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hii there love ur writing!! was wondering if u could write something based off pushing it down and praying with joe
pushing it down and praying
joe keery x reader
val speaks - gosh this song KILLS me i love lizzy n the music video w tucker omfg +++ this was lowk depressing but theres a hopefull ending bc im crazy like that
word count: 3.1k
this kinda felt like a sad poem ๐
you try, at first. thatโs the part nobody sees, how hard you actually try.
people think moving on is one clean decision, like closing a door and locking it behind you. like one day you wake up and decide that what you had is over, and suddenly your heart falls into line. suddenly your body forgets what it was built around. suddenly your mind stops wandering down old roads.
but it isnโt like that. itโs never like that.
itโs waking up in the morning and reaching for your phone, half asleep, ready to text joe something stupid and small. some passing thought, some joke only heโd understand, some picture of the sky because he always liked when it looked pink, and then remembering, in that quiet ugly way, that he is not yours to text anymore.
itโs hearing a song in a coffee shop and feeling grief hit you so suddenly you have to step outside because joe used to hum that exact melody under his breath when he was cooking, when he was driving, when he was half asleep with his head in your lap, fingers tracing meaningless shapes into your skin.
itโs learning that losing someone isnโt one moment itโs a thousand tiny losses that keep finding you.
and then thereโs him, the new one.
good in ways that should matter more than they do.
he asks about your day and actually listens to the answer. remembers names you mention in passing. notices when your smile doesnโt quite reach your eyes. he doesnโt push when you go quiet, he just sits beside you in it, like silence isnโt something that needs fixing.
there is nothing wrong with him.
thatโs what makes the guilt so unbearable.
because you keep waiting for there to be a flaw big enough to justify what you feel. some cruelty, some carelessness, some sharp edge you can point to and say, there, thatโs why this isnโt working.
but there isnโt one.
he is kind, he is thoughtful, he loves gently, carefully, like holding something breakable.
and still, somewhere ugly and hidden in your chest, thereโs a constant quiet comparison happening that you cannot shut off.
itโs instinct now.
breathing-level instinct.
the way he laughs, softer than joeโs.
the way he dresses, neater, cleaner, missing joeโs careless kind of cool, the wrinkled shirts and old rings and jackets that smelled like cedar and smoke and home.
the way he kisses you goodbye and all you can think is joe kissed like he meant it, like every goodbye carried the weight of not wanting to leave.
you hate that your mind does this. hate that it turns every moment into a tally. hate that joe keeps winning contests he doesnโt even know heโs in.
youโll sit across from this man at dinner, candlelight flickering between you, his face open and hopeful and warm, and while heโs talking, your brain betrays you.
joe wouldโve ordered for both of us because he knew exactly what i liked. joe wouldโve made me laugh by now. joe wouldโve caught that iโm tired just by the way iโm holding my shoulders.
joe would know.
joe would know.
joe would know.
it becomes a rhythm in your head so constant it starts to feel like punishment.
because it isnโt just when youโre alone itโs everywhere.
youโll be walking beside him and catch yourself looking at his hands, remembering joeโs long fingers, silver rings cool against your skin, hands that always found you in crowds, at parties, under tables, in sleep.
youโll catch a glimpse of dark hair in passing and your heart will jump into your throat before logic catches up.
youโll hear someone laugh too loudly in the street and turn around, stupidly hopeful for half a second.
you start seeing joe everywhere because some part of you is still searching, like love trained your body to find him, and now it doesnโt know how to stop.
and the worst part, the part youโd never admit out loud, is that sometimes you donโt want to stop.
because remembering him hurts, yes, but forgetting him feels worse.
forgetting feels like betrayal, like admitting those years were something disposable.
and they werenโt.
god, they werenโt.
joe was woven into every part of your life for so long that even now, after everything, there are pieces of you that still feel shaped by his hands.
the books on your shelf he recommended. the music you love because he played it one rainy afternoon and suddenly it became yours too. the phrases you say that came from him. the habits you picked up. the version of yourself that existed because he loved you a certain way.
people talk about heartbreak like itโs losing another person but sometimes heartbreak is losing who you were with them.
sometimes itโs grieving a version of yourself that only existed in that love and nothing compares after that.
nothing fits right.
not because nobody else is enough but because nobody else is him.
late at night is when honesty gets sharpest.
when the world goes quiet and thereโs nowhere left to hide from yourself.
