summary. after years of failed dating app matches, you finally hit it off with someone. he’s funny, charming, emotionally available… and apparently?! not who you thought he was... literally — because he used his ex-best friend suguru geto as his profile picture! so now, you’re stranded in a foreign country for the holidays, stuck with the real satoru gojo: a digimon-loving, trivia-winning, six-foot-tall nerd who... sure. may have catfished you. but he also might just win your heart.
tags/warnings. fluffy holiday au. nerdjo. light angst. slow burn. eventual smut. long distance relationship (reader is from cali, satoru is from japan). fake dating. one bed trope (yuuuup). found family feelings w/ the jjk cast. lots of dorky humor. alcohol/weed usage. there’s a bit of suguru x reader (also sukuna hits on you a lot bc he wants to piss gojo off). endgame is satoru x reader w/ a happy ending! soft and silly romcom vibes.
author note. merry christmas! this fic is loosely based on the movie Love Hard (w/ my own retelling). it'll be 2 parts! i wanted it to be a oneshot and was rly hoping to finish it before christmas but life got in my way so alas. i'll say more towards the bottom but enjoy this first part for now~
Love is… hard.
Not ‘hard’ like an honest misunderstanding, or a fight you work through with emotional maturity and a seasonally appropriate Hallmark movie kiss.
No — ‘hard’ like dodging your fifth unsolicited dick pic of the week while Googling ‘how to spot a narcissist,’ because apparently you need a manual now. Like realizing your therapist makes more money off your dating trauma than you ever will.
Which is funny, considering people pay you to write about it.
“Do I believe in love? No. But I do believe in ad revenue. And trust me — what you’re writing? Sells. You’ll make it big, darling. I swear.”
Wise words from your boss, Mei-Mei. And by wise, you mean cold, calculated, and unfortunately? Very on brand.
You’re a columnist for Swipe Right into Hell, and your beat? Disaster dates. Ghostings. Red flags. You write about it all. One guy asked if he could wear his ex-wife’s wedding ring during sex. Another told you he didn’t believe in astrology or feminism — but he did believe in Bitcoin.
So, yeah. If love is a battlefield, you’re the war correspondent. Bulletproof. Jaded. Always packing a pen.
You’d think by now — after all the swipes, the situationships, the nights replaying bad decisions in bathroom mirrors — you’d have cracked the code. Found the formula. Unlocked the algorithm to real connection.
Mei-Mei certainly thinks you did.
“Ughhh. You’re a genius! I swear, your last column was chef’s kiss,” she purred to you on Monday, tapping her lacquered nails against a chart of engagement analytics. “Tragically humiliating… in a relatable way, of course!”
Tragically humiliating?
Yeah, sure. That’s one way to describe it. Your date dumped you via a Venmo memo when you asked him to split the bill with you.
(“Lunch was great. You’re not. ✌️”)
“Uh... thanks. I think?”
You weren’t entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation — because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred.
“Of course, baby!” she cooed. “Your ratings are exceptionally high. But... let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly.
“We need a story so massive before Christmas. Don’t ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?”
Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. It’s unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ‘new material’ you’re looking for? A part of you still aches — still yearns — for love.
So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again.
| Brett, 27 — Los Angeles, CA |
“Hey, kitten. I’m Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Let’s chat, yeah?”
Sent a dick pic and texted “U up?” at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You weren’t)
Swipe.
| Colin, 32 — Santa Monica, CA |
“Sup. I’m just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.”
Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.)
Swipe.
| Naoya, 22 — Orange County, CA |
“What do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love a woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.”
You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sure…)
Swipe.
| Greg, 25 — San Francisco, CA |
“Hey. Uh... I’m married btw. But it’s complicated, u know?”
You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.)
Swipe.
Swipe.
Swipe.
You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... it’s just California? You’ve been living here your whole damn life. Let’s try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed “entrepreneurs” — the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability.
So? You expand your distance radius.
Like...
Way out.
Just to see what would happen.
| Satoru, 26 — Kyoto, Japan |
“Hey. I’m not here to play games. Unless it’s Mario Kart. But don’t cry, because I’d totally win, sweetheart.”
It’s a miracle. Because for once, there’s no shirtless mirror selfie. It’s just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. There’s a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes.
He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god he’s—
…gorgeous.
And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous you’ve learned to dodge. No. There’s something… approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldn’t talk — he’d listen.
~ ♡ ︎ You’ve matched with Satoru Gojo! ♡ ︎ ~
...typing
Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet… here we are. Matched on a dating app.
Satoru: So… hi!
Satoru: Wanna test fate?
You: lol 😂
You: well then...
You: that’s one way to say hello!! 😝
Satoru: Yeah... figured I’d lead with existential dread instead of wyd 😉
He was... normal.
Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.
But somehow? It worked. He made you smile.
...typing
Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question...
Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 🤨 Or are you a functioning member of society?
You: 😨😨
You: excuse you!!
You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? 😒
Satoru: Phew 😩
Satoru: Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me before
And just like that, you were hooked.
You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. He’s got opinions on everything.
Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers.
One day he asked:
...typing
Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl?
You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone.
...typing
You: hmmm.....
You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?
Satoru: 👀
Satoru: Well shit...
Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...
You: hehehe 😇
You: what do YOU think i am?
Satoru: Oh, hell no...
Satoru: I’m not falling for that
Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.
You: pshhh...
You: that response answers for me 😛
You: but hmm... i guess i’m both?
You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.
Satoru: Okay cool
Satoru: Soooo... I’m either incredibly lucky, or you’re about to ruin my life in a really interesting way.
You: ruin you??
You: never!!
You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to ❤️
Satoru: ❤️
Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy 😉 both snack AND personality wise
Satoru: Which brings me back to the important question...
Satoru: Snacks
Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart.
You: hmm...
Satoru: This data could make or break us 🤨
You: imma salty kinda girl
Satoru: ...
You: but i don’t dislike sweet things! 😘
Satoru: Siiiiiigh...
Satoru: Fine. I respect it
Satoru: Even though it’s OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer 🙄 guess I’ll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship
Somehow, it never felt forced. You didn’t have to explain your jokes. You didn’t have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh — constantly. But more than that… he made you feel safe.
It was easy to forget you’d never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life.
Until you started calling each other.
What started as a five-minute “just wanted to hear your voice” spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now it’s just… what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music — familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs.
He talks fast when he gets excited — usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like he’s chasing thoughts through constellations — but somehow, never leaves you behind.
And when he’s really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity can’t hold it.
“Hmm… if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,” he murmured, “do you think we’d still find each other in another timeline?”
“Oh my god…” you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. “Is this your version of ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm’ Satoru?”
His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.
“Pshh… no,” he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. “This is my scientifically superior version of that question.”
“Mmm… I see,” your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. “Yes. I think we would”
A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.
“I wish…” he said after a beat, “…we could spend Christmas together. It’s not fair you’re so far away.”
His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, you’ll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.
“Yeah…” you whispered. “Me too.”
You’d been talking to Satoru for a month now — and honestly, every other man you come across can’t hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know she’s not going to like what she finds.
“It’s officially December, my dear,” she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. “So. Where are my lines?”
Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.
“I know, I know…” you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. “And… don’t be mad. But… just hear me out. What if this year… I don’t write about heartbreak?”
It’s like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan — like you’ve grown a second head.
“Darling,” she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. “Christmas is in three weeks. I don’t need pleasantries — I need pain.”
“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. “Christmas is supposed to feel… good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.” You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.
You’ve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when you’ll be home.
“I mean… people are… tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?”
Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. “That mushy shit doesn’t sell…” And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. “You sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.”
Your mouth opens. Closes.
Little does she know… this is you. Or at least, the you that’s been kept hidden your entire career — doing something that feels so… empty. You’re tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru — the potential for love — could be real.
“…I met someone.”
That gives her pause.
“Oh?”
Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you don’t let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.
Satoru.
“Yeah… he’s—” you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. “Ugh. He’s good, Mei. Like… really fucking good. Funny… smart… thoughtful…”
But Mei’s sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.
“Ohmygod and so handsome too,” you breathe, face lighting up. “Like. It’s unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when I’ve had a rough day. It’s like…” you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.
“It’s like… he sees me, Mei.”
At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.
“I see…” she nods, lips tugging upward. “Well. Can you show me a picture, then?”
“Oh, sure!” you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.
Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. “This guy is in Japan…” and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. “I wonder… have you seen him yet?”
“W-What?” you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. “Well… no. But it’s a sixteen-hour time difference! It’s hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time and—”
“Mm.” That’s all she needs. She’s handing the phone back with a noise you’d describe as infuriatingly smug. “No way he’s that perfect,” she says, already rising to her feet. “I bet he’s catfishing you.”
Your heart drops.
God. That’d be just your luck.
“What?! N-No!” you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. “It’s real, Mei. He’s real.”
“Mmm. So is Santa Claus~”
You scoff, brows furrowing.
“No, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him — flying out and —”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. “Flying to Japan? To meet a man you’ve never met?” a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. “Ahhh… what a story! I expect lines, my dear~”
And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.
That… bitch.
Fine. You’re going to prove her wrong.
You must.
It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Satoru’s address.
You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.
“A present? For little old me?” he drawled. “Awh… what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??” You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing “Fine. But only if it’s Digimon-related, sweetheart.”
Little does he know…
It’s you you’re sending.
(Though yes, he’s still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat — complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. It’s absolutely absurd. You hope he’ll love it.)
Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land — your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.
“Uh…. sumimasen?”
It’s the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoru’s anime rants about how “sub is superior to dub.” He swears by it, so naturally, you’ve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)
As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past — ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.
But then, the car pulls up to his house — and suddenly, you’re the one who feels foreign.
Because what the hell.
The place is huge.
It’s walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. He’d told you his family was well off, but you didn’t realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.
Great. Now you’re standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you don’t have in your bank account.
God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if he’s playing you? What if… Mei’s right. Does he even want you? What’ll he do when he sees you? What’ll he say?
Fuck.
You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. It’s fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?
When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and then—
Click!
The shoji slides open. You’re grinning nervously — heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom is—
A woman.
“えっ…誰？何かご用ですか？”
She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She’s tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way you’ve never been. And she looks… young. Maybe your age.
Mei’s laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.
Double fuck…
Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?
It feels like a kick to the chest.
What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy you’ve never met in person?!
“ちょっと、聞こえてる？”
She’s still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity — and you realize with a jolt you haven’t said anything. Not a word.
“Oh! I—uh—sumimasen?” you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. “S-Sorry, I… I don’t speak Japanese,” you laugh, awkward and breathless. “I think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru but—” with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.
God. You’re such an idiot.
“Uhhh… never mind,” and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. “I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”
Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.
“Oh. Satoru? That idiot?” she says casually, in English this time — voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. “Yeah, you’re at the right house. He’s just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.”
As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.
“C’mon. You’ll freeze your ass off.”
“Oiii,” Shoko calls. “We have a guest, guys! Say hello to—oh, um… sorry, what’s your name again?”
Before you know it, you’re stepping inside – toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and you’re greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.
Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags – there’s an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.
They’re all staring at you with stone faces.
One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
Are these Satoru’s… friends? Family? He’s never mentioned them before.
Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. “I’m Shoko, by the way,” she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Known Satoru for years. Unfortunately.” She smirks. “This is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.”
“H-Hello…” you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for… dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and… I was hoping that — well, Satoru would be here?”
“Gojo?” Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethin’?”
The words hits harder than it should.
Girlfriend? Secret?
God, what are you to him?
And now, it dawns on you that they haven’t a clue who you are either. Of course, they don’t. Why would they?
You feel your cheeks heat. “O-oh, no. No, it’s not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hand like it’ll brush the embarrassment away. “I mean… we talk. We’ve been talking. But—”
You trail off and they’re all looking at you with raised brows.
“We don’t have a label or anything. We’re just… friends.”
“Friends?” Sukuna perks up, grin widening. “So lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?” He scoffs. “And he hasn’t even put a label on you?”
There’s something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.
“Damn. Lucky bastard.”
You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.
"Don’t you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"
Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. “Sukuna…”
“What?” he says, raising both hands innocently. “This girl is hot as fuck. And I’m just saying — if it were me? I’d at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.”
You blink again.
Is he… hitting on you?
“Great... here we go…” Megumi mutters.
And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please ignore him,” he tells you, voice calm but firm. “Everything is a pissing contest with Gojo where he’s concerned.”
“Okay, first of all — fuck you,” Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. “It’s not about competition. I’m just not blind. Look at her!”
You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.
“Don't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like it’s a fucking game.”
...fangirl?
The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldn’t be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.
What made you think you were any different?
You shouldn’t have come.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to barge in. I’ll just—”
And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you don’t register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoru’s scarf fall to the floor.
“W-What… what are you doing here?!”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. You’re too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoru’s friends judging you. You’re dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.
“I’m leaving now… god, I shouldn’t have come. Please don’t tell Satoru I was—"
“WHOA, is that Gabumon?!” a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. “Hey Gojo, who’s this?”
At the mention of his name, you freeze.
Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.
But… the man doesn’t look like Satoru. Not the Satoru you’ve come to know.
No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.
Nothing like his profile pictures.
“Satoru?” you breathe.
