PINKY UP!

every glance, every fucking word from you rolls through his head unchecked as he slouches back on his bed, muscles taut, hand already tugging his sweats down to free his cock. it’s heavy in his palm, already hard and leaking at the thought of you— at the scent of your perfume still lingering faintly on his hoodie after you borrowed it the other night.

the phone in his other hand buzzes faintly, screen lit up with you.

it’s a photo he’d saved weeks ago. nothing lewd or incriminating, just a picture you’d posted of yourself all innocent and happy, the sunlight streaming through a window catching the curve of your lips and the tilt of your head just fucking right. but he doesn’t need anything more. you’re perfect even like this— too perfect.

he spits into his palm, stroking down his shaft sluggishly, his grip tightening as his chest rises and falls unevenly. his brows furrow, his teeth dragging across his bottom lip as his mind spirals into filth, letting himself sink back into the fantasies he knows so well.

he imagines you on your knees. barely clothed, wide-eyed, eager to please but unsure if you can take him. he knows he’s big— knows the way your hand would struggle to wrap around the thick base of his length. he’d see it in your eyes, that spark of fear mingled with curiosity, glancing up at him like you didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into.

and fuck, he’d take care of you. he always would. you’re his sweet thing— you deserve nothing less. he’d thread his fingers through your hair, tighten his grip just enough to keep you in place as he pressed his cock to your soft, wet lips. you’d look so good there, dripping spit down to your chest, spluttering when he’d push in a little more, shallow but enough to make you gag around him.

his cock twitches in his grip at the thought, his jaw slacking as his abs tighten. “fuck,” he mutters, voice low and rasping in the quiet of the room, his head tipped back against the wall as he strokes himself faster.

but he’s greedy. one fantasy isn’t enough.

now you’re above him, thighs shaking as you straddle his waist, trying so fucking hard to fit him inside of you. he can picture the way your brow would tense, biting your bottom lip, your tiny hands braced against his chest as you struggle to take him deeper. he bets you’d whimper for him too, just on the edge of crying, but too stubborn to admit defeat.

“dumb little slut,” he’d mutter to you, fingers digging into your hips to guide you back down despite the way your walls would clench, trying to push him out. “‘s too much for you, huh? thought you said you could handle it?”

the pace of his fist quickens, precum spilling over the thick veins of his cock, making it slick as he strokes wildly against the tight ache pooling low in his stomach. he adjusts, leaning forward slightly and letting his slick palm roll over the angry red tip of his cock, the motion electrifying every nerve as he grits his teeth hard enough to ache.

“shit, shit—” he grunts, trying to hold himself off for just a moment longer, his head foggy with the image of you beneath him.

yeah, that’s better.

fuck you riding him. he’d pin you down to the mattress, spread your legs, hike your knees up and make it even easier to wreck you. he’d cover you completely— his massive frame eclipsing your smaller one, his hips cramming you into the squeaking mattress as he fucks into you rough, deliberate, barely pulling out before grinding back inside to hear those pathetic little whimpers spilling from your lips.

“yeah, you’d fuckin’ love that,” he mutters under his breath, his free hand gripping his thigh hard enough to leave marks as his cock throbs erratically in his hand, his pace growing sloppy. wild. instinctual at this point.

you’d beg him to slow down but wouldn’t mean it. soaked and trembling, dragging your nails down his back, pulling him closer with every thrust because no matter how much you’d cry, how much you’d gasp about how big he was, you needed him.

fuck. he can barely see straight anymore, his breathing erratic, his hips bucking into his fist as his body practically folds forward under the weight of his own pleasure.

“gonna fuckin’ cum all over you, princess,” he mutters lowly, the muscles in his thighs contracting as his knuckles whiten around his cock. “gonna fill that cute fuckin’ pussy like you were made for it—fuck—”

the pressure finally snaps, sending him spiraling into the edge of insanity. his hips roll up off the mattress as his cock twitches violently in his grip, cum spilling thick and hot over his knuckles, streaking down as his abs tense and tremble from the force of it. the sticky mess coats his hand and dribbles down his thighs, a few stray drops streaking against his still-lit phone— your angelic smile almost glowing beneath the pool of white.

“fuck,” he groans again, voice hoarse as his breathing slows, his cock softening in his grip. he sprawls lazily over the bed, his hands sticky and his mind still clouded, half-aware of the near-debilitating ache still burning faintly in his chest.

and then, for the first time in minutes, his gaze twitches toward the ceiling— toward the faint, unmistakable sound of footsteps just outside his door.

his grin stretches slow and sharp across his face.

yeah. he’s sure you heard that, princess.

what’s the harm?

after all, you are his roommate.

hey, babe. i’m going to bed early. i left dinner out for you. make sure you eat, okay? <3

you wait for a reply, but none ever comes. no read receipt, nothing. you feel your hormones creeping up on you again, that familiar ache settling in your chest before you force it down with a quiet prayer, letting your eyes flutter shut as you cling to the pillow that still smells faintly of him.

toji, meanwhile, is just pulling into the driveway, the clock on his dashboard reading 12:13 am. he exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair before stepping out of the car. guilt is etched into every corner of his mind, weighing down his broad shoulders as he unlocks the door to your shared home.

he’d broken another promise— again.

