synopsis: with the football team reveling in their victory after the homecoming game, you hadn’t expected the quarterback to set his sights on you, the university mascot. but you’ve got one rule to abide by—the helmet stays on, no matter what.
contents: americanfootball!au, explicit smut, panty chewing, panties used as a gag, piv, fingering, degradation and insulting, slight angst, hurt/mild comfort, mention of sukuna's unlabelled sexual orientation, sukuna has a bush.
a/n: hello hello! this oneshot is for my baby ivy's college common's 1k followers collab <3 so proud of you ml ACK and so glad i got a spot on the roster hehe. go check her out, she's got some lovely fics @/junuru. apologies for anyone expecting a different plot line, this one ended up speaking to me the most. i'm also open to a part two if you guys are interested!
art by su2kuna on X, banner's by @/bernardsbendystraws & @/cafekitsune
“Y-You don’t even know if I’m a guy or girl,” you point out, voice warbly and whiny, clammy fists clenching around rubber in twitching paws as you wonder how you’d managed to get yourself in this situation, metaphorically and literally backed into a corner.
Sukuna cranes his head with feigned introspection, gazing off in the distance with a look in his eyes that tells you he finds all of this… amusing, slowly stalking towards you with mirth swirling in his carmine irises. “Gonna be real honest, Squeaky. I don’t really care.”
Your breath catches, loud and sharp and all-too-humiliating, before the backs of your knees hit his mattress and you fall right on your ass and onto his bed.
Right where he wants you.
He inspects you down the slope of his nose with a smirk, as if he enjoys watching you struggle to hold onto your logic that’s slipping between your fingers like crumbling sand.
He knows you want this, he’s just giving you a bit of well-placed courage.
But you’re far too busy thinking about your duty, the one you’d sworn yourself into just a month ago…
“Repeat after me. I solemnly swear…”
“...I solemnly swear.”
“On behalf of the Sciuridae rodent family…”
“...Uh. On behalf of the Sciuridae rodent family.”
“To uphold the values of benevolence, charity, and secrecy…”
“...To uphold the values of benevolence, charity, and secrecy.”
“And keep my identity as the university's Squeaky the Squirrel mascot unvoiced and unseen.”
“And keep my identity as the university's Squeaky the Squirrel mascot unvoiced and unseen.”
The spirit coordinator smiles at your echoed words, wide and toothy like the head piece in your grasp, tugging her clipboard against her chest with such elation like she’d just christened a knight into leadership. “Perfect! You may now put the mascot head on and fulfill your well-earned role.”
You lift it, hands clasping the furry pelt fabric and resting it atop your head. There was a faint scent of musk and sweat, most likely from your predecessors whose identities you’d never come to know, your nose scrunching in mild horror.
But you couldn’t deny the excitement coursing through your veins at the new position you were privy to, exactly what you’d been working towards all summer and drilling down routines to impress the sports board.
And from then on, it only grew. You were quick to learn that rallying the crowd during football season was your forte.
“UPSIDE DOWN. INSIDE OUT. YOUR TEAM IS GOING DOWN.”
“YOUUUUU CAN’TTTT DOOOO THATTTTT.”
“FIRE IT UP, TAKE CONTROL. DOMINATION? THAT’S OUR GOAL.”
The football coach commended you for your ability to get people booming, the student section practically deafening when you made your way out in a dazzling appearance. And during half-time? You were absolute gold.
You’d stir up the crowd to hone in on the cheerleader’s routine, shooting branded t-shirts through a cannon at the crowd and doing laps up and down the field until sweat clung to you like a sticky second skin and you could barely catch your breath.
You’d be perched just below the stands in your Squeaky the Squirrel mascot suit—landing splits and turns and flips galore to get the crowd thundering. You spun the audience with the Mexican wave, flickers of black and crimson soaring through the bleachers as they released their war cries laced with pride. It was such a high.
A little bit of a modern day jester, but it was your flair.
Though, you swiftly learned what your favorite part of each game and rehearsal was.
MVP, star Quarterback, near seven-foot-something, knockout and hulking Ryomen Sukuna.
Silly as it was, the mascot crushing on the football player when he was practically saved for one of the cheerleaders, tiers out of your league. You couldn’t ignore the way his hand would linger on their waists whenever they’d come over to congratulate him after a touchdown, dragging their pompoms down his heaving chest with a lustful expression.
It was easy, safe, where you stood. Tucked away in a corner by the stands. Your gawking concealed by buck teeth and identity completely veiled.
Sukuna was just eye candy. Something you were content with long ago.
That was, until he started paying far too much attention to you during games and practices. It was like it happened out of nowhere—the burly man popping up to slip a sly comment into your fur-ear until it downturned and you’d stare at him dead in the eyes with your beady squirrel irises.
And now, post homecoming game, you’d been told he was waiting for you at his frat house with something to tell you.
The “something” being how he wanted to bang you, for a lack of better wording.
You stare down at your pelt suit, fur sticking out all wild from the way you’d been sprinting down the football field all evening.
You worry your lower lip between your teeth before peering up, your vision obscured thanks to the head piece you’ve been adorning this entire time.
“...On one condition.”
Sukuna cocks an eyebrow, arms crossed over the expanse of his chest. “What, brat?”
You swallow thickly. “The helmet stays on.”
His claret eyes narrow, a few contemplative moments hang between the two of you before he breaks the stifling silence. “I’m sorry. What?”
You nod curtly, clasping your hands in your lap. “Gonna be really honest here, Sukuna. I know who you are and I know the rep you carry. You can get anyone you want. I’ve got no clue why you wanna fuck the mascot, but under no circumstances can I expose my identity.”
His eyebrows furrow, something you can’t quite decipher swirling in his mind. Anger, irritation, confusion? Is he going to kick you out after wooing you the entire week with pointed comments and lingering touches that had your body set alight, snuffing out the flame he kindled?
His lips part, before he drops his hands and stares off somewhere with a scoff, fists shoved into his pockets. “Alright, fine. You’re real fucking weird.”
Moments later, he’s chewing on your panties with a sly grin, digging bruises into your thighs as he plays with your pussy with wonder.
You place a paw hand over your face, a flit of whimpers leaving your lips, thinking about how he’d managed to unzip you out of your costume and toss it aside with deft fingers that left your core damp.
He slips a finger into your throbbing hole, the taste of your juices already known on his tongue as the lacy fabric drags against his teeth. “So, not a guy,” he chuckles through bites like your undies are coca leaves.
You shake your head, hoping his frat brother’s can’t hear him fingering you while they let loose after a victory game just downstairs. “Nope. Just a, hck- girl!”
And if it couldn’t get more embarrassing, a squeak tumbles from your lips.
Something rattles in your gut as he lets out a chuckle, far too amused at how flustered and pliant you are in his hands. “You sure about that? Could’ve sworn I heard a squirrel.”
You frown, adjusting your head piece as you push up onto your elbows. “Are you admitting t-to fucking squirrels?”
His smile falters, before he presses two fingers inside and brushes against that spongy spot that has you tossing your head back with a groan. “Someone’s mouthy. How about we fix that?” He grunts between a clenched jaw.
Right as he’s teetering you on the edge of sweet pleasure, he pulls his fingers out, getting to his feet to tower over you. He takes your panties from his lips and places them in your hands.
With teary eyes, you gawk up at him, furrowing your brows, and though he can’t see your expression, he knows how bewildered you are. “In your mouth,” he clarifies with a scoff, before turning his back and crossing his corded arms.
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, an incredulous laugh following to fill the chest of silence. “You want me to eat my panties?”
“No, dumbfuck. Put it in your mouth and keep those piggy squeals to yourself.”
You swallow the lump in your throat along with your pride, slowly obliging and taking your helmet off. You set it off to the side, eyes carefully trained on him to make sure he doesn’t nab a sneak peek past his shoulders at your identity.
But, he keeps to his word, as much as you hadn’t expected it. It soothes your worry of him doing this entire thing just to figure out who you are, something previously buzzing in your mind settling down.
You stuff your panties into your mouth, the rough fringe catching on your teeth, before you put the helmet back on, completely unbeknownst to the shit-eating grin coloring Sukuna staring at his bedroom door.
You try to tell him to turn around, but instead it comes out all muffled and weird. Thankfully, he gets the idea and faces you.
His eyes trace over your naked form splayed on his bed—perky tits, the slope of your waist, your dripping heat. He licks his lips, hands finding the bottom of his muscle tee and tugging it over his head before tossing it to the ground.
He wants to pin you like a fucking flower to his bed.
You’re really glad you’re still wearing the helmet, because God so help you if he saw the dumbfounded expression you were sporting.
He toys with the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down with his boxers and leaning over to his nigthstand. He tugs out a condom, tearing the latex free with his teeth and rolls it down his length. He spits on it, pumping it a few times, before plopping down next to you. “Cmere,” he motions, eyeing his lap before leaning back on his elbows.
You steel your nerves, hands trembling as you try to stop your ogling from his carved-from-stone physique, clambering into his lap, trying not to gush at just how massive he was.
“Someone's skirmish,” he slyly comments at your clumsiness, textured hands finding purchase on your hips and splaying over the flesh.
He chuckles tauntingly as you mumble something out.
You rest your palms on his shoulders, woefully clammy, but if he feels anything he doesn’t make a comment on them. Besides, you’re far too focused on the cock he’s about to spear you with. The guy is so well-endowed, and though you expected it, it still has your stomach doing hurdles.
He aligns his rubbered tip with your entrance, swollen cockhead pressing against your clenching hole, before you allow yourself to sink down and suck him in.
A muffled curse leaves you, thighs quaking as you swallow him inch by inch, the stretch unbearable.
“Breathe, girl,” he coaxes with a frown like he’s talking to a stable horse, glancing at where your bodies are connected before meeting the beady eyes of the helmet. “Gonna take this helmet right off if you don’t take it easy.”
A whine leaves you, your body stilling as you adjust to his girth, and soon enough the pain seizes to pleasure, stings subsiding into sensuality.
“Thereeee you go,” he praises, lips twitching as he pats the top of your head piece. “Good, Squeaky.”
You ignore his jabs, letting yourself bury his cock into you to the hilt, before moving your hips in a figure eight motion. The grinds have Sukuna biting his tongue, not even needing to say anything to have him flushing.
“Fuck, if I don’t figure out who you are, I’m gonna need to fuck half the campus to feel this pussy again,” he breathes out, back hunching and laying his head onto your shoulder. You’re not quite sure if he’s aware of how much he’s babbling out loud, voice echoing off of his bedroom walls.
Something in your gut flutters, quickly yelped out of you as he presses his soles into the hardwood floors and starts bucking his cock up into you, his leaking slit nudging your cervix.
“Been holdin’ out on me,” he snaps out, digging his teeth into your collarbone, suckling on the skin, disheveled pink hair tickling your heated skin.
You practically gag, desperate for respite when he flips the two of you over in a manner that nearly knocks the wind from your lungs. One hand of his pins both of your wrists above your head before he starts pistoning into you.
The sound of his headboard rattling against his, albeit thick, walls have got to have gone noticed by at least someone in the frat house, but the two of you are too horned up to give a rat’s shit.
“You’re really taking it, peanut,” he grunts, tossing his head back while the feel of his rough bush dragging against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you dancing on the edge of reality and fantasy. “Like a good little rodent.”
And at this point, you’re not quite sure if he’s teasing you or genuinely spurred on by this.
Your eyes, glossed over with eroticism, tip to the back of your skull as your hips take on a sentient mind of their own and cant against his pelvis, drool dribbling from the seams of your lips and staining your underwear absorbed with both of your saliva. The veins lining his dick drag against all the right spots that have you keening and stomach coiling.
You’d probably be crying out his name by now, but all that comes out is squeals and whimpers, music to his red-tinged ears.
“Pretty d-damn sure I could live in here, you minx,” he sighs out, bringing a thumb down to sharply toy with your clit and it’s enough to push you over the edge.
You scream out, violent and torn, your slick juices coating across his shaft, lightening shooting down your back and clearing out your vision in dots of white and black.