His mouth parts, speechless while he’s looking at you like you’re a ghost.
“Dude, that’s so cool! Did you make that?” Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. “Gojo she’s a keeper, huh?”
“Mmm… clearly.” Nanami glances over. “Because since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?”
“About damn time,” Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing she’s seen all week.
“And, she flew here for you,” Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. “Shit, I’ll marry her if you don’t, asshole.”
The voices layer over each other — praise, laughter, awe. But it’s too bright, too loud, and you’re frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.
He lied.
And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.
Love is dead.
“Um, actually. I—I left something outside,” you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. “Excuse me a moment.”
And before anyone can stop you, you’re slipping past them — out the door, out of breath — your chest aching with something you can’t yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.
“Wait—shit. Wait!”
Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, you’re already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like you’re marching to war.
He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you — this ridiculously perfect girl — came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.
And now he’s watching you walk away.
“Waitwaitwaitwait…” he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. “Slow down and just… can you just—fuck. Just stop for a second?!”
“Stop?!” You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. “Why should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!”
He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.
“W‑Well—what kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someone’s front lawn?” he fires back, hands flailing. “In Japan, might I add!”
A bitter scoff tears out of you. “You said—and I quote—‘I wish you were here with me for Christmas,’” your arms fold tight across your chest like you’re holding yourself together. “Why the hell would you say that if you didn’t mean it?”
He backpedals immediately. Because fuck — he did mean it. Every late‑night call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.
But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.
“L‑Look—that’s just—something people say, okay?” he rambles. “Like… ‘your baby’s so cute,’ or—um— ‘my diet starts tomorrow,’ or—”
He’s waving his hand, scrambling for humor — something to soften it — but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.
Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.
“Shit… okay,” he blurts, voice softer now. “That was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...”
“Fuck you…” you mutter, turning back around.
“Hold up! Please… just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explain—"
“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again.”
He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow – your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still… reality slams into him all at once.
You don’t speak the language.
You don’t know the city.
You don’t have a car.
Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck… fuck!” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.
“Guys, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. “She left something at the airport!”
Then, he’s gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.
It’s cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where you’re going. But the cold doesn’t sting as much as your heart does.
You don’t even know how far you’ve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.
By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, you’d stop feeling so fucking alone.
Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.
You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, it’ll burn the ache out of your chest.
The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everything’s warm and loud. Someone’s laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, there’s a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.
Beautiful.
Almost like…
The photos on Satoru’s profile?
Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??
You’re blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.
“Shit—” you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.
You’re pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.
Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?
“Hey—hey! There you are!”
Oh, yeah. It can.
Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before he’s crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.
“Jesus—fuck. Are you okay?” he drops beside you, crouching low. “What the hell happened—”
“Don’t touch me,” you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.
“I’m fffine,” you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. “Gooo away.”
He sighs, exasperated.
“You’re not fine. You’re pale and shaking and—wait. Are you… drunk?” He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose it. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“Home?” you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. “You mean your home?”
“No. I meant… wherever you’re safe. I just—can we not do this right now? Please?”
You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. “You’re a liarrrr,” you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. “Jus’ like everyone else.”
The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouth—closes it. For once, he doesn’t have a smart comeback.
“I’m gonna stay right here,” you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like it’s some kind of moral victory. “I don’t need you.”
“…in the snow?” he asks flatly.
“Yup,” you nod, blinking too hard. “Maybe I’ll meet someone who doesn’t lie for fun.”
“Jesus, woman—” he drags a hand down his face. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language. You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you can’t even read the name of!”
“Pffft... well I liiike this bar,” you say bitterly, voice cracking. “S'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.”
Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument — another plea — he freezes.
Because you’re... crying.
Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.
“I hate you,” you mutter, voice wrecked.
His chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to do with that. With this.
“I really liked you,” you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “Like—really liked you. I don’t do this. I don’t fly across the world for people. I don’t—” you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. “S'bullshit…” you mutter bitterly.
He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like he’s unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.
“Plus… you’re hot as fuck. I don’t get it. Like… you didn’t even need to lie…”
You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.
“S’stupid… you could’ve jus' been you,” you say, gesturing vaguely at him. “But no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I can’t trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.“
He opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because that’s the cruel part.
He didn’t lie about everything.
He thinks of the way people’s eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize he’s that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons — money, status, face value.
And you’re the one person who ever made him feel like it’s okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.
“Oh yeah… ya know who I saw in there?” you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. “That hot guy from yer pictures.”
Satoru stiffens.
“Uh… Suguru?”
“Oh,” you sniff. “So he’s a real guy?” You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. “Figures. Y’know what? He looks like he wouldn’t lie. Bet he’s honest. Bet he doesn’t make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.”
You’re too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt.
“Maybe I’ll go back in and see if he’ll take me home, huh?”
You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking — hands warm and steady under your arms.
“Look…” he murmurs, voice gentler now. “I know you’re mad. And I deserve it. But I’m worried about you.”
His grip adjusts — one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.
“It’s cold,” he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just… come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morning—fine. I’ll even help you hook up with Suguru… if you want.”
Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. “W-What?” You squint at him, breath curling white between you. “Seriously?”
He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, me and him used to be friends. I’m your best bet.”
“That’s insane,” you mutter.
“I’m aware,” he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: “All I’m asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.”
You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. “Why the hell would I do that?”
He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.
“Because… you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I don’t have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys… they’re all I have. I’ve spent holidays alone more years than I haven’t.” His voice cracks a little, just a hair. “I don’t wanna ruin this one… please?”
Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe it’s the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a liar. He just looks… sad.
“…okay,” you whisper. “Fine. Let’s just… go.”
But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation — an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.
“Shit—okay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip.
And maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guard’s been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.
He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you don’t hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.
“Do you… really think Suguru would like me?”
There’s a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.
“I think… he’d be lucky if he did.”
You frown, unsure how to read that. But you don’t press.
He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window — watching snow dust the windshield like ash.
It’s going to be a long Christmas.
The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.
You looked impossibly beautiful.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.
“Hey… uh. We’re here?”
But you don’t wake. And honestly, he can’t find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, “C’mon, sleeping beauty…” climbing out and circling the car. “Right… well. Up and at ‘em.”
He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.
As he approaches the estate’s entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.
“Woah. Dude. She okay?”
“What?! Of course!” Satoru huffs. “She’s fine. Just—tired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, y’know?”
Yuji nods solemnly. “RIP.”
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Move. Gotta put her to bed.”
Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesn’t stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.
He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates — then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.
“Shhh… time to get some rest, sweetheart…” he breathes. “Lay back for me, yeah?”
As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.
But as he’s reaching for the blanket—
“Mmmph.”
Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.
“W-Woah—hey,” he breathes, voice cracking a little. “You’re—uh. Kinda clinging there, huh?”
You don’t answer. You just… sigh. Sleepy and content. He lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. You’re cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like he’s the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.
“Mm… s’toru…”
His heart flutters, and he knows you’ll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesn’t move.
Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because he’s selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like she’s dreamt it a hundred times.
So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.
‘I keep thinking… if this is what you’re like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?’
You’re dreaming again.
Of his voice — that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you weren’t slowly losing your mind for a stranger you’d never met.
‘Cause… I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.’
You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. It’s a heavy, encompassing warmth – like you’ve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. There’s an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.
Dreaming.
“Mmph…”
Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something… hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.
“Fffuck…”
The groan isn’t innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to grow. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.
“Unngh… b-baby…”
As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, you’re greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.
This isn’t a dream. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoru’s hips with his morning wood right there and holy shit—
“S-Satoru?!”
You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, you’re met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.
But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. “H-Huh…?” gaze flicking down to the very compromising position you’re both in.
“Shit!” his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.
“Oh my god—why the hell are we sleeping together?!” you shriek, and he’s desperately trying to explain. “I—You—” he wheezes as you push his again. “Ow, okay, damn, don’t commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! I’m the victim here!”
Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
You both look down at his dick.
“…so,” he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your face—very carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. “You, uh… gonna move?”
“R-Right!” your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like he’s on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s uh… fine. Totally fine.” He mumbles with an awkward laugh. “I mean… not that I’m complaining… but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move and—”
“Don’t.” You snap, making him freeze. “Don’t say that…”
Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.
But mostly?
Last night comes flashing back – your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel… humiliated.
“You don’t get to make jokes right now,” your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. “Not after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesn’t exist. For some who—” you trail off, failing to find words that don’t sound even more pathetic. And scoff. “God… I’m such an idiot…”
There’s a long pause. Satoru’s quiet, but then you hear him sigh.
“…you’re not. You’re not an idiot.”
Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.
“I told you… I shouldn’t have lied. Okay? I know that…” he scratches the back of his head, knowing there’s no excuse he can give you that’ll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. “Look… just stay until Christmas. Please? I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even… hook you up with Suguru, like I said.”
He hesitates as he says it. But that’s what you want… right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.
You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. You’d said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.
Because you liked him.
You really, really wanted it to be real.
Your mouth parts. You’re about to answer when your phone buzzes.
Mei: How’s Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~
You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.
“Right…” you mutter, rubbing your arm nervously. “Uh… sure. I guess I’ll stay.”
a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading 💖
synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.
pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna
content: mdni, angst, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, reader is an emotional mess, we all suffer here, discussions of arranged marriage, uncomfortable conversations, suguru is SO pathetically down bad, confessions
art by @aransmind !!
Could you be a widow before you even got married?
Because you weren't sure if Suguru was going to strangle your groom-to-be before either of you had the chance to explain.
His jaw flexed, his face almost unreadable as he stared at him with disbelief gleaming in his eyes. Betrayal burning under the surface at your betrothal.
"Our parents arranged it," you explained, attempting to defuse the thickening tension in the air.
Suguru just stared, not saying anything while you fought the urge to scratch at your skin, to dig your nails in and draw blood just as a distraction from what you were really dealing with.
"You're getting married?" He eventually said, choosing his words slowly, each one barbed and sharper than the last. "To each other?"
"Look, okay, it's not like it's the end of the world," Satoru unhelpfully started up again, ready to give his best friend the same spiel he gave you in the car. Trying his hardest to be the one seeing the bright side of things when the rest of the sky was pouring down rain.
"Oh, really?" Suguru sarcastically scoffed, stepping back just for Satoru to invite himself in. Walking inside the dorm like it was his, hands in the air as he scrambled to find something to say that wouldn't get him socked.
"You know, if you guys want to," he began, making little kissing gestures with his hands before smushing them together. You had to look away, holding your breath and shielding your eyes with your hand to stop from wincing. "I mean, it's fine, I don't care."
"You act like it's fucking set in stone," Suguru derisively said. If someone wasn't paying attention, they might think he was calm. But you heard the way his voice quivered just slightly, the disdain dripping from it.
"Her parents booked the venue." Satoru gestured towards you, and you wanted to be anywhere but here. God, maybe even back at your mother's party would be preferable than to feel like you were getting punched with every other sentence of this conversation.
"What?"
"August," he added.
"Is this some kind of fucking joke?" Suguru blinked, and you bit your lip hard enough to taste the blood. "Do you think that's funny, Satoru?"
"Nope," his best friend shrugged as he answered both questions, lips pressed together in an apologetic sort of, 'but what can I do?'
Suguru looked to you, like he was waiting for you to say that it was just a bad prank, but all you could do was stare helplessly at him.
"They planned it all out," you mumbled, exhaling as you shuffled on your feet. Twisting that ridiculous ring around your finger because you didn't know what to do. "I'm supposed to go wedding dress shopping with his mother next week."
You said it like you were announcing when your execution was scheduled.
It was kinda what it felt like, wasn't it?
The day you'd let yourself be dressed up like a doll and twirled around in front of mirrors? Your mother would surely shove herself into the equation somehow, find out the when and where and show up. You probably wouldn't even get to pick what you liked.
The whole wedding would be orchestrated without a single opinion of your own involved.
"Did you know?" He demanded, looking to Satoru like it was somehow his fault.
You knew he was scrambling, searching for something to do or say or some way to make sense out of everything.
"I didn't-" Satoru defensively said, holding his hands up in the air.
"Um, I knew that mine were planning an engagement," you muttered shyly, looking down at the floor the second you felt both their stares flickered back to you. "Just not with him."
"And you didn't say anything?" Suguru asked, fraught with the exact emotions you were scared of. Your bottom lip quivered, a hot lump forming in your throat as you found yourself choking back the urge to cry.
You could hold it in. You had to.
It was bad enough that you already embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru, sobbing in his car while he tried to soothe you when he hadn't done anything wrong.
"I just, I didn't think anyone would care after graduation," you muttered, not sure how to say you didn't think they'd notice your absence in their world when they had endless opportunities sprawled out in front of them.
You felt like you were back in your apartment with Sukuna, sputtering out reasons, shrinking back and scared at whatever response you might receive.
"You can't seriously think that-"
"None of you guys even talked to me before I basically inserted myself in your life," you murmured weakly, inhaling through your nose as your shoulders bobbed up. "It's fine, I kinda assumed that you'd forget after a while y'know? I just wanted to experience some different stuff before I thought I'd be stuck making sandwiches for some asshole."
"I'm not going to expect you to make me sandwiches," Satoru tried to be funny, laughing a little like it would break the tension.
