He buys you flowers, takes you out to nice dinner dates, holds your hand in public as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, just everything you could want in a man and more. He wasn’t subtle with his affection, but rather was open about it when it came to you. Your heart never ceases to flutter whenever he addresses you and how he pulls you closer to his side in-front of his friends in a possessive claim.
Suguru knows about your terrible past boyfriends and assures you he would never be the same. He kissed every tear that slipped down your cheeks. Held you close as you let out every insecurity that you face. Suguru was just different from the rest and it’s why you feel so fucking special with him – from the many months of being in each other’s orbit.
For the first time in a long time you feel loved.
His bare chest has become your favorite pillow to sleep on, which is where your head rests tonight – as his arm draws you closer. You nuzzle into his warmth – the muscles of his abs flex under the movement. Soft puffs of breath in your hair as your eyes flutter in and out of consciousness.
The faint buzz of a phone makes you stir as Suguru remains fast asleep. You remember turning your phone on silent earlier that night before you two were intimate and figured you must have forgot to fix it before you began falling asleep. You choose to ignore it since it seems like it was only one text, whoever it was could wait till morning.
You’re about to lay your head back down but it goes off again – multiple times. You huff blinking back the drowsiness to reach over Suguru’s chest where both of your phones lay. Too sleepy to really process which phone that you are reaching for since they look the same.
You whimper, eyes adjusting to the sudden light but confusion etches over your face making your nose scrunch up.
Manami…?
It’s like a splash of cold water on your face that makes the drowsiness dissipate.
Who is Manami, and why is she sending you, no, Suguru – since you recognize his lock screen anywhere – texts at 3:47 in the morning?
You suck in a breath tapping the message so it opens before pressing your thumb that automatically recognises your finger print to access his phone. You gently tug Suguru’s arm off your torso. A small grunt leaves his lips but he doesn’t fully stir awake. Slipping from his hold, you tip toe with the quietness of a mouse into your ensuite bathroom.
Clicking the door shut and then locking it behind you. You slip to your knees against the wall, the tile floor of the bathroom sending shivers down your spine. You don’t dare flick the light on in case Suguru does wake up and that being the reason from the glow under the door.
Finally you look down at the open conversation on Imessage. She sent a total of six texts. The first text that your eyes skim makes your stomach automatically churn.
‘I had fun the other night’.
Who knew six simple words could make your whole world crash in seconds.
You didn’t want to read more but your fingers betrayed you scrolling up on the screen – some part of you hoping it’s just a bot texting him. You’ve had that happen before.
But why would a bot have a contact name?
Your heart sank the more you scrolled. It wasn’t just six texts, it was like a novel that you stumbled upon. They have been having long conversations with each other that were full of such intimacy. About how much she wanted him and vice versa. It made you want to puke.
They had met at the gym – that stupid one he had told you was exclusive to men – but low and behold it wasn’t. Maybe she is the reason why he wouldn’t let you tag along from the beginning.
He talked about her like she was a work of art and from the sounds of it she was. From the way he discussed her body you got the picture – big tits, nice ass, and dusty pink hair – by all means a goddess.
But it wasn’t just compliments of how beautiful she was, no, it was so much fucking worse.
They were sexting every single fucking day.
And from the time stamps, you came to the realization that even when he would be cuddled up next to you he would be discussing wishing he was buried inside her.
Talks of wanting to wrap his fist in her pink locks. And squeeze her perfect tits in his hands – his words not yours. It made you want to curl up in a ball and die.
He used the word perfect to describe you before. But did he really mean it if he felt the same exact way about her?
The first picture you scrolled up to made bile form in your mouth, it was under invisible ink. You should have taken the warning and not dared to look – but curiosity kills the cat. And you wish you could be killed after looking at that.
A high quality photo of his covered cock buried deep inside what you assume as her. The pink neatly-trimmed pubic hair on her “perfect” pussy being the telltale sign. Thankfully you could see the hint of the condom at the base of his shaft so he hopefully hadn’t done anything that could have harmed you. Physically at the very least.
As if it couldn’t get worse you notice a splatter of his seed painted over her toned tummy almost in the shape of a lopsided heart – a sick joke that you wish you could unsee.
You couldn’t stop yourself, quickly opening the lid of your toilet and vomiting at the sight. Your vision becoming blurred by the hot tears sliding down your cheeks – that you hardly noticed were falling down. A broken almost gargled sob escaping your lips as you exit out of the picture.
A soft knock at the door of your bathroom interrupts your sobs. The one voice you didn’t want to hear again calling your name softly – like he fucking loved you.
“Princess, are you alright?” Suguru’s voice – still thick with a groggy husk – asks through the door.
“Fuck off.” You barely mumble through your tears.
You can definitely tell that woke him up from the grunt of confusion that you barely can hear through the barrier.
“What did you say?” His tone is so honeyed and practiced you just wanted to scream. “I think I didn’t hear you properly through the door, love.”
You shakily flush the toilet, using the now closed lid to balance your trembling body as you stand like a wounded deer. You brace yourself on the counter, trying to take deep breaths before you even consider gracing him with an answer. You wipe the tear tracks off your cheeks before unlocking the bathroom door. Glaring daggers at the 6’3 man standing in front of you.
Suguru’s expression immediately shifts to one of worry as he see’s the state of you.
But you don’t want his bullshit pity.
You clench your fists and take a deep breath through your snotty nose, one more time – to hopefully by some miracle relax you – before you finally speak.
“I said, ‘Fuck off’.” You try to make your voice sound strong but still you have a mini hitch of breath.
“What’s wrong, my love? You look sick, let’s get you back into…” You don’t even let him finish his words before slapping his phone against his chest.
“Manami wanted to let you know she had a great time the other night.” You scoff – trying so hard not to sniffle. Fresh tears prod at your eyes as realization sets on his face. Almost like a deer caught in headlights.
“Princess, it’s not what you…” He starts, like every other fucking man that’s wronged you’s bullshit excuse was. So you quickly cut him off again before he can spew lies.
“Think? Yeah, well I read everything. Don't bullshit me Suguru.” Your voice quivers as the tears threaten to spill. “Just admit it.” You whisper in a whimper, unable to stop how broken you sound and feel in this moment. No matter how hard you’re trying to fight it.
For you were a princess – as Suguru calls you – dethroned by the man you thought of as your knight in shining armor.
Suguru didn’t even flinch, just cupped your face gently, thumb swiping at your tears that betrayed you and fell. You couldn’t even will yourself to slap him. Humiliated at how easily you want to nuzzle into his embrace – soak his chest with your tears as he holds you close. But you resist – barely.
“I love you.” He murmurs as if that would change anything. Like three simple words would mend the heart that was just torn by seeing the plethora he had sent her. You shake your head rejecting his false affection.
“Why would you fuck her than?” Your breath hitches as you mumble the question stuck on your tongue.
“It didn’t mean to happen. It just did and it was truly an accident, my love.” A sugarcoated lie that you can’t even wrap your head around.
“So your cock just accidentally slipped and fell inside her multiple times?” You bitterly laugh with no humor. “Your fingers just accidentally typed about how you wanted to hold her hair as she sucked you down her throat?”
Suguru’s thumb abruptly stops its attempt at soothing you. Maybe finally realizing how much you truly had seen.
“It’s not like we are dating.”
Its like the last piece of a fucked up a puzzle falls into place. You weren’t special. You were just another plaything for him. His smooth talk and loving touches were all just a lie wrapped up in a pretty violet bow. You were so fucking stupid for believeing him.
“Good to know.” You mumble, before finally pulling your hand back and slapping him clean across his face. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Geto.”
No longer even wanting to say his beautiful first name – that you have always loved – with how hurt you are by him. The intimacy of it immediately stripped from your soul.
Your hand stings from the impact as you bring it back down. Folding your arms across your chest to shield yourself as your body shakes.
His hand leaves your face to touch his just slapped cheek, amethyst eyes staring down at you in shock. Like he can’t even process what just happened. But he listens, walking over to his pile of clothes and tugging them on. Not even gracing you with an answer.
“I’ll have Gojo bring you your other shit.” You murmur sniffling back tears. He hums in acknowledgement at you.
“I’ll have him do the same for your things that are at my place.”
When he’s gone you finally fully break down. Collapsing into your bed that reeks of his cologne. Branded with him just like your heart.
You hate that you love him and want to just take him back. Pretend like you never saw the texts tonight and continue with whatever the fuck you could even call what you thought was a relationship.
You can’t even sleep in your own bed because all you can feel is him in it. Evidence of your earlier sex still there and making you want to throw up all over again.
You grab your phone and head into the living room, laying on your leather couch. Wincing as your phone chimes with its text notification.
Your phone wasn’t even on silent the whole fucking time. It made your heart feel like it was stabbed. You could have avoided this heartbreak if you had just gone back to sleep.
It’s Suguru. Of-fucking-course. Just a simple I’m sorry text. It’s cold nature rather than the loving texts you are used to makes your stomach twist in knots with how easily he could just disregard you. But what do you expect from a man that cheated on you?
You are about to toss your phone across your couch but you get another text.
Satoru Gojo.
He was asking if you are alright and basically letting you know he had heard from Suguru and that he thinks that his best friend is a fucking idiot for letting a girl like you go. You hadn’t even responded yet and he is already sending a couple more texts reassuring you that he is on your side – for whatever reason you don’t know.
You finally text him back giving your thanks and asking if whenever he has time could he pick up Suguru’s things. It’s read in seconds despite the late hour – the three dots immediately showing.
You can’t stop the small smile that graces your lips as you read what he sent – that in the morning he will bring you your favorite breakfast and pick up Suguru’s things so you don’t have to look at them anymore.
You shut off your phone with a sniffle before laying back against the couch cushions. Mind in shambles but the storm a little calmer. You wipe at your still lingering tears as you realize the white haired opportunity that just fell into your lap.
Suguru Geto may not have been the gentleman you thought he was, but his best friend Satoru Gojo might just be.
mars yesterday verbatim told me “the men you write dont piss me off enough” (to warrant a pissed off rant in my inbox 😔) and i’ve been on an angst kick lately so i was like alright bet 😼. so blame mars for this everyone (i love you mars MWAH).
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Arranged! Gojo x Reader x Boxer! Sukuna
warnings!!! - Heavy, heavy angst, cheating and reactive cheating, Satoru is ooc, cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, painful and hurtful all around.
This WILL have multiple endings, all of these three are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV and split up by each! based on this drabble - WC - 9k
This won the 30k followers poll! Thank you so so much again!!
part one
Gojo -
Satoru Gojo his entire life has been used – as the ‘head of the Gojo’ clan, as the heir to the empire, everything in his life has been set in stone the moment he was born. They never gave him a real choice, barely let him have friends his entire childhood, no it was studies, it was pressure, it was how to be absolutely perfect, telling him who to talk to, how to act, how to walk.
He knew inevitably his time in college was just a fun distraction, where he had friends for the first time, where he felt almost normal, where he secretly dated – his parents would not approve – of the girls he talked to. Yet he fell into it just a bit, enjoying it too much, partying and fucking the worst girls, ones that would make his parents gasp in shock.
He hung out with the worst crowd, too, straight up heathens really, to rebel as much as he could, before the inevitable fact – his dad was dead, and he was turning twenty four, there was no more partying, no more life, no more dreams. All there was – the obligations, the responsibilities, the arranged wife they’ve had picked out since you both were children.
Oh, you’re beautiful, it’s not that.
You’re sweet, you’re smart, you’re kind.
It’s not that.
You’re not his choice, nothing about his entire fucking life was his own choice, and this is just another thing, another way to show him what he is – just something to be used, just a tool for his family to have power. The richest family in Japan must have that, right? And you were from the second richest, and one of the most powerful, from an impeccable line.
You were impeccable, you were exceptional, you were ‘perfect’.
And Satoru Gojo hates you on sight, the moment you meet him at the engagement party – yeah, that's where he officially meets you, and doesn’t just ‘hear about you’. That’s where he sees how fucking gorgeous and bright you are, and for a moment his heart hammers in his chest, for a moment he’d sink to his knees to get a taste of you.
Then he remembers it all, when you shyly look down, when you ring your hands in front of you.
Obligation.
Arrangement.
You didn’t want this, want him, choose him – who would other than for his name, for his power? For what he could do for your family, for everyone. You’re shoved into this – a contract from your youth, who knew what the fuck you wanted, or who you’ve been with, who you want to be with?
You didn’t choose him, he didn’t choose you.
He keeps reminding himself in moments where he thinks the light from the chandeliers are hitting too nicely on your collarbones, when he looks at your lips just a little too long, instead he politely smiles, and turns away. Why, do you ask, does he turn away from his future wife?
Why is he later kissing another woman, fingering her right on the balcony, where pretty much anyone who walks by could see, smirking against her neck with every moan she muffles. Why does Satoru Gojo pick the most common, slutty little waitress to do so, when you’re there in a beautiful fucking gown, and look lost and upset, your lips trembling?
Because imagine a world where he falls – and you didn’t choose him. Imagine he thinks for a brief moment he could have happiness in his life, a joke really, it’s just flitting little moments. He can only handle so much pain, and in turn he causes you the pain, the embarrassment, sucking her juices off his thick fingers after she cums, laughing just a bit and walking back in.
His elders are furious, everyone is murmuring about his antics, as he throws back a shot and chuckles, but you?
You just look down, and a couple of tears fall, turning away and sipping on your wine. You say nothing even as he dances with you later, stumbling a bit with how drunk he’s gotten, to piss them off – to tell them he’s not going down without a fight – looking at you curiously.
You stare at his chest, you say nothing.
“Having fun?” He asks, and you scoff a bit, looking up with glassy eyes, and for a moment it pierces his drunk heart.
He’s horrible.
But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?
“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”
He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.
“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”
Satoru can’t speak.
Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.
Satoru is good at hiding.
“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”
“Gojo…”
“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”
You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.
He hurt you.
Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.
“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”
“What, little princess? So mean?”
You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”
“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”
When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?
But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -
You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.
*****
You
You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.
This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.
He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.
So you'll be my wife some day
Yeah…
You're um… pretty.
That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope.
Just to fucking crush it all.
It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.
“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”
He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.
You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.
What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.
Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.
“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.
“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.
“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.
You look gorgeous today.
No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.
“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”
You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”
It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.
“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.
“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow.
“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”
It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”
“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”
“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.
“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”
“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”
“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”
It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”
“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.
“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember.
Obey him.
Treasure him.
