He was quiet. Severe. Difficult to approach. The kind of man who could spend an entire party standing in a corner with a drink in one hand and a look on his face that discouraged strangers from speaking to him. He hated small talk, ignored group chats, and once left a birthday dinner without saying goodbye because, in his words, “I had already attended.”

Naturally, you assumed he understood personal space.

You were wrong.

Horribly wrong.

Sukuna understood personal space perfectly well.

He simply did not believe yours applied to him.

The change had happened almost immediately after you started dating. Before that, he had been restrained. Controlled. He would sit beside you without touching, walk you home with his hands in his pockets, and offer you his jacket with the stiff seriousness of a man performing a legal obligation.

Then you kissed him for the first time.

After that, Sukuna became a problem.

If you sat on the couch, he either pulled you onto his lap or stretched out with his head resting heavily across your thighs. If you tried to move, he opened one red eye and stared at you as though you had violated a binding contract.

“Where are you going?”

“To get water.”

“There’s water here.”

“That glass is yours.”

“You can have it.”

“I don’t want your water.”

“Why?”

“Because you drank out of it.”

His expression would darken. “You kiss me.”

“That is different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

He would stare at you for a moment, then tighten one arm around your waist before closing his eyes again.

“Sit down.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You’re moving too much.”

“You are literally lying on me.”

“Yes.”

That was always his answer.

Yes.

As though acknowledging the crime made it acceptable.

Cooking was worse.

Sukuna could have been in another room, occupied with something completely unrelated, and the moment you began chopping vegetables, he would appear behind you like an enormous, tattooed ghost. He would press against your back, wrap both arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder while you tried to use a knife safely.

“Sukuna,” you would say.

“What?”

“I’m cooking.”

“I can see that.”

“You are making it difficult.”

“I’m standing.”

“You’re hanging on me.”

“I’m barely touching you.”

His chest would be pressed against your entire back. His arms would be locked around your middle. His face would be buried against the side of your neck.

“Barely?”

“Yes.”

“You are six foot four.”

“Not my fault.”

“You are breathing in my ear.”

“That is generally how breathing works.”

You would turn your head just enough to glare at him.

He would kiss your cheek.

And somehow, inexplicably, that would become the end of the argument.

He followed you into the bathroom too.

Not every time. He had boundaries.

They were simply strange boundaries.

If you were doing your hair, he leaned in the doorway and watched.

If you were washing your face, he stood beside you and examined his own reflection like he had also suddenly developed a skincare routine.

If you were brushing your teeth, he brushed his teeth at the same time, even if he had already done it.

The first time you realized this, you had watched him reach for his toothbrush at nearly eleven at night.

“You already brushed your teeth.”

He froze with the toothpaste in hand.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“When?”

“After dinner.”

“That was earlier.”

“It was an hour ago.”

He stared at you in the mirror.

You stared back, toothbrush hanging from your mouth.

Then he squeezed toothpaste onto the brush anyway.

“You’re going to damage your gums.”

“My gums are strong.”

“That does not mean—”

He started brushing.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

His mouth foamed slightly around the toothbrush as he smirked.

You had realized then that he was not brushing his teeth because he needed to.

He simply wanted to stand beside you.

That was the thing about Sukuna.

To everyone else, he appeared profoundly uninterested in human attachment.

He did not hug his friends. He barely answered messages. He had once stared at a coworker who tried to pat his shoulder until the poor man quietly apologized.

But with you, he needed constant contact.

His hand on your thigh beneath restaurant tables.

His fingers hooked through your belt loop while you stood in line.

His palm resting against the back of your neck while you watched television.

His leg pressed against yours in bed.

If there was a way for Sukuna to be touching you, he found it.

Sometimes he invented one.

You were convinced that half the things he claimed required help did not.

“Come here,” he would say from the bedroom.

You would walk in and find him standing in front of the mirror with a perfectly reachable zipper at the back of his jacket.

“What?”

“Help.”

“With what?”

“This.”

“You can reach that.”

“No.”

“Sukuna.”

“My shoulder hurts.”

“You went to the gym this morning.”

“Exactly.”

You would sigh and walk toward him anyway, and the moment your fingers touched the zipper, his hands would find your hips.

“You are such a liar.”

He would meet your gaze in the mirror.

“Yes.”

At night, his clinginess became nearly unbearable.

Sukuna did not cuddle politely.

He did not simply place an arm around your waist and remain on his side of the bed like a civilized man.

He consumed space.