"Can you get out?" Suguru snapped at him before his face softened, almost immediately regretting it. Clearing his throat before he ran his fingers through his hair and spoke more carefully, "I'll just call you later, okay? I just, I need to talk to her."
"Yeah, sure," Satoru mumbled, but you found yourself stepping towards him on his way out. That resigned look of being left out you'd worn most of your life.
For a few seconds, you were frozen while he walked out the door, trying to figure out what the right thing to do when you felt like everything had been flipped around. Unsure of where you really stood with anyone anymore, how to act or who you were supposed to be.
"Oh, um, give me a second," you murmured, holding up a finger to Suguru before scurrying back out to find Satoru halfway down the hall.
He stopped when he saw you, brows knitting together in confusion as you jogged to catch up to him.
"What are you-"
"Thank you," you softly said, making yourself smile even if it was small as you glanced up at his face to look at him properly. Too caught up in your own feelings before to see the sadness in the bottom of his blue eyes, all that playfulness evaporating the second he thought he was alone and didn't have to be strong anymore. "For, uh, the food, and everything you said in the car, and I mean, just not treating me like shit even when you're going to be stuck with me."
He grinned at your rambling, resuming his persona of that casually cool guy who wasn't bothered by anything.
"Don't worry about it," he hummed, shrugging his shoulders, but you still saw the way his eyes flickered down to the ring on your finger every few seconds, felt the hollowness still lingering in his happy tone. You recognized it since it was in you too. "Besides, you're stuck with me."
"I don't want to make anything harder for you," you softly said, picking at one of your cuticles, having a difficult time even speaking in full sentences around him, to articulate how you felt when you weren't confident in any of it. "It's not like I have that much to offer, but I'm here for you too, if uh, you ever need anything."
His mouth twitched up in what you hoped was a more genuine smile.
"Thanks," he nodded, sharp jaw tilting up before you turned and started back towards his best friend's dorm.
Tugging your dress back down for what felt like the millionth time, dying to readjust your bra around your sore nipples as you anxiously stepped through the threshold.
Suguru was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread apart as he stared down at the ground, only glancing up when you shut the door.
"What am I supposed to feel here?" He asked, as if you had any answers at all.
Anything of yourself you could give him.
"I don't know," you whispered, voice threatening to break on three little words.
"Is this what you want?" His voice was hoarse, raw.
"No," you honestly said.
"What would they do if you didn't?" Suguru slowly placed his hand over yours, long fingers slipping between your own as his massive palm encompassed you.
"They have my birth certificate, my passport, every document and dollar is all theirs," you sighed, too tired to disguise the defeat anymore. "Everything I own is really theirs."
"You're not," he breathed, and you wished you didn't look up to see how earnest he looked as he exhaled. His sharp focus devoted to you, the depth in him you were scared to drown in. "They don't own you."
"They do."
You'd spent a life under their thumb. The only way out of it was getting married. Transferring ownership.
"Satoru could call it off, couldn't he?" He asked, and you instinctively recoiled at the idea of what would happen then.
Who your husband would be.
"My parents would set me up with someone else," you explained, your free fingers reaching back to rub a knot in your shoulder, wincing at the way your new nipple piercing felt in your dress. You needed to go home. Needed to change.
When there were only a few things you could control, you tended to cling to them.
"The other guy is fucking awful," you added. Naoya didn't even deserve to touch a woman. Let alone marry one.
"Shit," he muttered, pulling his hand away to bury his head in his hands.
You didn't know how long you sat there.
Sometimes one of you would start to talk, just to shut up before the words ever came out. He eventually put an arm around your shoulder, one that sat heavy as you leaned against him for support, resting your head on him as he tried not to make things worse.
"Can you take me home?" You eventually whispered.
Suguru hesitated, but he nodded instead of telling you no.
The car ride was still just as tense. Filled with the same thick silence, shivering no matter how warm he adjusted the air for you.
But once he made it to your apartment, you still stalled to get out.
"I've never really had real friends. So, um, I don't really know how to even tell you how much you've meant to me," your voice wavered, wet tears starting to drip back down your cheeks that you uselessly tried to wipe away.
And then his hand was there, his thumb dragging underneath your eye to stop the next one from falling.
"Meant?" Suguru echoed softly.
Your lips clamped shut, stifling your crying as you once again failed at convincing yourself that this wasn't another ending.
"What are you saying?" He pressed.
"I wish I knew what to do," you spoke quietly, cracking as he didn't move his hand. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You already made me fall for you," he huffed.
No.
You must have heard him wrong.
"I want you more than I should," he kept going, fingers grazing over your cheek once more to draw you back into him. You stopped moving, stuck there in your seat as you replayed every single syllable in your head. "More than I was ever supposed to."
"Suguru," you exhaled his name.
"Wait, please," he requested, and you didn't think you could move if you wanted to. "I don't want this to be over."
"You don't want what to be over?" You asked, barely above a whisper, because you needed him to say it. Because unless you heard the words directly from his lips, you couldn't believe it.
"Us," he murmured.
All that did was make you more confused. More torn and twisted on what you were supposed to do or how you were supposed to feel.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, leaning across the center console now, so close you couldn't help glancing down at his lips. "Ever since that day in the library, you're what I go to sleep thinking about and what I wake up to and even in my dreams."
"But-" You tried to interrupt, but he still wasn't finished.
"I don't know how to picture my life without you there anymore," he said, all pretty and honeyed. "I don't think I want to."
"Even if it's as Satoru's wife?"
You saw the way he stalled. The hesitation there, the warmth that iced over at the mention of what your reality was shaping up to be.
So you decided for him.
His life would be easier without you making a mess of it.
Besides, how much of his feelings were truly for you? How well had he really gotten to know you over your relationship while you were still withholding all the really awful bits? Hiding yourself from him, trying your hardest to shape yourself into someone likable because you were scared he'd hate you for you too.
Pulling back and picking up your purse from the floorboards, opening his door without looking back at him. It stung. Stuck another hole through your heart as your throat closed up entirely.
He called your name, and you heard the door to the driver's side open, him stepping out like he was going to chase after you.
But in a moment of probably poor judgement, you shoved your purse higher and started sprinting.
Nearly spraining your ankle making it through the door, only slowing down once you made it to the stairs, making a mental note to come back down and feed the kittens after you glanced back to make sure he didn't actually follow you. But first, a nap. Preferably one longest enough to ease the ache of your heart being sliced open in so many places in just a handful of hours.
Was it mature to run away from him?
Absolutely not.
Were you far fucking past any rational decisions after the hellish morning you had?
Not even looking as you rummaged through your purse, trying to find your apartment keys and sniffling when you walked up to your door, just to bump into something hard and drop them.
You bent down to pick it up, mumbling a teary sorry before you looked up and saw the last person you thought would be here today.
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 - Boxer! Sukunax Reader x Nepo baby! Gojo
warnings!! - Heavy angst, cheating, Satoru is 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. This chap - yandere Sukuna, obsessed/toxic Satoru, oral (f receiving) fingering, squirting, spitting, possessive behavior, insane jealousy, Sukuna is down bad and falling more and more, reader is getting stronger (let my baby cook) mentions of somno, mentions of sex, degradation (sexual and just in general) messy dynamics, cheating/reverse cheating... God just a lot.
This WILL have multiple endings - all of these three ends are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV based on this drabble - WC - 11.5k (dear God lol)
part two - masterlist - part four (soon)
part three
You
You rush in from the blinding lights of people’s phones flashing pictures and videos of you – Gojo’s wife and mysterious heiress – walking into a boxing gym of one of the most rebellious and notorious heir, Sukuna. Known for causing scandals and going against his own family the moment he got his trust fund, what sort of good heiress goes into a gym like this!?
You flew under the radar before you married Gojo, you never partied and made sure to not cause any problems for your family, but yesterday someone had spotted you walking into the gym and alerted all the other paparazzi. You have huge sunglasses on when the gym doors open and you see Yuuji waving you in, Sukuna crossing his huge biceps and walking out.
“Get in,” he says quietly, you do just that, hearing him now. “Any of you wanna jump in the ring with me, since you’re on my private property? Hah, no? Come on, I’d love you to fucking try, aww why are you running?”
“He’s crazy,” you murmur to Yuuji, who has his hand on your wrist, tugging you into the busy gym. “He really is, your uncle.”
“I know,” he rubs the back of his neck, smiling just a bit at you then. “You look so happy today.”
“I do?” You blush at that, and so does he, when Sukuna shuts the heavy doors and walks back in, raising a brow. “How so?”
“You just do,” Sukuna’s glaring right at him now. “She does look happy? I didn’t say she’s hot okay – she is but I didn’t say it. I mean you’re not!? I’m sorry – you are but that’s-”
“Yuuji,” you’re giggling now, watching him stammer awkwardly was perhaps the cutest thing you’ve seen. “Thank you, for the compliment.”
“Yeah, of course – uh I have to go… over there,” he rushes off where everyone is training, the sounds of the boxing bags being hit mixing with the whir of workout machines and the clinking of the weights on the floor. You feel Sukuna too close to you, not on you, but behind you, warmth seeping through even though you’re not touching.
“He’s cute,” you say, Sukuna’s eyes narrow when you look back at him. “He looks just like you, just a little sweet version.”
“Aww, am I not sweet?” You blush when he walks past you, and you clutch your bag, following him closely.
“You just threatened to fight like ten people.”
He snorts just a bit, the two of you stopping in the locker room, you set down your bag, it’s empty inside of it, Sukuna doesn’t necessarily have a ‘girls’ locker room, everyone just sort of goes together. You arrived in a baggy shirt, slipping it over your head after you take off your sunglasses, all while Sukuna sits wide legged on the bench, gym shorts slipping up his muscled thighs.
God was any of him not huge, even his thighs are thick, you bite your lip and hastily tug out your ear buds and water bottle, before shutting the locker and turning to face him. “I don’t like paparazzi, I tend to tell them to fuck off.”
“I saw that,” you tease, leaning over to set your things next to him, tugging your hair up in a ponytail, pausing when you feel his fingers slip across the back of your thighs. You suck in a breath, your heart hammering in your chest, stepping closer until you’re between his thighs. “Thank you for getting them away.”
“Wasn’t for you, I hate them,” he says gruffly, hands slipping over your hips now, thumbs pressing against your pelvis, you can’t bite back the little moan that escapes your throat then. Sukuna’s ruby eyes lock with yours, lips an inch from your collarbone, but he doesn’t cross that line, waiting for you.
You look around nervously, before stepping even closer, hands resting on his broad shoulders, tugged against him to where you feel his length against your thighs, body humming in response. You shouldn’t do this, no matter what Satoru does, you know you shouldn’t be actively seeking Sukuna out. Terrified you’d both get hurt, worried you can’t just be physical.
How, when Sukuna makes you feel this good, do you stop it? How when he looks at you like you’re so pretty, like he desires you so much? Your breaths quicken, gathering courage then.
“Guess what?” You ask, he smirks a bit, breath ghosting over your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“What is it, brat? Got something to tell me?” He’s grinning, teeth glinting under bright fluorescent lights, you gather more courage but you’re trembling, leaning close and slipping your hands down his tattooed biceps.
“I made myself cum last night,” Sukuna’s grip is bruising, pupils blown out, before he stands up suddenly, pressing you against the lockers, a thigh between yours, making you cry out before he puts a hand on your mouth. You grip his wrist, his other hand dragging you down on his thigh, leaning close and moving his hand, exhaling. “Sorry that was too much, I shouldn’t have-”
“Shut up,” you gasp, glaring and earning his smirk. “You’re so sexy when you scowl like that.”
“Telling me to shut up… I…” Your whole life you’ve been silent, you’ve been quiet, pushed around with no sense of self. Yet Sukuna is teasing, he’s challenging you, he’s making you want to talk back, because you feel safe enough to. Your eyes look back up into his, swallowing nervously, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You shut up.”
He chuckles softly then, tilting your chin up, raising his thigh even higher. “Oh yeah, ya talkin’ shit?”
“Y-yes? I mean – yes.” You scowl all cutely again, pulse fluttering when he comes near, you’ve never felt this way, the thrill of it, talking shit to a six-foot-five grown ass man who’s got you soaking wet, drooling over that material.
“I like it,” he murmurs, easing his thigh back to run his fingers down your tummy, trembling underneath, hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “You made yourself cum for the first time?”
“Y-yes, I did – mnh!” You cover your own mouth when the backs of his fingers slip over your clit, she eagerly twitches in response, his thick digit slipping inside your hole, not teasingly with the tip like last time, no he slides it in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes roll back from just that, cunt spasming around the invasion.
“Fuck,” he loses his bravado for a moment, yanking your hand down and curling his finger up before pulling it back, making you gasp out at the loss. “I’ll give you that reward later, for being a good girl.”
“L-later?” You hear the chatter and realize you both won’t be alone until later, looking to the side only to look back and see him sucking you off his fingers, moaning, lips wrapped around it. You drag him down for a quick kiss, he’s eagerly swapping your taste, tugging you hard against him.
God, to be kissed like this and not have it again?