He follows soon after, nesting himself deep into the apex of your thighs with sloshing sounds, eyes gawking wide as seed fills the latex covering his cock. He stills for a moment, before collapsing onto you and digging his reddened face into the crook of your neck.
The two of you lay there, catching your breath in a sweaty and pathetic heat, before he grumbles into your skin. “Do you wanna try it raw?”
You roll your eyes, pressing your palms onto his shoulders and peeling him from you. The inside of the mascot head piece is a foggy sweltering atmosphere, making you spit out your panties and hop to your feet.
He watches you from his mattress as you scramble across his room, gathering your things, before the door to his bedroom suddenly pushes open.
You gasp, hurrying to cover yourself as a familiar white haired menace stares rubbernecked at you like he just spotted roadkill. And when you think it couldn’t get any worse, a smile creeps on his lips.
“Yo, Fushiguro! Looks like Ryo followed through and you owe me ¥7000,” Gojo chuckles, dodging a pillow Sukuna chucks at him before tugging the door shut and sprinting down the hall.
You turn to face the pink-haired brute who's too busy avoiding your beading glare.
“Uh. Mind explaining what that’s about?” You start, opting to tug your leggings on commando since your panties are a torn and sopping mess.
“Nothin’. Fucking Gojo’s always out of his mind,” he grumbles, though it’s not as convincing as you would’ve preferred.
You let a few awkward moments hang, before something clicks in your head. “Well, this is all starting to make a lot of sense. You can’t quite leave me alone during practices and suddenly need to fuck me the night of your homecoming win. What, you bet on this or something?”
His lips part, carmine irises dancing between your left and right one before he resigns with a grunt. “Yeah. It was a bet.”
You scoff, shuffling into your suit and tugging the zipper up. “Right. There’s Ryomen Sukuna for you, certified Grade-A asshole,” you roll your eyes, ignoring the clench in your chest that maybe he could’ve been the slightest bit attracted to you.
But there was nothing there, at least nothing but lust.
He doesn’t answer, jaw ticking at you gathering your bearings.
“Glad the helmet stayed on to save me some of my dignity,” you huff, before tugging his door open and slamming it shut.
You pace down his steps, ignoring the snickering and sideways glares from half of the team, part of you glad you didn’t have an actual crush on Sukuna.
Like you’d said, he was just eye candy.
But now, he can’t seem to leave you alone during practice.
You can only guess it’s pity, maybe his consciousness couldn’t seem to stop berating him for once.
Until you spot him outside of the locker room after practice one day, waiting for you with a thumb between his lips and chewing on his cuticles, deep in thought.
You groan, before sliding past him to get changed out of your sweaty costume, but a hand on your furry wrist stops you.
“God— What is it?” You snap out, almost daring him with narrowed eyes through the giant ones plastered on the head piece.
His tight expression falters, the formidable man looking somewhat uncanny as if he’s on the verge of apologizing.
“Do you want to get dinner with me?”
You still, Sukuna’s grip firm but gentle on your arm, before you shake yourself free. “...What?”
He clears his throat, shuffling where he stands awkwardly and glancing around the empty corridor, still sweating in his jersey. “Dinner. Just you and me. I want to make it up to you.”
You’re not quite sure if you’re hearing him correctly, or if you’re being Punk’d, following his eye movements around the hallway and trying to spot the hidden camera crew. “Are you out of your mind, Sukuna?” You laugh unconvinced. “You joined a bet to fuck the school’s mascot and you won. What else do you want?”
“You! I-I mean, not you, but,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck. Listen, ever since that night, I can’t get you out of my mind. I don’t know if it’s my guilt, or if you hexed me, but I need to see you again. You gotta let me apologize properly.”
You feel your teeth grinding like tectonic plates with a vengeance. “So this is to reassure your ego that you’re not the evil asshole you are?”
He scowls. “Fuck, no. I’m sorry, and I mean it. Let me take you out,” he damn near pleads, eyes narrowing and searching for any sign of resignation in your form.
You mull it over, nibbling on the inside of your cheek before folding your arms over your chest. This is probably a really bad idea, as Sukuna is infamously known across campus for getting his way and not apologizing for it. But, you give in on your own terms. “Alright.”
He flinches. “Alright?” He echoes, voice pitched just an octave higher like he hadn’t expected you to agree at all.
✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?
✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, suicide, blood and violence, mentions of war—pls remember that this is a fictional work inspired by a comic and i am not using this to rewrite history or treat any tragedies unseriously! tags to be added.
✦ ── a/n: who missed me? another long update because i cannot stop yapping but who's complaining hah. see you at the end!
✦ ── word count: 10k
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series masterlist - volume nine - volume eleven
art by outdmilk on twt
Sukuna still remembers the day he met his half brother, Jin Itadori. A swirling pot of chaos in a young boy with a permanent snarl rending through the bottom half of his face—as if everything little thing around him sparked intrigue. Curiosity.
Or possibly, it was hunger. A fervent need that settled like a rock in Jin’s gut and refused to move until he was rooted just where he wanted to be, got just what he wanted.
Sukuna’s father had hired JIn’s father to take care of the estate grounds, and his young son was a part of the agreement, an extra set of helping hands. Soon enough, the two odd boys managed to spend more time together. Sukuna couldn’t attend school as he was always falling ill, and Jin was the only other boy around.
But it didn’t mean they necessarily hit it off.
Whether it was Sukuna coughing up a fit from whatever current ailment plagued him, or the bird that’s wing snapped backwards after it flew into a window shutter, that steady grin of his remained, relishing in whatever misery he could absorb from his surroundings.
Despite having a drunken and abusive father, there was something flickering in Jin’s soft brown eyes that most would mistake for light. In reality, it was quite the opposite.
On more occasions than one, when Jin would be helping his father out around the farm, Sukuna would catch the boy toying with something far off in the distance, away from any peeping eyes. And what he’d grown to expect was some poor rodent with a broken leg or a deer with a leaking bullet wound.
Jin wouldn’t take it out of its misery, no. He’d prod at the injury with that same smugness, watching as the poor creature writhed in pain, basking in its anguish. Sukuna would cringe and limp over, demanding some other farmhand or staff to kill it briskly.
Jin would still be smiling as the animal got its head blown clean off, blood speckling his boots.
Sukuna had always known there was something inhuman about Jin. Something wrong and something most people around him brushed under the rug in a colossal pile for it was far too jarring to glare at. It didn’t manifest in its entirety until they’d joined the army well into their adult years, once Jin had seen the way that Sukuna’s claws had torn through his skin and clawed off his father’s face.
That night, Jin didn’t care for the murder of his father. Didn’t care that his own half-brother had done it with his bare hands, either. All he saw was that he and Sukuna were on their own now. That they were one in the same.
His last of kin, who shared the same exact claws as him, was the same as him.
But Jin was in for a surprise when his half-brother had witnessed him attempting to claw at innocent women and children on an operation overseas. Sukuna had finally had enough, and left his brother behind in the sand after a century of being joined at the hip.
And he hadn’t turned back.
But there was something else. Something he hadn’t uttered to another soul as it was simply a theory of he kept to himself, kept squared away with him in his solitude. When Sukuna had first left, first decided to find some sort of a purpose for himself away from his brother, he’d found himself stopped at a farm.
Big old house, rusted down to its hinges and the kind of nest for a couple whose kids long moved out. Probably grandparents given the grey hair and crows feet and too many clean bedrooms.
In the house had been a sweet old lady and her husband, both who welcomed him with open arms when he told them he had no real place to stay for a while. They offered that if he could fix up the barn, it’s all his for the time being.
So he took them up on it. Swept the stray straw and hauled the hay onto the lofts. He stayed out of their way while he fixed up his Harley and only came in for dinner. Warm dinner around a table with people that didn’t seem to judge him.
He hadn’t stayed for long when trouble came his way. It was when that sweet old lady came to bring him a fucking fruit platter and the old man wanted to lend Sukuna a hand with repairs.
When they’d chatted his ears off in big, amicable grins about how he was doing all too much work for how little they offered him—that whoever had done him wrong to the point he’d ended up a wanderer, was ruefully obtuse.
When, right through the window of the barn, two gunshots rang off and shot them right through their backs. Glass fractured and splintered, sent flying in shards across the dull room.
They were dead in an instant, sticky and warm blood plastered across crimson honeycrisps and shiny gala’s, seeping into the wooden planks of the barn floors. There was no struggle, no fight for life. They were just gone.
Sukuna was left standing agape for what felt like an entirety, and what replaced his beating heart was a corroded hole in his chest like an endlessly leaking cavity.
He hadn’t seen who’d done it. Went on a rampage for weeks, red fraying the edges of his vision, turning over bars and demanding answers with his claws pressed against jugulars and bared teeth towards drunkards, moving from one town to the next and not picking up a single lead.
Though, something in the back of his mind knew exactly who the perpetrator was. The same man who he’d turned his back on just months before and swore that no one would understand them better than each other. That this was his way of getting back at him for leaving him behind. Sukuna knew it was futile going on a manhunt for a man that didn’t want to be found, but he had rage with no place to put it.
And after he’d been kidnapped and experimented on like some lab rat, he had holed himself up. Didn’t think he could manage letting his brother, wherever the hell he'd been, kill anyone else good to him. Sukuna didn’t think he could make space to care for another person knowing it was inevitable he’d lose them one way or another.
Maybe he was torturing himself all these years for letting Jin force himself into isolation. Maybe he still carried guilt for not watching over his brother, for leaving around the only kin he’s got left.
But when he’d met you, when he first let you stay with him, he hoped it’d be inconsequential and harmless if you’d bunkered away for a few nights. After all, it’d been years since he last heard a single squeak from any of his old squadrons who were most likely dead or on their way thanks to old age. He hadn’t caught his brother's scent lingering anywhere near him, and part of him assumed he’d gotten tired of this charade, so he chalked it up to safety. Security.
Sukuna was well over it, hoping after years of staying in the woodland that he’d find some way to mortalize himself so he no longer had to play the waiting game, bleak days dragging on like some neverending nightmare.
He didn’t find much interest in this life, a life where he felt he had no place to belong. Those feelings were only heightened by the streaks of black streaked across his wheat-tanned skin.
The only source that gave him temporary intrigue, something akin to a purpose in this miserable timeline, had been those cagefights. When the audience had their eyes dialled in on him, when his claws earned less than cringes and more grins. He was parading around as a circus freak to satiate a lonely part of himself.
And even through showing his face, his claws, to the world—he’d yet to receive consequence. There was no way that Jin was still on his heels, clipping after his scent and searching for in’s to ruin his life.
But when he’d seen those bony claws dig through your chest, he’d realized just how wrong he was.
𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸
Just outside of the hospital, Sukuna’s fingers drum over his steering wheel, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the empty and dim road before him. His jacket is covered in dried blood—your blood or his own or Jin’s.
It’s silent, besides the hum of the streetlight outside his truck and his worn-out breaths. His hair’s a mess, matted with sweat, and dirt is caked beneath his fingernails. He hasn’t quite been able to catch his breath since that night, nor has he been able to get a lick of sleep, prominent bags beneath his eyes and sunken cheekbones from not digging his teeth into a morsel of food.
What’s the point, anyway? He doesn’t think he deserves it.
The guilt he’s feeling is the same guilt he’s felt since the night he’d lost the couple who’d taken him in with smiles on their unexpecting faces. Who were so naive to believe a man like Sukuna wouldn’t bring trouble knocking on their door. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees their bodies mangled and frozen on the barn floor—the shattered glass glittering across hay, the bullet wounds leaking blood onto the ground and leaving their lifeless forms, scattered fruit and lifelong wishes.
And he sees you. Your limp body he had to carry down the mountain himself, sprinting as he tried to keep his torn shirt pressed against your gushing wound, doing his best to keep you awake.
You’d looked so pretty dolled up in your dress, and he wishes he’d expressed that better.
There’s so much he wished he could have said to you.