thatโs when you finally admit what youโve spent months trying not to say.
you miss him in everything.
in joy, in sadness, in boredom, in beauty.
you miss telling him things. miss being known by him. miss the ease of him, the certainty, the way loving him had once felt as natural as breathing. not effort, not work, not confusion, just this deep unquestionable knowing.
him.
always him.
and no matter how much time passes, no matter how many dates you go on, no matter how hard you try to build something new your heart keeps turning backward.
like a flower stubbornly facing an old sun.
you want peace.
you want freedom from it.
you want to stop measuring every person against a memory that glows brighter with distance.
you want to want whatโs in front of you.
you want to stop looking for joe in strangers, in lovers, in crowded rooms, in songs, in dreams, in every beautiful thing that brushes against your life.
but some loves do not leave cleanly.
some loves stay lodged in your ribs, they live there quietly. aching softly. beating alongside your heart.
and maybe thatโs the cruel truth of it.
no matter who reaches for your hand now, some quiet place inside you will always be reaching back for his.
-
the cruelest part is that new love is good for you.
thatโs what makes it so complicated, so impossible to explain without sounding ungrateful, or selfish, or hopelessly stuck in something you were supposed to have outgrown by now.
because he is good, steady in a way your life hasnโt been in years.
solid, dependable, warm like lamplight. not dazzling, not blinding, but constant. always there when he says heโll be there. always answering when he calls. always showing up, always following through, always meaning exactly what he says.
there is no guessing with him.
no wondering where he is.
no checking the time and trying to calculate what city heโs in, what timezone heโs crossing, whether heโs asleep, whether heโs working, whether heโs too busy to miss you the way you miss him.
there are no late-night cancellations because work came first again.
no promises made with full sincerity that life still somehow swallowed whole.
no loving someone with one eye on the door because you know theyโll have to leave again soon.
with this man, there is peace.
a kind of peace you used to beg the universe for.
quiet mornings together where nothing feels rushed. slow dinners that turn into slower conversations. weekends planned in advance and kept. texts answered in minutes, not hours.
arms around you at night, every night, not only in brief windows stolen between flights and schedules and obligations.
he is stable.
god, he is stable.
and after how chaotic loving joe became near the end, after months of trying to make something sacred survive inside impossible timing, that stability feels like water after drought.
it heals parts of you that were worn raw. parts you didnโt even realise had hardened from disappointment.
for the first time in a long time, your nervous system unclenches.
you stop bracing. stop expecting plans to fall apart. stop preparing yourself to be let down.
this love is soft where your last love became sharp.
gentle where it became exhausting, safe where it became uncertain.
and still, still, there is this hollow place in you he cannot touch.
not because he isnโt trying but because nobody reaches into you the way joe did. that is what haunts you.
he is stable.
joe was deep.
thereโs a difference so painful it feels almost unfair.
this man knows how to care for you.
joe knew how to undo you.
he knew the parts of you you never showed anyone.
the ugly parts. the desperate parts. the fiercely ambitious parts, the wounded parts, the jealous parts, the frightened little pieces tucked away beneath all your polish and charm and practiced coolness.
joe looked straight at every hidden thing in you and loved you there, too.
especially there.
that kind of knowing changes a person.
that kind of love cuts past skin, past bone, straight into whatever makes you who you are.
and once youโve been loved like that, ordinary love, even beautiful love, can feel like standing on the shore remembering what it was like to drown.
because joe ruined you for surface-level feeling.
with him, everything meant something.
every glance held history. every touch held memory. every silence said as much as words.
you could sit in a room together saying nothing and still feel completely consumed by each other.
he understood your moods before you did. heard what you meant beneath what you said. knew exactly when your smile was fake, when your anger was really hurt, when your silence meant come closer instead of give me space.
he got to places in you no one else ever has, places youโre not even sure anyone else sees.
and this new man loves what he can reach.
but joe reached the parts buried deepest.
sometimes you hate that depth because depth like that comes with wreckage.
joe loved intensely, but intensity has teeth.
there were nights you cried because loving him meant constantly sharing him with the world. his work, his obligations, the endless pull of everything that needed pieces of him.
there were weeks where you felt lonely inside your own relationship, moments when loving him felt like holding onto water.
beautiful, life-giving water, but impossible to keep. and still, if someone asked what love felt like, your mind would go to joe.