You don’t know how you’d feel, to never have strong hands yanking you so close, to have his teeth clicking on yours, his tongue taking your mouth over. You’re lost in it, so lost you could forget who you are, where you are, but Sukuna is thankfully self aware, shallow breaths, hot when he pulls back.
He glares at you, hardly able to drag himself back. “Fuck are you doing to me?”
He murmurs, before giving you another kiss, and another, barely pulling back as others start to walk in, palm taking over the small of your back, bunching the material of your sports bra in his hand, lips coated in you.
“Sukuna… I…”
“Shh,” he pulls back and leaves you trying to catch your breath, his ruby gaze ever observant thankfully, because you get too lost in those moments to remember your situation. He grips your face for a moment though, smirking down at you. “Later, be a good girl and be patient.”
You nod quickly, letting his hand brush over your bare stomach before he walks off, leaning against the coolness of the lockers, heart hammering in your chest. You get a buzz on your phone then, picking it up with a shaky hand, it’s of course a text from your mother, already having seen you at the gym.
Just what are you doing boxing!? At the Sukuna heir’s gym!? Shouldn’t you be at home waiting for your husband?
Emotions hit your throat, blinking back burning tears. Can’t you for once feel good, feel excited, be fucking happy without them? Without all of them turning against you, downing you, for the briefest moment you stood up for yourself with Satoru, can you stand up to her though?
I like boxing. Gojo is plenty busy with his secretary at work, so I will not be waiting at home for him.
You just talked back to your mother, just that alone makes you dizzy, shaking as she starts typing back at you, showing a picture of you headed into the gym.
You look terrible on top of it, and now you’re disrespecting your husband? Perhaps we need to have a nice family dinner, and hone in on your lessons you’ve clearly forgotten.
You usually would cry by now, your mother was your original source of insecurities after all, but you shut your eyes and exhale, doing one of the breathing techniques Sukuna has taught you. Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth, focus on your heart beat and nothing else.
It works.
Dinner at eight tomorrow. You and your husband you’re neglecting.
You laugh at that.
Sure.
You mute your mother for the first time in your life, looking at the mirror for a moment to see yourself – and you see what Yuuji was saying, you just look… you look happier. Your eyes aren’t this sad mess, they’re glittering a little bit, there’s this brightness to your skin that was just a little dull before despite ample skincare. You just… are well rested, well fed, and you…
Came for the first time.
You feel heat on your cheeks, rushing off from that mirror then, trying to focus on training and acting casual, like you weren’t clenching around nothing just watching Sukuna sparring. Sweat gleaming down his skin, the way he could move his body despite being huge, that feral grin on his face as he gets hit.
Sukuna was still a mystery to you, but you feel you already know him better than you do your husband.
Gojo, fuck you haven’t even thought of him.
The ever present pain fades to the back of your mind – always worrying where he was, hoping maybe he’d like you, it all falls into a faint white noise.
*****
Gojo
Kuna – the fuck was a Kuna.
Why had you been moaning like that? God, just the thought of that had his cock twitching, his head falling back as his secretary sucks him down. Blue eyes shutting and forming an image of the girl he doesn’t ‘want’. The one who doesn't ‘want’ him. Not really.
You want to be the perfect wife, you'd probably get right on your knees and serve him if he hadn't turned you down on the wedding night. Let him cum all over those pretty tits and lap it right off, would your shy, cute little self let him spit his cum in your mouth, too?
“F- fuckkk,” he sucks in air through his teeth, using her to fuck her throat, to chase away any thoughts of his little wife and failing.
All he can think is how perfect your likely untouched cunt must feel, how good it would taste, milking him for all that cum you desperately want. Yet he doesn't want that, it must just be slips in his resolve, resolve to take the family down, to take everything about the Gojo Corp and shift it all.
He almost moans out your name when she swallows, gripping around his length, your tits and pretty face bouncing in his mind. It's like some sickness that's latched onto him now, one he'll never admit to you, when she swallows his salty cum down her talented, stretched out throat so obediently.
“Mmmh,” he pumps a few more times, moaning while all his release floods down to her stomach, head falling back. When his phone goes off he frowns, seeing the text from his mother.
Your wife. Surely we need a little discipline for both of you?
He scowls when he eyes that big pink haired man next to you.
Ryomen fucking Sukuna?
‘Kuna.’
Oh fuck no.
“Satoru…”
“Hold on,” she's lapping at his balls, eagerly drinking up every sip of pearly white. Normally he'd find it hot, how desperate and pathetic she is, but now it's just fucking annoying. “Enough.”
She blinks a bit, he adjusts himself, scowling as you ‘fuck you button’ his call. “But did I do –”
“Did great but can you get to work please? Actual work,” she pouts, lips trembling, tears pouring, making him roll his eyes. “Please? Be a good girl and go to work.”
She smiles again.
“Of course Mr. Gojo!”
Fuck most women are easy - even his wife was moaning a fucking heathen’s name. You, a pinnacle of innocence truly, touching your pussy to another man in his home.
Part of him doesn't blame you – isn't that where he pushed you?
Another part? Jealous, disgustingly jealous, he hates Sukuna and out of all people that's who you stumble across. His mind is racing until he's sick, shakily picking up the phone then, texting you.
We have an impromptu dinner apparently. Be careful of being seen when you're out.
You see the message.
I know. I will be careful.
He scoffs.
You really boxing or getting fucked?
Your dots move over and over.
None of your business. I'll be at the dinner tomorrow.
Satoru's jaw sets. Imagining Sukuna fucking you has him sick completely and utterly. His hands are trembling, dizzy suddenly, jaw setting.
Until I get us separated please keep your shit discreet.
Says you. Shouldn't you be fucking, isn't that all you do?
He smirks.
I just did, sweetheart, well… I got my cock sucked. Doesn't mean I can't multitask and check on my pretty little slut of a wife.
Since when am I pretty to you? And the only slut I see is you.
Satoru's teeth click together, fingers thrumming on the desk.
Be home for dinner.
Sir yes sir.
Who knew you had a bratty fucking attitude!? Who knew you would talk to him that way – the perfect girl. The perfect woman of all society, telling him to get fucked.
Why does it have him throbbing for you?
Satoru throws his fucking phone across the immaculate office, letting it slam into the door and then clatter to the polished floors below. He leans back with a sigh and covers his face.
Just what does he do with you?
Sukuna
Trying to act as if he doesn’t care that you’re hurting and crying is a shitty act, and one he’s failing at. Acting like it’s okay you go home to someone like Satoru Gojo of all people? It took him just a moment to connect the dots, so fucking enamored by your pretty face when you came for him, the way your eyes lower nervously, the soft little sighs against his lips…
Yuuji was right to watch it, but not because of Gojo, it was him.
For a man who has in his entire life really not felt shit, to suddenly feel so much so intensely was not just terrifying to feel, there’s the added layer of the fact that technically you’re not his. He’s not even sure what sort of future you all could have, if any, or is Sukuna just a fleeting time for you? One where you start to get yourself together, to find yourself out?
He’d be okay with that usually, making women cum was fun for Sukuna, he loved it in fact, and he’s used to being the first orgasm for many women. However, a married, innocent virgin wasn’t something he had in his cards, and everything she would make him feel – things he doesn’t even want to.
Sukuna couldn’t stop jerking his cock until it was raw thinking of you, he had some date and cancelled it for this weekend, how could he even see or think of anyone with you here? Yet, you’re not his. You go home to your husband, even if that’s not a permanent thing, he never thought he’d be so affected by that fact.
Thinking of Gojo touching you makes him sick.
As if you’re already Sukuna’s.
Watching you on that little treadmill, working your butt off when he knows just a tiny bit of what you go through, grips his heart and wrenches it nearly out of his fucking chest. If he just wanted to make you cum, perhaps that would be less painful, if he didn’t instead want to fuck every insecurity your parents and shit husband put in your head out of you.
Kiss every bit of you, fold you in half underneath him, never let you leave his goddamn bed – would he even get you home? Home, what nonsense, he hardly knows you and he’s over here simping for you already, he has to try to at least keep a level head about that shit, or he’d be ruined.
What if you end up staying? What then, for Sukuna? How the fuck would he get over you if you all go further – if he sinks inside you, would you sink into him, too? Already a part of you is lingering in his brain, one he can’t shove out, stuck and growing until he can hardly stand it, the overwhelming need to make you his and all his.
Imagine sending you home, cum soaked, the remnants of your innocence streaking crimson down his cock? He feels like a sick fuck thinking of it, how you’d go home to your ‘husband’ all fucked out, thighs shaking. Would Satoru try to touch you, and just instead end up fingering Sukuna’s cum?
Something sick is ruining him – if the fucker had to ever come near you, he hopes it’s to play in the fucked out mess Sukuna would leave your pussy in – though the thought of him near you at all draws something insanely possessive he’s never felt. Even a fake kiss for the public, a hand on your waist, scrolling through pics of the two of you on his phone had him almost crush it in his hand.
How can he stand sending you home to that shit and not want to protect you? Dangerous, foolish, dumb as fuck.
Helpless, hopeless.
All it takes is a cute little attempt at a smile to ruin his resolve, to wreck his mind he only needs the smallest little touch of your hand on his chest. Guiding you right now by your shoulders, positioning you and watching you punch that bag so damn good. When he tells you how to swerve and you pick it right up, when your brow furrows just a bit and you concentrate…
He shouldn’t be so enamored – yeah, you’re gorgeous but he wishes it was just a pretty face with pink boxing gloves and not wanting to know every bit of you. He hides it well, you probably think this is easy for him, teaching you to box then teaching you to touch yourself, did you know it was killing him?
“That’s it,” he murmurs in your ear, adjusting your hips, feeling the curve of your ass against his thighs, shoulder blades pressing on his chest, already aching. “Put a little more strength into one, lemme see.”
You punch the bag hard, wincing then.
“Shit, your wrist,” he curses softly, peering at it as you blink back tears that you stubbornly don’t let fall. “I should have thought of it.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, letting his rough, tattooed hands glide across your wrist. “Just a little twist.”
“Yuuji,” his little nephew perks up. “Can you grab her some ice?”
“Mhm!” He runs off, you’re already shaking it off.
“I’m fine, Sukuna, promise. I want to do more!”
“Nope,” you sigh, so he literally picks you up like it’s nothing, plopping you out of the ring onto the floor.
“Hey! You can’t just pick me up and put me wherever.”
Sukuna grins at you then, watching the flush decorate your pretty cheeks. “Yeah? Well I just did. What ya gonna do about it?”
“I’m gonna go back in! That’s what,” he chuckles as you attempt to pass him, until he just picks you up by the waist and lets your feet just dangle. “Sukuna!”
“My ring, my rules, brat.” Yuuji walks up and hands you an ice pack, you fold it and place it on your wrist, smiling.
“Thank you so much,” you say softly, not all bratty like you get with him. He wonders if you only do that to him, and what that means.
Are you safe enough to do that with him?
Something about it makes the affection tug at his heart, this gnawing feeling happening too fast, so fast it makes him fucking angry. This isn’t him, right? Damn near on his knees for someone, who can’t be all his.
That’s what he wants, too – you to himself.
He walks away suddenly, leaving you looking after him, anything to get away from that scent that’s in his nostrils, whatever sweetness that danced on your skin. Fuck even sweaty you smell good – it’s actually bullshit, all effortless and pretty and don’t know it for shit, even now you’re looking at him curiously, giving him this little smile that he ignores.
He has to back off before he hurts himself, but the moment you’re both alone, and you feel that tension, you’re about to do just that – back off. He can already see you second guessing your actions, the way your mind races is easy for him to read, your jerky little motions.
Hastily tucking your hair behind your ear, hugging yourself.
It would be better if he kept the physical out of it, if he could just support you without crossing the line, but your taste is still coating his tongue. Your spit soaked lips parted and your pupils dilated ingrained in his fucking brain, his entire body aching for you, to feel you against him, wrapped around his fingers so tight.
He’d probably break you in half, split you open on his cock if he got buried inside, he’d be able to see himself move, too, claiming you for his own, his cock is leaking from your hasty little hug. His arm wraps around you, your bag falling with how tightly he tugs you against his hard frame, feeling you trembling against him, breaths in little pants, your nails pressed just a bit against his back.
He hardly holds back a moan, a soft sigh escaping, tugging you close when you go to leave, your eyes locking.
“Leaving already?” He murmurs softly, you take a shaky breath then, looking down, hands on his tattooed chest.
“I think you need me to,” your words hurt him then, his heart hammering underneath your palm.
“Did I say I want you to go?”
“No, but I feel it,” you let a little tear slip, Sukuna catches it with a thumb, the drop slipping across a painted black nail. “I have dinner with my parents tomorrow.”
“Tell them to get fucked.”
You giggle just a bit, shaking your head. “I can’t just do that.”
“Sure ya can, practice on me,” you bury your face, he feels the warmth against the sweat slicked skin, his huge hand covering your back, holding you too close. “Say it – Sukuna, get fucked.”
“No! No way!” You pull back but he’s cupping your face, smirking down at you. “I can’t say that to you.”
“Nah?”
“No,” you bury your face again, hands clutched into little fists, clearing your throat nervously. “I told you I don’t want you to get dragged in my mess, and I’m here with the paparazzi.”