“idiot,” he mutters to himself under his breath, slipping inside the house as quietly as possible. his feet lead him toward the kitchen, where his gaze softens at the sight of the dinner you’d left him; steaming food paired with his favorite drink, and scrawled in sauce on the side of the plate? ‘i love you.’

he curses quietly under his breath but eats every bite, savoring each mouthful before heading upstairs. the ache in his chest grows heavier with every step closer to the bedroom, and when he opens the door, the sight of you curled up peacefully makes his stomach twist.

the room is dimly lit, but even in the faint light, he can see your baby bump peeking through your loose shirt, his pillow tucked securely under your head.

he looks at you like he always does— with reverence, affection, and guilt.

toji moves quietly to change, his work clothes swapped for a pair of pajama bottoms, his strong chest left bare. once ready, he slides into bed carefully, sinking into the mattress beside you.

“hey, princess,” he whispers, his large hand reaching out to gently rest on the swell of your belly. “and hey, little one,” he adds softly, his lips brushing a kiss to your covered bump.

your body stirs slightly at his movements, but you don’t wake right away, so toji lets himself linger, his face pressed against your belly as he speaks in a voice too soft for you to comprehend fully.

“i fucked up today,” he murmurs quietly to your bump, his calloused fingers tracing gentle circles along your waist. “i promised i’d be here for mommy, but i couldn’t even do that. i’m scared. i’m scared i won’t be a good husband, or a good dad. i’m trying- but sometimes it feels like it’s not enough.”

his voice cracks slightly, his brows furrowing as he presses a kiss into the fabric of your shirt.

when you finally stir fully, your soft fingers thread through his messy hair, and he flinches slightly, lifting his head to see you looking at him with nothing but love.

“she forgives you, toji,” you whisper, all drowsy and warm. “i forgive you.”

his lips twitch, and he lets out a shaky breath, pressing closer to kiss your forehead before trailing his lips down to your belly again.

“did you eat?” you ask.

he nods. “yeah. it was… perfect. you’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“you’re gonna be a good daddy, y’know,” you say softly.

he lets the words sink in, squeezing your waist gently as you both hold each other close.

“i love you,” he whispers against your neck, his voice barely audible.

“and i love you more,” you reply, smiling into the dim light of the room as you both drift into sleep, tangled and at peace.

you weren’t supposed to mean anything, but now you haunt him. you’re in the curve of every laugh that doesn’t sound like yours, in the soft scent of your shampoo that still lingers on his stupid bedsheets no matter how many times he washes them. he aches for the glimpse of you in his classes, on campus, anywhere, but you’ve tucked yourself away from his world, leaving him drowning in a sea of mistakes he’ll never get to undo.

he doesn’t even realize how bad it’s gotten until one of his frat brothers mentions, “you hear she’s been hanging out with gojo?”

fratboy!sukuna who freezes, tension coiling in his chest so hard it feels like he might snap. “gojo?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he leans back in his chair like this isn’t a big fucking deal, like his heart hasn’t just started pounding harder in his chest. “that fucking nerd? the dude who hangs around the library and pretends like he’s better than everyone?”

his brothers laugh, oblivious to the storm building in sukuna’s head. “yeah, man,” one of them replies. “he tutors her in math or chemistry or some shit. heard they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.”

that’s it. that’s all it takes to ruin whatever fragile piece of self-control sukuna has left. he sits quietly, his expression unreadable except for the sharp, tell-tale tick in his jaw. but inside, he’s seething. bitter jealousy claws at him, curling in his belly like hot poison. the image of you with gojo— gojo with his obnoxious glasses and clean-cut, self-righteous attitude— makes sukuna sick.

because sukuna knows guys like gojo. he’s thoughtful, polite, safe— the kind of guy your parents would love. the kind of guy who’d ask how your day was, who’d hold your books for you, who wouldn’t tear your clothes off the second you walk into a room. but does he fuck you stupid the way sukuna did? does he know how you squirm when someone’s fingers tweak that one spot between your thighs, or how you go from a sweet little angel to a fucking mess when he pins you down and makes you take it? no. he doesn’t know you like i do.

sukuna knows all of this. he knows gojo could never take you apart the way he can, but that doesn’t stop the bile from rising in his throat whenever he hears his friend mutter something like, “i think y/n’s into him.”

he’s not in any position to be mad. he knows that. but fuck, it doesn’t matter when gojo’s name is all he can hear, and the thought of you slipping further from his grasp turns into white-hot rage bubbling under his skin.

fratboy!sukuna who doesn’t even realize how pathetic he looks when he starts trying to fix this. it starts small— running into you “accidentally” on campus, trying to force his usual cocky grin as he leans against hallway lockers and says, “hey, stranger. you avoiding me or something?” but you barely meet his gaze, brushing past him with nothing more than a cold, “what does it matter?” he tries texting you. his fingers hover over his phone for hours, typing, deleting, then typing again until, finally, he sends, ‘we need to talk’.

no response.

so he tries another approach. he shows up to the same library you’ve started hiding in, dragging his big, hulking frame into the back corner where you sit buried behind books. your eyes widen when he says your name— always your full name, spoken with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine— and he swears he catches a flicker of emotion behind your glasses.