Thankfully, you had a pulse then. Thready and weak, but still there. He wasn’t going to lose another person to Jin’s wrath, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose you.
Your skin paled, and you went cold to the touch as he drove you to the nearest hospital. He kept his fingers threaded through yours, hoping his warmth could bleed into you and heat you up. You were slumped in his passenger seat, murmuring quietly and incoherently, tears running errant down your frigid cheeks despite the humidity as your consciousness only came back in weak waves.
He’d heard you mumble his name before your lashes fluttered shut. What ran through his head, was that he wasn’t the one deserving of hearing your last words. Didn’t think he deserved to be the last name on your tongue.
The nurses who’d helped you onto a gurney tried to hold him back from seeing you as they rushed you to the nearest operating room, which wasn’t an easy feat. Trying to move a near seven foot brute out of the way waving his arms and shouting at staff simply increased their headaches, and only when they’d threaten to call the cops was when he’d backed down, redirected to the front desk.
He could barely understand a word they were saying, something about next of kin and emergency contact and all he could feel was his anger flaring beneath his skin, fingers twitching by his sides, panic bubbling in his gut. His mind kept flashing back to that same smile tugging at his half brother's lips, the smile he wanted to deform with his bare hands.
The question that brought him back to the sterile hospital waiting room that reeked with the scent of your coppery blood had been when they asked what Sukuna was to you.
He didn’t know what answer to give them, tugging at the tight cotton shirt they’d handed him like it was a throttle around his neck, throat rapidly constricting with each passing moment. The windows felt like they were shuttering in around him, walls edging a little too close. Everyone’s eyes lingered on his tattoos, on the blood drenched in his dress pants and caked across his boots.
Friend, was what he ended up stuttering out.
The lady at the front desk paused, picking her next words carefully. Her eyes gave him a slow appraisal through the barrier, knowingly. As if she could read the kind of person he was through the plexi-glass. She asked if he knew anyone they could call for you. He slammed his hands down on the receptionist desk, shouting that he didn’t know shit and needed to see you.
He doesn’t remember the rest, mind fuzzy with security telling him to calm down as they sorted through the database and found an emergency contact. A name you’d listed as your friend, Shoko Ieiri. He didn’t know who the fuck that was.
The same woman came rushing in not long after, frantic and eyes bulging from her skull, asking the hospital staff about a million questions that sounded like she was an expert on the field herself. Maybe she was. She smelled like his cigarettes and floor cleaner.
It wasn’t long until she’d turned to Sukuna, glossed over eyes bloodshot and a grimace, pointing a crooked finger at him, asking what the fuck he’d done to her.
She’d broken down after hearing his pathetic answer, that some strange man had attacked them in the woods with some pronged wooden weapon. Sukuna didn’t know what else to say, and didn't want to pass off information before he could get his hands on Jin first.
The police had to question him back at their station for hours on end. He couldn’t know how you were doing until they’d finished getting a statement, ignoring the deliberate glares and jabs from detectives.
When he was finally able to return, you were out of surgery. You’d lost a lot of blood, but if you could make it through the night then you’d be out of the woods. The nurses had said visiting hours were over and he’d have to come back the next day.
He still didn’t feel like he could catch his breath.
He sat in his truck that reeked of your blood, staring at the entrance until the sun had made herself visible. Ignoring the state of the passenger’s seat you’d left like a crime scene.
He wasn’t the only one in your hospital room that morning, your mother draped over your static form on the gurney. She was less cutting remarks and patronizing glares today, her tears staining the cotton sheet over you. You looked peaceful, eyes clipped shit and wires were coming out of you from every angle. You were in a hospital gown, and he only assumed there had to be bandages secured around your midsection.
He watched your chest rise and fall in a trance, scared it was going to stop at some point.
Your mother stirred at his ragged breathing, immediately frowning and standing from where she was standing. She smacked her hands against his chest, screaming that he was the one who’d gotten all these ideas in her head and that he got her hurt.
He stood there and took it.
It wasn’t until your friend, the brunette who smelt of smoke and anti-septic, came back and peeled her from you, that she stopped. Saying that the police had a lead on a brown haired man that had been seen following the two of you into the woods by witnesses.
They still didn’t want to leave Sukuna alone with you, though.
Regardless, he didn’t know if he should be here. Didn’t know if he deserved to slow his rapid heartbeat with the sight of you. Didn’t know if it was fair that his heart clenching up in his chest would stop when he heard your soft sighs. Didn’t know if it was fair to imagine crawling up beside you in that gurney and pulling you flush against his chest, taking in the scent of the expensive perfume you slapped onto his grocery list.
He wanted nothing more than to cure every ailment sent your way and let you melt in his grasp.
Blood was still splattered and crusty across his cheek, fingers clenching and unfurling at his side and not once coming to a slow death.
And standing before the people who’d known you longer than him, who could barely look at you without seething, shame settled like a rock in his gut.
You looked lifeless, wrong. You weren’t nagging Sukuna and pinching his last nerve. You weren’t crying over something he’d seen as inconsequential. You weren’t laughing as Uraume tackled you into the ground and lapped at your cheeks until they were damp with saliva.
You weren’t doing anything.
The doctors weren’t sure how long it would take for you to wake up. Your nurse tried to explain it to him. Sometimes, when the body goes through a major trauma, it needs to heal itself with time. That not everyone wakes up right away.
Oh, what Sukuna could give to hear you berating him right now. To see those beady eyes with fight fixed on him.
Sukuna didn’t stay in the room long, the only thing he could hear was your slow breathing coupled with the thunderous pounding of his heart against his ribcage.
He’d gotten into his truck and driven back to the foot of the mountain before sprinting up to his house without stopping, breathing shallow and ragged. Didn’t stop when it felt like his heart might implode in his chest and his lungs strained, barely able to get a full inhale in.
The sight he’d been greeted with was far worse than anything he could’ve expected.
Jin had been smoking out front, familiar metal glinting in his hands as he turned it over. Something that didn’t belong to him.
Uraume was whining in their doghouse, ears downturned and shivering in their dark and dingy sanctuary.
It didn’t take long until Sukuna had his claws unsheathed, skin rending apart to make way for the sharp edge of metal.
“No need,” Jin chuckled, hacking up a cough and flicking the butt of his cigarette. He stood, wiping his hands on his pants with that same smile. Though, it looked weaker. Didn’t quite reach his eyes in that wild, volatile look. It sent waves of goosebumps over Sukuna’s skin. “You can’t kill me and I’m dying soon anyway.”
Sukuna fumed. “Can’t, or won’t.”
Jin tilted his head thoughtfully, as if truly thinking it through, before coming to a conclusion that clearly entertained him. “Won’t.”
Sukuna closed the distance between them within seconds, his bulging forearm pressed against Jin’s jugular and jamming his claws straight through his gut. Jin’s eyes went saucer-wide, sputtering blood with a whittled laugh, one that was like a fork against a driveway in the salmon-haired brutes ears. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you,” Sukuna gritted through clenched teeth.
Jin paused, hazel irises gleaming in the moonlight, something clicking for him in his maniacal mind. “Huh. I knew that look on your face was something else. This kid really went and fell in love with some girl.”
Sukuna dug his claws deeper, earning a strangled sound from Jin as he choked on his fluids, his own lips quivering in unbridled rage. Flesh squelched against metal and poured across Sukuna’s dress slacks, pooling at his feet. Rage was quick to shoot up from his toes to his head, a vein bulging out from his forehead. “You don’t get to talk about her.”
Jin weakly shrugged, placing a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and pulling himself deeper on the claws. “Looks like I won’t be talking about much soon,” he mumbled with a grimace, spitting at the ground as deep red runs through the gaps between his teeth and cascades down his chin. “Tried to get myself a fix of that adamantium but they said my body could handle it. That they needed a real soldier.”
Sukuna’s sweat-beaded brows furrow, russet irises darting between his brother’s auburn ones in confusion.
“They must’ve been fucking delusional if they thought they could’ve made a soldier out of you. They tried to get you back on track with my help years ago, but it was useless. Now you’re just some fucking cage fighter wasting away with the trees ‘round him and courting some girl.”
Sukuna feels his blood run cold. “The fuck did you just say?”
Jin’s lip only twitches upwards.
He did it. Jin did it. He killed them, shot them right through their backs in their own home and left them in cold blood. Jin had been a distinguished marksman in the army. Of fucking course it was him, but to hear it from Jin’s lips tilts Sukuna’s world on it’s axis.
Sukuna tears his claws out, Jin’s immediately body slackening. He retracts his claws and lands a fist right against his jaw, a disgusting sound of bone crunching under metal. Jin stumbles backwards, that infuriating grin still toying on his face. “I knew it was you, you son of a bitch!” Sukuna shouts, and uppercuts Jin until he collapses to the mud.
Sukuna climbs over him, Jin’s face battered and bruised. But no sign of healing.
“Went back years ago and tried to take their adamantium and it’s been fucking with me ever since,” he admits, running his tongue over his teeth and tasting the copper. “Thought I’d see how the brother is doing if I’m gonna end up dead.”
Sukuna hits him right against the cheek, blood pooling beneath Jin’s skin.
“I thought,” he sputters blood, fringed lashes too heavy to keep his eyes open. “We were the same. Same blood, same claws, but you’re a coward. A fucking pussy. Realized that when you turned your back on me. Your brother!” He cackles, laughing through the metallic-red fluid pooling at the back of his throat.
Sukuna feels something billow in his chest, hot and heavy.
“Came back just to see the look on your face when I take something from you, like you’d taken from me all those years ago. It just sucks that I couldn’t see your expression through the fractured barn glass.”
And that’s when something splinters in Sukuna’s brain, his chest. All hope dying away in an instant.
The rest is mostly a blur to him, red clouding his vision and fraying the edges. He glances over at the shed, completely overturned and spilled of old family memorabilia. More information Sukuna had stashed away in hope that maybe his brother had changed in his absence, that maybe he could see him again.
He’s not quite sure what to make of the man in a bloody heap on the ground. It’s possible that this is the real man he’s been beside all that time, the man he thought he knew. He just couldn’t see it for himself.
He doesn’t hit Jin again, his battered fist hovering against his face and watching as his breaths shallow out and pulse eventually come to a stop.
Uraume doesn’t move from their shed.
Wildlife dulls out, and all that’s left is the desperate pants racing out of Sukuna’s mouth.
Without much thought, Sukuna unfurls Jin’s hand and pulls the key he’d snagged from you earlier and shoves it into his pocket. Where it should be. He gets to his feet, limbs shaking as he pads over to the patio and nearly tumbles over his own feet.
He sits for a while, watching Jin’s lifeless form on the ground.
It’s been two days now, and Sukuna stops by in the morning to see if you’ve made it through the night before going back to his truck. He sits there. And he waits. It isn’t until he hears that you’ve finally awoken when Shoko comes out to give him food that he ultimately rejects it and drives away.
𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸
Splintering pain is what wakes you up, rending right through your skull like sharp daggers. Harsh, sterile fluorescent lighting bleeds through your heavy eyelids, nearly too heavy to flutter the fringe of your lashes open.
Your fingers twitch at your sides, reaching for something you can’t remember, corded IV lines drawn up your sleeve and pulse oximeter weighting you down. More tubes protrude from your appendages and your nostrils, the hospital blanket itchy on the bare parts of your skin.
There’s a steady murmur of voices, enough to make you wince and your cheeks squish into a grimace.
Everything hurts.
Drab wallpapers stab your glossy eyes and it smells of sterilized latex and cleaning supplies and smoke. It reeks like your fucking job.
You finally make sense of your surroundings, two figures blurring into full-picture. Shoko is leaning against the entrance to the room it seems, and your mother has her head resting in her palm on a chair, cheeks tear stained and flushed.
Huh. You’re in the hospital.
And then you remember.
“Kuna,” you sigh out, voice gruff and hoarse, mostly due to the fact that you haven’t had a lick of water in days unless it was pumped into you.