“They can also get fucked, like your parents,” he tilts your chin up. “Like your husband.” You say nothing in that moment, cheeks burning hot underneath his touch. “Why are you runnin’ off?”
“I could tell you were getting um… I don’t know…” You can’t look at him, your eyes keep shooting down.
“Eyes on me, remember what I taught you about eye contact?” They go back to his, wetting your lips nervously and wrecking him with one flick of your tongue, he leans over you now, his breath ghosting your mouth.
“You seem a little um… distant and maybe I’m already overthinking it?” He just tilts his head, raising your chin higher, seeing your lashes tremble. “I am overthinking all of this. I shouldn’t be just saying I came last night, and you’re being sweet, and here I am with my life a shitshow. And I don’t expect-”
Sukuna kisses you.
He feels you melt underneath him, fingers pressing into his biceps, your soft breasts pressing against him underneath that thin little top, nipples hardening. His thumbs reach out to trace those peaks, deepening it, drinking in your cute little whimper down his throat, a hand going to entangle in your hair, yanking that little scrunchy right out.
“Mnh, Sukuna…” You whisper, pulling back, he wonders if you can already feel how hard he is, pressing so close to your tummy then, you’re stammering, a flustered mess.
“I liked you saying it to me,” he whispers, stepping you until you’re right on that counter, lifting you up, catching the reflection of his already dazed face in the mirror. “I liked hearing how you made your pretty little cunt cum.”
“Mnh…” He’s kissing you again, your hair falling now down his fingers like silk, he tugs at the nape of your neck, drawing your head to the side, kissing a hot messy trail up it, open mouthed, tasting your skin. “Ah! I j-just… don’t w-wanna hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” He laughs softly, shaking his head and pulling back, cupping your face in two huge hands. “You’re worried about me getting hurt?”
“I am,” you hold his wrists, lips already swollen from his kiss. “I don’t know if I should be doing this, I feel I should respect you, not try to grind on your thigh.”
He smirks. “What’s wrong with soaking my thigh?”
“I just um… I feel like I can’t control myself around you,” you’re so hot he feels you fucking burning against his cock, nudging you under those gym shorts, already stuck to his boxers. “I shouldn’t be so bold.”
“I like you that way,” he likes you any way – too much. “All needy and cute.”
“Needy!”
“Aren’t you?” Your head falls back for his hungry lips, dragging your cunt right against his cock, aching for you. “Cunt is so needy, she needs my fingers, huh? Yours are so tiny, so pathetic. Can’t hit what she needs.”
Your thighs spread for him as he props you higher on that counter, putting his fingers to your lips, watching them part, your gaze lidded.
“Suck them,” he orders softly. “Get them ready, nice and slick. Mmm, there you go, pretty mouth wrapping them.”
You’re sucking his fingers eagerly, obediently, making him vividly picture his cock, how the tip would coat your little pink tongue in white, how your cheeks hollow and your head bobs, knowing you’d suck him so well.
“Good girl,” you gasp out at that, your cunt so slick when he leans back there’s a dark spot forming on your cunt, you look down and blush furiously.
“Oh god…”
“Shh, take em off.”
“Oh, um off - off?” Sukuna can’t stand how cute you are.
He’d literally ruin you, he shouldn’t, he knows that shit – but when your cunt is bare in front of him, and his two fingers part your folds, parting them to see your slick pouring from your little hole, winking at him and spasming. He exhales, leaning down and spitting right on it in a messy clear trail, right on your hole, moaning at the sight and leaning over you.
One hand slipping to grip your face, two fingers tracing your cunt with an aching slowness. “Do you want me to get your slutty little cunt off, brat? I need an answer, and not a little whimper, or a sigh. Look at me and tell me what you want.”
Your lips open then close, thighs shaking as you bend them at the knee, his fingers spreading his own spit all around your needy little hole. So pathetic he could almost cum just touching you, his cock is pulsing, ready to pump you so full of cum you’re bloated from it.
Insane shit.
What do you do to him? He asked it earlier, but he’s still not entirely sure what it is, the way he doesn’t give a fuck you’re married, even that you’re married to Gojo. In fact, he fucking always hated that little pretentious shit all of high school and college, he’s thriving in the fact it would piss him off, yet the main problem is you.
Achingly beautiful, too sweet for a guy like Sukuna – corruptible in the prettiest little way.
All he can think of is taking you home, not fingering you on some damn counter in his locker room. You deserve more, but then when you finally open your mouth and say those words, he’d make you cum anywhere, as many times as you want, let you use every bit of him.
“I want you to make me cum,” he moans, leaning low and dipping his fingertips in your slick walls. “Um… please?”
Fuck you’re cute.
You
Sukuna eases two fingers deep inside, stretching you out so much your head slams against the mirror, lost in how crimson eyes ruin your senses. You know two wrongs don’t make a right, you know the damage this could cause, the anger that would be directed at you the moment Satoru finds out.
Yet nothing’s stopping your cunt from eagerly sucking his thick fingers in, from pulsing right around them, those long fingers curling inside you, a deliberate, achingly slow motion that has your back arching off the cold mirror. The sound you make is a broken little thing that echoes, earning his groan, his kiss against your neck, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you
"There it is," his voice is husky as he teases it, with a filthy squelch, curling up again and watching you with eyes gone black. The pleasure is so good you can’t take it, eyes rolled back in your skull, gasps escaping your lips. “That’s it, huh baby?”
Baby, fuck he’s calling you baby.
You already felt too much, but that damn near ruins you, cunt drooling down his thick fingers stretching your hole. You can't form a coherent thought, let alone answer him with words, all you can do is grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscle as he works you like he’s known your body, his gaze so intense you’re lost in it.
Lost in him, you get lost in him.
Paparazzi fade, Gojo fades, your parents and their fucked ass expectations, there’s nothing but white hot pleasure and adrenaline coursing in your veins, dragging him down for a hungry kiss while his fingers work up and down. “Ngh!”
“That’s it, look at her takin’ me so well,” he whispers, sooty pink lashes lowering and casting shadows under the lights, across the planes of his face. “You think I don’t wanna bury my cock deep inside that perfect little hole?”
Your heart hammers in your ears, chest rising and falling with every quick little pant, cunt messy and drooling down on that counter, your pants bunched down across your ankles. You’re dizzy as he scissors you with them, in and out, so much pressure in your core, when he leans low, smirking down at you, far too attractive.’
Too much, Sukuna is too much.
“Touch that little clit, lemme see,” you release one of his biceps to slip your fingertip down your trembling tummy. “That’s it, let go just f’me.”
Your mouth is met with bruising kisses, touching your clit like he showed you with his two fingers pressing so deep you can’t take it, feeling your orgasm approaching, higher and higher. Spit just dripping right down your tongues, your mouths, his fingers working you so good, maddening in their rhythm – your fingers falter, hips stuttering as your release hits you.
“There she goes,” his whisper is met with a devious fucking grin, he looks like some demon in that moment – maybe he was, having you spread like this, depraved with your cunt gushing and making a mess. “Doin’ s’good, look at you.”
“Mnh…” he brushes your hair back, messy now, your cunt pulsing around his fingers that slow, hand falling and useless, he takes it and sucks your little fingers in his mouth, tongue catching every drop.
“You did such a good job, I can tell you practiced,” he says, smirking then, studying your fucked out little face.
He withdraws his fingers, making you whimper at the sudden loss, god you feel just empty already, but you barely have time to register it when he's dropping to his knees before you. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and steady on the counter as he leans in. You feel his hot breath against your oversensitive, swollen lips just a moment before his tongue is on you, flicking the tiniest bit.
Is he… is Sukuna licking you?
“W-what are you… ah!” Sukuna shoves your thighs up until they’re pressing against your tits, smushing them, tugging your pants off your ankles. “I came already like… a lot.”
“This isn’t for you brat,” he whispers, sinking to his knees now, fingers drenched in your syrupy folds, exhaling – his breath making your clit just jump, twitching for him and earning his smirk. “Not at all, actually.”
“Not for me? Then – ah!”
“Shh.”
“Shh? I - ngghh!”
He doesn't tease, doesn’t gently flick his tongue or whatever you maybe imagined this as – you don’t really even know what he’s doing. Gojo has fucked in front of you, and mentioned blow jobs, but you never saw him like this with a girl, so on this you’re hopelessly clueless, your throat dry – hands enwrapping in pink, silky locks, tugging and earning a moan.
No, he seals his mouth over your still spasming entrance and drinks.
There’s no other word but that, he drinks you up with greedy, messy slurps, groaning as he tastes your release, his tongue lapping up the gossamer streams as if he's starving. You’ve never felt anything like it, like his greedy tongue tracing every inch his fingers just plunged into, in and out, fucking you with his tongue and slurping obscenely loud.
“S-Sukuna! I… f-fuckkk…” You’re cussing before you know it, mumbling incoherently, the intimacy of it too much to even put into a word.
He’s worshipping you on his knees, like you’re some treasure, some delicious meal for him to savor, and he’s not gentle or teasing, he’s not easy, his teeth graze your clit, hungry mouth sucking the little thing in. You’re cumming again, this time so sensitive you can hardly function, when he moans and the vibrations rock through you.
He’s possessive how he grabs your thighs, your ass, how he moans when you pull his hair so hard his eyes tear, but he won’t unlatch his mouth. Even as you’re murmuring how sensitive you are, shuddering, no he’s drawing out aftershocks that make your legs shake uncontrollably, squirting embarrassingly.
But he just drinks every bit of the clear little drops that gush down his lips, his chin, the tattoos on his throat glossy.
“Kuna… I… mnhph!” He grins against you, looking under his lashes and lapping up another stripe. “Thought it w-wasn’t for me?”
“It’s not, mmm,” he parts your puffy lips again, sucking at that little winking hole, earning your hips jerking, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, when you feel him moaning, hear him almost whimper, his body tensing, as if he is cumming from it. “It’s f’me. You just happened to enjoy that shit.”
“Enjoy i-is not r-really – ah!”
“Kuna, huh?” He smacks your cunt and grins as he studies your face, spitting right on your cunt again in a filthy action, another smack echoing. “Ya like that, me smacking her?”
You’re so nervous, you cover your face, he’s on you in a moment, yanking your wrists down, his face is coated in your cunt down to his fucking chest. “I made such a mess, oh my god.”
“Answer brat,” he smacks your pussy again, you whine out, nodding, his other hand choking your throat ever so gently underneath your chin.
“I like anything you do to me,” your words are vulnerable, he pauses just a bit, sighing and kissing you, smacking your cunt once more, having you practically twitching underneath him.
“What’s Kuna, huh?”
You blush more, giggling now, all fucked out from his tongue and his fingers, he’s gently kissing down your neck, but even in his gentleness, Sukuna is brutal, so strong, leaving his mark.
“I thought you needed a nickname, since you just call me brat all the time,” he snorts, shaking his head, your eyes shut in bliss, entire body on fire. “Um… Kuna.”
“Uh huh?” Your fingers drift down, lips pressing together with your nerves, he exhales and lets your touch glide.
“I can return the favor, or I mean… try to?”
“We can do that another time,” he says, voice husky. You look down and see his hand, coated in his own white, making you flush, tummy fluttering. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Ccan I taste it though?” He groans, shaking his head when you reach down again. “How’s that fair, you just had your tongue inside me.”
“I won’t stop there, that’s the problem,” you snatch his hand then, tongue lapping at the salty white drops from his release. You’re trembling as you do it, knowing it’s filthy and wanton, but fuck if he doesn’t make you wanna do more.
Satoru was so sure you’d drop to your knees for him, suck his mistress’ cunt off his cock, but the only man you’re thinking of doing it to is right here, watching you with a tensed jaw, his nostrils flared ever so slightly, eyes bright red. You lap every little bit of him up, seeing his cock twitch in those shorts, dying to know how it looks, how it would feel.
“You’re about to get your throat fucked so good you won’t talk,” you suck his fingers harder, he pulls them out and kisses his own cum off you, hands all over your body until they hit your hips, tugging you against him. “You love to test me, don’t you?”
“I just want you,” you pause then, sighing. “I said that.”
“You did,” he kisses you again and again, slowly easing off. “You wanna suck me that bad, then you come to my place and do it.”
“But I… what if… how can…”
“Or, I fuck your throat in your room,” you gasp. “Think I’m afraid of your dumb twink of a husband?”
“Sukuna you’re insane,” you frown then, shaking your head. “We can’t just go to my place.”
“And why?” He helps you down, tugging up your pants, kissing messy trails up your inner thighs, you sigh, head falling back. “Doesn’t he?”
“Sure but it’s his home, god I think he’d actually kill us both,” Sukuna spins you to face the mirror, and that’s when you see your hair – wild, all over – your tits half out, marks littered on your throat. “Oh gosh.”
“Look how fuckin’ gorgeous you are like this,” he wraps his arms around you, hands slipping to tug your tits back in. “Bet he’s hard constantly near you, talking so much shit because he just wants you.”
“No,” you shake your head. “He could never.”
“Uh huh, I know him.” You blink in shock, looking up as he leans back, fixing your hair carefully. “Surprised?”
“Very, are you all…”
“Friends? Fuck no,” he runs fingers through your hair carefully, the realization of everything slowly starts. “Couldn’t stand that little shit, I loved to beat him in everything.”