“just give me five minutes,” he pleads, uncharacteristically soft. not the loud, arrogant sukuna you’re used to. not the guy who always had some snarky remark ready. just a man who’s clearly losing his mind, desperate for even a crumb of your attention.

“no,” you reply shortly, returning to your notes even though your hands shake. “there’s nothing to talk about, sukuna.”

he lingers, his throat tight, fists clenched uselessly at his sides. he knows you’re shutting him out, but it doesn’t stop the words from slipping from his mouth in a low, heart-wrenching whisper, “i’m sorry.”

he’s sorry for everything— the dare, the way he couldn’t tell you sooner. but you don’t look up, even though he can see the way your pen falters just slightly in your hand.

“if you were sorry,” you murmur after a long pause. “you wouldn’t have done any of it.”

fratboy!sukuna who realizes nothing— not his smirks, not his charm— will pull you back. everything he did wrong has cemented itself too deep. you don’t believe him. not when all he’s ever been to anyone else is a walking red flag. so one night, after stewing in his jealousy and self-loathing, after imagining your stupid fucking times with gojo on a loop, sukuna snaps. he shows up at your dorm unannounced, pounding on the door like his life depends on it.

you groan when you crack the door open, only to freeze when you see him. he’s disheveled— dark under-eyes, hair a wilder mess than usual. it’s like he hasn’t slept in days. “sukuna,” you hiss as you glance over your shoulder for your roommate. “what the hell—”

“are you seeing him?” he blurts suddenly, leaning into the doorway, his low voice strained and almost... pleading? he’s never looked at you like this before, not with his walls broken down, not this fucking wrecked over anyone.

“you’re showing up at my dorm for this?” you spit, defensive. but when your voice wavers, he knows the question landed exactly how he wanted it. you’re shaken, even if you hide it well.

“i just need to know,” he says, softer now, his large hand pressing flat to the doorframe. “is it true? is he the one you’re fucking around with now?”

you exhale sharply, trying to slam the door, but sukuna pushes it back open. “damn it, y/n,” he growls, his voice breaking slightly. “just fucking talk to me. does he make you happy? does he even know the first thing about you? does he make you feel the way i did when i—” he cuts himself off, swallowing roughly, like admitting any of this aloud hurts more than he expected.

you glare, crossing your arms tight over your chest. “why does it matter? you don’t get to be mad, sukuna.”

“because i love you!” he shouts suddenly, louder than he intended, the words punctuated with raw frustration. they echo down the hallway of your dorm, a sharp admission that knocks the air from your lungs.

everything stalls for a second as you try to process his words— the way his voice cracked, the way his broad shoulders sag after he says it like he’s finally given in to whatever feeling he’s been fighting. “i love you,” he repeats, quieter this time, more desperate. “fuck, i’ve loved you from the moment you smiled at me. i know i don’t deserve you. i know i fucked it all up, but i—”

“stop.” your hand trembles on the door, cutting him off even though tears sting your eyes. because this is what you wanted to hear. this is everything you wished he’d told you weeks ago, before everything shattered. but now? now you don’t know if you can trust him.

“i meant it,” he mutters, his tall frame leaning closer as if begging you to believe him. “none of this was supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to fall for you. but i did. i don’t want anyone else, y/n. just... you.”

for a moment, you almost let yourself believe him. almost let yourself fall for that soft, pleading look pooling in his sharp crimson eyes. but instead, you wipe your tear-streaked cheek and whisper, “it’s too late.” and then, before he can stop you, the door clicks shut in his face.

fratboy!sukuna who stands dumbfounded in front of your door for what feels like hours, his head tilted back against the frame as he curses himself for never realizing what he had until it was gone. no parties feel the same, no walks across campus, not even the stupid dares his friends egg him on for. he used to own this place, the loudest and cockiest guy on campus, but now he feels like a ghost— his head spinning with the sound of your voice telling him it’s too late.

maybe it is. maybe it isn’t. he has no idea. all sukuna knows is that no matter who else he touches, no matter what he does to fill the hole you’ve left behind, nothing will ever come close to you.

⊹　 + * 　 ⊹ 　 °. * ✧

idk if i’m very good at this angst shit, but i tried LOL sukuna is suffering real bad in this fswsfs. also, are y’all taking him back or cutting him off for good ??? 👀👀👀👀👀👀 #lmk