not because it was easy because it was everything. because it touched every nerve. because it reached so deep into you that even now, long after, he still lives there.
meanwhile this new love settles around you like fresh linen, like clean sheets, like quiet rain tapping at windows.
it asks nothing violent of your heart. it does not consume you. it does not wreck you. it simply loves you.
and you wish that was enough.
you lie awake beside him sometimes, listening to the even rhythm of his breathing, staring into darkness with guilt sitting heavy on your chest, because what he offers is everything you once said you wanted.
and yet some aching part of you still longs for the thing that cracked you open.
the thing that burned hotter.
the thing that was never calm, never easy, never simple, but real in a way that still makes everything else feel faint around the edges.
one gives you peace, the other gave you feeling so intense it still echoes.
and maybe thatโs your tragedy, that what heals you is not the same thing that moves you.
that whatโs good for your heart is not what makes it pound.
that somewhere inside you, no matter how softly youโre loved now, there is still a part of you standing in the ruins of what you had with joe, touching the wreckage like something holy, thinking nothing has ever reached this far into me since.
-
after a while, you leave.
not because he did anything wrong.
that somehow makes it sadder.
if he had been cruel, if he had been careless, if he had broken your heart in some clean, obvious way maybe it would have been easier to walk away. maybe guilt wouldnโt have followed you home like a shadow. maybe his face wouldnโt still visit you in quiet moments, that hurt sort of confusion in his eyes, the kind that comes from trying your best and still somehow not being enough.
but he was good, and that was exactly the problem.
because every kind thing he did became another stone in your chest. it was another reminder that he was giving you everything he had, and you were standing there hollow-handed, unable to return it the way he deserved.
loving him felt less like love and more like debt.
a debt you could never repay.
and eventually, the guilt of that became unbearable.
so one rainy tuesday night, sitting across from him in that little apartment that smelled like coffee, knees tucked beneath you on his couch, you finally tell the truth.
not the whole truth.
never the whole truth.
you donโt tell him your heart is still wrapped around someone elseโs name like ivy around brick.
you donโt tell him that every laugh, every kiss, every quiet sunday morning somehow circled back to joe.
you donโt tell him he was losing a race he never knew he was running.
you only tell him the kindest version of honesty:
โyou deserve someone whoโs all here.โ
your voice breaks on the word all.
because you know you never were.
his face falls in that slow, painful way.
โi thought you wereโ he says softly.
and god that nearly kills you. because you thought maybe you could be, too.
you leave anyway. you cry in your car. you cry in the shower. you cry folding laundry because grief is stupid and inconvenient and apparently woven into everything.
and then, nothing.
no dates. no flirting. no trying.
just silence.
just you.
you decide maybe love is something youโre bad at now.
maybe some people only get one great love, and everything after that is just trying to recreate a feeling that belonged to a different life.
maybe solitude is cleaner.
lighter.
maybe no one touching your heart means no one can bruise it.
right?
right.
except loneliness has a voice.
and in quiet apartments, empty beds, long nights where sleep wonโt come, that voice gets loud.
it sounds a lot like memory.
a lot like joe.
and then one night your phone rings.
2:17 a.m.
you almost donโt answer until you see his name.
joe.
just that.
four letters that still somehow make your stomach drop like youโre nineteen again, like your whole body remembers him before your mind can catch up.
for one stupid second, you just stare.
heartbeat loud.
lungs tight.
then you answer immediately.
of course you do.
there was never another outcome.
โhello?โ
silence.
then breathing.
ragged, uneven breathing.
and then a sound that turns your blood cold.
joe crying.
not sniffling, not quiet tears, crying.
full, broken, shaking sobs like something inside him has finally split open.
you sit straight up so fast the blankets tangle around your legs.
โjoe?โ
your voice comes out thin, terrified.
โhey- hey, what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?โ
for half a second, you think heโs drunk.
he sounds wrecked enough for it.
but then he speaks, and thereโs none of that familiar blur to him, no slur, no looseness, no haze.
just raw pain, ugly and sharp and sober.
stone cold sober.
which is somehow worse.
โi canโt do this anymoreโ he chokes out.
your chest tightens painfully.
โdo what?โ
a shaky breath. another quiet, wrecked sound.
โall of it.โ
his voice cracks apart.
โeverything feels fucking empty.โ
you close your eyes.
you can picture him perfectly. hunched over somewhere dark, hair in his face, hand pressed hard over his mouth like heโs trying to hold himself together and failing miserably.
and when he talks again, his voice is softer.
destroyed.