“Sukuna,” he tugs you close, his lips against your ear. “I don’t want to go home at all.”
He’s quiet, you’re suddenly so perfect in his arms, like you don’t want to leave, just leaning there against his hard body, huge biceps wrapping underneath your pretty tits, pressing them up.
“I hate that you go home to him, that’s my fuckin’ secret,” he whispers, breath hot on your ear. “I get sick of that thought, his hands anywhere near you.”
“He doesn’t even want that,” you catch his gaze in the mirror, seeing the possessive gaze. “I assure you, he doesn’t find me attractive.”
“He’s lying,” his hand splays your stomach, half bare from your workout clothes, just a little damp from perspiration, sending a shiver down your spine. “I hate that he even gets to look at you.”
Sukuna
“Sukuna, I…”
He cuts you off with a kiss, swapping your tastes, trying to shut his own dumb fucking mouth up. Now he’s acting jealous and possessive of a girl he hardly knows, but he can’t take it – how much he needs you to himself, how he can’t stand the thought of your dumb ass husband even seeing glimpses of you.
He worried it would happen, the further you both go, the more possessive he becomes, but the insane need makes him almost sick, imagining just taking you the fuck away, locking you up in his pretty penthouse. Never letting Satoru or your fucked ass family find you, have them leave your mind alone, just give you anything.
You’d never really need to leave, would you?
His head spins, cock still sticky from where he’d cum eating you out – he jerked it maybe three times and was spurting so much cum it was ridiculous, a waste not to creampie your pretty pussy instead. Yet when he drank you, he almost came from just that, pathetic whatever it is you’re doing to his head not even trying.
“I don’t want to hurt you, ever,” you whisper softly, he laughs then, without humor.
“You’re worried for me?” You swallow nervously, nodding, not having a clue what’s racing in his mind. “I’m good, brat, worry about you. Okay?”
He backs off, but it’s physically painful, like ripping himself apart, stepping back and grabbing your sweater, your shoes, coming to hand them to you, seeing your shaky hands. It’s quiet for just a moment, he helps slip your hair into that scrunchy that somehow ended up on his wrist, trying not to make himself look more like a dumb, pussy whipped fuck.
Is this what he used to make fun of his friends about? Getting this whipped for a girl?
No, it’s different, it’s obsession, and the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers was ruining him. It’ll live rent free in his brain on repeat, he already knows what this is turning to, so much so he should pull back, before the both of you are ruined forever.
How can he pull away, though? All he wants to do is go further, he barely holds back half the shit he wants to say and do when he’s standing by the back of the gym, and you’re holding onto him on your tip toes, eyes a myriad of emotions.
“You all right, brat? Too much?” He asks then, you shake your head. “Lost a lot of fluids, need electrolytes.”
“Oh!” You hide your face, you always do it, he wishes it didn’t tug at his goddamn heart, everything cute you do. “You’re teasing me.”
“Mmm, no, I’m your trainer and nutritionist now,” you giggle a bit, peeking up at him.
Sukuna was never sweet until you.
The thoughts of you crushing his heart without meaning to had him tense though, some sick sense of self preservation, he had to hold himself together, keep back just enough not to do the dumbest shit he’s thinking of. Literally contemplating kidnapping a pretty, married heiress is not in any way okay to imagine, nor is beating a six foot four white haired shit of a husband.
“Are you eating?”
“Mhm,” you sigh a bit then, blinking, tracing your fingers across his chest, he’s slung a thin workout shirt that clings to his body like a second skin. “This dinner is gonna be terrible.”
“You can say no,” he tilts your chin up. “You can say no to all their shit. And you can ignore whatever dumb ass things they try to say.”
“I’m scared to, I’m not all big and brave like you,” you poke his nose playfully. “I wish I was.”
“You’ve got muscles forming,” his fingers graze your bicep, just a little bit forming, you smile all big and bright. “Try telling them all to fuck off and you’ll feel better.”
“You don’t know them,” your eyes tell him more than your words do, the absolute fear in them. “They make Gojo look sweet.”
“That bad?” His brows draw together. “Do they lay hands on you?”
“They did a lot when I was younger, not for years,” he tenses. “I’m going to be all right. Promise.”
“Go on,” he steps back, his own feelings terrifying the shit out of him, trying to hold himself back. “I’m out of town for the weekend, but if you need anything you can text me.”
“No please don’t worry,” you step closer, the breeze from the now open doors blowing your little sweater around your body. “Today was insane.”
“Yeah, you enjoyed it all right,” he leans close. “Messy little brat.”
“Your fault,” your glossy lips press his, soft and sweet, tentative, your arms wrapped around his neck. “Seems like you enjoyed it too. I mean…”
You’re blushing, he chuckles a bit then. “I did, I told ya, it was for me.”
“I see that.” You linger a little too long, if you stay another minute he won’t even let you go.
I don’t wanna go home.
How does he just let the girl who’s racing in his mind constantly, the one with her cunt dripping on his lips just go to a man who treats her like shit, and then send her to her parents who are worse? This is what he was scared of, having all these dumb fucking feelings that make him sick.
“Start sneaking in the back, I had Yuuji move your car,” you nod then, hand holding his just a bit too long.
“Good night Sukuna. Um… thank you.”
“Mhm,” you rush out, leaving him alone, feeling like there’s some fucking hole in his chest that you caused, a glimpse of your eyes behind your windshield before you back away, driving and leaving him just standing there.
He wishes he’d let that go, you’re a grown woman, you’re not his.
But Sukuna does a fucking deep dive when he’s home, the penthouse is immaculate aside from him tossing his shoes by the front door, his keys on the counter, he literally just lives at the gym. There are things from Yuuji and his friends strewn across the home, but the cleaners seem to always put everything exactly where it should be.
The one perk to being rich is not cleaning, Sukuna hates that shit.
He pulls up his laptop and slips on his glasses, he just can’t really see shit up close, and puts your pretty face into focus, eyeing your hopelessly empty socials. The only things on there are strategically placed from PR, likely your parents he’s sure, pictures of you with your friends and basic, generic ones – your profile says ‘Mrs. Satoru Gojo’.
He clicks through curiously, his IG has just a couple less followers than Sukuna – he never thought he’d get a sick satisfaction of that, but they’re all pretentious. Him with his boys all over every post, on a ship here, on an island there, girls half naked all around him, clearly Satoru didn’t use a PR person, he’s as obnoxious as a nepo baby could be.
Not a mention of you, not a picture, even your wedding one.
He sighs, clicking through and delving deeper – he just wants to know everything about you, at a concerning level, sometime through it you even text him, and he realizes that hours have passed. He knows every school you went to, all your shitty little trad wife friends, about your cat that passed away last year – you were clearly devastated about it, a little paw print tattoo he saw makes sense now.
Just who were you, and just how does Sukuna get you all to himself?
Good night, Sukuna.
He wishes there wasn’t a dopey ass grin on his face.
He wishes there wasn’t then a frown, a worried furrow of his brow, an aching need to have you anywhere but there with Satoru Gojo.
Gojo
Satoru’s eyes hit you as soon as you set down your gym bag by the door, your pony tail is all askew, there’s a clear fucking mark on your throat, your sweater is wrinkled as if someone had been gripping it. His fork clatters to the plate, jaw clenched tight, so fucking furious he can hardly stand it.
You seem to notice, turning toward him and raising a brow. "What's wrong, Satoru?"
You lift that sweater off, your top all askew from where your personal trainer's lips had been all over your skin, teeth marks glittering so clearly even on your damn shoulder, it’s all making him sick. He stands up then, fists clenched at his sides, heart hammering with something he’s never, ever felt in his entire life.
It can’t be jealousy.
Jealous of what – Ryomen Sukuna kissing his wife? The wife he doesn’t want, the one he’s actively trying to get rid of?
He hates this feeling – he hates that he wants to suck on those marks until they’re bruises, his marks, his bruises – fuck, that cute, mean little smile off your face. Take you right on that wall and pump away any dumb memory you currently have of Sukuna.
Did he already fuck you?
You back up just a step, against the wall and just smiling all fucking mean at him, not that shy, nervous one – not even that pout, no, it’s an evil curve of lips so clearly swollen from kisses. Never has he wanted to smack someone so badly – no, he wouldn’t hit a girl, but god he would love to leave hand prints all over your ass, your thighs, choke your little throat.
God no one has ever made him so angry.
"Where have you been, huh?” He asks, you just raise a brow at him. “I asked a question.”
“You did, and you know where I was, you texted me about it,” you bend down, taking off your shoes right there, getting an inch shorter when your feet hit the tile.
“So you were just getting all marked up, like a little slut?"
You smack him then, hard, across his cheek blooming red, shoving at his hard chest then as his blue eyes narrow. Satoru laughs softly.
Damn you got stronger, compared to that first smack, you split his goddamn lip open here. You gasp for a moment, seeing the crimson droplet dancing on vemillion, backing completely against that wall.
“I didn’t mean to… hit so hard…”
“You meant to,” he grips your wrist now, pinning it to the wall. “Own your shit, you wanted to hit me.”
You take a shaky little breath, eyes locked, your teeth biting your trembling lip for a brief moment. “Yes I did want to hit you. Because you have no right to call me a slut, where do you get off?”
“Usually in Jennifer’s mouth,” he muses, your glare making him throb in need. “Sometimes on her tits, or Chloe’s. Question is, where did you get off, huh? You sure the fuck did, I can practically smell it.”
“You cannot!” You shove him with one hand, the other wrenching free. "You made it clear this was name only, for our families, yeah? That you'd never want me, how many times have you said that!? Even on our wedding night!?" You blink back tears, closing your eyes, Satoru’s at a loss for words.
You’re right.
Yet that doesn’t make any of this okay for him, it doesn’t make the fact that you smell like another man okay. Especially him.
“Answer me, stop deflecting.”
You open your tear filled eyes. "You just need to know that I’ll never try anything with you, never try to have a marriage, a relationship. Just like you wanted.”
Just like he wanted.
The words are so wrong out of your mouth, he can’t recognize you – but did he ever know you, really?
Panic sets in, his stomach in knots, feeling you fall away, pushed so far, and now he can’t stand that, can’t take the thought of not being able to have even the tiniest bit of you.
He scoffs, letting you go, standing back then. "You already know this will make us look-"
"No, Satoru, you did this,” you cut him off quickly, glaring now. “I've seen you with your girlfriends, kissing on their necks."
He's quiet then, jaw clenched, his beautiful face for once showing a goddamn emotion despite how well trained he has it to appear otherwise. “That was for your own good.”
“Great, thanks! Thanks for parading hickeys right over where your cock is, teeth prints on your nipples, fuck you think any of this was okay!?”
“Do you care, sweetheart? That they get me and you don’t?” You scoff, shaking your head.
"You thought I wouldn't do it too? Want me to watch you and go untouched and unwanted?"
He pauses now, realizing what his anger and resentment has turned into, how far gone you are. His desperation starts to creep its way, as he looks at how gorgeous you are this angry, how your lips just make him want to bruise them more, suck on them until you’re crying out, your heat against his thigh when he presses one right between yours, cupping your face and leaning low.
You pause, gasping, eyes shooting up.
“What games do you need to play with me, you’re sick.”
“A game, you’re playing the fucking game,” his hands squeeze your head on either side, his breaths faster and faster, the ever present temptation making him ache with need. “What did you do with him?”
"Hah, I love how you care when you have a list of your little hoes,” every time you glare he’s throbbing.
Fuck you, fuck this.
God he can’t stand whatever the hell you’ve done to him.
“As you tell me – none of your business,” you laugh just a bit then. “All I’ll say is I guess I see the appeal of you fucking all the time. If things feel that good.”
Satoru slams you against the wall, you don’t back down, you just eye him, satisfaction written all over your face. “So wet, always watching me, hearing me?”
“God no, you’re disgusting to me,” you lean up, a centimeter away from his lips. “To answer that question you had – I would never drop to my knees for you, not a chance in this world that I do.”
You push past him, he drags you against him, feeling the curve of your back against his torso, the way your rounded ass hits his lap, earning his moan, god has anyone felt better in his arms?
“You are just a little slut, huh?” He tilts your face to look at him, you scoff, shaking your head in his grip.
“You’re the only slut here.”
“Ah, you got some teeth, it’s cute,” he hums softly, hand gripping your tit, smirking when the bud hardens against his palm, when your breath quickens. “Acting as if you’ve stopped wanting me.”
“I have stopped,” you jerk your chin back, looking down. “I don’t want you, isn’t that your goal?”
"If you wanted to be pleasured, sweetheart, I could have already given you it," his fingers – long and thick – trail down your body, feeling it tremble and smirking. "I could have been convinced to make you cum so you didn’t end up hopping on the first dick you found.”
“I hate you,” you hiss those words.
Good.
You should.
Satoru hates himself, and the mindless need that takes over – jerking it to his own goddamn wife as she fucks around.
“Could have at least fucked Suguru,” you laugh then, a mean little sound that makes him leak pre like a sick fuck, deranged for you. “I’d accept that, but Ryomen Sukuna?”