For your family
“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”
“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.
“I'm sorry. I…”
“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”
For now.
“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”
“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.
You feel so sick.
“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”
“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”
“Don't have to, I can just see it.”
You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”
Gojo laughs at you.
He laughs.
“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”
“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”
Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.
His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.
You've never kissed.
You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.
“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”
“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple.
“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”
Nothing!?
“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.
He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.
“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.
Charming. Handsome. Cruel.
Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"
"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"
He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”
“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.
"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”
Not. For. You.
"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.
Was this who you are?
Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?
“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”
Great.
You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.
“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”
He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”
“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”
“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”
“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”
“Useless to?”
“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”
The knife in your heart?
Twisted.
“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.
Obedient.
Sweet.
Serve your husband.
It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?
As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.
The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.
Doesn't want you.
No, he hates you.
And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.
You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.
*****
Gojo
It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.
Satoru can't stand you.
All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.
Nah fuck that.
Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.
Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.
He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.
“We're at work,” he reminds gently.
“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.
“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.
Fuck.
Did he not lock it?
He pauses, and its…
You.
You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.
“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”
You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.
“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.
“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.
“Hello.”
‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?
He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.
“I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”
“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.
You look beautiful today.
He wouldn't tell you. But you do.
“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”
“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”
“Gojo-”
“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”
“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”
He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”
Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”
“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”
You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”
“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”
“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”
“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”
“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”
You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?
That look.
Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.
That one hurts.
Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.
It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.
Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.
He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.
He hates himself more when he opens it.
Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface.
I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.
Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.
Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.
You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.
“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”
“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.
That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.
Why does he care?
He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.
Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?
“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”
He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?
He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.
*****
You
You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.
Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.
That’s how unimportant you were.
Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?
Well, you were.
You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.
You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.
Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.
Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.
“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.
“He always is.”
“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”
What’s wrong with you?
You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.
“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”
The perfect wife.
To a husband who hates you.
“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”
Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.
Try a gym!
Or a spa day?
You need self care babe!
Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.
Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.
“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.
“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”
“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”
“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”
You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.
“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”
“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”
He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.
You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.
“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.
“Yeah.”
You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.
His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway –
Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.
You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.
You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.
Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?
You are tired of crying, so tired.
You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.
“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.
What’s there to dream about anymore?
*****
Sukuna
His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.
One, two.
One, two, punch.
Cross, jab, hook.
It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.
Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.
This was what Sukuna wanted to do.
Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.
For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.
That is, until you walk in.
Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.
“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.
Sukuna, running.
You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.
“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”
“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.
Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?
“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”
“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”
“I know I’m so-”
“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”
“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”
“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”
Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.
Who fucking hurt you like this?
Damage recognizes damage, but this…
“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.
“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”
“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."
"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"
"Think you can't?"
You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –
You don’t think you can do anything.
“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.
“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”
“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”
“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that.
“Trouble in paradise?”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”
Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?
He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”
He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.
“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”
“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”
“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”
“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”
“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”
Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”
“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”
“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”
You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.
“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”
“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”
He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”
You blink a bit.
How'd he notice?
“No.”
“It’s six?”
“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.
“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”
“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”
“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?
He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.
But more than that.
“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”
“I will make myself eat before I come.”
“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”
“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.
God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.
“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”
“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.
You’re married.
He’s trying to give a fuck about that.
“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”
You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”
“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”
“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”
“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”
“The bag?”
“No, me.”
“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”
“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”
When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.
Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.
Right?
Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.
*****
You
“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”
“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”
“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…
Everything about him.
The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.
Satoru Gojo.
“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”
“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”
His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”
“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”
He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.
“You didn’t notice.”
“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”
“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”
You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”
“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”
“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”
“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.
Nothing, he feels nothing.
“Thought you didn’t cuss?”
“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”
He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.
“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”
“Some yoga class?”
“Boxing.”
Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”
“Mhm, good night Gojo.”
You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.
Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.
You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes.
You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.
And they’re red.
Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass🍷
cw: explicit, unprotected sex, semi-public, loud sex, praise, slutty needy whining. Next time, don’t fuck so loud! m.list
The curse was exorcised. Sukuna’s finger secured. Everyone alive. That called for one thing: alcohol.
The izakaya near the hotel was buzzing, and Gojo had the whole team practically screaming over each other, tossing back sake and cheap beer like it was water. Nobara and Maki were doing a shot competition. Yuji was red-faced and loudly declaring friendship forever. And Nanami… well, Nanami looked like he wanted to drown himself in the hot pot.
You sat next to him, pretending to listen to Gojo’s rambling about “being the hottest sorcerer alive” while sneaking glances at Nanami’s jaw flexing every time someone shouted too loud. His tie was loose, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up—his forearms resting on the table, veins prominent. Fuck.
By the time the team stumbled back toward the hotel, laughing too loud and still tipsy, you had already made up your mind. You waited exactly ten minutes after everyone went into their rooms. The hall was quiet except for Gojo humming some obnoxious tune from behind his door.
Your heart hammered as you padded down the hallway, barefoot, keycard in hand. Two knocks. The door cracked open, and Nanami stood there, damp hair from a shower, a plain black t-shirt stretched over his chest, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He sighed like he’d been expecting this. “You should be asleep.” You stepped inside, brushing past him, letting the door click shut behind you. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Nanami didn’t move, just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, “Really? At this hour?” You swallowed, pressing yourself against the door for just a moment before turning to face him fully. “Yeah. I… needed you.” His brow quirked. “Needed me?”
You stepped closer, hand brushing his chest. “Mhm, I missed you all day today.” You bit your lip and let your hands wander, teasing the hem of his t-shirt, fingers brushing against the hard plane of his abs. Nanami groaned softly, stepping toward you, closing the space between your bodies until you were flush. “Get on your knees,” he murmured, voice commanding.
You obeyed immediately, knees sinking into the carpet, eyes locked on the bulge straining against his sweatpants. “Yes,” you whispered, fingers brushing his waistband. He grabbed your hair, tugging gently, forcing you to look up at him. “Good girl.”
You shivered. “K-Kento…” Your mouth opened eagerly as he shifted, hips pressing against your forehead. You tugged down his sweatpants in one smooth motion, eyes widening at the sight of him. Thick, hard, flushed—just for you.
“Fuck,” you whispered, stroking him carefully, letting your tongue trace over the tip. Nanami groaned, fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you closer. You took him in slowly, lips sliding down over him as he hissed your name, hips pressing harder into your face. “Just like that,” he praised you, his hand bracing against the wall to keep balance as you sucked harder.
He pushed you back lightly, making you gasp. “Up against the wall,” he ordered, “I’m taking you now.”You moaned helplessly as he lined himself up, pressing in slowly, stretching you perfectly, hips bucking into you with precision. His hands gripped your waist, tilting your body against him as he thrust deep and hard.
“Oh—fuck, Kento—so good,” you moaned a little too loud, nails digging into his shoulders, body trembling.
Nanami’s jaw clenched. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“C-Can’t help it,” you gasped, legs tightening around his waist. “Feel so—fuck—” Another thrust stole your breath, your back arching as the slaps between your bodies echoed louder and louder.
“God, you feel so good,” he growled, pressing his chest to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So fucking tight… so wet for me.”
You trembled, thighs clamping desperately around his hips as you gasped, “K-Kento… gonna—gonna cum—fuck—so good—”
“Nope, not yet.” His thrusts slapping your ass harder.
“Please, Kento—please let me come!” you whined, body quivering, slick dripping down his hips. “I can’t hold it—so good—so full—fuck!”
And then—BANG! The wall shook with a loud knock, accompanied by a furious voice. “SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”
You yelped, pressing your face to his chest as your knees buckled slightly. Nanami froze mid-thrust for half a second, one brow raised, clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re kidding me,” he muttered, smirking as he leaned closer to your ear. “Someone’s mad we’re ruining their sleep.”
“F-Fuck!” you squealed, grinding your hips involuntarily, slick sliding down his cock. “K-Kento… they heard everything!”
“Quiet,” he murmured low, his hand wrapped around your mouth, muffling your whimpers as his hips continued to buck helplessly. You came around him, pussy clenching. He kept you pressed against the wall, hand steady on your cheek, letting you ride the high while he pushed you further, dragging you deeper into sensation. Nanami followed seconds later, groaning deep, filling you with a shuddering release.
You collapsed against the wall, panting, slick running down your thighs, as a muffled “fuckers” came from next door.
Nanami laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Next time,” he muttered, thumb brushing your cheek, “maybe we keep it quieter.”
Breakfast was hell.
You sat stiff at the table, nursing a coffee like your life depended on it. Nobara smirked every time you moved. Maki wouldn’t look at you. Yuji just looked… confused. And Gojo—Gojo was grinning like the cat that ate the fucking canary. “Well, good morning, lovebirds!” he sang, dropping into the chair across from you. “Or should I say porn stars?”
Your stomach dropped. “Gojo—”
“Wow,” he continued loudly, ignoring you completely, “thin walls in this place, huh? I mean, thin.” He spread his hands for emphasis. “I was about to call the front desk and ask if someone was filming an adult video next door.”
Nobara choked on her juice. Yuji turned red. Maki muttered something under her breath that sounded like “disgusting.” You buried your face in your hands. Nanami, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Just calmly buttered his toast like Gojo wasn’t announcing your sex life to the entire table.
Gojo leaned forward, lowering his sunglasses just enough to look at you with a smirk. “Next time, sweetheart, try to keep it down. Or at least share the audio with the rest of us—”
“Gojo,” Nanami said flatly, his tone a warning.
Gojo grinned wider. “Kidding! …Mostly. Though, honestly, ten out of ten performance from what I heard. Nice stamina, by the way.”
Yeah, you were never going to fuck on a mission ever again.
summary ~ between late-night parties, jealous stares, and the chaos of sukuna’s games, your relationship with toji is a tangled mess of almosts and apologies. he pushes you away to protect you, but it only hurts more every time he does. when everything finally implodes, it’s not just love on the line, it’s your sanity. you both want each other. but love’s never been that simple. m.list
the bass hit first, deep and thick like it had teeth, rattling the cracked windows of delta phi and bleeding out into the dark. the house was already a mess by the time you got there. glitter on the floor, someone shotgunning a beer in the kitchen, a girl crying quietly in the hallway. classic. you’d been to a few of these now. you knew the rhythm. the chaos. the low thrum of want and violence that came with being around them, especially him.
toji was already inside when you arrived, leaning against the wall by the living room entrance like he always did, watching everything with that dark, sharp gaze like he was bored but taking notes. someone had tossed a hoodie over his shoulder, tank top clinging to his chest, black jeans ripped at the knees. his hair was messy like he’d just gotten out of bed. maybe he had. his eyes flicked to you when you walked in. slow. low. they lingered on your legs, then your lips, then back to your legs. he didn’t smile. he never did. just that slight raise of his brow, like he was amused you were even there.
you knew that look by now. it meant 'come here.'
you didn’t go right away. instead you wandered through the crowd, brushing past sukuna’s throne-chair in the living room where he held court like some bored devil, girls draped over him, red tattoos sharp in the strobe. he caught your wrist for a second and leaned in too close. “looking pretty tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “toji’s watching, you know.”
you didn’t reply, just slipped free and kept walking. sukuna’s laugh followed you. sukuna was always like this, too bold for his own good, always talking shut. the exact opposite of his best friend toji.
by the time you reached toji, the music had shifted into something lower, dirtier. he didn’t speak. didn’t ask. just reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the crowd with the kind of possessive ease that made your chest burn. you didn’t protest. you never did.
you ended up right in the middle of the room, surrounded by sweat and smoke and the smell of spilled liquor. bodies pressed close, but you only felt his. his hand on your waist. his fingers splayed against your back. he moved slow at first, lazy, like he wasn’t even trying, but his grip never loosened.
“you look good,” he said, voice rough from whiskey or weed or both. “real sexy.”
you looked up at him, close enough to see the slight scar above his brow. “you always say that.”
“cause it’s always true.”
your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. you wanted more. wanted his mouth on your neck, his hands on your skin, but all he gave you was his eyes and that crooked smirk that meant trouble.
all you wanted was him. all of him. you two had been friends who flirted for about two years now, and god, it was getting so fucking unbearable.
you danced like that for a while, grinding, turning, your body brushing against his over and over until it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. every time you pressed into him, he let you, but his jaw stayed tight. his hand never dipped low enough.
“you gonna kiss me tonight, toji?” you asked against his throat.
he chuckled, low and dark. “you want me to?”
you tilted your head up, lips inches from his. “maybe.”
he didn’t kiss you. he never did. just leaned in like he might and then pulled back at the last second. teasing. cruel.
it drove you fucking crazy.
gojo wandered by at some point, wearing sunglasses and no shirt, red solo cup in hand as his perfect body shined with the blue led lights above. “jesus christ, get a room,” he called, grinning. “or don’t. watching this is better than the music i guess.”
toji flipped him off without looking. you laughed, but toji’s hand tensed on your waist for half a second. only you noticed.
eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. not from dancing. from the way he kept looking at you like he wanted to ruin you and hated himself for it. he led you to the edge of the room where it was quieter, just you and him and the pulse of the party vibrating through the walls.
“you shouldn’t dance like that,” he said, lighting a cigarette.
you stole it from his mouth and took a drag. “why not?”
he looked down at you, smoke curling from his lips. “cause it makes me wanna do things i shouldn’t.”
your heart kicked hard in your chest.
you handed the cigarette back. “so do them.”
he exhaled slow, eyes dropping to your lips again. “you don’t get it,” he muttered. “you never get it.”
he was always like this. hot and cold. pull and push. he’d dance with you like he wanted to take you apart, then disappear the second things got too close. sometimes he ignored you for days. sometimes he found you in the hallway at midnight, eyes dark, and murmured your name like a confession. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you knew what you did.
you wanted him. all of him. even the broken parts.
in the kitchen, shoko was pouring shots with sukuna. geto leaned against the counter, joint tucked behind his ear, quietly judging everyone. choso sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-lidded, scribbling something in a sketchbook. nanami was nowhere to be seen—probably upstairs rereading a syllabus and pretending he didn’t live here.
this house was wild, loud, suffocating. but it had toji. so you kept coming back.
you were still close to him, back against the wall, watching him smoke. he glanced at you. held your gaze for a second too long. “you like all this?” he asked. “the parties. the attention.”
“i like you,” you said, honest. “that’s why i’m here.”
his eyes flickered.
“shut up, y/n. you don't know what you're saying,” he said finally. voice low. tired.
“i know.”