Every night, he pulled you against him until there was no air left between your bodies. One arm went beneath your neck, the other wrapped around your waist, one leg wedged between yours. Sometimes he tucked your head under his chin. Sometimes he buried his face against your hair. Sometimes he draped himself over you so thoroughly you woke up convinced a building had collapsed.

You tried reasoning with him.

“Sukuna, we have a king-sized bed.”

“I know.”

“You are using three-quarters of it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are on my side.”

“You’re on my side.”

“I went to sleep over there.”

“And now you’re here.”

“Because you dragged me.”

He would blink at you sleepily, hair messy, eyes half-open.

“You came willingly.”

“I was asleep.”

“Exactly.”

You had developed a system.

You let him cuddle you until he fell asleep. Then, once his breathing grew deep and his grip loosened, you carefully slipped from his arms and moved toward your side of the bed.

Most nights, it worked.

Sometimes, half-asleep, he followed.

You would wake up an hour later with him attached to you again, one arm locked around your waist like his body had detected the distance and corrected it without his permission.

It was ridiculous.

It was also, though you hated admitting it, a little adorable.

Sukuna, who looked like he would rather bite through glass than admit he needed anyone, slept best with his face buried against your neck.

Still, there were limits.

And that summer evening, with the heat hanging thick and unmoving around the house, you reached yours.

The air conditioner was working, technically, but it had been fighting a losing battle against the brutal temperature outside all day. The bedroom felt warm despite the fan turning overhead. The sheets were too heavy. Your skin felt sticky after your shower, and even the thin cotton sleep shirt you wore clung uncomfortably to your back.

You were exhausted.

You had spent the day running errands, answering messages, cleaning, and pretending the heat had not slowly drained your soul from your body.

By the time you climbed into bed, you wanted only darkness, cold air, and silence.

Sukuna came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, shirtless, wearing dark sleep pants low on his hips. He turned off the bathroom light and crossed the room, looking completely unaffected by the heat because the universe had favorites and apparently he was one of them.

He slid into bed behind you.

You felt the mattress dip.

Then his arm wrapped around your waist.

His chest pressed against your back.

One leg pushed between yours.

His face tucked against the nape of your neck.

You closed your eyes.

For approximately ten seconds, you tried to tolerate it.

Then his breath warmed your skin.

Your eye twitched.

“Sukuna.”

“Mhm?”

“You’re hot.”

His arm tightened.

“I know.”

You turned your head slightly. “Not like that.”

His mouth curved against your shoulder. “You should be more specific.”

“I mean your body temperature.”

“That sounds less flattering.”

“You are making me sweat.”

“You were already sweating.”

“You are making it worse.”

He gave a sleepy hum and pressed a kiss beneath your ear.

Normally, that would have softened you.

Tonight, it made you feel approximately twelve degrees warmer.

You shifted forward.

Sukuna followed.

You shifted again.

He followed again.

You stared into the darkness.

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“You’re following me.”

“I’m lying down.”

“You moved.”

“You moved first.”

“Because you were on me.”

“I’m always on you.”

“Yes, that is the problem.”

He went quiet.

You felt a small, immediate stab of guilt, but you were too tired and too warm to soften the truth.

You turned carefully in his arms to face him.

His eyes were open now, faintly visible in the dim light.

You placed one hand against his chest.

“Baby,” you said gently, “can you please go to your side tonight?”

He stared at you.

Not angry.

Not offended.

Just still.

You continued, trying to keep your voice soft.

“I’m really hot, and I’m tired, and I need a little space to sleep.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Space.”

“Yes.”

“From me.”

You sighed. “Not emotionally.”

He watched you for another second.

Then, without a word, Sukuna released you.

He rolled away.

You exhaled in relief, stretching your legs beneath the sheet.

Finally.

Cool air touched the back of your neck. The mattress no longer felt like an oven filled with muscle.

You closed your eyes.

Then you heard movement.

The mattress shifted again.

A second later, it rose.

Your eyes opened.

You turned over.

Sukuna was standing beside the bed.

You blinked at him.

“What are you doing?”

“You wanted space.”

“I meant go to your side.”

“I am.”

“You are off the bed.”

He looked down at the floor.

Then back at you.

“This is my side now.”

You stared.

He stared back.

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“You’re standing.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You requested distance.”

“I requested that you move twelve inches.”

“You did not specify.”

“I said your side.”

He gestured toward the empty strip of mattress he had abandoned.