Both Shoko and your mother perk up at the sound of your voice and stirring, quickly rushing to your side as you attempt to throw the itchy ass blanket off of you. It feels like sandpaper and this is what they're giving patients? Even Sukuna had better stowed away.
“Easy, easy. You’re not fully healed,” Shoko warns, resting a hand over your head as her eyes study your face, worry replacing that casual air of coolness she carries. She strokes the strand back as your skin simmers.
Your midsection flares up in pain and you lay back, defeat clouding your vision while you curse. “Where is he?”
Your mom eyes you warily by your side, sending a look over at your best friend. Shoko sighs, flicking her cigarette butt into an ashtray and running a thumb over the back of your hand. “Let’s focus on you, okay? It’s been a couple of days since you were hurt and—.”
“I don’t care!” You curtly blurt, voice a little louder and denser than you expected making the two women flinch. You wince, laying a hand over your abdomen. “I need to know if he’s okay, Sho. Please.”
“He’s fine,” she states, those soft brown eyes narrowing. “He, uh. He stopped by yesterday with this. Told me you’d want it.”
She reaches over to hand you a Walkman. No, not any Walkman. The same one he’d had on his nightstand with a note on it.
so citygirl has a taste of the woods and the old days. stay put. — your wolverine
Shoko slides you a few CD’s, specifically the ones you’d overturned when you’d stayed with Sukuna. Each one squared away and dusted clean.
You feel your breath hitch in your throat, the feel of the items turned over in your hands heavier than what they weigh. Tears bite harshly at your waterline and you look back up at Shoko, as if she can mend the ache in your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with your injury.
She offers you a soft smile and you feel your shoulders hike upwards, the sobs leaving your lips faster than you expected.
She quickly leans forward and holds you in her embrace, gaze dragging up towards the ceiling as she tries to hold her own spiked emotions at bay. It’s not that easy when your best friend nearly died just days ago and only now woke up.
Your fingers clutch at her hoodie, digging your face into the crook of her neck as babbled words leave you. “I-I thought that was it I- didn’t know if I’d see anyone again,” you whimper out, your form shuddering against Shoko.
She attempts to coo softly, but it all comes undone and she somehow finds a way to scold you. “Y-you idiot. What the hell were you thinking going up there w-with, fuck, some random guy you just met?”
You pull away, using the backs of your hands to wipe at your tears and snot, fixing Shoko with a glare that could level mountains. “He’s not some random guy! And it’s not his fault I got hurt.”
The memory of that man’s face comes flooding in. Short brown hair, tapered off on the sides. A nasty grin and beady auburn eyes. You remember him, from the day you saw Sukuna at the cage fight. He was smiling just the same, peering into the pawn shop window, looking like the spitting image of Sukuna.
His half-brother, is what you guess. You remember how he’d spoken of him with barely any fondness, but the light in his eyes sparked differently. Sukuna must hold him close to his heart, but maybe the two of you were the black sheeps. Never meant to get along with the family.
He’s probably like Sukuna, too. If he’s still alive after all this time. Those claws must’ve been what he injured you with. Nearly killed you.
“It doesn’t matter. Up in those woods, with only a man you met just a few weeks ago?” She squeezes your hand in hers. “I don’t like it one bit.”
“Me neither.” A grating voice to your side cuts in.
You peer over your shoulder, and your mother has a frown fixed on her face. You’d be surprised if she even made it to your funeral, so seeing her here has your stomach churning and bile burning at the back of your tongue.
You still haven’t forgotten about the wedding, how she’d tossed you aside and looked at you with nothing but disgust. Kneeling to people who could sweep her under the rug with a click of their tongue.
You shift uncomfortably, feeling the walls you’d built years ago begin to lay defense around your heart, frustration that normally would’ve mounted to irrepressible now gone. You feel nearly nothing for her now. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
She leans forward, a hand on your shoulder, the same expression on her face donned when she’s about to scold you, chastise you for being out of place or speaking out of turn. “The doctors said it was a miracle. That even ten more minutes out in that forest and you would’ve bled to death.”
“And thanks to Sukuna, I’m still here and alive.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” She bitterly states, face pinching up at the sound of his name.
You freeze, feeling your face contort in irritation. “What does that mean?” You grit through clenched teeth.
There’s a pause, as if your mother is picking her words carefully. But they still slice through you, sharp and unforgiving, leaving you with open wounds as she talks about him. “That we don’t know what that man was planning. Have you seen him? He’s all tattoos and grunts and bad luck just brewing. You stay around him, and you’ll get yourself killed.”
You bristle where you’re laying. “Get the hell out.”
Her eyes shoot wide at your statement, darting between your orbs, before she peers over at Shoko for help. Shoko turns away, toying with her silver lighter which she’ll probably get confiscated by the hospital staff. Your mother stumbles over her words, before a chuckle comes out of her lips, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “What?”
“I said get the hell out. You don’t get t-to just… show up and act like you care. To sob out your crocodile tears when you realize you might be losing your trust fund. I’m sick of you and everything that comes with so—so just get the fuck out of my room!”
You lean back in your bed, feeling sweat bead across your furrowed browline. All this time bedridden and you’re still exhausted. Exhausted from your mother who you’d lost years ago.
“You are my daughter! I was half to death afraid I’d lost you,” she scoffs out, practically seething at your bedside.
You chuckle, though there’s no real humor behind it. Just whittled down pain, at its most worn-out form. “You did that a real long time ago.”
There's a stifling lull again, the air in the room shifting into uncomfortable. But your mother can’t stand any more of your berating. Quickly, your mom gathers her things, and exits your room dejectedly with a glare at Shoko who’s emptying her ash tray into the wastebasket at your bedside. You know it’s harsh, and that she’s the last bit of family you’ve got. But if she’d cared to make amends, she wouldn’t have done it when you were an inch from death.
Maybe, far in the future, when you’ve all but forgotten about this day, you’ll let her back in. Write a letter. Send a check for God’s sake. But now, you’re too beaten down to hear her sugar-coated apologies and chides where family comes first when she never made you a priority.
Shoko leans back in her seat, poking the toe of her heel against your leg. You glance over at her, feeling your heartbeat slow to a manageable pace.
“So. You’ve met the mother,” you groan, fingers toying with the seams of the sheet.
She chuckles knowingly. “Oh, I’ve more than met her. I’m surprised it took you this long to, y’know,” she gestures like she’s drawing a knife against her throat and makes a sputtered sound.
You can’t help the flitter of giggles that tumble from your lips, shifting in your bed to face her. “Me neither,” you sigh, running your tongue over your teeth. “At the wedding, we got into it. Like really into it, I said more than I’ve ever said to her. And it was so mean, Sho. If hell is real, there’s a possibility I’m going.”
Shoko lights another cigarette, peering behind her to check if the door is shut, before returning her attention to you. “If you’re going to hell, there’s no luck for me.”
You frown, snatching the cigarette from her and taking a puff. Maybe not the greatest idea with about a million tubes and such surrounding you and a fresh injury, but you’ve already cheated death once. Why not give it another shot?
The smoke billows in your chest, like uncurling tendrils seeping through the sponge of your lungs. Marlboro. You feel your chest tighten up.
“Well damn, woman. Last I checked, you hated these.”
You still manage to send yourself into a coughing fit, your midsection straining. “Maybe not so much anymore.”
You nibble on the inside of your cheek, glancing at the Walkman and CD’s laid beside you. The Rolling Stones. Blue Öyster Cult. Neil Young.
“He didn’t look like he was taking this whole thing easy,” Shoko breathes out after a few silent moments, balancing her cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, head cocked as she appraises you slowly. “Wasn’t eating, sleeping. Not that I care for a man’s struggles, because I certainly don’t. But even I was getting worried for him.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, guilt clawing at your insides. “I need to see him, Sho,” you whisper, tugging at a loose piece of string and wrapping it around your finger.
She eyes you for a moment, and you hate that she can read you like a book. Always has, probably always will. “You love him, don’t you?”
You don’t answer, and she doesn’t expect you to.
A team of nurses and doctors flood the room the next morning, letting you and Shoko know that you’ll be healed up and discharged in just 48 hours. They want to monitor you as the claws have scraped major organs but you should be just fine with rest and time.
The nurse you tug aside doesn’t advise you to go on any hiking trips for the next few weeks.
You spend the rest of your hospital visit in that bed. Talking to Shoko when she’s there as Mei Mei offers her time off and a gift basket of toilet cleaner pouches to pass off to you, coupled with a stupid note that says glad you didn’t die. though, i wish you gave me two weeks' notice before you up and left me.
When Shoko actually has to go to work, you use the Walkman. Rest the headphones over your head and lay back with your eyes clasped shut. Feel your gut churn as you recall the look on Sukuna’s face the last time you’d seen him. Wallow in your guilt at the thought that he’s avoiding you. Think about his warmth bleeding into you as you hugged his sturdy form, holding the key to his place in your hand, something nascent bubbling between the two of you. Something hopeful.
He’s probably holed up in that stupid house and refusing to come visit you because he either thinks it's his fault, or wants nothing to do with you anyway.
By the end of the following 48 hours, you come to the conclusion of the latter. Sukuna probably regrets giving you a key to his place at all, offering to build you a home in the woods, which is why he never came down and passed it off to you. Only left you with music and a message to leave him the fuck alone. He’s stubborn, quite like you. He hates when things disturb his little bubble of peace, which is what you’ve been doing ever since you’ve known him.
But you just can’t help it. That steady pull you’ve felt ever since he saw you sprinting naked in the forest.
You can’t shake off the thought of his eyes lingering on you when you were headed up the mountain in wedding formal, covered in champagne and sweat, giggling over every little thing like nothing was out of the sort. Like a predator hadn’t been stalking you and clipped your heels.
Shoko wheels you out of the hospital and brings you back to her place. She offers you her couch and her clothes, and you feel a bite of melancholy at your soul. If you hadn’t given up your apartment, this wouldn’t be the issue and you could stay at your own place.
But your place was technically Sukuna’s. Your home with him. Up where all that bothers you is an excited Uraume and buzzing mosquitos. He allowed you to stay with him until he helped you build a house of your own.
So, when you were healed, you had to go back. You had to see the stocky man with a fire in his eyes, battered knuckles and a smug grin that made something warm blossom in your chest.
The following week and a half, you manage to yap Shoko’s ear off until she’s all pinched up and agigtated. Prod at her every chance you got to have her take you up the mountain. She refused at every corner and angle you came from, but gave in when you asked if she could drive you to his sawmill.
She didn’t make a comment about how you dolled yourself up, spinning around in a dress she offered you and sorting through her makeup.
When you got there, you ran into Shiu. He was dragging some guy with a lip scar around during their lunch break, all hoots and hollers of uncivilized men. They had their axes buried into the ground and red pails beside it.
Once he caught sight of you, his grinning and bright expression faltered.
His friend made himself scarce and he padded over to you, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Guess you’re looking for the freak show.”
Your eyebrows knit. “Uh, yeah. I am. Is he working right now?”
Shiu shakes his head in low spirits. “None of us have seen the guy since he took a day off for some event. The boss made a missing person’s report but the police are too lazy to organize a group to hike uphill.”
You exchange a look with Shoko, feeling your stomach dip. “He hasn’t come by a single time?”
Shiu rakes his fingers through his hair as he kicks at the dirt. “If you see him, tell him he’s got us picking up his slack. That motherfucker has the work ethic of four men combined and now we’re hauling ass to cover him.”
Shoko drives you back to her place, and before there’s a word out of your mouth, she can tell by the look on your face what you’ve already set your mind on. “Give it a couple of days. He’s probably completely fine and—.”
“You don’t know that,” you curtly cut in, fingers curling against the hem of your dress. The car rocks, and you feel nausea bubble up in your gut.
Shoko sighs deeply. “Okay. So what exactly are you planning?”
𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸
Within an hour, you’re at the foot of the mountain. It’s almost dark, and Shoko checks her watch. “I’ve got a shift in fifteen minutes, babe. I can’t go up there with you.”
