is that all he cares about?

“What’s this about, Satoru?” His grandfather asks, his voice still fairly strong for someone his age. His seventieth birthday is coming soon, but he doesn’t feel that old.

Gojo surveys him; a weak smile on his grandfather’s face, the moonlight shining down on his cerulean eyes—the same shade as Satoru just not as vibrant. He’s getting slightly weaker, as everyone does with age, yet he’s still as kind as ever.

Definitely much kinder than his father, more understanding.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake with this?” Gojo asks, because he’s always been his confidant. He’s always open to talking things through, unlike his father.

Grandpa Gojo leans his weight on his walking stick, poker face turned on. “Do you think it’s a mistake?”

“Nope,” and he pops the ‘p’, grinning, earning a laugh.

“Then that’s all that needs to be said,” his grandfather says simply, and instantly Gojo is reassured. “We can always find someone competent from within the company to take over while we train Yuta up.”

Yuta, one of his distant relatives, but still family all the same. He’s only thirteen now, but he’s showing promise, although Gojo doesn’t know how the hell these adults can see potential from a barely-teenager whose thoughts now probably only contain musings about handheld games and manga and, in Yuta’s case, his little girlfriend Rika (who Gojo Sr also apparently disapproves of but shrugs aside since they’re kids).

“But if you will indulge my curiosity,” Grandpa Gojo clears his throat, “why don’t you want to head Six Eyes? It’s a fast path to getting everything you could want, and you’d be perfect for it too.”

Gojo masks his true feelings behind his eyes. He doesn’t need anyone except you and Geto to know about his real intentions; to go into education, to pursue something he’s interested in rather than take over his family’s legacy even if it is easy pickings.

Instead he only shrugs, “don’t know, but I just feel like maybe it’s not for me.”

“I see,” his grandfather muses, before giving him a sideways glance. He’s smirking, weakly, “did a certain girl give you the push?”

Oh, right. Because grandfather knows too. More so than his own father, because his own father doesn’t approve of you, something Gojo doesn’t get.

FLASHBACK; FIVE YEARS AGO

“It was nice meeting you, Mr Gojo.”

You’d bolted out the front door like you did something wrong. You didn’t.

At least, Gojo didn’t see anything wrong with it. He was the one who asked you over to study after all.

Well, study. Because he’d been doing nothing but being a distraction all night long. Was it really his fault if he found logarithms and exponentials boring?

Though maybe he felt a tiny bit guilty. Guilty because he’d offered to tutor you and got only about five percent of the syllabus before he convinced you to slack off with him.

He was a bad influence on you.

Yeah. He was a bad influence on you.

Gojo Sr sighed as he opened the door to his son’s room. “I thought I told you I didn’t want you hanging around her anymore?”

Yet his father thought otherwise, always on his back about how you didn’t fit into Gojo’s life plan, as if each and every one of his life’s milestones were defaulted to his father.

Tuition despite already being sufficiently impressive in all subjects? Dad. Enrolling into one of the best universities in Japan early (family privileges) and into the most competitive business course? Dad. Shadowing his father on top of Gojo’s already overwhelming workload? Well, who else.

“Look, she’s my friend, there’s nothing fucking wrong with that,” Gojo told him, though all he got was a narrowed glare in return.

His father definitely didn’t buy that.

“Friend or not, she’s a distraction.” Gojo Sr was strict and firm with his words.

“You said the same thing about Suguru.”

“Exactly, and now there’s two of them.”

Sometimes Gojo thought that maybe his father’s sole purpose of living was to ensure that his son would stay as miserable as possible.

Silence was the only thing that followed after that, because Gojo didn’t understand. One minute his father was saying you were too nice, and the next he was complaining about how you were a distraction.

Same for Suguru. He was fine with him when they were both kids, even if Geto’s parents weren’t particularly well-to-do back then—his father seemed fine with it, didn’t even care much. Was it because that was before he took over the company and got his mind all money driven and all fucked up?

“I gave Suguru a pass, I let him come over and stay here whenever he wants, we feed him like he’s one of us,” Gojo Sr pauses, taking a deep breath, “but she’s not welcome here. You’ll forget her by the time you get to university anyway.”

Amazing how low he thought of you. He wasn’t completely wrong—with your current test grades there’s a low chance that you’d score well enough to get into the same university, let alone get a scholarship. You weren’t dumb, far from it, but Gojo had been having extra tutoring since young to prepare for this exact moment.

Beating the bell curve would be extremely difficult for you. But seeing as how his father seemed to underestimate you, Gojo fished his phone out of his bag after ignoring his father enough that he gave up and left the room, pulling up your thread.

Gojo: Tomorrow, your place, 8pm.

Gojo: Get ready for a long night ;)

You: You’re obscene.

You: Okay.

You definitely cracked a smile from that, didn’t you? Gojo knew you. He knew you well. A little too well for his father’s comfort. It wasn’t even what he thought, it was all… platonic.

Just friends.

Right. Even if he had thought about kissing you. And hugging you to sleep. And keeping you beside him forever.

Just fucking friends.

PRESENT

“Isn’t she with that boy from the Zenin family?”

Gojo gives a weak chuckle and nods as his grandfather struggles to remember the name.

Yeah. Yeah, you are. And from what he can see on your socials, and what he saw from that day he dragged you with him, you’re happy.

And he’s both happy and upset about that. He’s not a saint, he can’t deny that there’s a part of him that would do anything to replace Sukuna with himself.

“You know, to be with someone means that you need to sacrifice a lot of things,” his grandfather offers some wisdom, looking up at the moon. Gojo’s eyes follow. “If she needs your help for anything, if she asks you to do something you don’t agree with, would you? For her?”

Ever the wise sage, always making him think, always entertaining his feelings.

The entire family is unlike father, unlike son.

“Gramps, that’s all hypothetical and dumb, she’s not with me anyway.”

But Grandpa Gojo cuts off his attempt to sidestep him, “that doesn’t answer my question.” He’s grinning now, the same kind of grin Gojo has, and maybe it’s one of the many qualities he inherited from his grandfather. He’s certainly never seen his own father smile that way.

With a sigh, he gives in, “if Y/N asked, I would.”

It’s true. Now he knows.

After all those years of wasted opportunities, all those years of friendship, all those times he hurt you, and all those times he didn’t—Gojo realises he does love you.