“That is your side.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

He folded his arms across his chest.

“You said you were hot.”

“I am.”

“You said I was the problem.”

“I said your body heat was the problem.”

“Same thing.”

“It is absolutely not the same thing.”

Sukuna looked away with the deeply wounded expression of a man who had been betrayed by the legal system.

You pushed yourself up onto one elbow.

“Come back to bed.”

“No.”

Your eyebrows rose.

“No?”

“You wanted space.”

“I have space.”

“Good.”

“Sukuna.”

He sat down on the floor beside the bed.

You stared at the top of his pink head.

This man.

This enormous, frightening, stubborn man.

He sat on the bedroom floor like an exiled dog.

You leaned over the edge of the mattress. “What are you doing now?”

“Sleeping.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to sleep on the floor because I asked you to roll over?”

He looked up at you.

“You said please.”

“That usually makes a request nicer.”

“It sounded serious.”

“It was serious because I was hot.”

“And now you’re not.”

You rubbed one hand over your face.

“Sukuna, there are other options between crushing me in your sleep and abandoning the bed entirely.”

He shrugged.

You could tell he was trying to appear indifferent.

He failed.

His shoulders were stiff. His mouth was set in a firm line. He looked offended, but beneath it was something almost embarrassingly soft.

He genuinely thought you did not want him near you.

The realization made your irritation fade.

Mostly.

“You’re being dramatic,” you said.

“You’re being controlling.”

“You were wrapped around me like a heated blanket.”

“You usually like it.”

“I do usually like it.”

His eyes flicked toward yours.

You softened your voice.

“I’m just tired tonight.”

He studied your face carefully.

Then he looked away again.

“Fine.”

He stayed on the floor.

You stared at him.

He stared at the wall.

The fan continued turning overhead.

Somewhere outside, a car passed.

You were about to reach down and physically drag him back onto the mattress when Sukuna suddenly leaned toward the nightstand.

You watched as he opened the bottom drawer.

“What are you doing?”

He ignored you.

His hand disappeared inside.

Then he pulled out a small bag of candy.

You blinked.

It was your favorite candy.

The kind you always forgot to buy for yourself. The kind he complained was too sweet while somehow keeping emergency bags hidden throughout the house.

Sukuna opened the bag.

The plastic crinkled loudly in the quiet room.

He took out one piece and held it up.

You stared at it.

He stared at you.

“What is that?” you asked.

“Candy.”

“I can see that.”

He extended his hand slightly.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Are you bribing me?”

“No.”

“You’re offering me candy immediately after I asked for space.”

“Yes.”

“That is a bribe.”

“It is a negotiation.”

You looked at the candy again.

Then at him.

His expression remained perfectly serious.

You took it.

His eyes watched as you unwrapped it and placed it in your mouth.

The sweetness bloomed across your tongue.

Sukuna waited exactly three seconds.

Then, in the calmest voice imaginable, he asked, “Can I cuddle now?”

Your heart broke.

Not dramatically.

Not painfully.

Just softly, all at once, under the weight of how ridiculous and sweet he was.

You stared at him on the floor, hair messy from lying down, candy bag in one hand, his entire intimidating body folded beside the mattress because you had asked for a little room.

He looked so serious.

So hopeful.

So stupidly cute.

You sighed.

“Oh, baby.”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

You reached down and grabbed his wrist.

“Come here.”

He stood immediately.

Too quickly.

You almost laughed.

Sukuna climbed back into bed, and before he could arrange himself around you again, you caught him by the shoulders and pulled him toward you.

He blinked in surprise as you wrapped both arms around his neck.

You hugged him tightly.

Not politely.

Not delicately.

You squeezed him until his cheek pressed against yours.

“There,” you murmured. “Happy?”

His arms came around your waist slowly.

“Yes.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“No.”

“You moved to the floor.”

“You asked for space.”

“You brought me candy to negotiate physical affection.”

“It worked.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His face had gone smug again.

The softness had not disappeared, though. You could still see it beneath the smirk.

You lifted both hands and squeezed his cheeks.

His lips pushed forward.

His eyes narrowed immediately.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re so cute.”

His expression darkened.

“Stop.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You had emergency candy in the nightstand.”

“That was for me.”

“You hate that candy.”

“I tolerate it.”

“For me.”

“No.”

You squeezed his cheeks harder.

His mouth compressed between your palms.

“You’re adorable,” you said.

His muffled voice came out furious. “Take your hands off my face.”

“You’re my cute little clingy husband.”