“then stop trying.”
“i cant.”
he stared at you. his hand brushed your waist again, just for a second. a soft touch. something real.
then it was gone.
~
he watched you laugh with gojo later, something tight coiling in his chest. you looked happy. light. too good for this hellhole. too good for him.
you didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when sukuna slung an arm around your shoulders. didn’t see the way his fists curled when you leaned into geto’s side, laughing at something he whispered. you didn’t notice the way he watched you like he was memorizing every detail in case it was the last time.
you were popular, of course you had a lot of friends l, including the ones he was friends with. but fuck if it didn't hurt watching you get touched up on by all his frat brothers like you were just some girl.
toji fushiguro didn’t fall in love. he fucked. he fought assholes who's egos needed a good bruse. he disappeared when things got too warm. but you… you made everything complicated.
you were soft and beautiful and real. you looked at him like he mattered. like he wasn’t just some fuck up with too many scars and not enough soul. you smiled when he was cruel. didn’t flinch when he pushed. you kept coming back like you didn’t know any better.
he wanted to kiss you so badly it made his teeth ache.
but he didn’t.
he leaned back against the wall and watched the party burn around him, heart heavy, throat dry. he couldn’t have you. not the way you wanted. not without wrecking you. and he cared too much to do that.
so he hurt you instead.
kept his distance. said shit he didn’t mean. shit that he knew kept you up at night. let you believe he didn’t want you.
it was the only way he knew how to protect you.
and it was killing him.
~
he stayed outside for a while after that. just him, the stars, and a silence too thick to breathe through. the cold didn’t bother him. he’d take it over the warmth of you any day. warmth made him weak. warmth made him want to pull you into his lap and never let go. warmth made him selfish.
inside, the party didn’t slow down. it just got messier. louder. meaner. when you came back in, sukuna was still where you left him, perched in that throne-chair like some cursed king with a solo cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. he gave you a lazy smirk, legs wide, tattoos gleaming under the shitty lights. “your little shadow still outside?”
you didn’t answer. you were too busy scanning the room. your eyes found him immediately. he was back inside now, leaning against the far wall like he hadn’t just told you he was bad for you with eyes full of regret. he looked calmer than he felt. calm enough that it made your heart twist.
you were about to move. one foot forward. just one. he was across the room but you could make it. you could try again. maybe this time you’d get through. maybe this time he’d—
then she walked into frame.
a girl. short skirt. tight top. she said something to him. laughed. he didn’t even hesitate. toji reached for her waist and pulled her in.
then he kissed her.
you froze. couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. his hand cupped the back of her neck like he’d done to you once when he was drunk and reckless and almost real. his mouth pressed to hers slow at first, then deeper. open. hungry. you stared.
it felt like your ribs cracked open one by one. like your skin peeled back to make room for the ache blooming in your chest.
you and toji had been like this for two years. flirty friends. nothing more.
you weren’t even sure when it started. maybe it was that one party where you ended up sitting outside together at three a.m., passing a blunt and talking about shit neither of you usually said out loud. maybe it was the way he always made room for you on the couch without asking, or the way his hand would linger a little too long on your back when he walked by. maybe it was the night you both ditched the chaos and drove around in his beat-up car for hours, sharing gas station snacks and laughing at nothing until the sun came up.
but the thing was, he never kissed you.
not once.
you’d slept in his bed. worn his hoodies. let your legs tangle under his blanket when the movie ran too long and no one wanted to move. you’d made ramen in his kitchen and cleaned up his messes and seen him hungover and shirtless more times than you could count.
he’d seen you cry once. held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumbs and still didn’t kiss you. it drove you crazy sometimes. how close you were without tipping over the edge. how he flirted like he meant it but never followed through. how he’d call you sweetheart with that low voice and look at you like he was starving, then laugh it off like it was nothing.
you were just friends, everyone said it. he said it. you said it. but it never felt that simple.
not when he showed up at your dorm at midnight just because you sounded off over text. not when he sat next to you at parties even though he never sat still. not when he gave you his hoodie when you were cold, even if it meant standing outside in just a tank top himself. it was friendship, yeah. but it was the kind that felt like something sacred and dangerous all at once. like a match too close to gasoline.
and maybe nothing had ever happened between you two. not technically. not officially. but you felt it, he did too. you knew he did. and that made it worse.
you didn’t realize you’d stepped back until your shoulder hit sukuna’s. he looked down at you. and for once, just once, he didn’t say something cruel.
his voice was low. almost quiet. “he’s trying to make you hate him.” you blinked hard. your mouth was dry. “it’s working,” you whispered.
sukuna sighed and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he muttered, “but you won’t. not really.” he tilted his head, looking at you sideways. “you’re too fucking soft.” you didn’t respond. couldn’t. your eyes were still locked on toji. he’d pulled away from the girl now. was saying something in her ear. she laughed again, tossed her hair, disappeared into the kitchen. he didn’t watch her go.
his eyes found yours instead. and even across the room, in all the chaos and noise and flickering lights, you saw the guilt. you saw the shame. you saw how much it hurt him to do it.
but he’d done it anyway.
you turned away.
sukuna stood, stretching lazily. he flicked his cigarette to the floor and ground it under his boot. “come on,” he said. “i’ll get you something stronger.” you didn’t want to follow him, but you did.
because it was easier than staying.
you ended up on the back porch with a bottle of cheap vodka and sukuna sitting next to you, his usual smugness dimmed. he didn’t touch you. didn’t flirt. just passed the bottle back and forth and let you sit there in your heartbreak.
“you wanna hear the truth?” he asked eventually. you looked at him, eyes rimmed red. “he’s not doing it to be cruel,” he said. “he’s doing it cause he thinks he’s saving you.” you blinked. “by kissing someone else right in front of me?”
he shrugged. “yeah. stupid, huh?” you didn’t laugh. didn’t smile. he looked up at the sky, jaw tight. “guys like him don’t know how to love without destroying shit. we don’t get soft things. we just break them.”
you stared at him. “and what about you? what do you want?” he met your eyes. something unreadable passed between you. “doesn’t matter,” he said. “i’m not the one you look at like that.”
you didn’t have anything to say to that. so you took another sip and let the vodka burn a hole through your chest where your heart used to be.
~
toji hadn’t moved from his spot.
he was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to look for you in every corner of the house. pretending the kiss hadn’t made him sick to his stomach.
he could still taste that girl’s lip gloss. fake cherry. too sweet. not you. he’d seen your face when you caught him. saw the way your expression cracked down the middle. the betrayal. the confusion. the hurt.
he wanted to punch something.
but this was what he’d wanted, right?
he told himself that. over and over.
she needs to hate you. she needs to leave. she needs to find someone who won’t break her.
so he kissed someone else, and now he was alone.
choso passed him on the way to the basement, headphones around his neck. he paused, looked at toji for a second. said nothing. just shook his head like he was disappointed.
gojo showed up a few minutes later with a raised brow and a knowing smirk. “you done being a dumbass?”
“go away.”
“you know she left with sukuna, right?”
toji’s head snapped up.
gojo grinned. “yeah. out back. he got her a bottle. they’re talking. real close.”
toji’s jaw clenched. “fuck off, satoru.”
“just saying,” gojo drawled. “you’re not the only one who knows how to self-destruct.”
he walked away whistling.
toji didn’t follow. he couldn’t.
he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw you sitting with sukuna, drinking and crying and leaning into the shoulder of a man who didn’t deserve to touch you. he’d lose it. do something he’d regret.
he deserved this. he made this happen.
and still. still, his hands were shaking.
~
you stayed out back longer than you meant to. the vodka numbed the sharp edges, but not the center. not the deep, hot ache that sat in your throat like a stone. sukuna didn’t try anything. didn’t even make a move.
he just let you be broken.
“i don’t get you,” he said after a while. you looked over at him, wiping under your eyes.
“he’s an asshole,” sukuna continued. “but you look at him like he strung the stars.” you laughed bitterly. “maybe he did.” he scoffed. “no. he just learned how to hold a hammer and forgot to put it down.” you leaned back, head against the siding of the house. “he’s not all bad.”
“no,” sukuna agreed. “but he’s not all good either.” he glanced at you. “just remember that next time he tries to break you in half.”
you wanted to argue. to say you could take it. that it was worth it. but your voice caught on the truth. it already hurt.
and he hadn’t even touched you.
.
when you finally came back inside, the house had shifted. quieter now. people passed out on couches. music down to a murmur. the scent of smoke and spilled drinks clung to everything.
toji was gone.
you checked the usual places. the kitchen. the hallway. even peeked into the basement where choso gave you a look like he wanted to say something but didn’t. eventually you found shoko leaning against the railing upstairs, cigarette in one hand, textbook in the other.
“you seen him sho?”
she looked at you without surprise. blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “he went to his room.”
you nodded. turned to go.
“don’t,” she said. you paused. “just… don’t,” she repeated. “not tonight.” you swallowed hard. “why?”
“cause you’ll forgive him if you do. and he won’t stop.” you looked at her. “i already forgave him.” shoko didn’t smile. didn’t judge. she just took another drag and said, “i know.”
you stood there for a long time. just stood. unsure of everything except how much it hurt, and how much you still wanted him anyway.
your anguish didn't go unnoticed to your friends, especially not to your most over the top one, gojo. he was pissed. pissed at toji. so after you had left, he made it his god sent to speak his mind to his brooding brother.
the hallway outside toji’s room still smelled like tequila and cheap weed. music was finally starting to die down downstairs, voices slurring into sleep or hookups or some kind of mess. gojo stepped over a knocked-over chair, kicked an empty red cup out of the way, and knocked hard twice before turning the knob without waiting for an answer.
the door creaked open. dark inside, save for the blue glow of a laptop screen. toji sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, tank top clinging to his chest with sweat. his hair was a mess, jaw clenched tight, a bottle of jack daniel’s sitting beside him like company.
“the fuck do you want,” toji muttered without looking up. gojo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “wanted to see how the world’s biggest asshole was holding up.” toji scoffed. “get lost.”
“can’t. house rules. i get to verbally beat your ass at least once a semester.” toji didn’t move. just stared at the floor like it had answers. gojo let the silence hang for a second before pushing off the wall and walking inside. “you really had to do that to her? in front of everyone?”
“drop it."
“nah,” gojo said, voice tightening. “you don’t get to pull shit like that and then sit here acting like you’re the victim.”
“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“i know exactly what i’m talking about. she looked wrecked, toji. she left early. sukuna of all people had to comfort her. do you even realize how fucked that is?” toji’s head snapped up. “i said drop it.”
“and i said no,” gojo snapped. “you want me to stop then tell me why the hell you did it. why you kissed some random girl when the one person you actually give a shit about was walking toward you.”
“because she was walking toward me,” toji growled, standing now. “that’s why.” gojo blinked. “what?”
“she was coming over, gojo. i saw it in her face. like she still thought there was something there. like she was ready to try again.” toji’s chest rose and fell, breathing sharp. “and i can’t. i can’t do it.”
“can’t or won’t?"
toji laughed, bitter and low. “don’t start with that bullshit.” gojo stepped closer, voice sharp now. “then what is it, huh? you string her along for two years, make her think she means something, then blow it all up the second it feels real?”
“because she does mean something,” toji snapped. “that’s the problem.” gojo went quiet.
“she’s too fucking good,” toji said, voice breaking low. “she’s soft and kind and stupidly hopeful and i’ll ruin that. i’ll tear her apart without even trying.” gojo’s hands clenched into fists. “so your solution is to rip the bandaid off by kissing someone else in front of her? are you listening to yourself?”
“it’s better this way,” toji muttered, like he was convincing himself. “for who? not for her. and definitely not for you.”
“what do you want from me, satoru?” toji barked. “you want me to say i’m in love with her? that i can’t fucking sleep unless i know she’s safe, that i think about her every time i lift, every time i come home, every time i see her name on my phone? you want me to say i wish i wasn’t like this, wish i could be good enough for her?”
gojo stared, jaw tight. “well i’m not,” toji said, voice raw. “i’m not good. i never was. and if i let her close she’s gonna learn that the hard way.”
“she already knows,” gojo said, softer now. “she’s seen it. and she stayed.”
“she shouldn’t have to.”
“maybe that’s not your call to make.”
they stood there breathing like they’d just fought for real. and maybe they had. the air was thick with unsaid things, old wounds, the kind of hurt you only let out when it’s been sitting too long. “i’m not gonna tell you what to do,” gojo said after a long beat. “but you owe her better than what you gave her tonight.”
toji sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbed a hand down his face like he was exhausted. “i know.”
“and for the record,” gojo added, “if i didn’t like her like a sister, i’d be the one standing next to her right now. not you.” toji looked up at him, eyes sharp. gojo raised a brow. “but i do. so don’t make me regret having faith in your dumb ass.”
the room was quiet again. not calm, not exactly, but the storm had passed. gojo turned to go, then paused in the doorway.
“you know,” he said without looking back, “i’ve seen you take hits from guys twice your size. but the look on your face when she walked out? that was the first time you actually looked hurt.”
then he left, door clicking shut behind him.
toji didn’t move for a while. just stared at the door like he was hoping you'd walk through it instead. like maybe he hadn’t ruined everything.
but you didn’t.
and he had.
~
the next morning was rough.
the sun was sharp and mean, casting everything in that washed-out gold that made the world feel too loud. toji didn’t bother with sunglasses. he never did. he walked like someone who had nothing to prove and still made people get out of the way.
he was headed to his monday morning business class, dragging his feet a little more than usual, hungover but used to it. the hangover was never the issue. it was the way his thoughts stuck to the back of his throat like smoke that wouldn’t clear. his little verbal fight with gojo last night ontop of making you feel like shit was not helping.
campus was already moving around him, caffeine-fueled freshmen and overachieving finance majors crowding the sidewalks, chattering about midterms and internship interviews and parties they weren’t even invited to yet. toji didn’t speak to any of them. he didn’t have to. everyone already knew who he was.
toji fushiguro was a name people said with caution. the kind of name that came with rumors and stories passed around late at night, most of them half true. people said he used to be a cage fighter. that he dropped out sophomore year because he broke someone’s jaw in a seminar. that he only re-enrolled because delta phi practically begged him to come back. that he had a kill count and not just in bed. and hey, he's not saying that's not true.
he didn’t care what they said. he’d been through worse than whispers.
he wore a black long sleeve shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos crawling down his arms like they had minds of their own. heavy black ink that looked rough even from a distance, sharp edges and sacred lines. they looked like they belonged on someone who didn’t believe in softness. piercings glinted at his brow and ear and lip, silver catching the sun. his jeans hung low on his hips and his boots were scuffed like they’d seen too many nights out.
he was big. not just tall, but thick with muscle, all wide shoulders and brutal arms. one of the man reason he got you do hit and bothered. he looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it, or throw a man across the quad just to prove a point.
and despite the fact he barely said ten words to anyone in class, the professors never called on him. not anymore. he didn’t sit with anyone, except nanami when he felt like it. didn’t take notes. didn’t even open his laptop. but he passed every exam, turned in every assignment, and showed up just enough to stay under the radar. just enough to keep his spot at delta phi, which was really the only reason he hadn’t burned the whole place down yet.
toji wasn’t the president. that was sukuna’s circus. but he was something scarier, unofficial muscle. the one who kept the wolves at bay when they came too close. the one everyone looked at when things got ugly. he didn’t speak unless it mattered. didn’t fight unless it was worth it. but when he did? people remembered.
he cut across the back end of campus on his way to class, heading past the old science building where the vending machines always ate your change. the path was quieter here, shadowed by overgrown trees and cigarette smoke curling from cracked benches.
he caught the tail end of a conversation before he even saw who was talking.