The kind that creeps up on him before he knows it. The kind that he tried to keep suppressed but ultimately ended up failing. The kind his regret is built around.

His whole life had revolved around his family; his grandfather’s company, his father’s wishes, his late mother’s memories. It’s a stupid excuse, really. Just because his father disapproved doesn’t mean he should’ve shut the possibility out entirely while he still stood a chance.

While you still loved him.

Instead, he had to fool around with Mei Mei, had to keep it under wraps, because who fools around with someone who was engaged? An asshole, that’s who. An asshole who couldn’t afford to bring down his entire family’s reputation just because he felt an inkling of a connection to her while entirely forgetting all about you in the midst of the thrill.

It’s regret, it’s anxiety, it’s the stress piling up. It’s what happens now whenever he thinks about you, whenever he thinks about what you must be doing now. With him. How his stupid hands must be trailing up your bare body, your beautiful, sexy body. How his fucking lips must be on yours, tasting all the sweetness lingering on your tongue because god, you’re always sweet.

Gojo remembers everything clearly; how your hair smells whenever you lay your head on his shoulders, how you look like when you concentrate on making bracelets (like the one he always wears)—all focused and biting your lip and perfect, how you sound when he spells your euphoria with his tongue on your clit, how you beam when you see him still in bed after you wash up.

He’s sorry, really. For brushing his problems aside and by extension, you. For never acknowledging your feelings even though he knew. For leading you right into Sukuna’s arms.

There’s another thing he’s sorry for, to the one person in his family he’s grateful for.

“I’m sorry I won’t be taking over the business though,” he tells his grandfather, who’s still listening, who always listens to him.

The elderly man just dismisses it with the wave of his hand. “I’m not your father, too obsessed with his ways and his ideals,” he ponders, and Gojo can’t tell if he still loves his son or whether he disapproves entirely. “But young people should go after what they want, and whatever you want to do, I’ll support you.”

As Gojo looks at his grandfather, he thinks it’s funny. It’s weird how different the two men are, his grandfather versus his father. Ever since he grew up, one was always patient and open, while the other was always strict and abusive.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Plans were always made for him. Decisions about his own life solidified without him having a say in it. Every single action judged since he was a child, no mistake forgiven. God forbid if he made a mistake; even as a child, fail a test or disobey orders and he’d get beat with whatever’s nearby; a broom, a hanger, a slipper—anything.

But Gojo doesn’t want that man hanging over him his entire life, scrutinising his every decision until he dies (or fuck it maybe he’ll just kill him himself), so at least this is the first step towards it. Small, but still something. All because you said three words.

Three magical words.

One day he thinks it’s possible you’ll say that other set of three magical words to him. Yeah, just give him time.

He’ll get there.

You’ll get there.

ONE MONTH LATER

“Babeeee.”

It rolls off his tongue so easy because it’s you. It’s kind of sweet that it’s half sickening to Sukuna. He wants to fucking gag.

The sound of your feet against his hardwood floors is nauseating. So is the sound of the beads clinking against whatever work tools you have. But somehow it’s unsettling when it’s not there. He’s not used to the dead silence anymore. That’s why he basically forced you to move in anyway, since you were already spending so much goddamn time here it may as well be your own house.

Spoiled fucker.

You’re annoying—coming into his life and whipping up a hurricane, making his life so much easier yet harder at the same time. Is it even worth it? He knows how many zeroes are in his bank account, are you worth that much at least?

“Yeah?”

You smell fresh when you hop over to him, looking all happy that he’s here and shit. All excited and bubbly and addictive.

Stupid.

“Here,” he shoves a dress, still inside the clothes bag, into your arms before you can hug him.

“What’s this?”

“We’re going to the Gojo mansion later for some stupid dinner party,” Sukuna fills you in—just about as last minute as he always does. You’re not even surprised at this point.

“Oh, what’s the occasion?”

Yep, hit the head right on the nail. Not fazed at all. It’s hard to imagine you used to be so tame. Damn, he must’ve really corrupted you, huh?

“Don’t know, some political bullshit about enforcing ties and promoting cooperation and shit,” he mocks, leaning against the wall as he watches you take it out.

As much as he likes his black dresses, this time it’s a muted crimson, sleeveless, low neckline, thin straps, slit right up to the thigh. Sukuna bought it probably 0.5 seconds after seeing it. Your clothes are using up too much space. You don’t need another one. But he has no self control ever, so you’ll live with it.

“It’s gorgeous,” you coo, practically starry-eyed as you look at yourself in the mirror, hovering the dress over your body. “You sure I need to wear something this nice just for a dinner party? I mean, we’re not even trying to make Satoru jealous anymore.”

Oh, he still will be, though.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still do my best to piss the guy off.”

And you’re right. There’s no reason you should need such an expensive, over-the-top gown for a simple dinner party, but Sukuna has a bad hunch about this and he’s rarely ever wrong.

Nothing that involves Naobito meeting you now, after Sukuna sucker punched Kai Chisaki for you, would be innocent. Especially not if Naobito isn’t expecting you, but maybe he’ll just leave that small detail out.

Whatever’s going to happen there may not be pretty. But you’re at least going to look hot in there. Exceptionally hot. You know, just in case.

Toji’s not going to be there. He hates events like this, where everyone’s pretentious acts and manufactured laughter gets on full display. His kid is, though, because for some reason Gojo has been babysitting a whole lot more recently. It’s a little suspicious, but that’s a whole other story that Sukuna doesn’t want to bother with.

And it turns out, he’s right. Now he knows the source of his bad feelings.

The moment you and Sukuna pull up to the mansion hours later, there’s a familiar face out front. Naobito needs no introductions, but there’s another guy who exists who seems to have it out for Sukuna. A guy that, regrettably, might not hesitate to make your life a thousand times worse as well. The only guy who can, because he’s Naobito’s fucking son who apparently came back from overseas just in time for this fucking party and failed to inform anyone.

“Who’s that?” You ask, so innocently, before either of you get out of the car.

That fucking blonde hair and accented black tips, that sleazy grin that mirrors his old man’s—Sukuna wouldn’t mistake it anywhere in the world.

“Naoya. Zenin Naoya.”

“He must not be good news,” you mumble. You have good intuition.

Bad news. That’s all Naoya is. Being enabled by his dick of a father his whole life, Sukuna’s not surprised.