“I will leave again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I might.”

You released his cheeks.

He stared at you with deep offense, red eyes narrowed, face slightly pink where you had squeezed it.

You kissed one cheek.

Then the other.

His expression softened immediately despite his best efforts.

You smiled.

“There he is.”

“Who?”

“My sweet baby.”

“I’m older than you.”

“By one year.”

“And larger.”

“Much larger.”

“Then stop calling me baby.” You kissed the tip of his nose.

“No.”

He glared.

You grinned.

Then his arms tightened suddenly, and he rolled you beneath him in one smooth movement. You gasped, laughing as he buried his face against your neck.

“Sukuna!”

“You wanted to cuddle.”

“I did not say suffocate me.”

“You hugged me first.”

“I felt bad.”

“That sounds like permission.”

“It is not.”

He settled more of his weight carefully over you, still holding himself up enough not to crush you.

You were warm again.

Too warm.

His chest was a furnace.

His breath tickled your neck.

But now you could feel the way he smiled against your skin, satisfied and peaceful, as though the universe had been restored to its proper order.

You sighed.

“Can we at least compromise?”

“No.”

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“You can cuddle me, but no leg trap.”

His thigh was already wedged between yours.

He moved it reluctantly.

“And do not put your whole body on me.”

He shifted half an inch.

“More.”

Another inch.

“Sukuna.”

He rolled onto his side and pulled you against his chest.

It was still warm, but less suffocating.

You rested your cheek against him.

“Better?”

He grunted.

“That means yes.”

“It means I’m tolerating your rules.”

“You love my rules.”

“I hate rules.”

“You make rules for everything.”

“Mine are correct.”

You smiled into his chest.

His hand moved slowly along your back.

The room settled around you again. The fan whispered overhead. The candy bag remained open on the floor beside the bed, one piece missing, the evidence of his absurd little peace offering.

After a few quiet minutes, Sukuna spoke.

“Do I bother you?”

His voice was different.

Lower.

Careful.

You lifted your head.

“What?”

He did not look at you.

“When I follow you around.”

Your heart softened again.

You shifted higher, propping your chin against his chest.

“Sometimes.”

His eyes snapped toward yours.

You laughed quietly.

“Not in a bad way.”

“That is exactly what someone says before saying something bad.”

“I like that you want to be near me.”

He watched you closely.

“I also like being alone sometimes.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you stand behind me every time I cook?”

“You could burn yourself.”

“I have never burned myself.”

“You could.”

“Why do you follow me into the bathroom?”

“You take too long.”

“You brush your teeth twice just to stand next to me.”

“That is dental responsibility.”

You smiled.

He looked away.

You touched his cheek.

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“You do not have to be touching me every second to know I love you.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I know.”

“You’re saying that like you don’t know.”

“I know.”

You waited.

His fingers continued tracing slow lines along your back.

Finally, he sighed.

“You’re quiet.”

“I know.”

“You disappear into your own head.”

“I do.”

“And sometimes I can’t tell if you want me there.”

You stared at him.

Sukuna was not shy.

He was not insecure in the ordinary way. He walked through the world like it belonged to him and merely allowed other people to occupy portions of it.

But with you, beneath all the smugness and possessiveness and constant touching, there was something unexpectedly vulnerable.

He loved you so much that sometimes he did not know where to place it.

So he placed it everywhere.

Against your waist while you cooked.

Across your lap on the couch.

Beside you at the bathroom sink.

Wrapped around you in bed.

You leaned closer and kissed him gently.

“I always want you in my life,” you whispered. “I just do not always want you physically attached to my spine.”

His eyes narrowed.

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It is not.”

“It is.”

“You can sit beside me without sitting on me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a person, not furniture.”

“You’re comfortable.”

You laughed softly and kissed him again.

He followed your mouth when you pulled away, stealing one more.

Then another.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured.

“You like me.”

“I love you.”

The smugness left his face.

It always did when you said it plainly.

His eyes softened, his hand moving up to cradle the back of your head.

“I love you too.”

You smiled.

“Even when I need space?”

He stared at you.

“Unfortunately.”

You pinched his side.

He caught your wrist.

“You’re aggressive.”

“You called loving me unfortunate.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I did.”

You settled back against his chest.

He adjusted the sheet over both of you and tucked you closer, but this time he left enough room for air to pass between your bodies.

Barely.

It was an improvement.

After another minute, you felt his breathing deepen.

His grip loosened.

You considered moving.