“…seriously, fuck gojo. he’s not even that hot. just has clout. i saw him with mia last week. she was crying about me the week before, now she’s on his dick like i didn’t even exist.”
toji slowed down. his jaw twitched. the voice belonged to some guy he vaguely recognized—football or lacrosse, something cocky and replaceable. he was laughing with another dude, but it was bitter. jealous. toji turned the corner and looked directly at him.
“say that shit again,” he said, voice low and calm. the guy froze. his friend bailed immediately, slinking off with a muttered “i’ll catch you later, bro,” like even he knew what was coming. toji stepped closer.
“what?” the guy asked, trying to puff up his chest like that would help. “you think i’m scared of you?”
the guy scoffed. “you don’t even know what-" toji grabbed the collar of his hoodie and slammed him back against the brick wall, one hand flat against his chest like he wasn’t even trying yet.
“you got a problem with gojo?” he said, voice quiet. “say it to his face. otherwise shut your fucking mouth.” the guy flinched. toji could see the flash of fear behind his eyes now. good.
“jesus, man, he fucked my ex.”
“she left you. there’s a difference.” toji let go with a hard shove. the guy stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the bench. “you wanna blame someone for your girl moving on? blame yourself. don’t drag my brother’s name through the dirt ‘cause you’re too soft to handle it.”
the guy didn’t respond. didn’t even look at him. just turned and walked fast in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath. toji exhaled through his nose, shook out his hand like the heat in his blood was trying to burn through his skin.
despite his altercation with satoru the night prior, he'd always stand up for his family. hell, gojo probably wouldn’t even care. he never did. too laid back for grudges, too self-assured to let shit like that stick. but that didn’t matter to toji. because he knew what gojo didn’t show. he knew the cracks that didn’t reach the surface. the stuff behind the sunglasses and grins.
and loyalty? that wasn’t optional for toji. it wasn’t a trait. it was the only rule that mattered. delta phi might’ve been a shitshow, but it was his shitshow. they were his people. no one talked about them like that.
not without consequences. he adjusted the strap of his backpack and kept walking, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest.
because the truth was, he needed them. more than he’d ever admit out loud. the house, the chaos, the late nights and stupid games and gojo yelling about who stole his lighter again. it kept him tethered. kept him from spiraling too far. he knew gojo only meant well, so he'd never hold shit against him for putting his mind in the right place.
but mostly, it was you. you were the one thing he couldn’t name. couldn’t reach for. couldn’t lose. and now that sukuna was getting closer, now that you were looking at him like you didn’t know what to believe anymore, now that he was the one who made you cry-
he felt it slipping.
all of it.
and he didn’t know how to stop it.
'fuck me.'
~
your dorm feels colder than usual. the light is soft and pale through the blinds, the kind of grey morning that makes everything feel slow and sticky, like your body’s moving through half-dried paint. it’s just past nine and your bedsheets are tangled around your ankles like they fought back in your sleep. you didn’t dream. you didn’t get the chance. too many thoughts, too many flashes of his hands on someone else’s waist, her mouth on his, the curve of his grin that should’ve been yours.
you roll onto your back, stare up at the ceiling and breathe through the ache that’s settled behind your ribs like something permanent. you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for him. two years of skirting the edge, of shared joints on rooftops and late-night food runs and smirks across dance floors. two years of almosts and maybes and looks that said too much but never went anywhere. two years of him pulling you in just to push you away.
but last night? that felt different. dancing with him, the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his voice dropped when he said your name like it meant something.
it had felt real.
and then it hadn’t.
you replay it over and over. the moment your eyes locked across the room, the second you stepped away from sukuna, ready to go to him again, to risk it all one more time. and then the way his hand wrapped around her hip, how his mouth found hers like it was nothing. like you were nothing.
your stomach turns. you sit up, hair a mess, hoodie sliding off your shoulder. you hadn’t even taken your makeup off last night, just crawled into bed and let it all hit you at once. you remember sukuna’s voice at your ear, warm and surprisingly soft despite the venom he usually spat.
“you don’t cry over guys like him, sweetheart,” he’d said, pressing a drink into your hand. “you let them cry over you.” you weren’t sure why he cared. maybe he didn’t. maybe he just liked having a front row seat to the destruction. but last night he didn’t press too hard. just sat beside you while the party roared on, kept his arm slung behind the couch and didn’t let anyone else get too close.
your phone buzzes beside you. you pick it up and squint at the screen.
sukuna [9:09am]: you okay pretty girl?
you stare at it for a second, then type back.
you [9:10am]: i'm fine ryo
you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. you want to say more. thank him, maybe. tell him you appreciated it, even if it came from the last person you expected. but before you can send anything else, there’s a knock on your door.
you blink. frown. no one ever knocks on your door at this hour. you climb out of bed, tug your hoodie down, try to smooth your hair a little as you shuffle toward the door barefoot. you unlock it and pull it open.
“good morning, sunshine!” gojo stands there, grinning like the hangover skipped him entirely, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy sky outside. he’s holding a flyer in one hand and a coffee in the other.
“you’re… happy,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. he shrugs. “always am. some of us don’t let heartbreak slow us down.” you blink at him. “what?”
“nothing,” he says, way too fast, and pushes the flyer toward you. “special delivery from delta phi. invitation only. it’s a bar takeover tonight, and i was instructed- ” he leans forward like it’s a secret, “by myself, because i’m a genius, to invite you personally.”
you take the flyer. the paper’s thick and smells faintly of weed. “you’re really doing printed invites now?”
“classy, right?” he wiggles his brows. “sukuna wanted a neon poster that said ‘girls drink free until they cry’ but i vetoed that.” you snort, but it dies fast. your fingers tighten around the flyer.
“so,” gojo says slowly, “how are you holding up?” you look up at him. he’s smiling, but not as wide as usual. he’s watching you carefully. “fine,” you say.
he tilts his head. “wrong. try again.” you shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know. last night sucked.” he nods, lets that sit for a second.
“toji’s an idiot,” he says eventually. your breath catches. “you don’t have to,”
“i do,” he cuts in gently. “because i know him. and i know you.” you press your lips together. “he’s…” gojo runs a hand through his hair. “he’s complicated. always has been. doesn’t let people get too close, especially the ones he actually gives a shit about.”
“yeah, i noticed.” he frowns. “look. i’m not gonna make excuses for him. what he did last night? not cool. not even a little. and i know it hurt you.” you blink fast.
“but,” gojo says, stepping forward, “if it means anything… he didn’t want to hurt you.”
“he literally made out with someone right in front of me,” you say, voice cracking just slightly. “after dancing with me like... like he meant it.” gojo exhales. “i know. i was there.” he leans against the wall across from your door, crosses his arms. “he’s terrified. you mean too much, and that makes him feel like he’s already failing before he’s even tried. so he lashes out. does something cruel, because then he doesn’t have to deal with the guilt of ruining something good.”
you swallow, hard.
“i told him he was being a dumbass,” gojo adds. “for what it’s worth. we got into it a little.” your brows lift. “you fought?”
“not like, fists and broken bones. just the usual screaming match.” he shrugs. “brotherly love.” you lean your head back against the frame and sigh.
“you ever think,” you murmur, “maybe i was stupid for waiting this long? for thinking he’d eventually… i don’t know. stop running?” gojo’s voice softens. “you weren’t stupid. you were patient. and hopeful. that’s not weakness.” you close your eyes.
“but,” he adds, “you also don’t have to keep waiting. not if it’s breaking you.” you nod slowly, thumb brushing over the corner of the flyer. “so what do i do?” you ask. “show up tonight? act like it’s fine?”
gojo gives you a crooked smile. “you show up looking hot as hell, dance with whoever you want, and remember you’re not the one who messed up.” you huff a laugh. “easier said than done.”
“i’ll be your wingman. we’ll make it a whole thing.” you raise a brow. “you’re not gonna try to flirt with me?”
“oh, i absolutely will. but only in the respectful, ego-boosting way.” you laugh again, a little more real this time. he pushes off the wall. “think about it, okay?” you nod. “thanks, gojo.” his smile softens. “anytime. and… for what it’s worth, if he ever gets his head out of his ass, you’re the only girl i’d root for with him.” you blink at him.
“he’s never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you. not once.” then he’s gone, already whistling down the hall like he didn’t just emotionally disarm you before ten a.m. you stand there a while longer, door half-shut, staring at the flyer in your hand and wondering what the hell tonight is going to feel like.
wondering what’s going to hurt more, seeing him again, or pretending like none of it ever happened. and most of all, wondering if he’s going to look at you like he did before everything fell apart.
or if he won’t look at you at all.
~
god, you should’ve never come.
you told yourself that the whole walk over, heels clicking on uneven pavement, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the air was sticky and warm, just the edge of summer pressing in, and you were too aware of the way your dress clung to you, the way your lipstick felt too pretty, too brave. but gojo had asked so sweetly, flashing that grin like a sunrise and pressing the invite into your hand like he already knew you’d say yes.
and maybe you did. maybe you wanted to be seen. maybe you wanted him to see you.
the bar was already a mess when you walked in, bodies packed wall to wall, bass vibrating through the floor, lights flickering pink and gold. it was chaos, the kind gojo thrived in. you spotted him first near the bar, shirt half-buttoned and sunglasses still on, despite it being night. he raised a hand when he saw you, mouth already forming something ridiculous, but your eyes didn’t stay on him long.
they found toji.
of course they did.
he was across the room, leaning back against the booth like he hadn’t ripped your heart out just nights ago. like he hadn’t kissed someone else while your chest was still cracked open in front of him. he hadn’t texted. not a word. not a hey. not a sorry. not even a “you good?” like you were some girl he barely knew. you hated that your first instinct was still to look for him.
and god, he looked good.
black tee stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show the curve of his biceps and the ink that wrapped around them like smoke. his chain caught the light when he tilted his head. he hadn’t even shaved. a shadow of a beard clung to his jaw, making him look more like trouble than usual.
he saw you before you could look away.
his gaze locked with yours. it didn’t falter, didn’t skip. it stayed steady, calm, unaffected. he lifted a brow like he’d seen you last night, like nothing had happened, and your heart clenched in your ribs.
you almost turned back. you almost went to gojo and begged for a drink and a distraction. but toji was already pushing up from the booth and walking toward you, slow and steady, beer still in hand, eyes never leaving yours.
“you look so sexy y/n,” he said when he reached you, voice lazy, deep, low enough to drown in. his mind drifted to gojo screaming at him to get his shit together, but it quickly faded when he remembered just who he is. a fucking asshole that's nothing mroe than bad news.
he watched you blink, stupidly. “just gonna ignore last weekend?”
toji smirked like it was funny, like your confusion was some private joke he didn’t plan on explaining. “we’re at a party. don’t ruin the mood.”
you hated how fast he pulled you back in. how your anger wilted under his closeness. he smelled like cedar and whiskey, like heat and sweat and safety, even if he was the last person you should feel safe with. his hand ghosted against your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that your skin burned.
“so you’re just gonna ignore it?” you said, voice soft but sharp. toji’s eyes didn’t waver despite his intense inner turmoil. “what do you want me to say?”
everything, you thought. 'i miss you. i didn’t mean it. you’re not just some girl.' but you didn’t say it. because the second you did, it would all come spilling out, everything you’d been holding in since you met him two years ago, since you realized the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you like you were a secret he didn’t want to share.
you shook your head instead and let him lead you toward the bar, let him order a drink for you, let him stand too close while you sipped vodka from a sticky straw and tried not to crumble.
“you looked good dancing with sukuna last weekend,” he said casually, like he wasn’t gripping the bar so tightly the tendons in his hand strained.
“you looked good kissing that girl,” you shot back. toji’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t flinch. “she kissed me.”
you gave him a look. “didn’t look that one-sided.”
he didn’t answer, just took a swig from his beer and looked straight ahead. the silence between you turned thick and bitter, but not unbearable. it was always like this. always a push and pull, a fire you both stood too close to.
after a beat, he leaned in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low.
“you still mad at me?”
“what do you think?”
he didn’t pull away.
“think you’re too pretty to look that angry.”
you hated him. hated the way he knew exactly how to disarm you, how he used softness like a weapon. hated that you leaned into him anyway, your shoulder brushing his chest, your breath catching when his fingers ghosted over your wrist.
“you don’t get to play like this,” you said. “not after that.”
“i’m not playing.” you stared up at him. his face was unreadable, but his eyes were anything but. something dark swam there, something he’d never say out loud. fear. guilt. want. it made your knees weak.
“then what is this?” he didn’t answer. you danced with him anyway. because what else were you supposed to do?
when the music shifted into something slower, hazier, he pulled you into him like you were meant to be there. your hands found his shoulders, then the curve of his neck. his arms circled your waist and tugged you closer until your chest was flush against his and you could feel his heartbeat, erratic and hard. he smelled like home. like everything you wanted and couldn’t have.
“you didn’t text me,” you whispered, staring at the place where your hand rested against his collarbone.
“i know.”
“why?”
“i didn’t know what to say.”
you bit your lip. “you could’ve said sorry.”
toji’s mouth curved into a grimace. “you think that’d make it better?”