“His tongue just is so good,” Satoru pauses, and you relax a bit in his hold. “Those fingers too. I bet all you do is get sucked and act like you did something.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” his fingers brush down your tummy, feeling you shaking in his hold. “You hear them moan, and think what?”
“Maybe it’s fake – I can’t say I give a shit. I already got off today, so I'm certainly not in need of you and wherever these fingers have been."
You shove him off you now, disentangling yourself – and he curses, eyes fluttering shut, wondering why he cares. He didn't want this, want the marriage, want the company, want any of this thrown on him by no choice. Yet now seeing your tears in your eyes and those marks on your neck, he feels sick to his stomach.
You're right, he's been with women, kissed them right in front of you, uncaring at all, yet to have it done to him? Is that what you felt? SIckening realization hits him then, thumb brushing over a lip already kissed, some insane possessive need sinking into him.
“Don’t touch me, you don’t get to.”
“Don’t want it?” You stiffen, and he laughs softly, acting as if he has any sanity left, any inkling of a fucking brain, wiped clean by you. “You can lie out of your pretty mouth all you want, you’re easy to read.”
You stomp over to your room. “I’m going to shower.”
“What if I just lock you up?” You gasp, turning around and scowling, he walks right over to your door, barring you with one arm. “Don’t let you run off acting like a dumb slut?”
“Then I’ll just leave you, divorce you, cause you the scandal.” Your chin juts up, he’s leaning too close, he can almost taste you. “I want this over as much as you do, we’re on the same page now. You should feel accomplished.”
You go to turn, and Satoru slams his lips on yours.
You freeze, and god when his lips hit yours, he’s done for, he’s lost in whatever the fuck you did to his psyche, every thought of any other girl fades until it’s all you – the girl he just called a slut, the one he can’t wait to get rid of. The one he told his friend to go fuck, and now all he can do is want to bury himself inside of you. Tongue slipping in your surprised mouth before you can stop him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs softly, pulling back with heavy breaths, kissing you again, stumbling into your room, hands drifting down the curves of a body he’s been aching for. “God, feel you.”
You’re pulling back for a breath, shaking your head, hands on his chest, shoving at him, just to stop for a moment, kissing him back he swears – your tongue moves against his, hands tightening. Yet you even quicker jerk back, touching your lips as if they’re on fire.
“Don’t do that, don’t kiss me. I don’t… feel anything.”
Satoru’s heart shatters.
Wow, he has one.
“What?” He demands, through his teeth, breath coming in pants that ghost over your lips.
“It’s what you said that night,” your hands fist on his shirt, tears falling even as you stand firm, voice breaking. “Remember?”
Satoru does remember.
He remembers every fucking bit of that kiss, and that lie, and the look on your face, just to hear those words tossed at him.
“You’re lying.”
“Who cares if I am or not?” You pull back, taking a step, hand on the doorknob now. “You felt nothing, neither do I.”
Satoru’s jaw sets, his teeth clenched together to the point of pain. “Feel so much for your dumb fucking trainer?”
“I do,” you whisper softly, he hates this feeling, whatever the hell it is, gripping him by the throat. “You wanted all this, I’m just doing it.”
You slam the door shut, leaving him alone, his phone starts going off in his pocket, the girl who’d sucked him down last night, he lets it ring, staring at the screen, then at the door, hearing your sobs against the door.
He causes those constantly, doesn’t he?
You
You hyperventilate when you’re alone in your bathroom, scrubbing Satoru Gojo off your damn lips with a wet washcloth. The way his eyes looked at you, the way he kissed you, all fucked and wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
You hate that you wanted Satoru the moment you saw him, hate to think of what could have been if he hadn't pushed you away this entire time - the sham of a marriage. If he hadn’t been cruel, fuck he still was, calling you the slut was laughable, grabbing on you, taking you over.
The desire is there whether you want it or not, but you can't just back down and take another day of his cold uninterest, take another moment of his cruelty, you can’t get dragged down to whatever the fuck it was. Your fingers tremble as you type to Sukuna carefully, so afraid to come off even clingier, even needier.
You felt something for Satoru in that moment, the moment lips that were so cruel – but it was hatred.
You hate him.
Are you all right?
You almost say it – no, you’re not, but the last thing you need to do is drag Sukuna further into your shitshow of a life. After feeling like that with him, worshipped almost, the way he called you a slut was damn near affectionate, sensual, with Satoru? It was just cruelty, it was him being nasty, mean, disrespectful – it’s like you can’t get a breath around him.
You’ve never ‘hated’ someone until this moment.
I’m good, I just was thinking of you. I bet you snore so loud.
You’re blinking back tears, sitting on the bathroom floor, fingers trembling over the phone, watching him type back.
I do snore, but i think you’d be too fucked out to care, fuck you so good you won’t wake up. Then fuck you again.
Your hand is on your heart, entire body heated to the tips of your fucking ears, breath coming in quick little pants.
In my sleep?
If you wanted it, I’d gladly give it to you.
You’re a terrible person, sexting another man in your husband’s home, but you’re having a hard time feeling too bad about it.
Maybe I’d let you lick me in my sleep.
You said that.
Do you want me to come and fuck you now? Let your husband listen to how it’s done?
No, crazy!
Mhm, then shut up and go to bed.
A mix of a sob and a laugh bubbles up in your throat, escaping hoarsely. You’re drowning in Sukuna, tempted to grab onto him and cling, even if it drags you under, feeling his possessiveness had been heady, maddening, dizzy.
His ‘secret’ of not wanting you near Satoru, just thinking of it made you dizzy – but Satoru’s new found possessiveness?
That wasn't about love or desire, it was about ownership. He didn't want you, he just didn't want anyone else to have you. The moment someone did, look at how he acted? You couldn’t let it get to you, couldn’t allow your mind to fuck up, to go back to the girl you’re trying to bury.
Thinking of your parents with you in this state left a sinking feeling inside your stomach, the damage they could do.
You force yourself to stand, your limbs feeling wobbly, the mirror over the sink shows you a stranger. Your eyes are swollen and rimmed with red, puffy from the tears, your lips still faintly swollen from kisses – whose, though?
Your husband who hates you, or your trainer, who clearly wants you?
You scrub at your lips again, harder this time, trying to wash away the memory of his taste, the feel of Satoru’s tongue forcing its way into your mouth, over and over until your gums bleed, and that’s all you taste – but It’s useless. You can’t get rid of it – can’t shake this sinking feeling.
Even when Satoru left you… would Sukuna ever…
Would he want to be with you?
Were you good enough for him?
Lost in your thoughts, your insecurities, you hear a soft click from the direction of the front door. The distinct sound of it opening, then slamming shut.
Satoru left.
*****
The next night
Dinner with your parents and the man that single handedly has made it his life’s goal to make you miserable?
Sounds like so much fun.
Satoru says nothing as he sits in the back of that Limo next to you, if you thought he was cold and distant before – nothing prepared you for what it was like when you got ready for this dinner. Nothing prepared you for his cold, calculated tone, his dismissive bored glances, the way he acted so goddamn hot and cold, as if now he was punishing you for doing what he did.
And he was, he made sure to let his gaze linger on you when you asked if the dress was okay, shrugging a shoulder. He’s non stop on his phone, you’re fiddling with your hands in your lap, Sukuna’s out of town and you don’t want to bother him, yet in this long ride you can’t help but let your mind drift.
What if you were with him, instead? It wouldn’t be a cold ride, opposite sides of that limo, no it would be on his lap, in his arms.
Sukuna is Fire, and Satoru is Ice. One burning for you, hot to the touch, the other so cold you’re freezing, shivering in your evening gown, imagining the warmth of Sukuna’s touch.
However nothing prepares you truly for what happens that night, when your parents disappointment and anger hits, you feel it the moment you walk into the room, the impending sense of doom. And Satoru might pretend to hold your waist, to smile perfunctory at them, but you know in your heart –
You’re all alone.
Wow this is messy - warning, the next chapter will be HEAVY ANGST!!! (like heavier than this imagine LMAO)
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round two: sullen girl | previous chapter | chapter index
I'll be your girl, if you tell me it's a gift
synopsis: your on-and-off again relationship with the current wdc has been the talk of the grid since you started writing songs about him - blissfully unaware he's the bane of another driver's existence. suguru geto has spent the past three years wishing for what ryomen sukuna already has. who will come home with the trophy this year? and more importantly, who will come home with you?
pairing: mercedes driver!Geto x singer!Reader x redbull driver!Sukuna
content: mdni, smut + angst, f1 au, but minimal f1 knowledge needed to understand, obligatory not based on real people blah blah, HEAVY PINING AND YEARING!!, multiple povs, so much jealousy, situationships, piv sex, condom, prone bone, possessive Sukuna, Suguru wants us so bad it's not funny guys, gifts, press/social media
"You really let him touch you?"
Sukuna was buried balls deep inside your cunt, and he was still thinking of another man. His hips snug against your ass, his body heavy on top of yours as he kept rutting in faster.
Fueled by the only thing he ever really was. Anger.
He had something to prove - and right now, he was proving it with every desperate swirl of his swollen tip against your cervix. Dragging it up and down, pulling out only to slam back in, making you feel the full force of him.
Normally, you'd tease him for being jealous, giggle and glance back to see what flavor of scowl he was wearing, but his hand on the nape of your neck didn't let you budge, fingers flexed as he pressed your face into the mattress.
The hotel bed creaked and whined in response for you, hitting the wall hard as he kept slamming into you. Sweaty and rough, like he wanted to leave the shape of you into the mattress.
"You weren't there to dance with me," you protested, voice muffled into the blankets.
"I don't dance," he scoffed.
He didn't do a lot of things.
You let out a dissatisfied huff, one he tried to dispel with another fast thrust.
"You left me alone," you muttered. His rhythm paused. Stalled still inside you, your body throbbing and clenching around him like it didn't understand why he stopped.
Why would he care when you were just pointing out a fact?
"I came back as soon as I could," he half-hissed, talking through his teeth as he stayed there. His breath on your neck, lips grazing over your shoulder blades before he begrudgingly added his least favorite word. "Sorry."
Did he mean it?
Did it really matter?
You held your tongue, another little whimper pulled from your throat when he filled you back up. You tried to lose yourself in his body. In his tongue dragging over your skin, in his hands on your body, how hot and heavy everything about him was.
"Forgive me," he grunted, and you couldn't decide if he was trying to request or demand it.
"Hmph," you pouted, not that he could see it, wiggling your ass back. His free hand danced back over your clit, trying to swipe his thumb harder over it.
It felt good - better than good, really. But you didn't want him to know it.
Holding your tongue, biting the bed so he wouldn't know how badly you wanted to bite him instead. Forcing sharp little inhales through your nose, closing your eyes to imagine this was something more...
You still didn't know.
Something different.
Everyone acted like Sukuna was the best at everything. But he wasn't very good at loving you. Surely, somewhere, someone else would?
How hard would it be to give him up for a hypothetical happy ending?
You hesitated though, how you always did. Would someone else put up with you? Your moodiness? Flakiness? The tendency to flit from thing to thing, interest to interest? You could be sensitive and strange and stiff, pulling away when from guys that were actually good or clinging too much to all the wrong ones.
Sukuna at least saw you for what you were and didn't scramble to get away from you as far as possible. A wreck, one he wouldn't try to fix, but one he accepted nonetheless.
"C'mon, princess," he teased in your ear, all low and gravelly, deep enough he knew it would sit inside you and simmer. Using a cute nickname that was half meant to mock you - and half meant to make you feel special.
"Can you be quiet for two fuckin' minutes?" You lifted your face enough to snap at him, and he laughed, like he liked it when you were being mean to him.
But he stopped talking, focusing only on the friction of rubbing your clit. Maddening circles, melting into you as he pressed harder. It was hard to let go, to release the tension, fighting for some control over your own body, your own pleasure when he made everything so muddled.
He made you feel high.
Cresting on a wave better than any drug or drink ever gave you, heat in your chest and core pulsating through the rest of you with each consecutive pattern he drew over that sensitive bud of yours.
You came for him like you always did.
Let your climax wreck you into a billion pieces, let yourself fall apart for a future you to put back together. Shuddering, damp streaks down your cheeks as you struggled not to cry out his name. Trapped between him and the bed in this unending cycle of sex and tears.
It wouldn't stop here.
You'd spend the weekend together, cheering him on and clapping during races, coming back to the hotel room to fuck and have fun until you had to return to your own reality. Then he'd call you up again in a couple weeks and you'd do it all again.
He pulled out, his chest slick with sweat and sticky as he peeled the condom off of his cock. A few drops of cum leaked out, dripping onto your ass while he grumbled after he got off of you.
One of Sukuna's thick fingers trailed over the soft skin, rubbing over a sore spot where he spanked it earlier. When he was impatient peeling off your dress earlier, bending you over the bed and still whining in your ear about how much he hated Suguru.
How he had no respect for guys like that.
What kind of guy was he then?
You let Sukuna do his version of taking care of you, using a wet washcloth from the bathroom to drag over your already damp skin until it was close enough to clean.
Curling up on the bed, rolling away from him onto your back. Staring up at the ceiling, little stars and fuzz still floating across your vision as you squinted and sighed.