The old routine.

Wait until he slept, then carefully slip away.

You lifted your head slightly.

Sukuna’s eyes remained closed, his face peaceful in a way it rarely was during the day. One hand rested loosely at your waist. His hair fell over his forehead. His mouth, so often curled into a smirk or sharpened by irritation, had softened in sleep.

Cute.

Painfully cute.

You reached up and squeezed his cheek once more.

His eyes opened instantly.

“What?”

You smiled.

“Nothing.”

“You touched my face.”

“You’re cute.”

“Go to sleep.”

You kissed his cheek.

He closed his eyes again.

Then, without opening them, he tightened his arm around you.

“Don’t move.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.”

“You answered immediately.”

“Instinct.”

“Clingy instinct.”

He pulled you closer.

You laughed quietly.

The summer heat still pressed around the room. His body was still warm. You would probably wake up sweating at some point and regret every decision that had brought you here.

But for now, you tucked your face beneath his chin and wrapped one arm around his waist.

Sukuna hummed, satisfied.

“There,” he murmured sleepily. “Better.”

You smiled against his skin.

“For you.”

“For us.”

“Mostly you.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“And I’m cute.”

You lifted your head.

His eyes remained shut, but the corner of his mouth had curved.

You narrowed your eyes.

“I thought you hated being called cute.”

“I do.”

“You just called yourself cute.”

“I said you said it.”

“That is not what happened.”

“Go to sleep.” You laughed softly and settled against him again.

A few minutes later, when you thought he had finally fallen asleep, his voice rumbled through his chest.

“There’s more candy in the drawer.”

You smiled into the dark.

“Is that another negotiation?”

“Maybe.”

“For what?”

His arm tightened around you.

“Tomorrow.”

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face.

she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses. the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame.

she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it’s a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare.

both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists.

you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out.

sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm.

there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material.

he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh.

you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation.

you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru.

he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips.

he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence.

you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room.

your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle.

“fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

you'd come over to study with sukuna. not because you could help each other, considering you were both in completely different majors, or for any less than vanilla reasons, like usual.

no. you were simply there because for some dumb reason, having you in his presence made it easier to concentrate.

he'd called it 'holding each other accountable' and somehow, by the grace of whatever divinity lived beyond what either of you could reach, you'd simply shrugged your shoulders and arrived at the frat house twenty minutes later.

hours upon hours of studying had passed. the sky went dark and stars began to wink across the night sky, and you and sukuna were finally taking a well-deserved break from textbooks and laptop screens to stare at the ceiling and talk.

well, you were talking.

he was more... watching. and half-listening, as you recounted your experience at some bakery you like this morning.

"and there were five blueberry muffins left and i was so excited," you say, "but then the dumb guy in front of me ordered them all! and i was so sad. i had to get chocolate chip and that was okay 'cuz the chocolate was all melty and stuff but kuna." you turn to him, eyes wide and twinkling as if to enunciate your point, "their blueberry muffins are so good. it was like missing an ex while you're with your rebound. y'know what i mean?"

"no."

you roll your eyes, "oh yeah, 'cuz you don't do relationships," your voice goes deep and mocking when it reaches those last three words, then you snicker softly under your breath, clearly proud of yourself.

he huffs, shoving your side lightly, "real funny, doll."

"thanks!" you gleam, before continuing, "have you tried their muffins? i swear i've put all my friends on. maybe that's why they run out so fast these days. oh my gosh, the bakery should compensate me for all the advertising i'm doing."

"good luck with that."

"so have you?"

"have i what?"

you groan, "tried their muffins! are you even listening?"

"no, baby. i haven't." he sighs, a sound somewhere between amusement and disbelief. you've been on this topic for at least ten minutes, and you're probably gonna rave on and on about them even more now that he's told you he hadn't tried them. should he have lied instead?

no.

no he shouldn't have.

because then he turns to you, and his eyes soften just a fraction, so subtle that you don't even notice it in the midst of your ramble. but sukuna does. and he doesn't quite know if he likes this feeling.

because he's always known it, but he's never truly let himself see it properly until now; you're really cute when you're talking about something that makes you happy. even if it's as something as mundane as blueberry muffins. your eyes get all bright, your words mindlessly tumble out at a hundred mp/h, and you talk more with your hands than you do with your mouth, flapping them around and gesturing at words that don't really need gestures, and it's just so pure it makes an unfamiliar warmth settle low in sukuna's stomach.