“no,” you said honestly. “but it would’ve meant something.” his grip tightened just slightly, like the truth hurt. “i didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.” you looked up at him. “i always want to hear from you. even when i hate you.”
his eyes softened for half a second. then he pulled you closer, forehead resting against yours. “you don’t hate me.”
“sometimes i wish i did.” he smiled. it wasn’t a happy one. “me too.” the song ended but you didn’t move. his breath was warm against your cheek, his hand splayed across your back like he was holding you together.
“what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “making bad choices,” he said.
you laughed. it sounded hollow. “yeah. i noticed.”
“you wanna leave?”
you looked at him. god, you wanted to. you wanted to crawl back into that space you used to share, his bed, his couch, that place on the porch where you’d sit and talk shit for hours. not that he meant it in a hook up way, you were bound to just go home and talk. you wanted his hand in yours, his mouth against your shoulder, his voice in your ear. but not like this. not until he meant it.
“not tonight,” you said. toji nodded. he looked away, you stepped back, he let you go.
you didn’t look at him again as you walked off the dance floor, not even when you felt his eyes on you the whole way across the bar. you found gojo leaning against the wall, sipping something neon and watching the crowd like a bored lion. he looked at you, then at toji, then back again.
“you good?” he asked.
you didn’t answer.
he handed you his drink.
you took it.
"fuck satoru i don't know how long i can do this shit."
~
meanwhile he was spiralling.
toji slammed the bars bathroom door so hard it rattled the fucking frame. fluorescent light buzzed above him, harsh and yellow, and the second the lock clicked into place, he was across the bathroom, fists braced against the sink, head down, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
his reflection stared back, mocking. he hated what he saw.
“fucking idiot,” he spat, low and sharp like a curse. he was breathing too hard. chest heaving, eyes wild. “you fucking idiot.”
you looked beautiful tonight. more than beautiful. you looked like a dream he never deserved to touch. and when you walked in—god. you’d barely looked at him. you held yourself like you were trying not to shatter and he’d done that. again. he was the one who made you pull away, the one who twisted something soft into something cold.
he hadn’t even fucking texted you. because he’s a pussy. a loser with nothing good to offer and too much fucked up inside to fix. he gripped the edges of the sink harder, breathing through his nose, his heart pounding in his throat. the way you looked at him when you walked away, it gutted him. you didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. you just looked… done.
“you always ruin it,” he growled at the mirror. “always. every fucking time.”
you had every reason to hate him. he let you get close, let you crack open the rusted door to his chest and see what was rotting inside. and right when it felt like maybe, maybe he could be something better, he kissed that girl. right in front of you. because he was too fucking scared to admit that he wanted more. because wanting more meant admitting he needed you, and needing you meant risking it all, and he’d never been brave enough for that.
so he ran.
again.
and now you were out there in that goddamn dress looking like the one thing in the world that could save him, and he just stood there like nothing happened. just leaned in close, smiled, said stupid things like he hadn’t torn you apart. he leaned down and let his forehead hit the mirror with a dull, solid thunk. breathed hard. hands shaking. he felt like his bones were trying to break through his skin.
“you ruin everything,” he whispered. “you ruined her.”
his knuckles cracked as his fist slammed into the side of the sink. the porcelain groaned under the force, a tiny web of fractures blooming under his hand. it didn’t break all the way, but it was enough to feel something. enough to hurt. he deserved it.
he couldn’t get your face out of his head. the way your voice shook. the way you said you wished you hated him. me too. he meant it when he said that. because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t keep coming back. maybe you’d finally let go, finally move on, finally be safe from him. he leaned over the sink, hands on either side, and stared at his reflection again.
this wasn’t what you deserved, he’d never been what you deserved. and maybe that’s why he kept fucking it up. because deep down, he knew. there wasn’t a version of this story where he ended up the good guy. there was only you, trying so hard to love someone who couldn’t even love himself.
the door creaked open behind him, casual and slow. toji didn’t move. he didn’t have to. he could already smell the cologne, something expensive and offensive, paired with the soft, familiar click of jewelry against skin.
“jesus christ,” sukuna said cheerfully, voice bouncing off the tile. “you’re really losing it, huh?”
toji didn’t turn around. “get the fuck out.”
sukuna laughed. laughed. fucking prick.
“so touchy,” he said, stepping deeper into the bathroom like he owned the place. “must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”
toji’s jaw tensed so hard he thought his teeth might break. “don’t start.”
“but it was such a moment,” sukuna drawled. “the drama. the heartbreak. the way she looked at you like you just kicked her puppy. that was some real emotional cinema, man. had me misty-eyed.”
toji turned slowly, his eyes dark, dangerous.
“last warning.” but sukuna just leaned against the wall, all lazy arrogance and smug grin.
“what’re you gonna do, fushiguro? cry some more? break another sink? maybe punch a wall like a real alpha male?”
toji stepped forward once. sukuna didn’t flinch. “you think she’s gonna wait around forever?” sukuna said, voice dipped low now, a little more serious.
“you keep pushing her away, one day she’s not coming back.”
“shut the fuck up.”
“you know i’m right.”
“you don’t know shit.”
sukuna tilted his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i know she was crying.”
toji froze.
sukuna smiled. “i saw her. outside. right after you played tonsil hockey with that desperate little blonde. she was trying so hard to keep it together. but you broke her, man. again. and the worst part? she still looked like she was hoping you’d come after her.”
silence.
toji’s fists curled so tight his nails dug into his palms. “so what do you want, huh?” sukuna said, tone suddenly sharper. “you wanna keep her on a string? just close enough to feel her, just far enough she can’t touch you? you wanna fuck her up until she hates herself for loving you?”
toji launched forward so fast the room blurred, slamming sukuna up against the wall with one hand twisted in his shirt. the tile cracked behind him. sukuna grinned.
“hit me,” he dared, eyes gleaming. “do it. take all that guilt and rage and let it out. won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking coward.”
toji’s breathing was ragged, his other hand shaking at his side. he wanted to. he wanted to bury his fist in sukuna’s face and watch the smug drain out of his mouth. he wanted to feel something break that wasn’t inside him.
but he didn’t move. because sukuna was right, and that made everything worse.
“fuck you,” toji breathed, venom in his voice.
sukuna chuckled low in his throat, leaned in just enough to say, “she deserves better.” then he slipped from toji’s grip like water, smoothing out his shirt, fixing the collar like nothing happened. “see you out there, big guy,” he said, casual, and walked out.
toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving, hands shaking, heart breaking. he looked at the cracked sink again, at the tiny lines spidering out like fault lines in porcelain.
just like him, splintered. ready to shatter.
~
you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing at the bar since you left tojis side, the bass thumped under your feet, lights spinning across the floor, but everything felt distant. muffled. like you were underwater watching the night move on without you.
you leaned against the back wall of the bar, drink long forgotten in your hand, staring into the crowd like you were searching for something, someone. like if you just waited long enough, maybe toji would come back. maybe he’d walk up with that lazy smirk and say something stupid like 'you look pretty'. you hated how much it still hurt.
your throat was tight, chest heavy with that unbearable ache that sat behind your ribs and wouldn’t move no matter how many times you told yourself to be fine. you felt like a fool for hoping. for showing up looking good, thinking maybe things could go back to how they used to be, thinking he’d finally see you the way you saw him.
but of course he hadn’t. because that would’ve required him to care enough to be honest, to be brave, and toji fushiguro didn’t do honest. didn’t do brave. he just did damage. and you were so, so tired of bleeding over him.
you closed your eyes. tried to breathe. tried to escape the way your body ached for someone who wasn’t even trying to hold you anymore. and just like a prayer whispered into the dark, someone stepped into your silence.
“you’re looking like you just got stood up,” a voice said beside you, smooth and cocky and way too amused. your eyes snapped open. sukuna stood there, drink in hand, eyebrow raised, mouth curled into that familiar smug grin.
“fuck off,” you said, no heat behind it.
“harsh,” he laughed. “and here i was, ready to rescue you from your little emo spiral.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk away. you couldn’t. not when his presence suddenly made the air easier to breathe.
“you don’t need to do this,” you muttered.
“do what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he leaned against the wall beside you. “check on the pretty girl who looks like her world’s falling apart? seems like the least i could do after last time.”
you looked at him then. really looked. he didn’t look sorry. he never did. but there was something else in his face, something quieter underneath the usual edge. not sympathy. not pity. just… attention. you hated that it felt good.
“come dance with me,” he said suddenly, holding out his hand.
“no.”
“yes.”
“i don’t want-”
“i don’t care.” he grinned. “come on, sweetheart. let me give you something to think about that isn’t him.” you hesitated. just for a second. and that was all it took. he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd like you weighed nothing. and maybe in that moment, you didn’t. maybe the ache in your chest loosened just enough for you to follow.
the music swallowed you both whole. bodies pressed in all around, but sukuna didn’t care. his hand found your waist like it belonged there, the other lacing through your fingers as he pulled you close, too close. “relax,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”
you wanted to argue. but then his hips rolled into yours and everything inside you short-circuited. he danced like sin. like temptation wrapped in a body built to destroy. and the worst part? you let him. because for once, someone wanted to be close. someone was choosing you, and god, it felt like oxygen.
somewhere off to the side, you caught gojo shaking his head as he leaned toward geto. the two of them were watching from their booth, drinks in hand, resigned like babysitters watching a soap opera unravel in real time.
“should we stop this?” geto asked, sipping his whiskey. “nah,” gojo sighed, tapping his glass. “let it play out. toji needs to see what happens when you leave something good waiting too long.”
on the dancefloor, sukuna spun you around and tugged you back, your chest against his. his hands skimmed lower than they should have, but his touch didn’t linger—he wasn’t greedy. just deliberate. “you’re tense,” he said into your neck. “no shit.”
“i could help with that.”
you snorted despite yourself. “this isn’t a solution.”
“no,” he said, looking down at you. “but it’s something.”
you wanted to be strong. wanted to step away and prove that toji didn’t still own some broken piece of you. but your body betrayed you, moved with sukuna like he was the only thing keeping you upright. your breath caught every time he touched you, every time his fingers slid just barely across your skin. it wasn’t love. it wasn’t healing, but it was a distraction.
and you needed it.
what you didn’t see was toji.
he walked out of the bathroom with fists clenched, throat tight, still reeling from what sukuna said, only to be met with the image of you in said mans arms. dancing, smiling, laughing like you hadn’t just cried over him a few nights ago. he froze. everything inside him froze, and then it all caught fire.
he saw red. thick, searing jealousy choking out any rational thought. his stomach twisted. his heart fucking dropped.
you were dancing with him. his stupid fucking frat brother who was notorious for being a slur, bit that he could really speak on it but still. the one guy who never shut up about wanting you. the guy who toji knew was only doing this to piss him off.
and worse, you were letting him. he didn’t think, didn’t breathe, just turned on his heel and stalked straight toward the bar.
“what’s good, baby?” he said to the first girl he saw. she was tall, pretty, and already drunk enough to think he meant it. “hi,” she giggled, touching his chest, he didn’t even hear her name, he just kissed her. sloppy. hard. intentional. made sure the angle lined up perfectly so when he opened his eyes mid-kiss, you were watching.
your body went still on the dance floor. sukuna smirked down at you. “there he goes.”
you stared, heart pounding, feeling sick. toji was kissing someone else. again. like nothing mattered. like you didn’t matter. you pulled away from sukuna, stumbling a little.
“you okay?” he asked, still smirking, but there was a sharpness behind it now.
you didn’t answer. you were too busy watching toji pull the girl closer, whisper something in her ear, and start leading her toward the door. your heart shattered in your chest.
again.
gojo groaned into his drink. “he’s such a fucking idiot.” geto sighed. “you think he’s doing it to hurt her?”
“i think he’s doing it to hurt himself,” gojo muttered. “she’s just collateral.” you turned and walked off the floor, jaw tight, trying not to cry in public again. behind you, sukuna just chuckled.
“this is getting good,” he said, sipping his drink.
across the bar, toji didn’t look back.
not once. but he felt every step you took away from him.
and it burned.
~
everything after seeing him with that girl felt like a blur, you didn’t remember how you got to the couch. didn’t remember pushing past the noise or the crowd or the awful ache in your chest. all you knew was that when you saw gojo’s bright blue eyes across the room and the way geto looked up like he already knew something was wrong, your knees went weak and everything you’d been trying to hold in just crashed through you like a wave.
“woah,” gojo said, sitting up. “hey hey hey-”
“oh no,” shoko muttered, putting her drink down. “come here, sit. now.” you collapsed onto the couch between them, face hot, hands shaking, heart beating too fast. you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to.
“he- he kissed her,” you choked out, voice cracking, “he did it again, and i let myself believe he wouldn’t.” shoko put a hand on your knee, gentle, grounding. gojo was frowning now, serious in that rare way he only ever was when someone he loved was hurting. geto reached for your hand, warm and solid, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was trying to anchor you back to earth.
“just breathe,” geto said softly. you tried. you really did. but everything in you was unraveling. “i don’t understand what i did wrong,” you whispered. “we were so close. for two years he’s been my best friend, he’s been everything to me. and yeah, it was flirty and yeah, i caught feelings, but i thought, i thought he felt something too. i thought mayby-” your voice broke again, and you covered your face. “i’m so fucking stupid.”
“no,” gojo said immediately. “no you’re not.”
“he doesn’t even look at other girls like he looks at you,” geto murmured. “you’re not imagining it.”
“then why does he keep doing this?” your voice rose, raw and shaking. “why does he keep picking someone else? why does he keep hurting me and acting like i don’t mean anything?” shoko lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “because he’s scared. and because he’s an idiot.”
you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks. “he doesn’t even text me. he can’t even say sorry. he just pretends like we never almost, like nothing ever happened.”
“toji’s always been like that,” gojo said, watching you carefully. “he shuts down. he panics. the second he feels something real, he runs.”
“but why?” you asked, voice barely a whisper. “what’s so wrong with me that he can’t even try?” geto pulled you closer. “it’s not you. it’s him. he’s just- he doesn’t think he deserves good things. and you’re the only thing he actually wants.”
you collapsed into him then, forehead against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt. “i hate him,” you mumbled. “no you don’t,” shoko said gently.
“i should.”
“yeah,” she said, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “you probably should.”
you didn’t say anything else. couldn’t. not with your whole chest cracked open, all the grief and love and hope spilling out where everyone could see it. gojo leaned back and sighed like he was tired of watching people break over someone who refused to show up properly. shoko lit another cigarette. geto just held you while your shoulders shook.
and somewhere near the back exit of the bar, sukuna leaned against the wall, sipping his drink and watching it all unfold with a little smirk pulling at his mouth. the chaos was beautiful.
you were so far gone you didn’t even see him watching. but toji wasn’t. toji stood outside, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring off at the road while the girl he’d kissed leaned against him, giggling about nothing important.