You shrug, tying your shoe laces tighter. “I don’t expect you to. I’ve been through this route a million times, I can clear it in under two hours.”
Shoko scoffs incredulously, her teeth grinding against each other. “You are aware you were nearly gutted with wooden prongs two weeks ago?”
You shift on your feet, pursing your lips, not quite sure where your sudden honesty is erupting from. “Not prongs.”
Shoko’s eyes narrow in suspicion, the words sounding from her mouth slowly. “What do you mean ‘not prongs’? That’s what we told the police.”
“Sukuna is a mutant. He has the X gene. He’s got claws in his knuckles and his half-brother is the same. They’ve been around for er… 200 years? Yup. I’m pretty sure it was his half-brother who stabbed me.”
Shoko blanches, mouth falling open, her bag hitting the floor.
You cringe. “Sorry to drop this bomb on you 14 minutes before your shift.” You rapidly say, clasping your hands in front of you like a child waiting to be scolded.
She shakes her head, her arms making dismissive gestures in front of her face. “You’ve lost it, and I’m taking you back home. I’m not sure I can trust you to make sound decisions.”
“Shoko, stop. I’m going up to see if he’s okay, and then I’ll be back down tomorrow. I’ll explain everything properly, please. Alright?”
“But they found him, the guy who got you right around here,” Shoko states, gleaming irises fixed on you sternly. “Do you think…?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, jaw ticking as you clench it. You don’t want to come to any conclusions until you’ve spoken to Sukuna. The police had brought you in to affirm that the body they found was in fact, not Sukuna and the man you assume is his twin-brother. Battered and bruised and bloody.
She frowns for a moment, deep lines etched into her sharp features before she’s cupping your cheeks and maneuvering your head in all directions. “Did he hit your head when you got stabbed? Or did you possibly get body-swapped by some alien?”
You pry her fingers off of you. “Shoko, shut up. I’m serious.”
“Why’d I drop out of medical school?”
You tilt your head in confusion. “You never told me.”
She nods. “There’s my girl.”
“Shoko!”
“Okay, okay. How about this? Does Sukuna have a landline?”
You shake your head. “But there’s enough service up there for me to call anyone, I just can’t phone you when I’m in the woods.”
She mulls it over in her head, foot tapping against loose gravel. Then she says your name, placing her hands on your shoulders and looking you square in the eye. “Don’t you dare die on me. I thought I lost you once already.”
You bite back a smile. “I won’t. If a mutant can’t kill me, then it must mean I’m unkillable, right?”
“Or incredibly lucky. Most likely that.”
“Whatever, get out of here. I’ll call you in a couple hours, okay? If I don’t call in three hours minimum, you can file a missing persons report to plaster next to Sukuna’s.”
“Got it,” she rolls her eyes, and then she ruffles your hair. “You’ll haunt my conscience if you die and I know I let you go out there alone.”
“And you’ll haunt mine if Mei Mei finally fires you for tardiness now haul ass!”
You and Shoko exchange a quick hug before she’s hurrying back to her car.
She tugs the driver’s door shut and rolls down her window, fingers drumming against her steering wheel impatiently. “And what kind of name is Wolverine? Is that a mutant thing?”
You giggle, dragging your hands down your face.
She’s reluctant to drive away until you threaten to throw rocks at her hood.
And then it’s you, the silence, and the steady hum of the late forest you keep finding yourself drawn back to.
𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸
You’ve got a rucksack strapped to your back like the first day you’d trekked up here, soles coming down on wet earth as wildlife chirps around you. The sun hasn’t dipped beneath the horizon quite yet, but if you don’t hurry, you’ll be left to the wolves. Literally.
Every dozen minutes or so, you find yourself perched on a rock and wrapping an arm around your midsection. The area has been cleaned by nurses and rebandaged, on its way to being fully healed, but the pain has yet to subside. You’ve taken enough painkillers to be frowned at by medical professionals, but you need to make it up here without the injury stopping you so often.
Over exerting yourself isn’t quite helping.
But you have to get up there, see if Sukuna is okay. See if he hasn’t skipped town or locked himself up in isolation.
You push on, sweat coating you like a second skin and beading down into every crevice. You spot the same landmarks you passed, coming up past the creek you’d taken a swim in and realizing you’re not too far from the top. Where you’d lost your map after going for an impromptu swim and was chased by a whizzing white ball of fur.
It’s when you hear the same growling you heard your first day here. When your hands were wrapped curtly around Sukuna’s collar for protection, and when you had mistaken his claws for his lighter. When he’d threatened his tranquility and anonymity for the sake of your safety and made sure you weren’t wolf fodder.
You’re not alone out here.
You feel your heart stumble in your chest as a large wolf with beautiful grey and white with streaks of Stygian black fur steps out from behind a tree, most likely the alpha of a pack. Teeth bared and sharp, growls rumbling like an incoming thunderstorm.
You freeze up, eyes widening when four more appear from the brush and surround you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, pulse roaring in your ears as your fingers tighten around the clasps of your rucksack. For all you know, this could be the same pack that cornered you and Sukuna just a few weeks back. When you can only assume that spark between the two of you was kindled into existence.
I’m gonna die, you think. This is it. I’ve cheated death once and it’s come back to me.
Your feet stutter backwards in awkward shuffles as the creatures begin to circle you like prey, drool tricking from their maws, beady eyes entirely tantalized. They look like they haven’t eaten in days, much less an entire woman. They’d be fed for days with your corpse.
You close your eyes, bracing yourself for impact, for your impending doom, when you hear it.
The sound of metal unsheathing. Skin tearing apart. Rugged, shallow breathing. Heavy footfalls stomping down the trail and slashing at tree trunks and sending splintered bark through the air.
Then, manly growls bordering on doglike. The same growls you’re all too familiar with.
You don’t move. You wait it out, wait for your fate to hit you in the face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
You still don’t open your eyes, your breathing shallowing out. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe the wolves have already gotten to you and you’re dead. Maybe you’ve finally lost it and you’re hallucinating the one man who has yet to leave your mind for more than five minutes.
It’s when massive, firm hands find your shoulders and shake you that your eyes flutter open. “You hearin’ me, brat?”
Sukuna.
He looks worse for wear, battered and tired with sunken cheekbones and a five o’ clock shadow you would’ve told him to shave off had you been at home with him. He looks… tired.
Though normally, the first scent that hits you isn’t smoke. It’s liquor, rather. The kind that makes you scrunch your nose up with its high alcohol content.
Your eyes scan the treeline around you, and the wolves are nowhere to be seen. Then you fix your gaze back on Sukuna. Your hands come down on his shoulders hard, hitting him with a permanent frown. “What the hell is wrong with you? You know your work filed you away as a missing person? To the police, for God’s sake.”
You see his jaw twitch, straightening out and rolling his eyes in irritation. As if the sight of you walking around and yelling at him doesn’t leave him dizzy. “I’m taking you back down the mountain. You’ll call an uber when you get down,” he grunts out, masking relief with chagrin.
“Like hell I will,” you scoff, moving out of his way when he tries to grab your forearm, taking a few steps back. “I came up here to see how you’re doing and—well, frankly. You look like shit.”
His button-up has been eaten away by moths and his jeans are covered in dirt. He’s got sweat beaded across his forehead and a beer bottle shoved into his pocket.
You cringe as he drags his gaze down his form slowly. “How far are we from your place?”
He grits his teeth, his words the slightest bit slurred like he’d spent all day on the bottle. “What kind of fuckin’ doctor lets their patient climb a mountain two weeks after they were stabbed?”
You shake your head when he derails the conversation. “No one lets me do anything. Much less you. We’re going up to your place and then—.”
“I don’t need some fuckin’ maid hovering over me every five seconds. We’re going back down and you’re done with your little adventure. You’ve had your fun. You need to know when to quit.”
You feel a lump nestle in your throat at his bluntness, the way he’s spewing venom in your face like it’s nothing. His fierce, crimson eyes piercing daggers into you and rending you apart, his teeth grinding against each other like another moment in your presence and he might just snap, his fingers toying with the neck of his beer bottle like he might just take another swig to slate his mind of this conversation.
“You don’t want me to stay with you anymore, then,” you warble out, voice breaking off at the end. “Hm? Because I’m just too much of a bother?”
“You said it, not me,” he grunts out.
“Everything I need is here, Sukuna. Right here. You of all people should know that. You know I went back, and you know it ate me alive.”
He straightens out with an unimpressed scoff, raking his fingers through his hair when you catch the sight of something grey and metallic shimmer around his neck.
Quickly, you reach forward, and tug the metal chain into your grasp. He just watches you down the bridge of his nose, a deep crease settled between his eyebrows as he releases a sigh. He’s not flinching, not swatting your hand away like you’re someone out to get him.
“Is this…?”
There’s a pause as he watches you, your bodies far too close for comfort. He’s afraid that if you move even an inch closer, you’ll be able to feel the way his heart is battering against his ribcage, the way his breath has caught like an unsuspecting mouse in a trap in his throat. “Yeah.”
You turn over the key he got you in your hand, feeling the air stripped from your lungs.
And then you look up at him, tears biting at your waterline and threatening to overflow. “How did you know I was out here?” You ask quietly, letting the question hang in the tense air between you two.
Those claret irises, the ones you recall meeting your eyeline a few weeks ago and only displaying his chagrin with your presence, now flickered with something else. Warmth, recognition.
He inhales sharply, fringed lashes heavy on his eyelids. “You never know when to stay put, citygirl. Had to make sure you weren’t a danger to yourself.”
Your knees nearly buckle at his words, monarchs erupting in your gut at his honesty. There’s a sudden hyperawareness of your body, your skin sizzling with heat and washing over fuzzy.
You find yourself tongue-tied.
All the chastising you had prepared on your way up left your mind immediately, like smoke curling up into the atmosphere and dissolving into naught. You didn’t want to scold him for skipping out work to the point he probably wouldn’t be able to pay rent in a few months, you didn’t want to ask why he didn’t send the things you had at his place down to the hospital—you didn’t want to be mad at him anymore.
All the pent-up irritation melted in your hands as your thumb brushed over the cold metal on his neck, the warmth of his body now bleeding into yours.
You feel your gut tumble when his gaze flickers to your lips for a sliver of a moment. So quickly you nearly miss it. Had you imagined it? Is he thinking the same thing you are right now?
You drop the key back onto his neck, carefully and slowly like you’ve got all the time in the world, and your hand rests on the bare skin above the undone button of his flannel. He’s so warm. Calloused, rough and hardened skin. The kind of skin you’ve been wanting to feel ripple under your touch.
Sukuna watches you carefully, not moving an inch. His boots feel like they’re rooted in tar, and if he shifts, then the world might decide to swallow him whole.
Then, your hand drifts down over his heart. Soft flannel meets your palm. You can feel his pulse slamming against yours, unrestrained and rapid. Like it’s trying to tell you what won’t leave his lips.
And Sukuna still pulls away, the corners of his lips twitching downwards. “I don’t have time for this. We can head back down now.” He weaves past you, headed down the trail.
You feel your shoulders slump, your hand dropping to your side. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper, each syllable heavy on your tongue.
There’s a stumble in his gait as he turns around slowly, facing your back. “What?”
You spin around, tears pricking your waterline as guilt churns through your. “It’s not your fault, Sukuna. I saw him. He’s your half-brother, isn’t he? I saw him at the pawn shop when I came to your fight. He was there and I thought he looked just like you but I-I didn’t say anything.”
You don’t notice the tears that begin to cascade down your cheeks as you wrap your arms around yourself, retreating into your mind in shame.
“If I had said something, this wouldn’t have happened and I—this wouldn’t have happened to us.”
Sukuna fist twitches as his side. “Really, woman? You think ‘cause you didn’t recognize some man you walked past weeks ago that it’s your fault for getting hurt?” He drags a hand down his face in defeat and stiffens, as if preparing himself for an admission he’s yet to relay. “I screwed up. Trouble has a way of followin’ me and I let it touch you. I let that fucking prick nearly kill you.”