"you have to!" you insist, "they're so good. they warm them up for you and they're all soft and fluffy and the blueberries get all syrupy and there's these crunchy bits on top and—"

and suddenly his hand comes up to your face, and you falter, blinking rapidly because you think he's about to cup your face and kiss you. but instead, his index finger and thumb are pinching your bottom and top lip together so you can't speak.

you let out an offended 'mm!', eyebrows drawing together, and he chuckles. somehow, you're even more adorable when he teases you. sukuna releases your lips from his grasp, only to replace it with his own mouth, kissing you, arms finding your waist to pull your body into his, "just shut up about the muffins already, babe." he mutters, not unkindly, against your mouth.

"i was gonna talk about the focaccia next," you say as if the change in subject was dramatic enough to warrant another ten minute long word essay about pastries. if only you were this passionate about writing your thesis. you grumble at his words although you know there's no cruelty to them, but just as quickly, melt into his touch, letting him pull you on top of his body. your knees land on the mattress, on either side of his body, hands flat and palms braced against his hard chest. one hand travels up slowly to cup his face.

this kiss isn't like the others— all teeth and tongue and mouths crashing down against one another, none of that usual hair pulling from him, nails digging into his back from you or heavy panting breath as you wrestle with the confines of each others clothing, rough and passionate and full of desire.

no.

this is slow. sweet. tender.

it's almost... loving?

sukuna's eyes snap open and he recoils the moment the mere thought passes his mind, breaking contact.

what the fuck?

you blink rapidly, confused by the suddenness of his ministrations, head cocking to the side in a way so innocent it makes his heart want to claw its way through his damn ribcage to join yours.

then you grin. that easygoing, lighthearted, sweet smile he knows so well, and he swears he feels his insides cave for a second.

"what was that about?" you laugh, sitting up on his torso.

he scowls, hand coming up to his face as if to check his lips, although in reality it's a weak attempt at hiding the rosy hue rising to his cheeks "thought you bit me." he lies, mentally slapping himself.

"what?" your giggles intensify.

"nothing you haven't done before." he mutters, which isn't exactly far from the truth, but his frat brothers must think he's the tickle monster or something, because you double over, clutching your stomach cackling. "shut up, get off."

you do as you're told, still smiling and catching your breath as you plop back down beside him, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. your laughter finally dies down. and now you're looking up at him expectantly, all round eyes and slightly pouting lips, as if you have something you want to say but you're not sure if you're allowed to.

he sighs, covering his eyes with his other arm, "keep talking about your bread." he mutters.

you light up, and the words pour out like a broken floodgate now that you'd been given permission to yap his ear off, "their focaccia has pesto and sundried tomatoes, it's so yummy!"

your voice fills the empty space, but unlike before, he wasn't paying attention. he couldn't with the whirlwind that was his mind now.

what's wrong with him?

this arrangement was supposed to be easy. carefree. a pact between two horny college kids who wanted to get through their years without contracting stds or relationship bullshit or unnecessary commitments.

heavy on those last two parts.

because apart from the obvious —being that he most definitely couldn't trust the handfuls of sorority girls who practically threw themselves at him every frat party not to have him waking up the next morning with ugly purple lesions all over where the sun didn't shine, or the conundrum of other sexually transmitted diseases— sukuna had always known that he didn't want nor need romance or commitment.

he didn't care for it. it was far more trouble than it was worth. and if he could get all the parts out of a romantic relationship which were most beneficial to the likes of him, i.e. the physical aspects, without the need for the fluffy extras then what was the point?

or so he thought. he'd always wondered why seeing you get hit on by dumbass frat guys pissed him off so much at those same parties. so much to the point he'd taken the same route he did to solve the rest of his issues in life; intimidation. now, no one dared try anything with you.

he always thought he did it out of self preservation. no other guys touching you meant he was safe from the prior mentioned purple lesions. after all, that was the agreement. you only sleep with each other.

but now he wasn't so sure. the thought of another man's hands on you, your head on another man's shoulder, your mindless rambles about muffins and bread falling on another man's ears made a hot, angry rage brew inside of him that was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

and for some reason, some crazed, nonsensical, undecipherable reason, now he was actually thinking about a future with you. a future with labels like 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' and with 'i love you's and calling your little get-togethers 'dates' and 'quality time' rather than 'hanging out' or 'hooking up' and...

for some crazed, nonsensical, undecipherable reason, ryomen sukuna wasn't revolted by the idea of it.

which made no sense at all. but none of it did.

he tried to expel the thoughts with a heavy exhale, but to no avail.

your string of words falls short when you hear it, head tilting up and eyes meeting his. "what's wrong?"