โeverythingโs been shit since you left.โ
your breath catches.
โjoe-โ
โno, let me say it, please- please just let me say it.โ
so you do, and he spills.
completely.
like heโs been carrying it alone too long.
how every city feels the same. how every room feels hollow. how laughter sounds fake. how nothing tastes right. how nothing means anything.
how he keeps waiting to care about life the way he used to and he just doesnโt.
then he laughs bitterly through tears.
this small, broken sound that hurts worse than crying.
โi miss stupid shit.โ
your throat tightens.
โwhat stupid shit?โ
another wet inhale.
โyour fucking ice-cold feet touching me in bed.โ
despite everything, a breathless laugh escapes you through tears gathering in your eyes.
joe keeps going.
voice trembling.
โyou yelling at me about laundry like i murdered somebody because i left socks on the floor.โ
you laugh harder now, crying with it.
โyou stealing my shirts, you hogging blankets, you talking during movies, you acting like you hate when i touch you then climbing into my lap five seconds later.โ
every little complaint is wrapped in love so obvious it aches.
things he used to roll his eyes at with a smile hiding at the corners of his mouth.
things he secretly adored.
things that made up the shape of loving you.
then his voice goes quiet.
โi miss being loved by you.โ
silence fills everything, thick and shaking.
and before you can stop yourself, before pride or caution or logic can catch up, you whisper into the dark-
โloving you never stopped.โ
the line goes completely still.
even his breathing catches.
you cover your mouth instantly, like maybe you can shove the confession back in. too late. because itโs true, it always was.
thatโs why you answered.
thatโs why one ring was enough.
thatโs why if he called at any hour, in any state, after any amount of time, your heart would still turn toward him instantly like it had been waiting.
because some terrible, beautiful part of you still belongs to joe.
always will.
even if you had stayed with that good man, even if you had built a whole life with someone else, some selfish, awful, honest piece of you still would have answered joe in a flash.
still would have dropped everything for the sound of his voice breaking. still would have come running.
of course you would.
because for all the trying, all the distance, all the pretending when it comes to joe, it has always been him.
only him.
and on the other end of the line, your confession hanging sacred and trembling between you, joe lets out one shaky breath and whispers, voice wrecked with relief,
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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synopsis: เผ sukuna doesn't do soft. he doesn't do sweet. that's something everybody knows, including you - especially you. so you don't do anything, don't bother extending the fondness you have for him into something...more. you and him just are.
but for some reason he can't do the same, and it fucks him up - big time.
ใโฆ โword count: 3.1k
Pushing It Down And Praying (Pt. 1)
(Lizzy McAlpine)
โถ๏ธโขแแ||แ|แ||||แแ|แโข
โข(part two: harder.) , (part three: in between.), (part four: you know just how to get to me.)
โ. ๐ หa/n: hiiii!! this is my first ever (finished) chapter (?) of a fanfic that i've ever posted for public consumption! hope you like it! let me know if i should follow it up with a sequel hehehehe!!
it's all you can muster when sukuna finds himself at your door yet again, a bruise blossoming along his cheekbone, a cut on his temple, bottom lip split and bleeding down his chin like he'd just been hit by someone with several rings on. maybe he had been. you've stopped freaking out over every little wound he comes to you with.
"'s none of your business, babe."
there it is - that strange attitude he has around you, like he doesn't want to be there. it's a lie, you both know it is. if sukuna didn't want to be around you, he wouldn't be. you've seen him just up and leave during lectures, had even heard a rumour that he'd given the finger to one of the professors once, so somehow, this - having him take the time and effort to come to you after a long, hard day - was a lot more flattering than how it seemed to the naked eye.
you barely have time to step aside before he's pushing past you, all six foot four of him, with muscles that you know are rippling beneath his black hoodie. unusually enough, you've managed to detach yourself from the little voice in the back of your head that froths at the mouth whenever he's near.
you're smart enough to know not to fuck around with guys like him - guys who fuck for one night and leave you for the next warm body that breathes, guys who hide the fact that they're scared of the emotional intimacy.
and sukuna, he likes that about you, in his own gruff, stupid way. he likes the fact that you want nothing to do with him, that your eyes don't linger on his form the way his vermilion ones can't seem to separate themselves from yours. so he sits on your bed that looks too small for him, the springs creaking under his weight, and he musters up the strength not to snap at you when your question thickens the air.