Time for him to reinforce condition number one.

“Hey, babe?” Sukuna calls casually as he turns the engine off, resting his elbow on your seat, fingers caressing the side of your face. You blink once, twice, waiting for him. “If he tries anything, ignore him, got it?”

(It’s an easy nod for you; you’re not exactly getting a welcoming feeling from Naoya. What’s more concerning is the fact that Sukuna has to go out of his way to explicitly tell you about it. Is Naoya that much of a bad news?)

Sukuna tells you to sit tight, opens your door for you, lets you hook your arm around his as you get out of his car. He’s sure that anybody looking at this spectacle now would be shocked, and hand on his heart he is too, because fuck you for making him want to take care of you.

Or more so, he has to protect you from that deadly father-son duo. He thought it was weird that Naobito still asked him to come along tonight when just the other day he’d called him a good-for-nothing, waste-of-money, sabotager. Oh, and also a useless pig.

Very original.

Sukuna can’t help but think, what’s his angle?

He gets his answer soon though, because before he even gets through the front door, Naobito holds an arm out, straight, firm, stopping him in his tracks. His dark eyes shift from you to Sukuna, Naoya behind him watching the scene like a hawk on its prey.

“Before you go in, we need to talk,” Naobito says to Sukuna, and with every syllable you feel your knees grow weaker, like you can feel the bad news seeping out of his mouth with every word.

You can’t help but feel how terrifying it must’ve been growing up under this man’s roof. You turn your gaze to Sukuna, who’s all tense and locked elbows and hand gripping yours firmly.

“Fine, where? Let’s go.”

But Naobito doesn’t move, his eyes pointedly staring at your interlocked fingers before looking back at Sukuna. “Alone,” he emphasises, displeased that Sukuna so blatantly disobeyed orders.

Naoya doesn’t miss a beat, assuming himself beside you in an instant, a smirk thrown Sukuna’s way. “Don’t worry, brother, I got her. I’ll help you take care of her while you’re away.”

Each and every word is filled with a hidden meaning, and all of you know it. You want to tell Sukuna to stay, to never let go because you’re actually scared of these people, but it only takes one look at Naobito for you to realise that doing so would only make Sukuna’s life harder.

And you don’t want that.

You’ll find a way around this yourself, so you nod at Sukuna as indication, and he doesn’t need any explanations. He only gives a final warning glare to Naoya before slipping his hands in his pockets and reluctantly following Naobito as he leads him away.

That leaves you with this guy.

“So, you’re Sukuna’s girl, huh?” Naoya asks, rhetorically, holding a hand out for you. “I wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t bring you here, you’re much classier and better-looking than all the other whores he used to bring around.”

Well, technically Sukuna only told you to ignore him if he tried anything. And he’s not yet. So you take his hand, let him place a kiss on the back of it, the slight fear sending a shiver up your spine. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a tiny bit scared that this guy might suddenly put you in a headlock and kill you.

Naoya smirks, liking the goosebumps he sees searing up your arms. “Are you scared of me, miss?”

Yes.

“No, not at all, Mr Zenin,” you chuckle nervously, following his pace as he leads you into the all-too-familiar house. “This is just a much fancier dinner than I’m used to.”

Naoya chuckles too, and it’s surprisingly light, airy. “God, don’t call me that, I’ll start thinking I’m my father,” he tells you, and you’ve somehow hooked your hand around his elbow just like you did Sukuna. He’s patting your hand as he leads you in further, the housemaids greeting you as you do, and you find most of them familiar, still. “Just call me Naoya.”

“Naoya,” you repeat, slowly, awkwardly.

He accepts it anyway. Perhaps because he has other things he’d rather talk about. Other more interesting waters he’d rather stir.

“What do you think of Sukuna so far?”

You don’t really know what to answer. Correction: you don’t know what he wants to hear. Because that’s what you want, for him to stop talking to you. For him to leave you be, let you hang out by your lonesome in the corner. You’d even take Satoru’s whining over whatever this is.

“He’s been good to me so far, I’m thankful for everything he’s done for me,” you respond, diplomatically, like Sukuna had taught you to for whenever you wanted to remain neutral.

Naoya hums. “He taught you well.”

You feign ignorance. But he’s good at pressing, and you think that Naobito must have taught him well too.

“Sukuna’s not one to be tied down, especially when that relationship doesn’t offer benefits,” Naoya tells you, stopping just at the staircase landing where you can see the curve that heads off straight to Satoru’s room.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Naoya?”

He drops the friendly facade, face turning grim for just a split second before it surfaces back up. Nauseating and confusing and intimidating. “Nothing. I just don’t want to see your pretty face get all heartbroken.” Naoya’s fingers tip your chin up, pulling you closer to see him. “Would be a shame if Sukuna were to break it.”

The way his voice drops an octave, the way he’s whispering such ominous phrases in your ear, you can’t even believe he’s still rubbing circles on the back of your hand so gently, still pulling away with a smile and greeting the passers-by with the same.

Naoya is bad news. Worse than bad. And the bad kind of bad. Maybe even more so than his father. Maybe.

With a smile equally as fake, you try and excuse yourself. “If that’s all you came to tell me, thanks but I don’t think you know your brother very well,” you inform, drawing a frown from him for talking back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You’re lucky that he lets you go, lets you trot up the stairs in those heels. But he doesn’t let you go without a final warning.

“All you are is a means to an end, once it really comes to it, Sukuna won’t choose you over himself.”

You know, you’re really tired of letting people have the last say. So you stop mid-stairway, turn back and shoot Naoya your own warning glare, “I know you believe that, but you haven’t met me yet.”

Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise, and he grins at you like he’s mildly impressed. You take yourself and your weak knees to god knows where, only eager to get away from the bad omen in the form of sharp brown eyes and arrogant grins.

Everything he said fills you with dread because you must realise that something is going on here, that this is not just a peaceful dinner party with the Gojos.

Something is wrong.

And you find out, several hours later when everyone is sat around the long dining table.

Since you got here, you haven’t spoken to Sukuna, and he hasn’t been answering your texts. He hasn’t looked at you directly once during the entire party—what’s on his mind?

Instead, you’re sitting next to Satoru, who’s very much aware of your internal conflict because he’s doing that thing he always does when you panic sometimes; has a hand on your elbow, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb, circles or figure eights.