You swallow thickly, cheeks flush and damp. “They found his body. At the foot of the mountain last night.”
Sukuna nods, more gravely than you expected. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows a wad of spit, hands slid into his pockets.
Your eye twitches at his silence. “D-Did you—?”
He shakes his head. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. He took something, something my old squadron mixed up.”
You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling some sort of relief uncoil fault in your gut. “I wouldn't care if you did, you know. I just don’t think you could live with that.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrow towards you, before he shuffles on his feet, kicking up dirt on the ground. “He’s dead. Won’t be bothering me anymore, citygirl. But that doesn’t mean I’m the right person to stay around.”
“To hell with that,” you scoff incredulously, dropping your bag to the floor and taking a step towards Sukuna. “The time I spent with you, probably the best time I’ve had in my life and you can’t expect me to go back to the city.”
He lifts his head, cheeks bled pink from the amount of beer he’d been guzzling down. Or possibly the hope that’s blossoming in his chest. Sukuna is a tough man, a ruffian most would say, but he’s developed a soft spot for you.
It’s hard to say no to you.
“And I don’t like leaving you up there alone,” you whisper, now only feet away from him.
The seams of his lips play upwards for a moment. “I’m not alone. I’ve got Uraume.”
You can help the soft, humored laugh that leaves you, and you reach a hand around your midsection. “Right. You’ve got Uraume. Plus, I’m not so sure I’d be able to make it down in this condition.”
Sukuna shrugs easily, giving you a slow appraisal. “Wouldn’t be the first time I carried you.”
There’s a lull of silence between you, the only sounds left being the spurring wildlife and your wilding spun hearts calling each other’s names.
And then he’s closing the distance, tracked boots leaving imprints in the dirt on the trail, an attest that you aren’t dreaming. Proof that this is happening. That you’re here, with Sukuna, back in the woods.
His hands come up under your knees as you're gently swooped off of your feet and he carries your bridal style, muscled arms pulling you flush against his front.
You feel your throat grow thick, rapt attention fixed on Sukuna. He’s got your bag tossed over his shoulder as he carries you like you weight naught.
He’s not walking downhill, instead retracing his steps upwards.
He looks real handsome like this, the moonlight illuminating his features. The slope of his big nose, the scars littered over his cheeks, the thick lines adorning his skin.
The hollow of his lips, plump. Inviting. Annoyingly smug and kissable.
Your Wolverine, you think. The thought makes your heart soar out of your chest and dance with the swaying and groaning oaks watching over the two of you.
“Oi. My eyes are up here,” he huffs, though his ears are bled pink and he’s trying to conceal the grin he’s biting back.
You toss your arms around his muscled shoulders, Sukuna’s feet nearly stumbling at how close your faces are now.
Your fingers play at his overgrown locks, shaggy and soft on your fingertips.
You lean forward, warm breath fanning against his lips. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking rapidly down at you. His heartbeat has returned to that tachy speed against your arm. “Could say the same for you, Wolverine.”
And then his lips meet yours, and you’re melting in his embrace. It’s not rushed, not rough. Just desperate. Conveying heavy emotions that have swirled between the two of you for far too long. He’s softer than you expected, mouth slotting over yours and moving in quiet tandem. Hands squeeze at your waist, rooting you in place as he worldly pushes forward confessions. It’s enough to make you giggle against his lips and tug at his hair playfully.
He tastes like cheap beer and Marlboro’s.
A few weeks ago, you would’ve found yourself cringing. But now, you find yourself falling into the taste, instead.
✦ ── a/n: would you cry if i told you we've got one chapter left? i certainly might. again, thank you to everyone who has followed me along on this journey of lumberjack!sukuna and citygirl!reader. i'll see you guys for the final hurrah TvT.
P.S. did anyone think she actually died? i have been baiting my friends but we're getting a happy ending for my babies. they only deserve it <3
gonna crash out bc wdym crude-saint deactivated while i was gone 💔 had the top 5 greatest sukuna AUs with him as wolverine. did they also get bullied off? no way yall cant take sienna, indie, chrissy, gojosoups, nezuscribe, mint, and fricks too. I WONT LET YOUUUU 🔫
𑣲 katsuki apologizing while still inside ⋆｡° — SMUT! ♡♡
katsuki was positioned completely on top, gently pinning her hands above her head with his fingers intertwined with hers. he raised his head from her neck, locking his gaze deeply with hers.
"you still mad at me?" his usual explosive voice dropped into a quiet rasp. her breathing was uneven, chest heaving softly against his.
"a bit.." she whispered breathlessly. a flicker of genuine regret softened his expression—he leaned down, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"didn't mean to, baby.." he truly meant it, looking down at her with raw vulnerability.
"had a long week. y'know how i can get sometimes, and m'sorry." hearing the genuine remorse in his tone made her remaining anger vanish, but the physical reality of their current position made it incredibly difficult to think straight, let alone talk.
"katsuki, do we have to talk about it now?" she emphasized, as his cock stayed deep and completely hard inside her.
his eyes were warm, even as a smirk tugged at his mouth—clearly amused by her breathy distraction. pressing his forehead against hers, he gave her pinned hands a gentle, tightening squeeze.
"yeah." he murmured against her lips, teasing her with a slow twitch of his hips. "we do. i can multitask."
he kissed her softly to catch her breath before drawing his hips back and driving right back in with a deep, unhurried stroke that made her back arch off the mattress.
a moan spilled from her lips as her fingers tried to curl into his, though he kept her hands firmly pinned against the pillow.
"fucking missed you." he groaned, setting a deep pace that maximized every bit of friction until she was trembling beneath him. "spent the whole week out of my mind because we left things messed up."
another deep, heavy push pulled a breathless whimper from her. katsuki caught the sound with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back just enough to look at her again. his eyes were dark and intense—entirely consumed by her.
"i get in my head." he went on, his hips moving forward in a steady rhythm as his words vibrated against her chest. "get pissed off at work, take it home.. shouldn't have shut you out. look at me, y/n."
she forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze of pleasure as he hit a spot that made her whine. "m'listening.." she whispered, her voice strained as she tried to handle the overwhelming depth of each slow stroke he delivered.
"yeah.." he muttered, his expression softening with possessive warmth as he continued to murmur between deep, perfect thrusts. "nowhere else i'd rather be. we're fixing this. right here."
do not bring that 'it's alright to not orgasm when having sex with a man <3' shit around here i will explode you with my mind immediately after hitting the block button i'm SICKKKKKKKKKKKKK<KKKKKKKKK of it
getting hit with a body swap quirk and waking up in katsuki’s body and him in yours and after the initial shock and confusion, all you can think about is how you’re gonna fuck him.
“i’m gonna make you cum so much.”
katsuki doesn’t know if it’s a threat or a promise as you eagerly take his (your) hand to pull him down the hall into your shared bedroom.
there nothing else you can do but wait so why not fuck each other stupid especially with the fact katsuki (in your body) now has the ability to come multiple times and wanna break his record of how many times he’s had you seeing stars. you know what your body likes, know where to touch and how to flick your tongue just right and sure, it might be weird to eat yourself out in your boyfriends body but when you’ve got him above you, gripping your (his) hair and whining the way he usually does but hearing your voice (lowkey crazy and kinda freaky) but you make him finish over and over again, until he is begging you to stop.
“sweetheart, fuck, i can’t-“ it’s weird to hear the pet name in your voice. “please baby, ngh, gimmie a second.”
he’s crying, cheeks flushed and wet, lips parted as he huffs and for a second you think about how hot you look at how if that’s what he sees every time you guys fuck, well damn, he’s lucky. but you don’t let up because he never does and so you’re diving back in, a mess of teeth and tongue, fingers dipping inside yourself with such fervour you have his back arching off the bed, hands gripping the sheets as cries rip from his (your) throat. the neighbours are gonna complain, and you’re gonna have to deal with it cause it’s your voice hitting decibels unknown to man but fuck, knowing katsuki’s feeling every single thing you’re doing, having the pleasure of cumming over and over again, hell you’ll take a thousand complaints and awkward elevator encounters.
“baby, sweetheart. please.” katsuki grips your hair, yanking up to pull you from his (your) cunt. “princess, i’m gonna pass out you’ve gotta give me a second. holy shit.”
you sit back on your haunches and wipe your mouth and chin with the back of your hand.
katsuki huffs below you. chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he desperately tries to get his heart rate down.
“this how you feel whenever i don’t let up?” his voice is hoarse, as he drags small hands down his (your) face.
“mmhmm.”
“fuck, im sorry sweetheart. didnt think it felt this weird.” eyes lock with yours, and for a second you swear it’s actually katsuki’s eyes looking at you from within your face. “don’t get me wrong it felt great but its weird. feels heavy.”
you nod, knowing all to well the feeling he describes. large hands that don’t belong to you reach out to stroke his face, calloused fingers gliding down over the swell of breasts and fat of your tummy, touching all the places you love.
“i’m gonna suck you off though.” he announces, hands grabbing your wrists. “want you to know how it feels to have your perfect mouth wrapped around my cock.”
heat blooms in your stomach and you feel the rush of blood move south. god it felt strange.
“want you to feel what it’s like when you let me fuck your throat, when you hum around me. fuck, i’m gonna make you cum.”
a/n: anyone got a gender swap fic i can read? i wanna get freakydeaky
i think bsf!tim would love grinding his tip against your clit until both of you are soaked (♡⸃ ◡ ⸂♡)
he’d have you lie on your back, guiding the flush pink of his glistening tip through your folds with an agonizing slowness, smearing pre-cum against your slick. every firm nudge against your puffy clit has both of you whimpering.
“fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he mutters, voice wrecked as he catches on your clenching entrance for the umpteenth time.
“j-just the tip, okay? i promise. i just need to feel you for a second.”
famous last words.
because the second your tight heat takes the first few inches of the head of his cock, his abs flex, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as a pathetic moan escapes him.
“i-i’m sorry—“ and he slides all the way in in one go until he’s buried to the hilt inside you, pelvis pressed firm against your clit. “shit, i’m sorry— i didn’t mean— you just feel so good.”
he doesn’t immediately start fucking you hard, just starts off with slow grinds. enough to make you claw at his shoulders and beg for him to go deeper <3
every time you don’t reblog you’re discouraging writers!! reblog and support us!!
~tags: smutttt smut smut smut (as requested by @satoyesha)
⋆˚꩜｡ in terms of dominance, it's: sukuna > toji > you.
⋆˚꩜｡when it comes to sex, you being comfortable is their priority. they'd never make you do anything you aren't comfortable/interested in doing.
⋆˚꩜｡you love the feeling and heat of being squished between the two. they're so big, you can't get enough.
⋆˚꩜｡they both have a thing for your feet hehehe.
⋆˚꩜｡kuna enjoys teasing toji, saying things like he does a better job at making you feel good. this makes toji fuck you even harder, so that you become a dizzy mess. which was sukuna's goal.
⋆˚꩜｡sukuna also loves talking toji through sex with you. he knows that toji will do whatever he says.
⋆˚꩜｡they love eating you out at the same time. kuna's tongue fucks your hole, while toji sucks your clit.
⋆˚꩜｡sometimes they push and nudge each other, wanting you to themselves.
⋆˚꩜｡when you start getting close, toji likes to play with your hair and talk you through your orgasm, teasing you a little bit.
⋆˚꩜｡on the other hand, sukuna will grab you by the chin and force you to look him in the eyes when you cum.
⋆˚꩜｡they do not like it when you cover your face or try to suppress your moans. they will force your hands away from your face, maybe even binding them together.
⋆˚꩜｡if they even think for a second that you're trying to be quiet, they'll stop completely.
⋆˚꩜｡they know how much you love watching them.
⋆˚꩜｡when toji goes down on sukuna, kuna loves bucking his hips into his mouth. he loves watching toji claw at his thighs and hearing him gag and struggle.
⋆˚꩜｡don't forget kuna has a thing for hitting his tip on toji's tongue ;)
⋆˚꩜｡sometimes when you're out shopping, you'll get a message from sukuna. it's a video of toji riding him. you watch as toji lifts himself and slams right back down, his ass clapping on sukuna's dick nonstop.