“you callin’ the uber?” she asked, lips already brushing his neck. “yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his phone and tapping through the app. he wasn’t even listening to her. didn’t know her name. didn’t want to. she wasn’t you.
she’d seen the whole thing, him dragging her out of the bar, eyes locked on you like he wanted to tear something apart. she’d liked the attention. thought she was gonna get lucky with the hottest guy in delta phi. but now, standing on the sidewalk, it was clear to her he wasn’t really there.
“you okay?” she asked. toji nodded, tight and short. didn’t meet her eyes.
when the uber pulled up, he opened the door for her and she paused, confused. “you’re not coming?”
“nah,” he said, barely looking at her. “go home.” her face fell. “seriously?” he didn’t say anything. “wow,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed in. “asshole.” the door slammed and the car pulled away.
toji stood there in silence, head tipped back against the wall, wind biting at his skin.
he hated himself.
he reached into his jacket, pulled out a blunt and lit it with shaking hands. took a long drag and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart felt like it was about to cave in.
“you fucking dick,” he muttered to himself, staring out at the night. he had no one to blame but himself. no excuse. no reason that made any of this better. you’d shown up tonight looking like a dream. like something out of a memory he was too afraid to hold. and he saw you, saw how you smiled, saw how you scanned the room like maybe, just maybe, you were hoping he’d come to you.
and what did he do? he panicked. again. like a fucking coward. like the version of himself he thought he’d buried long ago. all because he didn’t know how to handle the way you looked at him like he could be good.
he smashed his fist against the brick wall, breathing hard. hated how he made you feel. hated that he’d watched you cry and didn’t go to you. hated that he couldn’t fix what he kept breaking.
and worst of all, he hated the way sukuna touched you. he had his hands on you. he made you smile. you were supposed to be safe from that. from him.
toji took another long drag, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. the weed didn’t calm him. nothing could. he could still feel your eyes on him when he kissed that girl.
could still feel the disappointment in your face. he saw the way your body tensed. saw the way sukuna pulled you closer like he owned the moment. and toji had let it happen. he’d let someone else have you. again.
he closed his eyes.
“you don’t get to love someone like that,” he said to the night. “not when you keep proving you can’t handle it.”
he wasn’t good for you. he knew that. he’d known it from the start. but god, he wanted to be. he wanted to stop fucking it up. wanted to stop pushing you away every time it got too real. wanted to hold you like he meant it and stop making you cry and just be enough for once.
but he wasn’t.
he was this.
a fucked up mess with bloody knuckles and a blunt burning slow between fingers that didn’t know how to be gentle.
“you deserve better,” he whispered. and for once, he actually meant it.
~
you woke up to the smell of cologne and the scratch of expensive sheets. your body ached. your head throbbed. your mouth was dry and you had no idea where the hell you were. sunlight filtered in through high windows, catching on glass shelves and too many sunglasses and a stupid amount of hair product on the dresser. the room was cold, the blankets heavy, and it hit you all at once.
this wasn’t your dorm. and you were very much in someone’s bed. you sat up fast, heart pounding, brain still foggy. your dress was still on. your shoes were at the foot of the bed. no one else was there. but the panic still crawled under your skin.
'no no no no no what did i do.'
the door creaked open. gojo poked his head in, holding a red solo cup and a protein bar like he hadn’t just stepped into a full blown crisis.
“you’re alive,” he grinned, “that’s good.”
you stared at him. “what- where- did we?"
his face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. “ew. no. jesus."
you blinked. “but i’m in your bed.”
“yeah, because you were blackout at the bar and i couldn’t find your dorm key and you kept telling everyone you wanted to fight god. i figured this was safer.”
you slumped back against the pillows, dragging a hand over your face. “frick.”
gojo walked in, setting the cup on the nightstand beside you. “here. water. drink before you shrivel into dust.” you took it with shaking hands and sipped slowly, nausea curling in your stomach. everything from last night came back in pieces. the dancing. the kiss. toji dragging that girl out. the way he looked at you like you didn’t even exist.
sukuna’s hand on your waist, your breakdown on the couch. toji going home with that girl.
you groaned and curled up on your side, still clutching the cup. “so,” gojo said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “wanna talk about it?”
“no.”
“you sure? because you cried a lot last night and i think you used geto’s hoodie as a tissue.”
“satoru.”
“right. shutting up.” he leaned back on his hands, still watching you, still grinning like an idiot but softer now. it was that rare expression he wore only when he really cared. like when geto got too high and panicked or when shoko locked herself in the bathroom during finals week. “he’s a fucking idiot,” gojo said eventually. “just so you know.”
“yeah,” you whispered, staring at the wall. “i know.” you stayed there for a while. quiet. raw. letting the weight of it all settle on your chest like a stone. you didn’t know why it still hurt so much. maybe because you’d let yourself hope again. maybe because it wasn’t just any guy. it was toji. your best friend. your everything. and he didn’t even look at you. after a while, you pulled yourself up and grabbed your shoes, brushing past gojo without a word. “you sure you’re good to go?” he asked.
“i’ll live.” he didn’t stop you. the hallway outside was dim and quiet, the frat house still half asleep from the chaos of the night before. your heels clicked against the wood floor as you moved past the open kitchen, the beer cans, the stained couches. everything felt distant. muffled.
you turned the corner too fast and slammed into something solid, or someone. your stomach dropped.
him.
toji in all his tired glory stood there in a black hoodie and sweats, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, keys in his hand. he was heading to the gym. of course he was. that was what he did when he couldn’t deal with reality, he trained like he could beat the guilt out of his body.
he froze when he saw you. eyes dark. jaw clenched, you opened your mouth. maybe to say hi. maybe to apologize. maybe just to explain that you didn’t sleep with anyone in the frat. that you were still yours. but he didn’t give you the chance.
his eyes flicked down. took in your clothes. the fact you were coming from the direction of sukuna or gojos room.
and just like that, his face hardened. lips pressed tight. no emotion. no recognition. no trace of the person who used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe. he pushed past you without a word.
just brushed his shoulder against yours and walked out the front door like you weren’t even real. like you had done something wrong. you stood there, frozen. breath caught in your throat. he thought you’d slept with someone else. and that mattered to him, but not enough to stop, not enough to ask. not enough to care out loud.
you felt it again, that horrible twist in your chest. that ache that had nothing to do with heartbreak and everything to do with betrayal. you’d given him everything. time, trust, love. and all he gave you back was silence. you blinked hard, lips trembling.
fine.
if he didn’t want to listen, then you’d stop talking. if he didn’t want to care, then you’d stop hoping. you’d learn to shut it all off too.
just like him.
but god, why did it still hurt so bad?
~
the gym was cold.
too cold for this early in the morning, but that didn’t stop him. nothing really could when he was like this, when his chest was tight and his head was loud and everything felt like it was seconds from snapping. toji slammed the barbell back onto the rack, chest heaving. sweat ran down his neck and soaked through his hoodie. he didn’t even bother peeling it off. he wanted to feel like he was suffocating.
his knuckles were raw from the heavy bag. he’d been there for a while. lifting. hitting. breaking down, and it still wasn’t enough. he wiped his face with the back of his arm and dropped onto the bench again, eyes burning, heart racing.
he kept seeing your face.
your eyes when you looked at him in the hallway disheveled from sleep. the way you opened your mouth like you were gonna say something and he just, walked past you. pushed past you like you were nothing. because he couldn’t hear it. couldn’t take the sound of you explaining how good sukuna made you feel. at least that's what he thought happened. how you finally let go. how it meant nothing, just sex, just comfort. how it didn’t hurt you like he did.
his stomach twisted.
he was the one who ruined this. he’d kissed another girl. in front of you. like a fucking child. like some messed-up defense mechanism he didn’t even understand. and then you disappeared, all teary-eyed and broken, and now what? now you were with sukuna?
his hands curled into fists. 'of course it was sukuna, it had to of been him. gojo wouldn't of done it.' sleazy, smug, opportunistic sukuna. he probably saw how fucked up toji was over you and waited for the perfect moment to slide in. always smiling. always watching. always pushing buttons just to see what would happen.
and you let him. you let him touch you. god, his head was spinning. he didn’t even know what happened, not really. but the way you looked this morning, still wearing that dress, walking out of someone's room like you couldn’t even care, he could feel it. you were gone. and he should’ve expected it. you weren’t his. you never were. just friends. that’s what it was. that’s what it always was.
he told himself that so many times. drilled it into his head like it’d eventually feel true. even though he watched you for two fucking years and wanted you more than he ever wanted anything. even though every time you smiled at him or leaned into him or laughed at something he said, it lit up something in him he didn’t know how to name. he wanted you. not just your body. not just sex.
you.
and he was too much of a coward to admit it. so instead he kissed some girl he didn’t even like. and now sukuna got to have you.
toji grabbed a weight and launched it across the room. it hit the wall and cracked the plaster, landed with a heavy thud that echoed through the gym. he bent over, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. his chest hurt, not from the workout, not from the cold, from you. because no matter how many times he reminded himself that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved someone better, someone softer, someone who wouldn’t break you just by existing. he still wanted to be that person.
he wanted to take it all back, the kiss. the girl. the silence. he wanted to be the one you turned to when you were hurting. not sukuna. never sukuna.
he wanted to knock on your door and say all the shit he never let himself say. how he thought about you every goddamn day. how he felt safe with you in a way that scared the hell out of him. how he loved when you doodled in his notebook and how he’d watch your hands more than he watched the board. how sometimes he caught himself picturing your name next to his in places it didn’t belong.
he dug his fingers into his hair, pulling hard, trying to breathe. why did it feel like losing something he never even had? he was the one who made this mess. he knew that. he just didn’t think it would cost him you.
and now that it had, he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. the gym fell quiet again. just the buzz of the old lights overhead. just the sound of his own breathing. heavy. strained. like he was trying not to fall apart. in the back of his mind, sukuna’s voice laughed, smug. cruel. knowing.
he knew he won.
toji grabbed the heavy bag again and punched until his hands bled.
god, why did it hurt so bad?
.
he didn’t even hear the gym door swing open over the pounding bass in his skull. he was too busy beating the shit out of the punching bag, sweat dripping off his jaw, chest heaving, knuckles already raw through the tape. he could barely breathe past the thoughts echoing like fists against his ribs. you and sukuna. god, just the image of it made his stomach twist.
and then there it was, a voice like poison dipped in silk. “damn. someone’s got issues.”
toji didn’t even have to look to know who it was. he’d know that cocky tone anywhere. he turned anyway, slowly, shoulders stiff and glistening under the fluorescents. sukuna was leaning in the doorway like sin itself, sweatpants hanging low, torso bare, tattoos stretched like inked war across his golden skin. hair messy like he just rolled out of someone’s bed, that smug-ass smile already curled on his mouth. he looked annoyingly perfect, like he hadn’t lost a second of sleep.
“you always train like you’re trying to exorcise your demons or is it just the guilt today?” sukuna stepped inside, slow and casual like he owned the place, dragging his fingers through his hair. “guessin’ she didn’t take it well, huh? not that i blame her. you kissed that blonde like you were tryin’ to make a porno.”
toji’s eyes narrowed, chest rising faster now. he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, jaw tight enough to snap. “don’t,” he muttered, voice low.
“don’t what? bring up the girl you keep playing emotional dodgeball with?” sukuna cocked his head, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “you fuck her up, push her away, then lose your shit when someone else so much as breathes her direction. tell me, does she even know how deep she’s in? or are you too busy acting like you don’t care?” toji’s hands curled into fists.
“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“oh, i think i do,” sukuna grinned, stepping even closer now, chest to chest. “you’re just pissed because for once, you’re not in control. and i gotta admit, she looked good last night. felt good too. all soft and sad, leaning into me like she just needed someone who wasn’t gonna treat her like a walking heartbreak.”
that was it.
the punch came so fast it cracked through the air. toji’s knuckles collided with sukuna’s jaw hard enough to whip his head sideways, and for a second, everything went still. even the music felt quieter.
then sukuna laughed. blood on his teeth. “oh, it’s like that?” he growled, and then lunged. they collided like a thunderstorm, all muscle and fury and months of unspoken shit. fists flying, bodies slamming into the gym wall, the weight bench tipping over with a crash. sukuna landed a punch to toji’s ribs, toji shoved him back and hit him square in the gut. it wasn’t frat brothers fighting. it was men with grudges too deep to hide behind loyalty.
“you think you’re better for her?” toji snarled, grabbing sukuna by the collar and shoving him against the mirror. “you think she’d want you?”
“i don’t gotta think,” sukuna spat back, blood trailing down his chin. “i already know i’d treat her better than you ever fucking could.” they barely noticed the gym door open again.
“for fuck sake,” gojo said, deadpan, as he and geto walked in. “and here i thought you two were just gonna kiss eventually.”
“this is bad,” geto muttered, already moving. “you think?” gojo stepped between them first, planting a hand on toji’s chest and forcing him back. “enough. what the fuck is this? you fighting your own brother over a girl you don’t even have the balls to admit you love?”
“stay out of this,” toji growled, panting, but his fists didn’t rise again. “too late for that,” geto said flatly, shoving sukuna back with a hand to his shoulder. “you both look pathetic.”
“he started it,” sukuna muttered, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil. “i just gave him a reason.”
“you’re both bleeding,” gojo said, exasperated. “you’re not in high school. jesus christ.” the silence was heavy, tense, thick with adrenaline and the stench of sweat and resentment. toji looked at sukuna again, the red haze behind his eyes finally fading to something colder. disgust. at himself more than anything.
“you don’t get to talk about her,” toji muttered finally, voice quiet. “then maybe you should stop giving her reasons to need someone else,” sukuna shot back.
gojo grabbed his shoulder before toji could move again. “how about you both just shut the fuck up.” toji didn’t fight the grip. not anymore. his heart was still pounding but his energy was drained. his eyes dropped to the cracked mirror behind sukuna and for a second he saw himself. just a fucked-up guy, broken and bleeding, trying to fight what he couldn’t fix.
geto crossed his arms, glancing between them. “you both better figure this shit out before someone gets hurt worse than a busted lip.” sukuna scoffed but didn’t say more. toji stayed quiet, chest rising and falling like a man trying not to drown. gojo looked at toji. “you need to decide, man. either stop hurting her or start being real. you don’t get to have it both ways.”
toji’s jaw clenched. god, he knew that. he knew that.
he just didn’t know how to do either.