Naoya is at your other side, casually making small talk as if he didn’t just express his disdain for you earlier. Satoru hates him just as much as Sukuna, apparently.

Sukuna won’t choose you over himself.

His words still haunt you, because they carry a real threat, like they’re not just empty, like he knows it and he’ll show you.

The bad omen comes true right there, when Naobito clinks his glass with his spoon, only briefly speaking of how he’s excited for the boundless opportunities to come with the cooperation of the Gojo family before passing the time to Sukuna.

“With that said, Sukuna? I believe you have something very special to say today?”

The room spins because you don’t think this is about to be good for you at all. Because Sukuna hasn’t bothered with you for the good part of the evening, hasn’t told you a thing about what’s going to happen because now you know he knows.

And right there, when he leads the girl he’s sitting next to by the hand to the landing, a raised platform to let everyone see them, your heart sinks to your stomach when you watch him get down on one knee, a velvet box in his hand.

“Mei Mei, will you marry me?”

by the time sukuna comes back with your drinks, you’re fuming. and he expects that from you. this entire week he’d been testing to see when you’d blow.

you haven’t.

yet.

that glare that you’re throwing at him right now is new though. sukuna finds himself growing wary, like he knows an explosion’s coming and he very much regrets his earlier actions.

“you playing games with me, ryomen sukuna?” you glower at him, and hell it’s the first time you’ve ever been even moderately fierce towards him and it’s kind of hot but also slightly unsettling.

he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat, body stiffening up slightly. “uh, i’m not-”

you exhale through your nose, sharp and pointed and sukuna admits that you look scary when you’re mad, arms folded across your chest, body leaned back against the leather chair. “i’m done here, i wanna go home,” you say, just leaving your seat with a sigh and drinking just a sip of your beer.

sukuna calls your name but that doesn’t stop you from making your way to the exit, neither does your cold shoulder stop him from following you and blocking your way just before you get to the door.

“move,” you say, nerves hard as steel and gaze sharp enough to cut.

“will you just tell me what’s wrong-”

“figure it out yourself,” you cut him off before you’re sidestepping and letting yourself out. oh—but you stop yourself just before the door closes between you. “you can go date the bartender if you’re so interested in her.”

and you say that with a smile too, batting your pretty eyelashes and sukuna’s driven speechless.

then you let the door close on him.

sukuna hates you. like really really really hates you.

it’s been three months.

you’re still either leaving him on read or responding two days later with a halfhearted apology (which slowly fades into no apology at all). and somehow, he’s still texting you, still trying to get you back to normal.

which hasn’t been working well, because apparently, you’d been on dates with other guys too. sukuna hears names being dropped from his friends whenever they start talking about you.

meanwhile, he hasn’t entertained any other girl since then. fuck what you’re able to make him do.

so after six long fucking months without so much as a single date with you, without even being able to get you alone anywhere (you’re real good at avoiding him, you know that?)—sukuna’s waving the white flag.

no, he’s not giving you the fuck up because he thinks you’re actually quite cool and there’s an alarmingly small (micro) sample size of people that fall into that category for him.

at midnight on a random weekday, sukuna somehow finds himself at your door, being greeted by your unamused expression once you begrudgingly open it after he had to convince you over call for five minutes.

“are you serious?”

all you do is sigh at his question and would have slammed the door shut right there if his quick feet didn’t get in the way.

“okay okay, wait,” sukuna is the one sighing this time, waving the white flag more vehemently now. “i’m sorry, okay?”

for the first time in six full months, he sees your expression soften. you stand in the doorway, keeping your arms crossed.

“oh? thought you liked playing games.” your tone’s still pretty threatening. a calm before the storm. that kind of feeling.

sukuna sighs again, wondering what luck he must have to fall in lo—no, like—to like you. that’s just what it is, it has to be.

“i won’t do it again, okay? i haven’t even entertained any other girl since that night at the bar,” he explains. for the first time in his life. he’s explaining himself. crazy what you make him do.

you roll your eyes. as if you’re just going to buy his words just like that. “rightttt, i’ll think about it,” is all you say before you try and turn tail but sukuna’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist, his chest pressed up against your back.

it’s fucked up, it’s so unfair, it’s so difficult to not fall back into him when he’s like this. he’s pressing a kiss to your temple, trailing down to the shell of your ear, and god how you missed him. sure, you’ve tried dating other guys, but the chemistry was never as good.

it served as a good lesson for sukuna, you suppose. you wouldn’t be opposed to giving him a taste of his own medicine if he needs it.

“still gonna date the other guys?” he asks, voice low and strained and unfortunately, still as attractive to you as it was the first time you heard it.

“still gonna fuck around and-”

“no, promise,” sukuna whispers into your ear, body leaning slightly into you now, like he’s too tired to carry his weight.

you have to forcefully pull yourself away to get out of his grasp, because sadly for him, you’ve got too much pride and ego to let him in just yet. so you make sure he stays outside the door—can’t let him in. not tonight. because you actually like him.

like really really like him.

thoughtfully, you stare at him, contemplating before you ultimately give in and press a smile, thin as it may be. “i’ll probably make you start from square one all over again.”

you expect him to complain.

“done. what else?”

sukuna surprises you instead.

“if you ever pull that kind of shit again, i’ll cut your balls off.” because if you ever have to see your man letting another woman get their hands all over him, you’re pretty sure everyone around you will get to see red.

sukuna didn’t expect any less, really. he nods. (old him would’ve been distraught—there actually exists someone to be able to make him bow down to them after all. it’s reserved just for you.) “my balls are yours.”

he inches closer, and when you don’t step away, sukuna finally feels the weight lift off his shoulders. he didn’t think anyone’s absence would affect him this much at all. you really are something.

“now will you just be my girlfriend already?”

and you can laugh at how impatient it sounds, and you do—and god how much sukuna missed that sound.

“i don’t know… six months of you groveling doesn’t seem enough to me,” you joke, and for a fleeting moment, sukuna thinks that if it’s you, you might be able to get him to grovel for life. (he can’t tell you that though, as sadistic as you are, you might actually have him do that.)

“shut up, i know you missed me,” he mutters into your skin, lips pressed against the side of your face. you smell so good and your skin feels so perfect and he’s about ready to just pull you in when he finds himself being pushed back, crimson eyes falling on your smirk.