"nothing." he mutters.

"you sighed." you say, puffing out your chest and letting the air out in a much more dramatised fashion, "huuuh... like that." your grin returns as you roll over onto your tummy, elbows resting on his chest and chin resting in your palms as you look down at him under your lashes with curiosity, "what's wrong, drama queen?"

he peers at you under his arm which still lays over his eyes and smirks, huffing out a breathy chuckle and jabbing your side with his finger, making you squeal and jolt in his arms with a surprised laugh. "nothing. just thinking. you shut up."

"thinking 'bout what?" you ask, arms stretching out, head falls back down against his chest, cheek pressed into his t-shirt and you blink up at him expectantly, lashes fluttering.

"do you know how to stay still?"

"no." your lips curve.

"thinking 'bout how you're a pain in my ass, woman," he finally answers.

you grumble at him, "you're so mean, kuna," you pout, "thank the universe you're not my boyfriend."

ouch.

ouch?

why did that one hurt?

"oh, they have really good paninis too!" you beam, "we should go there next time we study together!"

[ a/n ] u could potentially take this as a prequel to this frat!kuna fic (tysm for the support on it cuties!) perhaps before him and reader become official i loooved writing it and it's become my most popular post so i wanted to write something else similar c: alsoooo my first time writing something more suggestive like this so i hope it isn't too bad hehe i tried my best!!

“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.

Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.

One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.

But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.

You believed it all.

After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.

Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.

Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!

Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!

“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”

He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.

He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?

But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.

You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.

He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.

You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.

“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.

His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.

He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?

You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.

“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.

The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.

Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.

A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.

“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.

“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”

“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”

You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.

Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.

“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.

He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.

“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.

The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.

“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-

“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.

“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.

His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.

“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.

Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.

The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.

The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.

The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!

Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.

Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.

Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.

You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.

You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.

Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.

You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.

A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.

He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.

Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.

“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.

His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.

You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.

“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”

You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.

The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.

Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.

You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.

Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.

Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.

Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.

Who would willingly want to be with you?

Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.

Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.

Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.

He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.

He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.

Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.

“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”

Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.

“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.

If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.

“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.

You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.

“I thought you liked digimon??”

He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.

“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”

He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.

You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”

Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.

“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.

He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest

“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”

A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.

“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.

You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.

“Please.”

Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.

You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.

“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”

Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.

Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.

He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.

“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.

Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.

A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.

“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”

You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”

You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.

Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.

“I never want to see you again.”

His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.

He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.

“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.

For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.

“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.

He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.

“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.

Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.

He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.

the second’s one admirable, a one month old being capable of holding a grudge better than some people can, he can begrudgingly come to admit that. however, it’s not useful when he’s on babysitting duty while you’re off at classes for most of the day.

the morning had started quite nicely, actually. birds chirped their melody outside the window, warm streaks of sunlight bathing the room in a golden hue through the curtains, and there weren’t beeping alarms in sukuna’s ear when he woke up. just three notifications from his commercial law class on canvas, but that was an issue for 11:00 p.m. messy pink strands of hair stuck up from rolling around in bed, lazily padding over to the baby’s nursery where she was just starting to wake up with a biiiig yawn.

sukuna picked her up from her crib, exaggeratedly scrunching his nose upon having to change her diaper. his little girl giggled at the look on his face, pointing a little finger at him. the sight made something warm swell within him, hearing her enjoy herself because of him. normally, these types of moments would be reserved outside of the nursery, looking into how you’d tease your daughter until only her laughter resounded across the apartment.

she even laid down on his chest when he laid down to watch tv, one hand resting against her back. hands accustomed to punching, to working, were gentle as they stroked gentle circles. curious, wide eyes followed each line marking his chest, little fingers reaching out to try to trace them. then she looked up to see even more of them trailing up his face, her palms gently resting against his face. he swore he could’ve felt the weight of the world sink down to just this moment, to just his daughter looking like she finally started to tolerate being around him.

but by the time feeding time rolled around, her personality turned a complete 180. you’d left a note on the bottle in the fridge, ‘please warm up her bottle before giving it to her. she likes to be in your arms when you feed her. take care <3’

usually, you’d stand in front of the sink with the warm water running over the bottle, humming a quiet melody that soothed your little girl all the while. sukuna had taken that as heating the plastic bottle in the microwave, near damn burning his hand when taking it out. he was smart enough to let it cool down for a few minutes, wooden rocking chair creaking underneath his weight when he sat down with the baby in hand.