~
later into the day.
you were just trying to breathe.
the day felt heavy on your chest, like everything you’d been ignoring had finally decided to sit on top of you all at once. your head still ached from the night before, sleep had barely touched you, and your thoughts wouldn’t shut up. you’d left the frat early that morning, the weight of toji’s silence clinging to you like a second skin. all you wanted was to get coffee, maybe clear your head, maybe pretend life wasn’t completely falling apart.
you weren’t expecting to see sukuna, but there he was.
leaning against the corner store wall just across from campus, cigarette tucked between his fingers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that stupid grin already on his lips like he knew you were coming. he looked like sin soaked in sunshine, messy hair, glinting piercings, tattoos slipping under his collar like secrets. and then you saw it, his lip. swollen and cracked, red crusted at the edge, the faintest bruise shadowing his jaw.
you stopped in your tracks. "jesus,” you muttered without thinking, eyes locked on the damage. “what happened to you?” he grinned wider, like he wanted you to ask. “oh, this?” he gestured lazily, tapping his bottom lip. “got into it with a wall.” you gave him a flat look and he rolled his eyes.
“fine. toji punched me.”
the air caught in your throat. “what?”
“mm,” sukuna said, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling smoke like it didn’t matter. “we had a little… disagreement.” you blinked, heartbeat crawling into your mouth. “what about?” he tilted his head, watching you too closely. “you.” your breath stuttered.
“sukuna…”
“i might’ve said something that hit a nerve. poor guy’s been wound tight for days. looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. and hey, when you keep pretending you don’t feel things, eventually they explode. right?” he gave you a pointed look, all knowing and cruelly soft. “you’d know something about that.”
you folded your arms, trying to stay upright under the weight of his gaze. “what did you say?”
“nothing that wasn’t true,” he said, smiling like he didn’t just set your insides on fire. “just told him maybe you needed someone who didn’t keep breaking you just to pull you back in. someone who wouldn’t make you cry every other night. someone who actually knows what he wants.”
you looked away, chest tightening, blinking too fast. he was always good at this, getting under your skin with a smile and watching you unravel like it was art. “he hit you because of me?”
“he hit me because he hates himself,” sukuna said smoothly. “i just gave him the mirror.” you hated how much that made sense. hated the twist it pulled in your gut. you hadn’t spoken to toji since the party, since he’d looked at you like you were nothing. you didn’t know if it was better or worse to find out he’d gotten violent because of it. “why are you telling me this?”
“because you deserve to know he cares,” sukuna said, and for one second, he actually looked sincere. “even if he’s a fucking idiot about it.” you stared at him, throat burning, but before you could answer, he stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall.
“sure i want you, i think that's much is obvious, but he wanted you first. i was just here to stir the pot abit. take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he said, brushing past you with a low chuckle. “you look like you’re about to break.” you didn’t say anything.
you couldn’t.
you stood there frozen, chest cracked wide open, heart bleeding somewhere behind your ribs. his words echoed like static in your skull, twisting everything you thought you understood. he cared. toji cared. he just didn’t know how to show it. or maybe he did. maybe this was what love looked like from someone who didn’t believe he deserved it.
you made it down the street before your vision blurred. you ducked into the nearest alley and finally let the tears come, clinging to your coffee cup like it was the only solid thing left. you sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking, the weight of all of it catching up at once. his silence. his eyes. the kiss. the pain. the fact that he’d rather fight someone than talk to you. the way he looked through you like he didn’t still dream about you every night.
and somewhere far off, you were almost sure you could hear sukuna laughing. not because it was funny, but because he’d won. he’d pressed all the right buttons, and now you were left alone with nothing but your feelings, and the cruel understanding that you still loved a man who didn’t know how to love you back.
what the fuck were you going to do?.
~
toji wasn’t answering his phone. not gojo’s texts. not geto’s vague check-ins. not even shoko’s “you alive?” at 2 am. he wasn’t going to classes either, not really. he showed up to one lecture midweek, sat in the back with his hood up, left halfway through. no one said anything. no one ever did.
the next morning he hit the gym. hard. again and again. he trained until his knuckles bled. by the fourth day his hands were fucked up enough that even gojo noticed and said something, but toji just laughed it off. said he liked the sting.
he drank every night. it started with a few beers. then whiskey. then whatever geto had stashed in the back of the kitchen. the nights bled into mornings. he wasn’t sleeping much. wasn’t eating right either. he didn’t want to talk to anyone. didn’t want to explain that the thing eating him alive was not knowing if you really slept with sukuna, or if he just assumed that because of his own guilt and jealousy. didn’t want to admit that the thought of sukuna touching you made him feel like he was choking.
he saw you once across campus. walking with shoko, hair pulled up, hoodie sleeves too long. you didn’t look at him. didn’t even hesitate. that’s when he knew. you were done. or trying to be.
he couldn’t even blame you.
by the time saturday came around, toji wasn’t planning to go to the new party satoru was throwing. it was a quieter one, a smaller crowd, mostly people they knew from the frat or nearby houses. nothing crazy. but still, he couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you there, laughing with someone else. maybe sukuna. maybe not. didn’t matter. he couldn’t fucking bear it.
so he slipped out the back of the house and started walking. hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head low. didn’t know where he was going. just kept moving. the streets were cold and empty, sky a low grey. there was a flicker of music echoing out from a cracked-open window two blocks down. someone laughed. he kept walking.
he thought about texting you. he even opened the screen. stared at your name. the thread of messages hadn’t moved in a week. last one was from you. just a simple “did i do something?” and he never replied. he couldn’t. he stared at it until it blurred. thumb hovered over the keyboard. he typed out, “can we talk?” then deleted it. typed, “i’m sorry.” then deleted that too. locked his phone. shoved it back in his pocket like it’d burned him.
his head was spinning. maybe from the whiskey he snuck earlier, maybe from the shit swirling inside him that he couldn’t name. regret. anger. grief for something that never even got a chance to start.
he turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
you were walking toward him.
you looked soft under the streetlight, skin glowing and eyes wide when they landed on him. you weren’t dressed for a big night out — simple jeans, jacket, a look that still made his breath catch because it was you. because he hadn’t seen you this close in a week and it physically hurt.
you stopped too. like the world had pressed pause on everything.
his heart stuttered. fists clenched in his pockets. he didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know how to look at you and not fall apart. didn’t know how to open his mouth and not spill every raw, cracked, bleeding thing he’d been trying to keep buried.
but here you were. real. walking straight toward him like some cruel twist of fate or some final test from the universe.
and all he could think was:
'fuck. i missed you.'
you stop a few feet away from him and the wind knocks right out of you. he looks like hell. hoodie pulled low, dark circles bruised under his eyes, hands in his pockets like he’s holding himself together by a thread. but he’s still him. still that big, broad-shouldered shadow you’ve known for two years. the longest you’ve ever gone without hearing his voice was a few days during winter break. this week felt like being buried alive.
and now he’s right here.
you open your mouth to say something and nothing comes out. your throat burns. your heart’s clawing at your ribs and your brain’s playing back every horrible thing from the past week like a cursed slideshow. him kissing that girl. him ignoring you. walking past you like you were nothing. all the nights you cried into gojo’s pillows. the way sukuna smirked when he saw you shatter. all of it presses down at once and something inside you snaps.
“i’m sorry,” you choke out, voice already breaking.
toji flinches.
“i’m so sorry,” you say again, louder, more desperate. “i shouldn’t have danced with sukuna, i should’ve just gone home, i didn’t mean to make things worse, i didn’t want you to think-”
your words trip over each other like they’re racing to be forgiven. “i didn’t sleep with him, i swear. i wouldn’t. i was drunk and stupid and mad, and i just… i missed you. and i know you hate when i say shit like that, but i missed you so much and i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. i don’t know what i did to ruin this, but i’ll fix it, i swear-”
“hey.” it’s quiet. barely a breath. but it cuts through your rambling like a blade. you look up and he’s already stepping forward. his arms come around you in one smooth, heavy motion, big and warm and solid like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. your knees almost buckle. your face presses into his chest and his hoodie smells like cigarettes and something familiar that makes your stomach ache. he holds you so tight it almost hurts.
you freeze for half a second and then sob into him. you don’t even care how pathetic it sounds. you cry into his hoodie like it’s the last time you’ll ever be held. you grip at his sleeves like if you let go he’ll disappear again. and he just stands there, letting you fall apart against him.
after what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “everything’s gonna be okay baby.” you hiccup against his chest. he says it again, lower this time. like a promise. “everything’s gonna be okay, alright?”
you nod, even if you don’t believe it yet. his voice is that same deep, unreadable rumble it always is, but it softens at the edges now. like he’s trying. like maybe he’s been hurting just as much.
“i’m sorry,” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard those words from him before. “i’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. not just last week. all of it. the whole fucking time.” you pull back a little, just enough to look up at him. your face is hot and damp and your eyes are swollen and he still looks like he’s carved from stone. but his eyes are glassy. you’ve never seen him look like this before.
“toji…”
“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “none of this is your fault. i just… i can’t be what you need. i don’t know how to. i never could.” you shake your head fast, “don’t say that-”
“i love you.” the words hit the air like a truck and your breath catches. he says it like it’s already killing him. like it’s always been true and he’s hated himself for it every second.
your heart stutters.
“i love you so fucking much it makes me sick,” he goes on, jaw tight. “and that’s why i can’t do this. because i’ll ruin you. because i’ll drag you down with me and you don’t deserve that.”
you start crying again.
he doesn’t try to stop you this time. he just watches, eyes dark and wrecked, like this is costing him everything. like this is what love looks like when it’s too broken to survive.
“i can’t fix it,” he says. “i wish i could. but i’m not built for the kind of love you deserve.” you don’t know what to say. your throat’s closing up. your chest is a mess of cracks and bruises. your fingers dig into his arms and he still doesn’t let go.
for a second, the world just goes still. your face pressed into his hoodie, his arms around you like armor, the ache of everything you never got to be pressing down from all sides. then you whisper, “i just wanted you.” he closes his eyes and presses his chin to the top of your head. “i know.”
and it’s not enough.
but it’s something.
you stay like that for a long time, pressed against his chest, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air. you’re not crying as hard anymore, but your breath still hitches now and then. his hand stays on the back of your head, fingers in your hair, like he can’t stop touching you even if he wanted to. finally, your voice comes out small. “what if… what if we tried?” his chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, slow and tense. you feel it before he even says anything.
“you don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs. “you really don’t.” you pull back just enough to look up at him again, your hands still gripping the front of his hoodie. “maybe not. but i know what i feel. i know i want you, even after everything. i don’t care how messy it is, i don’t care how broken you think you are. i just... i just want to figure it out with you.”
his jaw clenches. he looks away, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying not to snap. “you say that now, but give it a few months. i’ll fuck it all up again. i’ll hurt you again.” you shake your head. “you don’t know that.”
“yes, i do,” he says, harsh and bitter. “that’s the one thing i do know. i’ll say the wrong thing or push you away or get jealous and do something stupid, again. and you’ll hate me. and i’ll hate myself even more.”
“then let me hate you,” you whisper. “but let me decide.” his eyes cut back to yours. you keep going, voice trembling but sure. “you’ve spent two years deciding what’s best for me. you keep saying you’re protecting me, but what if that’s not what i want? what if all this time, i just needed you to stop pushing me away?”
he stares at you like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. “i’m not scared of your damage,” you say. “i’m scared of not having you at all.” his throat works like he’s swallowing glass.
“please,” you whisper. “we don’t have to call it anything. we don’t have to make it perfect. i just want a chance. with you. even if it’s just a maybe.” his hands tighten on your waist. you feel the shift in him before you hear it in his voice. “what if i say yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, “and i end up destroying you anyway?”
you search his face. “then at least i’ll know i wasn’t the only one who tried.” his expression crumples for half a second, just a flicker, there and gone, but it’s enough to tell you he feels it too. all of it. the love, the fear, the impossible ache of wanting something that feels like it shouldn’t belong to you.
he leans in slowly, resting his forehead against yours. your noses brush. his breath is shaky. “a maybe,” he echoes. “that’s all i can give you.” you nod. “i’ll take it.” he lets out a breath like a war is ending inside him. and for the first time in what feels like forever, he kisses your forehead. soft. deliberate. full of everything he’s never been able to say out loud.
you close your eyes and let it sink in.
not a fix. not a solution. not a promise of forever.
just… a maybe.
and maybe that’s enough for tonight.
"toji... let's go back to my dorm, i don’t want to deal with a party right now."
~
you didn’t say much on the way back. your fingers were laced in his, warm and rough, grounding you in the quiet dark as the two of you walked through mostly empty sidewalks. toji kept stealing glances at you like he was checking you were still real, still here with him. your hand in his, your steps matching his pace, the silence between you strangely soothing.
he stopped you once just before you turned onto the path leading to your dorm, pulling your hand gently and making you look at him. the streetlamp above you flickered like a heartbeat, painting soft yellow light across his face. he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he opened his mouth, paused, then just said in that low, gravel voice, “are you sure?”
you nodded before he even finished the sentence.
inside, the dorm was quiet. your roommate was gone for the weekend and the place felt hollow in a comforting way. as soon as the door shut behind you, you turned to him and he was already looking at you like you were something delicate and holy and he didn’t know if he deserved to touch you.
you stepped into his space first, gently taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch like he’d been starving for it, letting out a quiet breath as his forehead pressed against yours.
“you okay?” you whispered.
“not even close,” he whispered back, and then you kissed him.
it started soft, like testing the waters of something you both knew had been there for years. his lips were warm and slow against yours, his hands moving to your waist like he was scared to hold you too tightly. you pulled him closer, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of his body.
toji sighed into your mouth like the weight of every regret he ever had was being lifted off his chest with every brush of your lips. he kissed you like he was saying sorry, like he was saying everything he never had the courage to speak out loud. your hands were on his chest, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the slow thudding of his heart that was somehow calmer now that you were touching him.
he pulled back just slightly, eyes searching yours. “you don’t have to,”
“i want to,” you said instantly, no hesitation. your thumb brushed his cheek. “i want this.”
something cracked in him. he kissed you again, deeper this time, more certain. his hands roamed up your sides, under your shirt, fingers slow and reverent. you felt like the most precious thing in the world under his touch, and god, you’d waited so long to be wanted like this by him.
you guided him to your bed. he let you, letting you crawl backwards onto the mattress as he hovered over you, eyes dark and full of something almost too intense to hold. he kissed your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, whispering your name between each press of his lips. your shirt came off in a blur and so did his, and the feel of his skin against yours was enough to make you tremble.