“grovel some more tomorrow, maybe you’ll finally get me all to yourself,” you say with a grin—evil.

as much as sukuna hates the way you threw the wet blanket all over the both of you, he still does as he’s told. still chases you down the next day, still gives you too little personal space, still asks you to be his girlfriend again.

so after six months and one day of sukuna groveling for his sins, he finally gets to call you his girlfriend.

“one day i’m gonna kill you for being this evil,” he huffs beside you as he walks you back home, arm around your shoulder, all bark and no bite.

you chuckle, because you know you’re the one person who could ever have such a hold on sukuna.

“try it, then. you’d miss me in a day then kill yourself,” you shrug, all smug and cocky and just the way he likes you.

gojo’s certain it’s you. that’s why he doesn’t spare a second thought at walking over to you and calling your name when he gets closer. you whirl your head towards the sound of his voice, fingers twitching slightly before you seemingly recognise who he is.

“gojo satoru?”

he sees you trying to shy away from his gaze. that’s cute.

and if he could, he’d pay you to keep saying his name. all the time. give him a recording, maybe that’d be better.

actually, gojo’s mostly surprised you remember his name. he thought remembering names would always be one-sided, given how you didn’t even know his until that day, when you snuck a peek at his notebook.

“out for a late night drive?” he asks you.

the momentary adrenaline from realising it’s the girl he’s been thinking of for the past five years nearly accomplishes in distracting him from the fact that your face looks puffy.

puffy, swollen, dry tear streaks.

gojo’s hands clench into fists at his side. he doesn’t say a word about it yet—he feels you’ll run off if he does. he doesn’t want you to.

he’s not ready to let you go a second time.

“yeah, couldn’t sleep,” and gojo can tell your voice is off. how long have you been crying? even when you’re sad, you’re trying to laugh it away, play it off as though nothing’s wrong.

if he asks, would it be overstepping boundaries?

“hey, wanna go for a drive?”

it’s 2.14am and somehow gojo’s driving a pretty girl’s car through the city with said pretty girl in the passenger seat. gojo’s pretty surprised that you let him drive your car

life couldn’t be any better. for him.

it probably could for you though. he’s pretty sure you’re in a bad mood right now. even if you let yourself be forced into going for a drive with him.

gojo can be persistent. he knows.

“need me to kill ‘em for you?” gojo asks, a flash of cunning manifesting in his grin.

he means whoever made you sad, that much you probably can guess. and he’s joking (of course), so he expected you to say something like you can’t be serious or i wish, but instead there’s a complex look in your eyes that gojo just can’t decipher.

and that’s something. because usually he can. he can read people easily, like they’re the textbooks he devoured back in college, like they’re the menu at his favourite cafes.

but the way you just look at him, saying nothing at all, catches him off-guard.

“i’m joking,” gojo follows up, a little too slowly, just in case you didn’t get the memo.

and like a bad actress, the way you laugh it off is a little too fake, a little too forced.

but gojo finds it hard to harp on it. how can he, when the next minute you start blasting his favourite songs from your playlist, when you get him to sing along with you, teach him to put the top down and enjoy the chilly night wind?

everything that he sees tonight just screams one thing: you’re his fucking soulmate. you must be.

you make him feel the lightest he’s ever been in years, and you make him question why he never chased you five years ago. he should have. he’d be happy by now, he bets.

is this something crazy to say about someone he barely knows?

gojo turns the volume down, both of you still laughing from belting out the chorus and being absolutely horrible at it.

“can i send you home?” he asks you. and call him crazy, but he thinks he sees a flash of disappointment on your face. gojo doesn’t think much of it; he’s full of initiative, if you’ll just agree to give him your number later, he’ll call you tomorrow and meet you then.

it takes you a while to respond.

“sure.”

but when he pulls up to your driveway and puts the car in park, he sees that the lights are on inside, and when he turns to the passenger seat, he sees you desperately fishing something out of your purse.

something plain, and gold, and small.

by the time he’s getting out of your car and handing you your car keys, he’s nervous.

nervous, but he tries anyway.

“we should catch up again sometime?” he says, hinting at getting your number, waving his phone at you.

for the first time tonight, your genuine grin fades into what seems like an apologetic smile. when you show him your hand, he figures why. “i really shouldn’t, i’m married,” you tell him, softly, and he can tell you’re forcing that smile on your face. “i should really get going, but thank you, sa-,” you cough, “gojo, for tonight.”

before you can slip past him, he grips your wrist as gently as he can. “is he treating you right?”

it doesn’t take a genius to see that this marriage is probably the bane of your existence. gojo can’t shake it off—the thought that your husband is… bad to you.

“we’re fine,” you assure him, but fail at it, because he’s not the least bit convinced. forcefully, you yank your wrist away and rush to the porch, but not before looking back at him and bidding goodbye.

gojo can only stare blankly as the lights inside go out, wondering what tonight was all about.

inside your house, you’re met with a pair of fierce, unamused eyes. takeru used to be gentle—he’s not anymore.

“is that your fucking ex?” he spits, cornering you against the wall, eyes growing wide. he’d recognise that snow white hair anywhere. he flips the light switch off, knowing full well that there’s a pair of eyes still glued to the house from outside.

you swallow the lump in your throat, heart thumping louder than ever before. “y-yeah- but it was nothing-”

takeru narrows his gaze at you before pulling back, doubt still evident in his accusing gaze. “it better not be. don’t forget, just because gojo fucking satoru forgot everything between you, his parents still made a deal with you in exchange for helping your parents.”

you nod, speaking bitterly, “i haven’t forgotten.”

“remind me what it was again?”

you hate the way he plays with his power. he’s always used your circumstance to assert his place.

something you hate more? the deal you agreed to.

SECONDS AGO

“oh, kana broke up with you? what happened?”

sukuna snorted. not in a bad way, and he wasn’t upset at anything, really. kana just was… a lot. but he couldn’t care about her one bit right now really. because what did get his attention was how concerned you sounded that if sukuna didn’t know any better, he’d have believed you.

“she asked me to make a choice.”

you huffed—if there was one thing you didn’t like about sukuna? the way he’d say something vague and leave you to ask about the rest.