seemingly wanting to do nothing with him or the poor excuse of a bottle in his hand, she thrashed around in his arms and wailed bloody murder. every time he’d so much as bring the bottle up to her parted lips, she’d smack it away and turn her head away in rebellion. whatever sense of camaraderie they’d built in the past hour broke in the span of seconds, the baby pushing his face away when he got too close.

she wouldn’t eat unless you were there.

if the baby adored you to this extent, he supposed he could wear your skin. or at least, the closest thing. sukuna pulled his phone out with one hand, scrolling through your instagram while the other lazily rocked his daughter back and forth. he settled on one of you at a coffee shop, sunlight bathing you in a golden light as you smiled at the camera. that seemed motherly enough, right?

it didn’t take long for the printer in his office to start whirring to life, his little project taking off once the paper was fresh off. he set the crying baby down on the floor, walking over to immediately get to work. carefully enough, he cut off the excess corners from the photo before slipping it onto his face with two flimsy strips of tape. one of them started to peel off before he left the room, the other one barely keeping this mess together.

though, for a baby with no concept of object permanence? it was perfect. sukuna had practically vanished into the depths of the earth and you (well, your face) is all that remained. he picked her back up, humming a quiet melody he’d heard jin use on yuji as a baby. she let out a deep sigh, inconvienced by all the stress her father put her through, before finally, finally, gulping down from the bottle as eagerly as he knew her to be.

the door knob jiggles quietly, footsteps stealthy as you step into the house. you’re not exactly sure what you expected when you stepped foot inside—at best, your baby asleep and at worst, maybe a temper tantrum that would make your head throb until midnight. but what you certainly don’t expect to see is one of your instagram highlights staring back.

“it’s the only way she’d take the bottle from me,” he mumbled before you had the chance to ask. he was hoping you’d be home later, that you wouldn’t see the measures he had to resort to. you look between the two of them, biting down on your lip to no avail. a laugh bubbled from your throat, far too loud for a baby still struggling to fall asleep.

“shh, you’ll wake up the demon,” he whispered, continuing to move against the rocking chair. it squealed and squeaked which each heavy rock of his body, though, at least your daughter didn’t seem too bothered by it. you shook your head, trying to keep yourself quiet. you hadn’t tried hard enough. within a few minutes of your laughter filling the space between you, she woke up with a deadly glare on her face.

the baby’s eyes dart in between the paper in front of her and you standing in the hallway, tiny brain going into overdrive to figure out the imposter. her tiny hand reached out to smack at his cheek, ripping away the last piece of tape that was keeping up his disguise. your photo glides through the soft breeze running in the apartment before unceremoniously dropping onto the floor beneath his feet. for a second, everything’s still.

he even thinks the baby isn’t going to react.

of course, that’s nothing more than wishful thinking. she immediately breaks into choked sobs, her little chest heaving under the intensity of each one. now that the illusion’s completely faded away, she doesn’t respond to each calm rock of sukuna’s arms around her, to the way that he’s desperate to try to get her to stop. to have some semblance of control over the situation.

you reach over and take the baby from his arms, the little one immediately breaking out into a gummy smile upon laying her eyes upon you. tantrum completely forgotten in the span of a second. “she probably senses your malevolent aura.” your words earn a scoff from him. “she usually lets gojo feed her with no problem.”

as if adding even more salt to the bleeding injury, his little girl coos at the mention of gojo’s name like he’s an angel sent to rescue them. like he was supposed to be her father and she just happened to get stuck with sukuna. “i’m going back to bed,” he grumbled, large storm cloud brewing over his head with each stomp over to the bedroom.

despite storming out, sukuna comes back an hour later to find the baby asleep in your arms. carefully, ever so carefully, he takes a seat next to you on the couch, wrapping an inked arm around your shoulder. a couple seconds of silence stretch between you before he speaks up, “i don’t know how to do this stuff, how to make the brat like me. just don’t want her to hate me, either.”

you glance over at him, sensing his turmoil. “she doesn’t hate you, sukuna,” you murmur, keeping your voice down to avoid waking her up, “just keep showing up for her and she’ll get used to you.

“and maybe try heating the milk under the sink’s faucet next time like i’ve told you.”

wasn’t sure if the same people wanted to be tagged so i decided to do so but please just let me know if you’d just like to be tagged in the parts :)