"yeah, i won." he mutters, and you close the door, shutting it with a tiny click! that almost has him flinching, because he's not used to the domesticity of it all, watching you move about your dorm like nothing is eating him up.
you don't notice the suffocating burden of his stare, unblinking, eerie, like he knows he shouldn't be wishing for the thing he'd buried in his chest for so long. "knocked his fuckin' teeth out."
"right." you grab the first aid kit stuffed in the back of one of your drawers (and stifle a proud smirk when you think back to utahime firmly insisting that you wouldn't need it), tugging it out from under piles of trinkets and junk, placing it on the bare space of your study desk beside him. "are you gonna tell me why you thought it was smart to get into a fight, or am i gonna have to find out through satoru?"
your chair squeaks as you sit in it, the sound of the wheels rolling over fill sukuna with an unfamiliar sense of nervousness.
he pushes it down, tries to mentally wrap his thick, tattooed hands around those weak thoughts of mushy love and unbridled want and strangle them into nonexistence.
it doesn't work.
he hears the faint clicks of the first aid kit being opened and his skin prickles with the fantastic idea of your skin on his.
looking after him. touching him.
you rip open one of the antiseptic wipe packages, the clean smell of alcohol abusing your senses while you reach for his chin and shuffle closer. sukuna tenses but doesn't fight you, he just leans closer instead, so you can clean the blood on his chin a little better, removing crimson from tanned skin to reveal the small black lines of ink that lined below his lower lip.
"you don't wanna be talkin' to gojo." he scoffs, narrowing his eyes. did you have to hold him so tenderly? like he was glass?
last week he fucked some chick who'd left red marks running up his back, still there, still stinging, but proof that he could handle intimacy when it was ugly and mean. maybe he should have you tend to those wounds, too.
"yeah?" you murmur, brows furrowed as you fold the wipe so that you can cleanse his lip a little better, huffing when he hisses in pain and wrenches his jaw free from your hold, only to relent once more when your fingers find his chin again. sukuna forces himself not to move, wincing at every flicker of pain from where you dab at the corner of his mouth. "why's that?"
would you be hurt if he told you what those scratches on his back meant? would you be jealous?
he wants you to be. (fuck- how he wants you to be-)
or would you have that same, focused look in your eyes like you did right now, so unbothered by how he came to the state that he was in?
you don't know about how hard it is to hold back, to stop staring at your lips like he wants to consume you from the inside out, to stop thinking about you in the middle of the night when his bed is too cold, and he can't help but reminisce about that time you fell asleep on him in the backseat of satoru's car, with your head on his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap like you were fine with touching him so casually-
"'cause it was him that i fucked up." the words are rough on his tongue, and you pause for the slightest moment before resuming your fussing, ripping open another small, square package of an antiseptic wipe and working on that cut by his temple, cooing as he flinches, cupping the side of his face.
his hands curl into fists as they remain still on his lap. your palm is warm. sukuna flinches a little more, away from your cleaning, for the sake of being able to press into it without suspicion. it's too perfect, he thinks, how your hand is made to mould against the angles of his face.
it wasn't much of a secret across campus that satoru and sukuna were a more twisted version of frenemies. more enemy than friend, they rarely got along. respect was strong between them, but sukuna couldn't handle more than three hours of the white-haired freak before he wanted to drive his face into the nearest brick wall. you had always said that the dislike was because they were so similar.
("like two sides of the same coin." you wrinkled your nose, briefly glancing up at him from where you quickly whisked the eggs into the cake mix, swatting at his hand and earning a derisive scoff from sukuna.
"must be some coin," he muttered, bare shoulder brushing yours through your knitted jumper, and then, quieter "his side would be uglier."
you smile. something tugs at his heart.)