“fuck,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to your chest. “you’re so... i don’t even know, i’m losing it.” you cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so you could kiss him again. “then lose it with me.”
his hands moved carefully, learning every part of you like he’d never get another chance. he took his time, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. he traced the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered like it was sacred. you felt worshipped. like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried beneath all the guilt and fear and self-loathing.
you tugged him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping softly when you felt the way he pressed against you. your fingers found the waistband of his jeans and he froze just for a second, looking down at you with that broken look he’d worn since the day he realized he loved you.
“you’re sure?” he asked again, voice low and tight.
“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair. “just… be here with me.”
his eyes dropped to your mouth like he couldn’t help it. like something in him was still resisting but not strong enough to stop what he needed. his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent, and then you felt it. his breath mingling with yours, his hand sliding behind your neck like he needed to anchor himself to you, and then he kissed you.
god, he kissed you like he’d been dying to. like he was sorry and starving and scared all at once. it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t just lust. it was deep. full-bodied. a confession sealed between parted lips and quiet moans. his hands were rough from years of training and weightlifting but the way they held your face was so gentle it made your chest ache. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back like he was everything. because he was.
“missed you so much,” you breathed against his mouth, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “you hurt me so bad, toji…”
he groaned into your lips like the truth pained him. “i know, baby. i know.”
his voice cracked when he said it. there was guilt in his hands, too, how they ghosted over your body like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you even now. but you weren’t going to let him float away again. not tonight.
you reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it up, and he let you, watching you with that dark-eyed intensity like you were unwrapping something dangerous. he didn’t stop you, not even when your fingers danced over his abs, not even when your lips trailed kisses down his chest like every part of him deserved worship. his hand came to the back of your head, gentle pressure, not to control you, just to feel you. to feel that this was real.
“can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured, like he was saying it to himself. “can’t believe you still want me after all that.” you met his eyes, then kissed over his collarbone. “don’t make me regret it.”
his mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he couldn’t hold it. not with how shaky he felt inside. you pushed him back until his knees hit the edge of your bed and then climbed into his lap, straddling him slow, your hands finding their way into his messy black hair. he looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to see. his hands settled on your hips and stayed there, tight enough to ground him, loose enough to let you move how you needed.
you rocked into him gently and felt the low groan vibrate through his chest as he buried his face in your neck. “fuck. you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“then die with me,” you whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear, “if you’re gonna be dramatic.” toji laughed under his breath, shaky and soft, and you felt something in him melt for you. he held you tighter, his forehead pressed to yours, and you both breathed each other in. this was slow. this was real. not some hazy hookup or guilt-ridden goodbye. this was you, pouring everything you had into the way you touched him, kissed him, held him. this was toji, stripped down to something raw and trembling and human beneath all his bravado.
you guided his hands under your shirt, placed them over your bare waist, your ribs, your back. he explored you like he’d never touched you before, even though he knew your body better than most. his fingers left burning trails. his mouth followed. every kiss was an apology. every gasp he pulled from you was one more promise that he’d do better, be better, love you right if you’d let him.
you tugged at the waistband of his sweats and he sucked in a sharp breath, head dropping against your shoulder. “you sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
you cupped his jaw and made him look at you. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.” his lips crushed into yours before you could say another word, and this time it was urgent. all teeth and tongue and breathless need, hands sliding over bare skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. clothes fell away one by one, carelessly discarded, and soon it was just skin against skin, heat tangled between sheets, and the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air around you.
he moved slow. every inch, every roll of his hips, every kiss to your throat, your chest, your stomach, it was all deliberate. no rush. just the ache of needing to feel connected. you clung to him, gasping his name, whispering how much you loved him in between moans and desperate kisses, and he gave it all back to you without saying much at all.
his mouth told you in other ways.
his hands told you in reverence.
his body told you in devotion.
you lost count of the times he made you cry out for him. lost yourself in the way his fingers gripped your thighs and how his voice broke when he told you you were perfect. he held your hand while your bodies moved together like they were made for it, pressing kisses to your palm, your wrist, your collarbone like he could kiss away all the damage he’d done.
you were shaking in his arms by the end, a mess of limbs and sweat and whispered i love yous, and he just held you, his arms strong and warm and wrapped around your body like you were something to be protected. something to be cherished. he didn’t run. he didn’t shut down. he just stayed, kissing the top of your head, whispering against your skin, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like you were the most important thing in the world.
and maybe you were.
“still scared?” you murmured sleepily, fingers tracing over the lines of his chest.
he kissed your forehead and whispered, “terrified.”
but he didn’t let go.
and neither did you.
never again would either if you slip away from each other, because this was real, this was what you two had always yearned for.
m.list!
oo i might like this better than my choso fics icl 🙁🤝 i hope you enjoyed ong i loved writing this make sure to tell me how you felt about itt 🫦
“Hold on. I'm talking.” Toji lifts a hand, shutting you up instantly as he keeps talking on the phone.
You pout, heart dropping a little but you hide it by whining on purpose and grabbing his arm. “You’ve been talking forever. Give me some attention too, baby.”
Toji clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed. His gaze hardens as he looks at you but instead of snapping, he just flicks your hand away, slips from your grasp, stands up and continues his call. He walks into the bedroom and—click. The door locks.
Leaving you unanswered. And confused.
Your smile drops. You swallow the bitterness on your tongue as you stare at the closed door. You slowly get up and walk over, gently knocking even though you already know he won’t answer. You knock again, harder this time. Your voice is soft, pleading. “Baby? I just want to talk to you, please. Open the door.”
A click. The door opens. Relief blooms on your face—until you see his. A deep scowl. His scarred lips twitch. The phone is tossed carelessly on the bed. “Why the fuck do you never understand? I was in the middle of a fucking meeting.” He hisses, lashing out without warning.
You flinch. Your smile disappears instantly. You shrink under his intense stare. “I… I just wanted to talk. You’ve been on the phone for hours. I need att—”
“Because I’m trying to FEED you, goddamn it!” he explodes. “I’ve been on the phone for hours because I have to earn extra money for your shitty lifestyle! Why can’t you understand for once?!”
“Toji…” you sob, shocked at his cold voice—his cold words.
Toji sighs harshly, dragging a hand down his face, exhausted. “Go out with your friends. I’m busy.”
“But… you know I don’t have any friends.” you choke out between sobs, gasping, chest heavy as you mumble, “I only have you as my friend.”
Suddenly, he grabs your arms and yanks you close, noses nearly touching. His voice drops, cold, unrecognizable. “You think I fucking care that you’re a loser?”
You freeze.
He pauses… then grins. Blank. Empty. Cruel. “That’s not my fucking problem that you’re insufferable to everyone. Have you ever looked at your behavior and wondered why no one loves you?”
Your sobbing stops. You stare into his green eyes. Lips trembling. Heart pounding as his words sink deep into your skull.
“Why doesn’t everyone… love me?” you repeat softly, disbelief written all over your face. Toji said that? To your face? Knowing your issues, knowing how unwanted you feel, knowing he’s the only one you have. And still…
“Why… why would you say that? You… you know why, Toji.”
He smirks… then shoves you away. Hard. A breath of satisfaction leaves his lips as he watches you stumble, hurt, confused, destroyed. “That’s what I thought.”
Pairings: Childhood friend Suguru x Reader x Shoko
‼️ Tags: Unrequited love, deep-rooted insecurity, emotional conflict, romantic gestures, quiet heartbreaks, and bittersweet confrontations. The love triangle between Suguru, Shoko, and Reader. Jealousy, misunderstandings, betrayal-like tension, angst, arranged marriage and duty versus desire.
Preview
It began with E-mails. Words you poured out under someone else’s name. Suguru thought they belonged to Shoko. But they were yours, every single one of them.
And now, years later, he’s back. His gaze doesn’t linger on you, it lingers on her. The girl who never wrote a single word, the girl who doesn’t care for the promises he thinks they made.
You smile, you stay silent, you stand in the shadows even as your heart burns with the weight of every word he ever sent, every secret you’ve kept. But life has a way of weaving threads tighter. Families talk, proposals are made, and suddenly the boy who was always yours in your eyes… might just be tied to her instead.
In a story of friendship, promises, and the lines between love and loyalty, someone’s heart will break.
But sometimes, destiny has been waiting all along.
Masterlist
1. Mails from a stranger
2. The girl he sees
3. Always the friend
4. Truth in silence
5. A promise in rain
6. The wrong confession
7. Threads of fate
—————
Art Credits: VoidBringer/X & raberu_ruru/X
I’ve almost completed this fic so this will be updated regularly. 💞
Pairings: Childhood friend Suguru x Reader x Shoko
‼️ Tags: Unrequited love, deep-rooted insecurity, emotional conflict, romantic gestures, quiet heartbreaks, and bittersweet confrontations. The love triangle between Suguru, Shoko, and Reader. Jealousy, misunderstandings, betrayal-like tension, angst, arranged marriage and duty versus desire.
Preview
It began with E-mails. Words you poured out under someone else’s name. Suguru thought they belonged to Shoko. But they were yours, every single one of them.
And now, years later, he’s back. His gaze doesn’t linger on you, it lingers on her. The girl who never wrote a single word, the girl who doesn’t care for the promises he thinks they made.
You smile, you stay silent, you stand in the shadows even as your heart burns with the weight of every word he ever sent, every secret you’ve kept. But life has a way of weaving threads tighter. Families talk, proposals are made, and suddenly the boy who was always yours in your eyes… might just be tied to her instead.
In a story of friendship, promises, and the lines between love and loyalty, someone’s heart will break.
But sometimes, destiny has been waiting all along.
Masterlist
1. Mails from a stranger
2. The girl he sees
3. Always the friend
4. Truth in silence
5. A promise in rain
6. The wrong confession
7. Threads of fate
—————
Art Credits: VoidBringer/X & raberu_ruru/X
I’ve almost completed this fic so this will be updated regularly. 💞
৻ꪆ instructions. ensure you’re logged into your account and already have twitter open prior to clicking these porn links.
JEAN KIRSCHTEIN. ꒱
face buried in pussy. ⋆ pumping you with his fingers. ⋆ kissing all over you. ⋆ cuffed ‘n pounding. ⋆ 69ing. ⋆ fondling your boobies through lingerie. ⋆ seashell. ⋆ smack smack smack.
ONYANKOPON. ꒱
sucking him off in the bathtub. ⋆ passionately eating you out ⋆ backshots. ⋆ hitting it from the back. ⋆ missionary. ⋆ cowgirl. ⋆ ten inches deep. ⋆ munching your sloppy folds.
LEVI ACKERMAN. ꒱
missionary. ⋆ choking in a manbeater. ⋆ humping his foot. ⋆ psycho dick sucker. ⋆ tied. ⋆ piston that pussy. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ in the kitchen. ⋆ fingering you. ⋆ bent over. ⋆ rough sex.
ERWIN SMITH. ꒱
inspection. ⋆ experienced older man. ⋆ pretty ass perched atop his knee. ⋆ sweet make out sesh. ⋆ mutual masturbation. ⋆ helping him jerk off. ⋆ missionary.
Arranged Satoru - more thoughts on this drabble - set before it. ooc, cruel gojo, angst/cheating 💗💗
Satoru, "your husband' left you in tears so many times.
But then, when didn't he? When didn't he make your heart not race no - he made it sink. Your stomach nauseous, as you have to watch him kiss in a little cove in the gardens of a charity event, or even on your wedding day.
You know he never wanted this marriage. He made it clear from the moment you both said 'I do' - down to the night you'd thought he'd be your first. Slipping in front of him in a little baby doll slip.
He paused for just that moment, blue eyes flickering down your body, lips parted, only to cruelly press back together. Sunglasses on even though it was evening, slipping them down the bridge of his nose briefly.
"Yeah. We won't do that, sweetheart," he murmured softly, and grimaced in annoyance as your eyes filled with tears. "You didn't think I wanted this, did you?"
"Well I didn't either..." He had laughed then. This mean one you'll never forget. Ringing in your ears, throwing his head back with his hands in his pockets.
Charming. Handsome. Cruel.
His two fingers brushed down your shoulder, smirking as he watched goosebumps danced across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"
"No," you had covered yourself with your arms. Suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a teenager turning you down. "I just thought we needed children and-"
He leaned down, his sweet breath had been against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glittered in the soft lights of his penthouse. "Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground."
You had gasped then. The way he just shook his head and sat down his glasses, studying you mockingly.
"Wearing that won't get you fucked," you almost got sick. "You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you."
Not. For. You.
"You're my husband!?" Your shout had surprised him. He had blinked a bit, tilting his head and standing impossibly close.
"Yeah. That's what they wanted, all of them," he stepped back, leaving you cold and empty. "I know what I want and it's not you."
You hadn't been able to stop those tears, he'd faltered just a bit, white brows drawn together. "What is so wrong with me?"
He had paused, then turned away, not looking at you, his back had been taut as a bow as he stood there for a moment too long.
"An inconvenience."
Your heart shattered that night.
"Make yourself at home, plenty of rooms. Take your pick."
You spent your wedding night in a bed alone, in a home of a man who didn't want you. You heard his laughter later as he talked to someone on the phone, heard a soft female voice when your ear pressed against the wall.
You hated yourself for not being enough.
It was a long time until you felt pretty.
When red eyes met yours weeks later, the tall man that had a smirk too but there was interest, fire, playfulness, as he'd leaned over to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.
You can't be pretty to someone if your own husband found you that terrible, right? He must be friendly, just trying to get you to join up to his trainings.
"You've got a lot pent up," Sukuna was his name. He'd said those words softly, hands brushing down your shoulders. "Maybe some kickboxing?"
"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow. "Kickboxing?"
He had chuckled, the sound addictive and inviting. "Think you can't?"
You don't know if you can do anything.
But maybe there was a glimmer of you left. When Sukuna touched your arms, showing you where to move them, while your husband is fucking a woman on his desk at work when you bring him lunch later.
There has to be more to this life, then whatever the fuck being married to the head of the Gojo corp was.
♡♡♡♡♡
Yes I'm doing a full series, it's in my brain now 😌
theartofmadeline
stormborns
izzy806