“elaborate.” as you always say every single time he ran that habit of his.

he took another swig of his beer. “asked me whether i’d ever cut you off for her.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat you didn’t know was there. because kana had looked like sukuna’s most serious relationship (which is subjective, but considering the way he was, it definitely looked the most serious—as much as sukuna could be serious at all) and if you were being completely honest, your expectation of him was to throw you to the seas for his girlfriend.

“what, too scared to ask what my answer was?” sukuna teased, eyes crinkling a little from the sheer amusement of knowing that the heat had gone to your cheeks.

and stupidly, without even a second thought, the words flew out of your mouth. “no, what do you even mean by that? i totally don’t care what your answer was, you think i like you or somethin’?”

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

you were so fucking stupid, really. you must’ve cursed yourself a thousand times in three seconds in your head for that backfire in acting nonchalant.

sukuna nearly choked on his beer, some of it trickling from the edge of his mouth as he coughed—a mocking grin on his face as he turned to look at you this time. “oh? where’s that girl who used to really wanna kiss me? the one who tried to shoot her shot the moment i was single back in high school?”

annnnd, back to the present? yeah, you’re close to hyperventilating.

excruciatingly close.

sukuna’s not letting up. he’s still staring at you, expecting an answer from you.

stupid, hot, jackass of a best friend.

“you still remember that? she’s not here anymore.”

that is your best attempt at deflecting, which apparently isn’t much because sukuna’s not convinced. you can tell, by the way he’s slowly inching closer, by the way his beer is left abandoned on the railing, his fingers choosing to find purchase on your skin.

it’s easy to forget that sukuna’s not just your best friend. outside of that, he’s one of the most sought-after people in this entire campus. it’s easy to go numb once you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that to him, you’d just fill the good girl-friend role but never the actual girlfriend.

and it’s really really easy to forget your supposed place when for the first time since you’ve known each other, he’s all up close in your space. you don’t think you’ve ever felt his breath against yours before this. you don’t think you’ve ever had your hands on his waist for support like this. you don’t think you’d ever in your wildest dreams be kissing ryomen sukuna in a dimly lit porch like this.

fuckfuckfuck.

it’s… your teenage dream. out in the open now. in reality. in the palm of your hands gripping on his shirt. and if you were any less excited, you’d care about the way you’re already so comfortably moaning into his mouth as you feel his arms pull your body flush against him. if you weren’t so absorbed in everything, you’d probably be embarrassed with the way he’s chuckling into the kiss, whispering “you’re a good kisser, know that? who did you train with? i’m gonna kill that guy,” so shamelessly against your lips.

you would laugh if you weren’t so hopelessly consumed by his kiss and aching for more. the only person you’ve ever kissed is the man himself in front of you. he’d say you’re pathetic for sure.

is that so bad?

“well then i guess you’d have to kill yourself,” you mumble, both of you still half-lidded and barely breathing. “never kissed anyone else.”

for some reason, your words flare something up inside him. the concept of only having been with one person intimately is lost on him. but when he thinks about you, untouched, untainted—sukuna’s hands move faster than he can think.

you find yourself perched up on the railing, sukuna’s hunger manifesting into his hands crawling under your dress, before it’s half-heartedly stopped by your own. and for once, it’s nice to see roles reversed; where sukuna has always been control with whoever he’s been with, when it comes to you, he’s the one that’s losing it.

“do you think i’m gonna make it that easy for you, baby girl?” you ask him, and you can’t help the snort that leaves you when his cheeks flush pink hearing that.

his hands actually behave themselves, finding a spot on either sides of your thighs, showing wanton self-restraint because all he can think about right now is just that he really really really really fucking wants you all to himself right fucking now, in his bedroom, imagination running wild and he’s losing it and all because of you.

“what’re you gonna do, torture me?” sukuna asks, and it—this, the attraction, the spark—it all feels different only because it’s you you you.

you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him against you, teasing him as if you’ve had the upper hand all this time. you don’t say a thing for five agonising seconds, sukuna hard and throbbing against you.

“what was your answer?”

it has your heart beating faster, the way he smirks as he leans closer, the way his palm wraps around the back of your neck. like the innocent kind of intimacy you’ve always wanted from him.

“hm? you wanna know what i told her?” his tone low, volume soft, lips kissing up your jaw to land on the shell of your ear. “told her that there’s no fucking way, not when i want you so bad.”

you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to just surrender to him right now, to just let him do what he wants, let him teach you everything physical about what an adult relationship entails—but you’re probably both a sadist and a masochist deep down because you force yourself not to give in.

you only hop off the railing, giving your best friend one more long, slow kiss on the lips, tugging lightly on his lower lip. “want me that bad? hope you’ll do a good job chasing me properly then, ryo.”

“teasing me all night, woman? cruel,” he calls out after you as you try to retreat from the scene, chuckling at your transparent intentions, as if he doesn’t know you want him as badly as (or even more than) he wants you.

you only leave him with a simple, “if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll only need a day to chase me down.”

he flips you off, and you laugh, and you’ve never felt lighter. it’s a blessing, knowing what sukuna’s like, how to decipher his language. “i’ll do better,” he challenges you.

“i’ll hold you to it, ryo, or else i’ll go date some other guy.”

(spoiler: he gets you to be his girlfriend twelve hours later.)

but now that you’re here you suddenly feel so… out of place. you don’t feel like you want to just make out with a random guy, or let some pervert in a black button-up get his hands all over you. which coincidentally, is what mei’s letting happen.

not that you’re judging. apparently she loves having fun. or so the word going around about her says so.

you take your phone out and text a lazy excuse to mei about having to get home to run some errands. which she’s bound to call your bullshit on because it’s freaking 1am already.

yeah, it’s 1am and you’re outside of a shitty club in god-knows-which part of shinjuku (probably the worst part of it) and you’re having the most trouble finding a cab home.

great. just great. now you’ll probably get eaten alive by one of the guys on your right, all bunched up in a group with no shame staring at you in your tight dress.

you curse yourself for thinking it was a good idea to wear this dress earlier.

“need a ride?”

when you whirl your head around to the other side, you’re greeted by a man with pink hair and nose studs and tattoos peeking out the collar of his sweater.

oh. looks like you’re wrong. looks like you’re going to get eaten alive by this guy on your left.

he looks like bad news. like really really bad news. like the complete opposite of your ex-boyfriend nanami kento.