"right." you say again, although this time, you sound more unimpressed. the look on your face says the same thing - it's not like you can really help it, after all, you've never had to reign in your expressions around sukuna, not when he was a hundred times worse with keeping a straight face during the most serious of situations (you really have got to get him to stop rolling his eyes when somebody says anything that prompts sympathy - it's starting to look bad on you). "โฆare you sure you won?"
he damn near chokes on his words as they all scramble to get out of him at once, and he downright glares at you, his mouth falling open at your absolute audacity. "am i sure i- are you fuckin' serious, woman? of course, i won." he snorts, folding his arms over his chest.
you try not to glance down at his arms when he does so. the effort almost kills you but you manage it. "he didn't stand a chance against me."
you nod, shrugging your shoulders, "alright. alright." there's a smile on your lips as you finish cleaning that cut on his temple - it's shallow, but deep enough to have bled down the side of his face. thanks to your good nature and wonderful medical skills, though, he'll be fine. maybe a little grumpy, but fine. "just wanted to make sure. you're telling me that if i go up to nanami and ask him who won, he'd say you?"
sukuna snorts, "shouldn't be askin' that little emo twerp anythin'. he's a friend of gojo's, remember?" a wrinkle appears between his eyebrows, and something flickers behind his eyes, dark, deep-rooted. "everybody's a friend of fuckin' gojo."
you frown. that doesn't sound like the sukuna you're usually met with. today he sounds moreโฆdefeated, a little more bitter, and he's not so irked by the thought of satoru to the point where disgust mingles with each syllable associated with him, not like how it does now.
The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him on the mattress, and his gaze doesn't budge from where he bores a hole into the carpet between his feet with his eyes. the muscle mass of sukuna has the mattress dipping, and your form slides down a little, side faintly pressing against his. he stiffens. you ignore it and place your chin on his shoulder.
god, his profile was fucking gorgeous.
that low set of his brow, the curved line of his nose, and the almost petulant slant of his lips, the strong jut of his chin, all outlined by his facial tattoos. you note the muscle in his jaw twitching, once, twice, before he stops clenching his teeth and forces himself to relax.
"what's this about, ryomen?" you whisper, wrinkling that delicate brow in the same way he notices you always do before tackling a particularly hard question. he can't deny you. not even when his pride sings otherwise, he won't deny you.
it's hard to not admire him then. you pretend you're a sponge, just soaking up all of the cursed energy he's giving out, taking the parts of himself that he just can't accept. he seems to sense it, that vibe you're giving off. muscles ease beneath your chin, and a little breath of air shoots out of his beautiful nose, like he has to physically expel his indignation at his entire life.
your chin lifts, and he misses your body heat once more. he's aching for something, for someone, for you. it's shameful, he hates himself for it. this yearning that won't dislodge its claws from his skin. he feels it scream whenever he fucks a girl he doesn't care about, feels a little piece of him die when he shows up outside of your dorm and does nothing but mope about and snarl, like it's your fault he feels like this for you.
maybe it is, partially. sukuna ryomen doesn't do affection. he doesn't do stupid shit like love or promises, and you aren't stupid enough to want that from anyone either.
the difference between you both is that you're better at handling it than he is. you don't crumble around this same foreign feeling that festers in his gut like a rot that spreads and threatens to steal every breath he takes.
"'s nothin'."
that's all he can force out of himself. it sits on his tongue, though, that confession that's just waiting to rip out of his throat. biding it's time. that's what scares him so much around you. the fact that he can't even hold himself back.
you raise an eyebrow, shaking your head but not pushing further. he was like a cat, really. you couldn't be too picky, too excited with something, otherwise he'd never repeat that behaviour again. you just had to remain a constant. stable. and sukuna never appreciated it when people were too overzealous. he liked to be in control, liked to prompt people for a reaction or emotion he'd planned for beforehand.
he liked people predictable, basically. only you weren't that. you - unbearable, tender, gentle you - didn't care about what he liked, not really. you didn't change your behaviour for him. in a world full of bastards who kissed his ass (and rightfully so), you remained the immovable object.
which is why he isn't surprised when you accept his answer, donning it like a second skin and patting his thigh thrice in solidarity.
there's the sound of rustling sheets as you move to sit just behind him, leaning back against the headboard and shifting to pull your phone out from your back pocket, your back sliding down until you've reached prime bed-rotting position against your various array of pillows.
sukuna doesn't even lift a finger. just stares at the floor between his feet and marinates in everything that had happened prior to showing up to your room. waking up that morning to that girl he'd taken home the night before, denying her fruitless attempts at trying to reach inside a chest with a heart that beats only for you-
-and then that fight with gojo. too many words thrown at each other, both reacting with sentences equally as obscene, equally as rude ("like two sides of the same coin." you'd said). sukuna closes his eyes, unclenching his fists and smoothing out his palms over his jeans, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.