⋆˚꩜｡ sukuna usually slaps toji's ass during sex.
⋆˚꩜｡ they also loveee biting each other.
⋆˚꩜｡toji likes to see how long he can take all of sukuna in his mouth without gasping for air.
⋆˚꩜｡sukuna loves it too because he likes feeling toji's saliva pool around him and in his lap.
⋆˚꩜｡tojikuna are rougher with each other during sex versus how they are with you (of course duhhh okie byee).
let me know if y'all want more of these headcannons <3
it doesn’t matter who they are. man, woman, sukuna can’t stand it when he catches people looking at his boyfriend, toji.
the two of them are at the usual ramen place they love going to.
toji patiently stands in line with his arms crossed and eyes low. his signature scar accents the slight frown he always has.
sukuna stands behind him like a guard dog. hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans that sit low on his hips.
at first glance, you would think the two men weren’t even together.
suddenly, sukuna perks up at the sound of giggling. he turns his head to find a group of young women sitting down at the restaurant.
he watches how they whisper and gawk at, not him, but the man in front of him. he turns his head to look back at his boyfriend to see toji staring off in space. toji doesn’t notice them.
he never does.
sukuna's absentmindedly pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. becoming more and more irritated.
then, he hooks his finger onto one of toji’s belt loops and yanks him closer. his ass now pressed up against the older man’s crotch. toji takes his hand and grabs at sukuna's thigh, still looking forward. sukuna leans in to lay several kisses down the back of toji’s neck.
sukuna pulls back and looks at the group of women. the girls who were blatantly admiring toji were now silenced, mouths slightly agape. a cocky grin appears on sukuna’s face as he waves playfully to the girls.
even when sukuna's slamming into toji after they get home, he can't help but be bothered by the whole thing.
toji's bent over the bed, mind completely blank.
sukuna's been bullying his poor hole ever since they got home. he pulls out his phone to record the state of his boyfriend. he angles the phone just right to show him pumping his cock inside of toji. how he pulls out before brutally snapping his hips and burying himself inside.
sukuna's keeps having to lift toji up by the hips, due to the younger man's legs constantly giving out.
"k-kuna please," toji manages to moan out. his dick bobbing up and down, and he can't remember how many times his cum has shot out on the bedsheets. he flinches and whimpers every time kuna reaches down to lay a hard slap on his dick.
sukuna bends down so his lips graze toji's ear and whispers,
“i hate it when these fuckers stare at you like you’re not mine.”
also, when toji has to get ready for work early in the morning, sukuna has a hard time letting him go.
“kuna i have to go, i can’t be late,” toji says, trying to pull away.
“just wait a sec, yeah?” sukuna pulls him back on the bed and rests him between his legs. toji's back presses against sukuna's broad chest.
sukuna presses his mouth to the side of toji's neck. his teeth graze his skin before closing his lips over the sensitive spot of toji's neck.
this doesn't last long because toji quickly stands up and backs away from the eager man.
"uh-uh," toji shakes his head with a grin. "we're not doing this again. i'm not gonna have everyone at work stare at me because i have a bunch of hickies on my neck..."
sukuna tilts his head to the side and rolls his eyes.
"fine, gimme a kiss at least."
toji scoffs, but walks over to lay a gentle kiss on his boyfriend's lips.
but in one fell swoop, sukuna yanks down toji's pants and gets on his knees.
"kuna, what the hell!" toji yells out, trying to push the man away.
"that's alright," the older man hums." if you won't let me leave marks on your neck, i'll just leave them on your dick."
Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it — series
Part 2B: Replaced
The invitation sits unopened in Satoru’s backpack for a while.
He only notices it because he’s digging around for a missing assignment after practice and the pink-colored card slips free, landing on the floor of his dorm.
For a second he just stares at it. Then he remembers.
You had handed it to him almost three months ago outside the student center. When you were still together.
You’d looked nervous, a little excited.
“Will you come?” you’d asked, fidgeting with your fingers.
Satoru had been halfway through answering a text from a teammate. “Come to what?”
“My art showcase.” He remembers the way your face lit up when you started explaining it.
How the department had chosen student projects and everyone would have their own display section if they qualified.
At the time he’d barely listened, but now; he somehow remembers.
He’d kissed your forehead and promised he’d try. Then he’d forgotten about it almost immediately.
The memory makes his stomach twist because he never went.The guys wanted to celebrate a win and he forgot to text you.
What he hadn’t realized then, was there were two dates on the invitation. A voting stage, which had passed; and the winners event, which was tonight.
An annual exhibition, open to the public. After a quick search on the university website, he found a list of featured artists.
To his surprise your name was first on the list.
To Gojo, this was another great opportunity to get back into your life after you shunned him.
But his irritation quickly rises when he looks down the list and recognizes another name. “Choso Kamo.”
Maybe because he’s heard it too often lately. Every time someone mentions you recently, Choso’s name seems to follow.
He shoves the invitation back into his bag and by seven o’clock he’s standing outside the gallery.
He tells himself he’s only here because Suguru mentioned there would be free food and drinks. What a terrible lie.
——-
The building is crowded when he walks in. Students drift between exhibits; holding glasses of wine and tiny paper plates stacked with appetizers.
Soft music sets the quiet atmosphere, nothing like a fraternity party or a football game.
He almost leaves, but then he sees you… and everything else disappears.
You’re standing near the center of the room beside a display table; smiling at something a professor says.
You’re wearing the same expression you used to wear whenever you talked about something you loved.
The same expression he’d spent so much time ignoring.
For a moment he just watches. Then his eyes drift to the display behind you.
The breath leaves his lungs. The entire section belongs to you. Dozens of pieces carefully arranged across the wall. Some are landscapes. Others are portraits.
He didn’t know you were this talented. The realization causes a dull ache; not because you kept it from him, you tried to show him over and over.
He remembers you asking if he’d look through your portfolio. He remembers promising to look at it, and never getting around to it.
A group gathers around your display asking about your inspiration and advice. You begin explaining one of the photographs, a proud look on your face.
Satoru suddenly felt sick; because all those years you were talking to him about this exact stuff.
And most of the time he’d been checking football scores under the table.
The shame settles heavily in his chest. Then someone appears beside you.
Choso.
Satoru recognizes him immediately.
Tall. Dark-haired. The kind of guy who manages to look effortlessly cool without trying.
You glance at him and smile like there was more to be said.
Satoru hates how much that bothers him.
Choso leans down and whispers something only for you, and your laugh carries throughout the room.
And suddenly Satoru remembers every time you’d laughed like that with him.
Every late-night drive. Every movie marathon. Every stupid joke.
Back when making you happy had felt effortless, before he’d gotten comfortable. Before he assumed you’d always be there.
A professor approaches Choso’s display nearby.
Satoru follows a crowd without thinking. At first he only intends to glance at it.
Then he stops.
The entire section is incredible. Large paintings cover the walls. Sketches. Mixed media pieces.
Months of work displayed under bright gallery lights.
People keep stopping to compliment them. Choso accepts every compliment with an awkward smile but somehow redirects every compliment to you.
“Y/n actually helped me choose that one.”
“She stayed up until three helping me finish that display.”
“I almost scrapped this project, but she talked me out of it.”
Every comment feels like another knife.
Because Choso isn’t bragging. He isn’t trying to make Gojo jealous. He didn’t even realize he was there.
If anything, he seems genuinely grateful.
And Satoru remembers what it felt like when you used to support him like that.
You attended every game and made arrangements to come to away games. You learned the rules, listened to him complain after losses, celebrated wins like they were your own.
You built entire weekends around supporting him.
And he can’t remember attending a single thing that mattered to you.
Not one.
The realization follows him through the rest of the evening.
Everywhere he looks, there are reminders. Evidence of an entire world he’d never bothered to learn about.
Eventually he finds himself standing in front of one photograph longer than the others.
A nighttime campus scene.
Soft lights reflected across rain-soaked pavement.
Beautiful. Quiet. Lonely.
The title card beneath it catches his attention. The date listed underneath makes his stomach drop. He knows that date.
You took this photograph the night of one of his championship games. The same night you’d asked him to come with you afterward.
The same night he’d blown you off for a party.
You’d gone alone and taken this photo, creating something beautiful out of something painful.
For the first time all evening, Satoru leaves the gallery overwhelmed.
People continue filtering in through the entrance behind him.
Inside, through the glass windows, he can still see you surrounded by people who appreciate what you create.
And suddenly he understands something.
He’d spent months convincing himself that the breakup happened because football demanded too much of him.
Standing here now, none of those excuses survive.
The truth is much simpler; you had spent years showing him exactly who you were, inviting him into your world.
And every time he’d treated them like something he could look at later.
Now someone else knows your favorite projects. Someone else knows your dreams. Someone else gets to stand beside you on the nights that matter.
Satoru stays outside until the gallery closes.
He watches you leave through the front doors surrounded by friends, arms hooked with Choso. Your head leaning on him, accompanied by the widest grin possible.
And for the first time since the breakup, he doesn’t feel angry or jealous, just devastated.
you didn’t set out to homewreck their relationship on both ends, really. if anyone were to ask you, it was a stroke of fate—you’d just happened across the both of them. suguru, who approached you at a bar and bribed you to the back with a drink. who brought you to the perfect line between drunk and tipsy, giggling endlessly and listing into his side, unable to hold yourself up fully. who took off his wedding ring and placed it on the nightstand before taking you to bed. who took you apart with the skill of a man with years of experience.
years he had; after all, you woke up the next morning to his phone buzzing, a call from ‘love’ blaring at you from the screen.
he winks at you as he leaves, securing a teasing promise that you won’t tell anyone. you don’t. instead, you smear a kiss at his collar. you ask to see him again, and when you do, you make a game out of trying to leave evidence behind—when suguru pulls you back by the hair, making filthy promises to fuck you in his husband’s bed, you moan and scratch your way down his back. when he ties you up, calling you his pretty little dove, you pull the skin of his neck into your mouth and suck until it bruises. when he gags you, telling you to be good, you whine and cry and hook your ankles around his hips, hoping this time it takes.
and when he finally, finally takes you home, fucking you on his bed like he promised, you just so happen to accidentally leave your g-string behind.
a week later, you see satoru while scrolling on hinge. older, beautiful, and clearly suguru’s husband. you’d seen him enough, stared down his picture while his husband fucked you in his bedroom. you’d imagined his face. daydreamed about the possibility of him walking in, of him watching you take his husband down your throat as he moaned your name.
this, you think, is better.
you match. of course you do. you start talking, you play it sweet, you act completely clueless. you have phone sex with him before suguru picks you up for another date. suguru takes you to bed, and you comfort him when he texts you about how his ‘roommate’ is taking a while to get home. when you finally meet, he doesn’t even bother to hide his wedding ring. suguru never does, either.
satoru fucks you angry. he keeps your hands clasped in one palm as he takes you from behind, panting heavily in your ear. when you turn your head to moan, he growls low in his throat and shoves your face into the pillow, smothering your whines. he makes you cry. fucks you until he’s done, uncaring of the way you writhe against him as it borders too much.
and when it’s done, he sits there, not even looking at you. he stares down at his hands, palms up, wedding ring still on. you run a hand down his thigh, lean into his side, and ask what’s wrong.
“i think my husband is cheating on me,” he tells you hoarsely.
you coo, bringing his head into the crook of your bruised neck. you run a hand down his spine, stroking your thumb back and forth. you press a kiss into his white hair. “it’s okay,” you murmur. “it’s okay. he’s not—he couldn’t be. who’d be willing to give you up?”
he texts you again a week later. you visit suguru at work, suck him off under his desk, then wipe your mouth and meet up with satoru for lunch.
"I know I can suck him off better than you," you scowl right at Satoru now, the two of you on your knees right in front of your boyfriend Suguru Geto - he raises a dark brow at the both of you.
"You're pretty good sweetheart," Satoru slips his fingers down your spine ever so slowly, goosebumps rising in a little trail. "You're not close to me though."