“it’s fine i’ll—”

“i can probably get you back home thrice by the time you get a cab,” he cuts you off, smirking and smug and still so dangerous. he leans against a car—his car, probably—and holy shit is that a rolls royce?

nanami’s proper. a gentleman. takes things slow. he would never approve of this. whatever this is.

“what’s your name?”

nanami would never in his wildest dreams ever guess why those words came out of your mouth. in all honesty, you don’t even know why you’re asking. the guy would probably just think you’re a freak and say whatever and bail.

but all he does is chuckle. “ryomen sukuna. and you?”

oh god if only you could imprint his voice in your head. it’s so soft and low and hot. you tell him your name like you’re in a trance.

“y/n l/n… do you want a ride or no?” sukuna asks you again, this time he’s smirking, head tilted further to the side like he’s abused by your inner turmoil. like he expects you to say no, to tuck your tail between your thighs and run.

but as always, your heart rules. and for the first time, you’re not sure why your heart chooses trouble.

“fine, ryomen sukuna, take me home.”

“oh my god, really? that’s pathetic.”

so valentine’s day has barely started and you’ve been dumped by your boyfriend just a few hours ago and now you’re already in some other guy’s car. his very very expensive car. while he’s laughing at you after knowing you just got dumped.

ryomen sukuna.

you don’t even know him, but whatever you do know about him is screaming at you to turn the other way. like how he’s speeding down the street like he owns the whole city. like how red lights don’t bother him because he drives faster than everyone else. like how he finally gets to the highway and has one hand off the wheel.

like how he’s now looking at you as opposed to having his eyes on the road.

trouble. so much trouble, danger.

“well, glad you’re amused,” you huff, whirling your head to look out the window.

as much of an asshole as he seems, he’s pleasing to the eyes. annoyingly so. blood-red eyes, bad boy smirk, one-hand-on-your-thigh-while-he-drives.

fuck.

he’s not your type. completely. because your type is nanami. not bad boy mr troublemaker over here. but you can feel blood rush to your heat and you know you’re in trouble.

he’s trouble and an asshole and he’s still laughing at you.

“let me guess, first boyfriend?”

and you used to think it’s a good thing until you hear it said mockingly like that.

you begrudgingly nod, already anticipating the burst of laughter that’s coming. which does.

“my god, woman, you gotta live a little,” he chides you, though it’s half-hearted and jovial. like your innocence amuses him.

you’re about to sincerely ask him how—how are you supposed to do that when all your life, you’ve been living with strict parents and been their good little girl and that tonight is the first night that you’d actually broken curfew?

you’re the exact opposite of ryomen sukuna, so seriously, how?

but he answers you before you even ask.

“just do what the fuck you want.” (and sukuna only says that because he has an inkling that you’re not some goody-two-shoes by nature. just a feeling.)

maybe it’s the first time that someone’s saying shit like this to you. or maybe it’s the first time that anyone’s said something that resonates with you. maybe it’s your senior year in uni next year and you really really don’t want to miss out on experiences.

your gaze flicks back to the road for a second—you’re still on the highway and there’s still a long way to go before your exit and you really really want to do this before you get too scared thinking about it.

so you do.

you unbuckle your seat belt to lean over and pull him in for a kiss. fuck road safety and fuck this guy’s penchance for trouble because if that’s what he’s looking for he’ll get it.

and true to his sharp edges and cutting gaze, the way he kisses you back now is rough, and urgent, and he’s using one hand to keep you close, holding your face against his as his tongue meets yours for the first time. you chuckle against his lips because you can taste the alcohol lingering on his tongue.

sukuna is probably more trouble than you bargained for. but somehow, you don’t regret this.

the only regret you have is when you have to pull away, when you know sukuna has to get back to driving before the both of you actually crash over lust. and when you buckle your seatbelt again, when you use your thumb to wipe at your lips—you catch sukuna staring like he hasn’t gotten enough. that glaze in his eyes telling you that even he can get hooked on something.

and apparently now, he’s hooked on who he thought would be a complete goody-two-shoes (at least for the rest of the night).

neither of you say anything until you hear the incessant buzzing of your phone in your pocket. usually, it’s from nanami, but tonight, it’s just your parents. probably going to lecture you about how it’s way past your curfew and that you’re grounded for the rest of the week or something you couldn’t care less about now because you’re still riding the adrenaline from making out with a complete stranger in his car.

“they gonna kill you?” sukuna asks, that amused smile back on his face.

you barely pay attention to his words. you’re thinking of his earlier advice. do whatever the fuck you want, huh?

“hey, where do you live?” you ask him, and it earns you a cocked brow.

“on the other side of the city,” he tells you, and something tugs even more at the corner of his lips. like he can tell something good’s coming. like he can feel his influence seep into you.

and you’re easily influenced, he can tell, when your expression changes from that unsure, meek, timid little mouse to something more… mischievous, more bold.

“take me there?” you ask him, sounding more like you’re challenging him not to. probably because you can faintly see how turned on he is right now, after your kiss. now even more, probably, now that you’re not so boring.

a boring boyfriend is sure to make a boring girl. sukuna wants to change that, corrupt that thought.

he pulls you in this time, a hand round the back of your neck as he knocks the wind out your lungs with his kiss—a warning of what he can be like, of how he likes to be in control.

and he doesn’t usually like to fuck around on valentine’s day. doesn’t like the attachment that some girls form over physical intimacy. but fuck, why do you make him want to make an exception?

“you sure, princess? last chance to back out,” he warns you, forehead pressed against yours, breath ghosting your lips, a flurry of honks as cars pass around his car because he’s cutting lanes without even knowing it. “i won’t let you go till the morning.”

it’s scary. it’s scary, and foreign, and thrilling.

addictive.

you’re pretty sure you won’t regret it. like, seventy percent.

sukuna isn’t someone with lots of friends. with his popularity, it’s a feat. rumors say he’s insufferable. impossible to get along with. that’s from the numerous people who’ve had to do group projects with him or those who train under him in his mma club.

apparently, only uraume can tolerate him. you don’t know much about that person though, you rarely see them around.

but even though he doesn’t have much close friends, he doesn’t lack people to talk to. evidently, by the way he’s in this party, leaning against a wall in the corner and yet people constantly gravitate towards him.

other than the fact that the mma club had just gotten first place at the state-level championships, what else do people have to look for him for? give a girl a chance is what you think.

you went all this way to an off-campus party at whose house you don’t even know, all for a shot to maybe talk to sukuna and looks like you probably won’t. especially not when mrs long legs with blonde hair abruptly cuts in front of you while you’re walking towards him and so readily snakes an arm around him like he’s her property.

frustrated, you just shake your head and decide you’re done with this.

out in the porch, you light up a cigarette, taking a deep breath and feeling the chill in your throat before you slowly exhale. fuck this, you think. maybe you and sukuna just aren’t in the cards.