โฆ
you're halfway through scrolling through whatever social media happens to take your fancy, when sukuna stirs from where he sits, leaning down to undo the laces of his boots, setting them to one side. you don't think anything of it, he's just making himself comfortable in the same way he'd done a thousand times before.
but then he grunts, taking the hem of his hoodie in his hands and lifting the fabric up over his head, letting it fall to the floor by his shoes, pulling up the sheets as he slides underneath them, joining you under the covers.
you catch a good look of his rippling muscle in your peripheral vision, allowing yourself one glance to soak up how tattooed black lines move with his tanned skin, and red irises meet yours, stubbornly looking away as he curls closer. "shut up."
you do nothing, just bite your tongue and hope that whatever sudden movements you make don't happen to scare him away.
because it isn't like you don't want this. it isn't like you don't know that sukuna mentions your name in every conversation he's ever had since he's met you, that you don't know about how he speaks so fondly about you behind your back. it's just that he's a coward.
you're lucky. he's millimetres away from you, cheek against one of your pillows as he lays on his side, facing you, glancing at your phone every once in a while as you scroll through the silly little videos shoko sends you, liking and replying with the same languid ease anyone else would have when tucked into bed and comfortable (excluding the absolute tank of a man to your left).
there's that same wrinkle between his eyebrows, like he can't help but feel a little ignored.
it's almost painful, pretending like he wasn't as close as he was, pretending like having him merely a breath away from cuddling up to you didn't over-step every rule you'd set between each other to keep your friendship simple. because that's how you both liked it, no loose ends, nothing to tie the other down.
no sex. no kisses. no hugs. just proximity and waiting.
more minutes pass by. the silence that was once calm and soothing was now charged and tense.
a long breath draws out of you, eyes still trained on your phone screen, when your lips part, trying to form words to either beckon him closer or ask him what he's doing, only he beats you to it with a quiet snarl, followed by an irritated, "fuck this shit." and suddenly sukuna is closing the distance.
his arm wraps around your waist from underneath you, the other throwing itself over your stomach, finding purchase in the fabric of your shirt, pulling you down so that he can tuck his head beneath your arm and place it against your collarbone, throwing a very heavy leg over both of yours.
his usual cologne fills your nose, rubbing off on your skin like some sort of subliminal claim, and he notices the way your breath hitches, wills you not to say a single word out loud, something you manage to pick up on with the way that he's still so tense.
because he can't help it. he can't muffle all these doubts running through his head, wondering if this is okay, (as if he's ever felt the need to clarify boundaries with anyone - sukuna ryomen didn't do reassurance, he didn't do hesitation), trying to see if you were already planning to shove him off and tell him he's ruined the friendship he'd tried so hard to keep with you by being too fucking clingy and pathetic and-
...
your fingers sift through soft, pink spikes, nails scratching his scalp at the base of his head lightly, and it's like a switch has been flipped. crimson eyes fly open, noting the way you don't show a shred of acknowledgement for what you're doing to him, like this is a normal practice between you both, your eyes trained on your phone, thumbing through your emails while every muscle in his body screams to just run fucking run because this is getting too real-
-but eventually he's putty in your hands, indulging in your warmth, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body fits every hard edge of his front like you'd been made for him.
or maybe it's the other way around. maybe he was made for you. that was more likely, sukuna thinks. it'll explain the hole in his chest when he tries to fill it with someone else.
his entire weight settles half on top of you, and politely, you shut up about how he's practically breaking your ribs, because his breathing has grown heavier, and his eyes aren't closed and playing at faux domesticity. they're half-lidded, slipping shut and being forced open manually, like the sound and feeling of your breaths hitting the crown of his head is the sweetest lullaby he's ever known.
his breathing evens, his breaths escaping his mouth in little puffs. there's something innocent about the way his usual frown melts into a peaceful expression. all for you. a devious idea forms in your head, and a quiet chuckle manages to find it's way past your lips. you click to your camera. one snapshot is all it takes.
sukuna was never one for gift-giving.
but he's given you about fifty years of blackmail in one picture.
โ. ๐ หa/n: i hope you enjoyed the fic!! once again, i'm thinking of doing a part 2, so let me know if you'd be interested in that hehe! any requests or tips are also more than welcome (sorry if he's a little bit ooc gulp)! have a good time wherever you are <3
โ. ๐ ห (a/n): update!!! part two is out now! you can find the link at the top of this post ehhehee