"Sugu, tell him," you pout all pretty - and he brushes your hair back, smiling down at you as your hand tries to wrap his thick, veiny cock. "I am so much better than Satoru at it, hmm?"
"Your throat is so much tighter..." Suguru moans, making Satoru glare his pretty blue eyes at both of you.
"Fuck you!?" Satoru scoffs, his jaw clicking he's so damn irritated, but also seeing your tongue lapping up the underside of Suguru's cock has his own twitching, the way you gather all that dripping white. "Calling me loose!?"
"Maybe."
"Hah!" You shove Satoru and he yanks at your hair. "Ow!"
"Why do I endure this?" He acts as if you're not arched all pretty in front of his boyfriend's cock, like he doesn't love to watch you choke on it - fuck it's almost as good as when you choke on his.
"Is my tongue better, too?" You murmur, feeling Satoru’s hand slide down your ass and smack the fuck out of it, it stings his hand is so damn big. "Ouch!?!?"
"Stop being bratty, Toru," Suguru just has him smirking, raising a brow - Satoru Gojo is a fucking brat. "Spit on it, princess."
You do the daintiest spit ever.
Satoru snorts, so you smack him again.
"Spit on it for her, since she's too cute to really do it." Satoru leans forward as Suguru orders, a thick glob of spit falling down to that reddened, pierced tip, you moan softly as Sugu tightens his hold on your hair, and you use Satoru's spit to glide his cock deep.
Satoru can't help but be mesmerized by it, his fingers pumping in and out of your slick cunt, making you whine out. The vibrations have Suguru's head falling back, moans escaping his throat, watching as you two make out so messy right over his tip.
When Satoru can't help but bend you over after, and stuffs your cunt full of his cock, Suguru’s thick length is slamming right in your throat, the two of them coating your walls and your mouth in white. Well... you and Satoru sort of forget the competition, especially when Suguru is eating Satoru's cum so eagerly from your pretty, abused cunt.
Satoru makes sure to lap every bit of Suguru's cum from your mouth, swallowing it down and moaning - before they've switched - and both men are swapping all those filthy fluids between their mouths with mean kisses. They use you - fucking you until you're a drooling mess in all three of your holes.
You're fucked out, your ears ringing, you're dizzy -
But you swear you hear a murmur in your ear that Gojo thinks he's won.
Then you hear another murmur after Gojo is snoring on the bed, and Suguru is pounding your cunt again though, with his hand wrapping right around a throat so sore from swallowing him? Satoru is long out, damn near drooling, and Suguru is making sure you feel every inch of him, lips on your ear.
"Guess what, princess?" He asks softly, squeezing at your pressure points. You gasp out, looking up at him, lashes fluttering.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did your pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
getting fucked by enjin and gojo at the same time, both of them crammed inside your poor cunt. and while you are sobbing while they fuck your brains out, they just talk about you like you aren't even there.
"sssshit, she's so fuckin' tight, can't believe she'd let us use her like this," enjin groans against the back of your neck, fingers digging into the fat of your hips. "such a good lil' fuckhole, she takes it s'fucking good..."
satoru whines as he feels you cum again just from enjin's words, your face hidden in the crook of his neck as his hand holds you there. "she's so fucking good, such a good girl, love her s' much, 'n love her pretty pussy so much, taking two fat dicks like this, she's so gooddd..."
ang satoru always cums first, a choked cry of your name leaving him as he keeps fucking you through his orgasm, twitching inside you when he hears enjin curse under his breath, muttering how 'fucking hot' satoru's cum is and how much better it makes the glide...and satoru's perverted ass is gripping as you and enjin, begging pitifully.
"c-c'mon, cum in her, fill her up with me, yeah? give our girl what she needs, lemme eat it outta her, hurry up, she needs ittt, right baby? yeah? tell him, tell him you need his cum too, that you need 'toru to make it all better and clean up all that sticky cum outta you--"
"o-oh my fucking god, you jus' don't shut up!"
slapping his hand against satoru's mouth (who whimpers and cums a lil bit more from this by the way), he can't help but give in, leaning down to bite the nape of your neck as he pumps you full of his cum, mixing it right with satoru's load. the poor guy is practically vibrating under you as he feels it dripping out of you and down his balls, praying silently in his head that enjin wouldn't mind if he licked it off him too.
Summary: Dating a women’s studies major has turned Sukuna into the frat house’s most feared feminist. Now the frat boys can’t make a sexist comment without getting a lecture, while you sit back and watch.
A/n: just fun lil thing i thought of :)
The frat house was unusually quiet, no music, no party, no sports discussions.
This was because Ryomen Sukuna was standing in the living room with his arms crossed, looking genuinely disappointed.
“Did you just call her a bitch?”
Satoru Gojo, halfway through stealing someone’s energy drink from the fridge, blinked. “What?”
“You called that girl a bitch.”
“She literally stole my hoodie after our hookup,” he shrugged him off.
Sukuna pointed at him. “And? Speak like a man. Have some respect.”
“No, seriously.” Sukuna continued. “You don’t get to call women bitches because you’re annoyed.”
Satoru stared. “Who are you?”
“My girlfriend says that’s misogynistic.”
“Your girlfriend also made you stop saying ‘females.’”
“And she was right, it’s disrespectful. Some shit incels say.”
The entire frat house collectively recoiled.
Across the room, you sat on the couch, sipping an iced coffee and watching the chaos unfold. A smile on your face, because god were you enjoying this.
This was better than reality TV.
Satoru pointed at you. “YOU DID THIS.”
You raised your coffee in acknowledgment.“Damn right.”
———————————————————————————————
The frat party was loud enough to shake the walls. Music blasted through the speakers.
Drinking games to your left, a fist fight to your right; and you were just observing from the kitchen.
And in the middle of it all, Toji was sprawled across the couch with a beer in hand.
His girlfriend was standing nearby talking to some friends when Toji waved his empty can in the air. “Hey.”
She glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Grab me another beer.”
A few people looked over.
She frowned. “What?”
“You heard me.” Toji pointed toward the kitchen. “Get me another beer.”
Before she could argue, another voice cut through the room.
“No.”
Toji closed his eyes. “…God.”
Across the room, Sukuna was already walking over.
You perked up immediately, ready for your boyfriend to set Toji straight.
Sukuna stopped directly in front of Toji. “Hell no.”
Toji looked exhausted. “No what?”
“No disrespecting your girl in front of me.”
A few people turned their attention to the potential altercation.
Toji rubbed his forehead. “I asked her to get me a beer.”
“You ordered her.”
“It’s not that serious, right baby?” He said, trying to save his ass.
Sukuna crossed his arms. “If you want a beer, use your legs, or ask nicely.”
Toji stared, “You cannot be real.”
His girlfriend was already trying not to laugh.
Sukuna pointed toward the kitchen, “Go get your own drink.”
“Or what?”
The entire room collectively leaned forward.
Sukuna grinned. “Or I’ll disrespect your face by punching it.”
You giggled. Only Sukuna could point out misogyny while trying to solve the issue with violence.
A guy standing nearby immediately whispered, “That’s the most Sukuna version of feminism I’ve ever heard.”
Toji looked around the room. Nobody was helping him. Not even a little, most probably in fear of Sukuna.
Finally, Toji sighed. “Fine.”
Sukuna nodded. “Good choice.”
Toji turned toward his girlfriend. “Sorry.”
She raised an eyebrow, suddenly she had more confidence than before. “Sorry for what?”
Toji was clearly embarrassed now, “Sorry for talking to you like that.”
“Thank you.”
Sukuna gave an approving nod. “There. Growth.”
“Shut it,” he said staring down Sukuna. “You know what? I’m getting my own beer.”
As Toji disappeared into the kitchen, the room broke into applause.
His girlfriend laughed and shook her head.
Then she turned to Sukuna. “Thanks.”
Sukuna shrugged. “Don’t thank me.”
He pointed across the room toward you. “Thank her.”
Everyone looked.
You were sitting comfortably on a stool in the kitchen; chin in hand, eating chips like you’d been watching a sporting event.
You gave a little wave.
“Kuna’s a women’s studies soldier ,” she said proudly. “I teach him everything I know.”
———————————————————————————————
The fraternity and sorority had gathered in one room to brainstorm ideas for a charity fundraiser. People were throwing out suggestions.
Raffles. Bake sales. Auctions.
Then Satoru snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
Immediately, you looked concerned, because he never had good ideas.
“We do a joint event with the sorority.” Satoru grinned. “The girls wear maid outfits and serve drinks.”
The room erupted into approval.
“That’s genius.”
“People would love that.”
“Easy money.”
Across the room, Sukuna slowly lowered the energy drink from his hand.
“Interesting.”
“NO,” Gojo yelled. “Let me have this one good idea,” he groans.
Sukuna stood. “Let me understand… the women wear maid costumes.”
“Yeah.”
“And serve drinks.”
“Yeah.”
“And what are the men doing?”
Toji shrugged. “We could do some strength challenge.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Lifting something heavy.” Several people nodded.
“Classic.” Sukuna stared. Then looked at you, looking for approval to go on a rant.
Sukuna turned back to the room. “The women get assigned a service role. The men get assigned a strength role.”
More silence.
“Based on gender.”
The room collectively sighed.
Sukuna pointed dramatically. “Why.”
Satoru finally spoke. “Because that’s what people want.”
Sukuna gasped.
You smiled proudly at your boyfriend, waiting for him to call out their blatant sexism.
“PEOPLE EXPECT IT?”
“Yeah?”
“So we’re just reinforcing traditional gender roles for profit now?”
The room erupted.
“IT’S A CHARITY EVENT.”
“YOU’RE MAKING IT SOUND EVIL.”
Sukuna ignored them. “Misogyny is evil.” He pointed toward the sorority members.
“Why are they the ones serving drinks?”
One of the sorority girls raised her hand. “Honestly, I don’t want to wear a maid costume.”
“THANK YOU.” Sukuna was fully activated.
You were delighted to see how this was playing out.
“Explain to me,” Sukuna continued, “why the men can’t wear maid costumes and serve drinks.”
The room went dead silent, and you almost spit out your drink.
Toji blinked.
Satoru blinked.
The sorority sisters were stunned. “What?”
“The men.” Sukuna spread his arms.
“No.”
“Why not?”
The room burst into laughter.
“If serving drinks is easy money, then congratulations.” He slapped the table.
“The fraternity is serving drinks.”
The sorority girls immediately started cheering.
“YES.”
“MAKE THEM DO IT.”
Toji looked horrified. “Absolutely not, I’m not wearing a maid outfit.”
Sukuna leaned forward. “Fragile, typical response from men. Toxic masculinity, machismo, societal expectations.” He says pointing a finger at different men around the room.
You had your face in your hands, trying to hide your laughter. You had to show support for your boyfriend, but couldn’t handle him naming every term he could think of.
Sukuna pointed around the room. “If the costumes aren’t degrading, wear them.”
Silence.
The sorority girls were having the time of their lives. One of them pulled out her phone. “I’m ordering maid costumes right now.”
The fraternity erupted in panic.
“STOP HER.”
“WE CAN STILL NEGOTIATE.”
——-
Two weeks later, the fundraiser ended up being the most successful event in frat history.
Mostly because nobody could resist paying money to watch a group of deeply embarrassed frat bros serve spiked lemonade in maid outfits.
Toji looked dead inside.
Satoru refused to make eye contact with anyone.
Meanwhile Sukuna carried a tray through the crowd completely unbothered.
His maid outfit fit surprisingly well, as he served you a drink.
Across the lawn, Satoru was being forced to say “Welcome home, master” for a twenty-dollar donation.
The sorority was making a fortune.
Sukuna took one look at the donation total and smiled. “Look how good we’ve done so far,” he said enthusiastically.
“I’m so proud of you,” you said before leaning in for a kiss.
“By the way, I think you should bring home this costume when you’re done here,” you said; snapping the thigh high sock on Sukuna’s thigh.