“you smoke?”

that all-too-familiar voice snaps you out of your inner lament, a familiar pair of unbothered red eyes staring at you. he’s got a cigarette in his mouth, hand gesturing for you to lend him a lighter. you do, you toss it to him, trying to calm your racing heart.

this is the first time he’s spoken to you. even if you’ve heard him speak before, his voice sounds much sexier up close. especially when he’s not scolding at something.

back in the house, mrs long legs must be fuming, you think. but she’s none of your concern.

“didn’t take you for a smoker,” you tell him when he tosses your lighter back to you.

he chuckles, and you like that sound somehow. it’s not one you hear easily. or at all, now that you think about it. “what, just because i wrestle?” he snorts, rolling his eyes, and there’s something so sexy about the way he looks when he exhales, the smoke leaving his nostrils and mouth in a straight line. “did todo invite you?”

todo. todo aoi. vice captain of the team and an okay friend you have that takes the same finance module as you do. mostly you just get him to tutor you, because despite his main identity of being in love with a certain idol, he’s actually one of the smartest guys you know.

you nod, taking another deep drag. “mhm.”

sukuna’s right next to you now, ignoring people’s attempts to call him back into the house. you can feel his bare arms brushing yours just slightly. you curse him inwardly for wearing a muscle tank; he looks hot.

“why’d you come? ‘s not like you’re super close with him either.”

you bite your inner cheek, suppressing a grin. if that tells you anything, it’s just that sukuna’s been observing you. a small win that you’ll celebrate later.

“oh, i don’t know,” you exhale sharply, flicking the cigarette away to the far corner of the yard before turning to face him. “maybe i just wanted to see the guy that’s been asking todo to invite me more often.”

sukuna chokes on the smoke, a mildly annoyed look on his face, though he’s quick to dispose of it. “fucking todo,” he mutters under his breath before mirroring your position, offering you a drag of his cigarette. “can’t help myself, you’re kinda hot.”

“just kinda? i’m disappointed,” you scrunch your nose, taking a puff and handing it back to him, your lipstick stain on the rim. sukuna doesn’t mind.

he takes a step closer to you, and you notice how there are tattoos running down the sides of his body too. “you want my praise, princess?”

smug. so smug.

you shrug. “maybe.”

“mm, i only give those to my girlfriends.”

“you got one now?”

“nope.” sukuna flicks the cigarette in the same direction you did.

“oh, well i guess that position’s open then.”

sukuna’s just slightly taken aback that you’re this forward. “sure you wanna fight for that position, princess?”

and he’s not sure why, but he’s the one that’s trying to calm himself down when you close the gap between you, your chest pressed against his. you’re hot, so hot.

you shake your head. “nah, i wouldn’t fight for it. but i bet you’d give it to me.”

and sukuna thinks you have the sexiest voice he’s ever heard. you’re chuckling too now, feeling how hard he’s gotten. fuck. you’re gonna be the death of him.

you’re so dangerous. sukuna bets you’re the kind of girl who sees what she wants and goes to get it. he’s not averse to that. especially if who you want is him.

fuck, he thinks he wants you too.

before today, maybe he’d just chalk it up to him thinking you’re hot. now? not anymore.

and your eyes—the way you bat those eyelashes up at him. fuck, he really wants you right now. that’s why when you lean up, he’s quick to place an arm behind you, hoisting you up, letting you wrap your arms around his hips as you kiss him.

you giggle against his lips, feeling just how much he does want you. looks like it’s reciprocal. and you appreciate how much he’s trying not to just grind himself against you, but as much as you’re interested in him, you’re not going to let him get you that easily.

it’s almost addictive already, hearing him groan into your mouth and you really really want to just get him in bed but fuck your morals, really.

so you pull away, and you can only see him heavy-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and shiny and you have to forcefully pull away to get him to let you down. it’s almost cute how much he wants this, you.

“i’m not that easy, ryo,” you whisper, wondering if he’ll just bail.

but he doesn’t. instead, he just smirks back at you. “nicknames already? cute,” he says, brushing your cheek with the back of his index finger.

you reluctantly pull yourself away, taking a step back. “two praises in one day? i’d say you’re already whipped for me.”

“maybe i just wanna fuck.”

“hmm, i don’t think so.”

sukuna scoffs. you’re smug. so smug. he kind of likes that.

and when you start to walk away from him, he calls out to you by your name. you’re halfway through the yard but you whirl back around to look at him, expectantly.

“not even gonna give me your number?” he could get it from todo, but that’s just not how sukuna does things.

you feign consideration, titling your head before you shake it. “maybe after tomorrow, i got that presentation to rush for. gotta change all my fucking ugly comic sans into calibri and poppins.” you grin.

which is a bunch of bullshit but sukuna doesn’t totally hate that you’re playing hard to get so he lets you win this time, watches as you disappear down the road. he shakes his head. he’s been noticing you all night. did you really just come all the way to this party to get him to talk to you?

you’re ridiculous.

fuck, he might actually like you.

and there actually is a presentation because sukuna takes that same module but he’s been too swamped with championships to notice. but hey, at least now he has something to look forward to seeing in the morning.

the next day, your presentation goes well. you’re one of the first few, and sukuna’s a few people after. he concedes, you’re actually a heck of a presenter. interesting, engaging, hardworking.

and maybe his first slide will embarrass you but he’s not one to care. especially since you made him hard then bailed last night.

it does. it really really does.

because everyone expects a mediocre title slide. even you. but when sukuna, whose the top of your class, starts sharing his screen, you nearly choke on your coffee. the heat rushes to your cheeks.

on the projector, in big, fucking ugly comic sans characters are the words: Y/N, what’s your number?

and standing in front of the screen is ryomen sukuna, handsome as heck in his suit, hands in his pockets, smirking at you like he’s proud of it.