He was already getting dressed next to the bed, pulling up boxers and tossing on a t-shirt that still advertised his team even in his sleep. He got back in next to you, mumbling under his breath now about some stupid press event he'd have to do tomorrow.
You would probably need to call your manager then. Or stop ignoring the numerous missed messages from your publicist about being seen with Sukuna and stirring up more rumors about restarting your relationship.
She'd want you to give a statement - something she could spin or put out and claim was from an 'inside source'.
You didn't have anything to say about him. Not to any reporters.
What was there to say?
There was no normal when it came to you two together.
You would never be the couple that cuddled in the middle of the afternoon, watching tv and drawing shapes on each other's skin. Never go out for casual dates or called just because. There wouldn't be anniversaries and birthdays and those lazy days where you did nothing and still spent it with him.
There was just this.
Laying in the post-sex silence, his hand on your stomach, palm pressed flat as he exhaled and moved closer to you. It wasn't by much, a few inches away on a king sized bed, and by the morning, you'd wake up on one edge while he was on the other.
"Suguru's jus' a friend," you sighed, running your fingers over his knuckles, wondering how many thoughts he'd have to spare for you the rest of this weekend. What was Suguru doing now? Back in his own hotel room?
Maybe with some other pretty girl he picked up?
"He doesn't look at you like one," Sukuna snidely remarked, as if his perception wasn't always through some red lens. Always irritated, always bothered. Nitpicking the tiniest detail to find something wrong, observing everyone and everything from atop his throne.
You nearly laughed.
Back when you and Sukuna broke up, when your heart was crushed and crumpled in a billion little pieces, you drank too much at a dive bar in the middle of their race weekend, and woke up back in Suguru's room. Fully-dressed and tucked into a blanket, heels left by his suitcase, a glass of water and pain killers left by the bed.
He slept on the couch.
Even when he had qualifying the next day and needed the rest more than you did. He rubbed the back of his neck, massaging it with those thick fingers, and you knew it must be sore - but he didn't complain. Just asked how you slept.
Suguru ended up placing fourth that weekend - starting from tenth position after a shitty qualifying that also felt like your fault.
Sukuna won.
You went back home, and the only text you got from Suguru was one saying he hoped you were okay. Like a good friend would.
"Do you forgive me?" Sukuna actually asked this time, flipping you over so you were forced to face him. His nose was sharp, tilting down as his eyes narrowed. The warm lights from the lamp casting long shadows across his face, highlighting the chiseled cheekbones you'd seen countless edits of every time you checked social media lately.
You shrugged.
"For now."
He half-wished you weren't here.
That was typical. Torn between aching for any opportunity to see you and faced with how awful he felt even if he did. Whether or not you were there, Suguru would search for you either way. Still crane his neck to see if you were looking back at him.
If you were, all he had was a few seconds to hold onto it before you were glancing away again. Giving your attention to someone else, splitting yourself in a bunch of tiny pieces to pass out regardless of if anyone deserved you.
Too many people on the paddock were asking about you, wagering bets on what state you'd show up in on media day. Wasted? Wilting? Weathering the storm that was Sukuna with mused hair and messed up clothes?
The answer was shimmering.
Glittery lip gloss, sunglasses perched in your hair to show off how pretty and perfect you looked today. Put-together, a far cry from the tossed-on t-shirt and wrinkled jeans you typically wore when you wasted your weekends here.
Suguru was supposed to be answering questions right now, a microphone in his face as you sipped on something, stopping in the midst of people passing by to listen to him while the team social media manager badgered him to keep going.
It felt like little stars lit up your eyes when they locked with his, smiling automatically as you managed a tiny wave at him wearing a tiny little skirt that was sticking to your thighs, but the shirt you were wearing had the red bull logo stitched across your tits.
Did Sukuna give it to you?
Or did you buy it yourself?
Someone nudged him, and he snapped his attention back to the phones and cameras in his face.
"I'm sorry," he smiled, his best practiced one plastered back on in seconds, even though he recognized the guy speaking to him as some prick from a magazine that always put some smarmy spin on everything. "What was your question?"
"There's a lot of talk revolving around your rivalry with Sukuna, especially after last year's title fight," the reporter continued, and he tried not to grimace, forcing his face neutral as his stare threatened to drift back to where you had stopped, as if you were waiting for him. Or maybe just curious to see what he had to say. "How are things off the track? Have you guys kissed and made up yet?"
He laughed, like it was supposed to be funny, and it took everything in Suguru not to tell him to kiss his ass instead.
But he was supposed to be the mature one.
The steady guy, responsible and reasonable and reliable. So he just chuckled too, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair with a sigh.
"Can't say that we have," he coolly replied, pulling away with a tight-lipped grin. Ignoring the way he called after Suguru, pretending not to hear as he slipped between people squeezing by.
He gestured with his hands to you, tilting his head towards a place off to the side.
You followed, and he felt like he was a teenager again when you skipped to catch up to him, glancing around to see if someone was going to scold you - but he waved for the guard that usually kept up with him around the paddock to take a couple steps back.
"Hey," he greeted, and for the first time today, his smile wasn't fake.
"Long time, no see," you murmured back, looking over your shoulder before glancing up at him. A nervous energy fluttering behind your eyes, more uncertain now that you were sober.
"Yeah," he chuckled, breath getting caught in his throat as he stalled on what to say.
"People are idiots," you abruptly added, jutting your thumb back towards the reporter he'd just been speaking with.
You weren't wrong.
But he wondered if you were just avoiding bringing up Sukuna. Skimming over the silent presence that seemed to weigh on every conversation you had with him. Although, it could've just been him.
His own jealousy, his own negativity that built and brewed over the nasty feelings in his stomach - that he could never compare or measure up to the man who occupied your heart.
Who got to take you home and fuck you while Suguru leaned against the glass shower door and fucked his fist. His prize for second best was just pretending you were there, imagining being the guy who got to bury himself inside you, who got to be there the morning after and brush your hair out of your face .
"I get some pretty crazy comments too," you mumbled awkwardly, only relaxing when his pinky grazed against yours. "Ignore that asshole."
"You do?" Suguru asked, looking over to catch how the sun highlighted your face, the tiredness still lingering in the faint lines by your lips and under your eyes.
You fished your phone from your purse, swiping it open and opening a social media app he never used - although someone else ran it for him. Outside of his racing sim streams, he hardly ever checked anything else.
But the first post that popped up on yours was some photo someone snapped of you walking in with Sukuna. Your boyfriend was scowling, brows furrowed together above his dark sunglasses as you waved to someone else.
"'Can she get off his dick for two seconds to drop the damn album already?'" You giggled as you read off the caption, leaning against his shoulder to show him.
He chuckled back, letting your weight rest against him, appreciating how nicely you fit there as he resisted the urge to take your phone from you. Just for the excuse for your fingers to touch a little longer. Maybe you'd scold him, scoot closer to snatch it back.
"Well? We're all waiting?" Suguru sarcastically teased, and you really laughed that time, biting your lip to stop yourself from drawing any attention over as you lightly punched his bicep.
"Be patient," you murmured softly, eyes flicking from his own down to his lips for a split-second. Or had he imagined that? He couldn't tell. Couldn't decide what was real and what was wishful thinking. You shrugged your shoulders then, swallowing as you nervously searched the crowd, not looking at him when you continued, "Art takes time."
"I'll wait for you," he promised.
He had been waiting for years already.
"Might leave on Saturday to get back in the studio," you casually mentioned, chewing on the inside of your cheek like you didn't really want to. "S'pposed to film some stuff this week for a commercial or something."
"Yeah, we're all just walking advertisements," he muttered, half to himself, his stare drifting back to the logo on your shirt, the curve of your tits underneath it.
"Kinda sucks sometimes," you dryly replied, content to commiserate with him.
"At least you look good doing it," Suguru attempted to flirt, but you didn't notice the way he wanted you to. "I'm pretty sure seventy percent of my clothes have the Mercedes logo on it by now."
Your lips curled up at his bad joke, but you didn't reply. Just kept walking with him before you suddenly stopped, putting your phone back up to look for something else instead.
Suguru didn't expect you to yank out what looked like a kids craft project.
It was small, a little stuffed black cat attached to a key ring, clearly handmade - although he couldn't tell if it was something you bought from a stall or actually knit or crafted yourself.
"Since I missed your birthday," you shrugged, handing it to him as if it was nothing.
His throat constricted, closing up at the sight - fingers trembling just slightly when he reached out and took it from you.
"Thanks," he replied, but his voice was hoarse. It was hard to talk when his brain had stopped forming words. Sliding the key ring on his finger to hold it up and get a better look at it - the crooked smile stitched onto its face and the purple beads for eyes.
"You can toss it if you don't like it," you started to downplay it already, your hip brushing into him when your next step was too close.
"I love it," he promised, probably too fast, but you didn't mind. Even if you didn't believe him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Suguru tried to reassure you.
"Kind of hard to buy for a guy who has everything," you hummed, raising an eyebrow.
You wouldn't have to buy anything. The only thing he really wanted was you.
"Maybe for my next one you could write me a song," he tried to tease again, nudging you with his elbow.
Couldn't he dream about being the subject for once instead of just the listener?
࣪ ִֶָ☾. summary ━━━━━━━ After her mother's call, Y/N breaks down in Lando's arms, but panic overwhelms her, and she pushes him away, unable to trust that his feelings are genuine. Later, she meets Pietra for coffee but still can't reveal the soulmate secret. Meanwhile, Lando drives to his parents and confesses everything.
࣪ ִֶָ☾. pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
࣪ ִֶָ☾. word count ━━━━━━━ 21.5k
࣪ ִֶָ☾. warnings ━━━━━━━ heavy angst, crying
࣪ ִֶָ☾. author's note ━━━━━━━ I apologise if there’s too much repetition in some places. My brain is literally fried from reading the same thing over and over again
Series Masterlist
"I've got you," Lando whispered against her hair, his voice breaking, thick with tears. "I've got you, Y/N. I'm here. I'm not letting go."
She only cried harder at that, and Lando felt his heart crack further. How long had it been since someone had held her like this? How long had it been since someone had told her it was okay to fall apart? How long had it been since someone had caught her when she did?
Too long. Far, far too long.
Y/N hated this—hated that she was crying, hated that she was falling apart, hated that it was happening in front of Lando of all people. But God, his arms around her felt impossibly good. Like heaven. Like everything she'd never known she was missing. She knew it was the soulmate bond doing this to her, making her weak, making his touch feel like salvation itself. And right now, after that phone call with her mum, after hearing those words that cut deeper than any physical wound ever could, she didn't have the energy to fight it. She couldn't push him away even though every instinct screamed that she should.
Her sobs were becoming words now, broken and fragmented and barely coherent. "I'm sorry," she kept saying, the words muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize," Lando said fiercely, pulling her impossibly closer, wishing he could somehow absorb her into himself, keep her safe inside his ribcage where nothing could hurt her ever again. "Don't you dare apologize. You have nothing—nothing—to be sorry for."
But she did. She was sorry for being weak, for breaking down, for showing him just how easily he could destroy her defenses. Two months ago—hell, even two weeks ago—she would have never let this happen. Would have locked herself in the bathroom and cried alone, would have swallowed the pain until she could process it in private, would have never, ever let anyone see her like this. Especially not Lando. But he'd been breaking down her walls since the moment he found out she was his soulmate, chipping away at her defenses with every kind word, every genuine smile, every moment of actually seeing her. And this—him holding her like this, apologizing to her like this—it was breaking another wall. She could feel it crumbling inside her chest, and she absolutely hated it because she was still terrified of letting him in.
And she kept apologizing anyway, because that's what she'd been taught to do. To apologize for taking up space, for having feelings, for being human enough to hurt when the person who should love her most used that love as a weapon instead.
Her tears were for so many things. For her mum's words still echoing in her ears—the disappointment, the criticism, the casual cruelty disguised as concern. Frustration and anger and hurt all tangled together in her chest until she couldn't separate one from the other. But she was also crying because she was furious with herself for this moment of weakness, for letting Lando see her like this, for proving that she wasn't as strong as she pretended to be. And worst of all—most infuriating of all—she was crying because being in his arms felt this good. She'd never felt anything like this in her entire life, and it enraged her that he could make her feel this way, that simply being close to him felt like coming home to a place she'd never been.
Lando felt rage building in his chest alongside the grief. Rage at her parents for doing this to her. Rage at her mother for that phone call, for every cruel word, for the systematic dismantling of Y/N's self-worth. Rage at himself for contributing to it, for spending so much time treating her like she was nothing, for adding his voice to the chorus telling her she wasn't enough.
How dare her parents call themselves her family when they'd spent her entire life tearing her down? How dare they claim to love her while destroying the very essence of who she was? How dare they convince her that their cruelty was care, that their abuse was honesty, that their systematic destruction of her spirit was preparation for the real world?
And how dare he—Lando Norris, the man who was supposed to be her soulmate—have treated her exactly the same way? For over a year, he'd been cold and dismissive and cruel. Had questioned her worth, her ambition, her competence. Had made her feel small and invisible and unimportant. Had proven every horrible thing her parents had taught her to believe about herself.
No wonder she couldn't believe his feelings now were real. Why would she? Everyone in her life had taught her that she wasn't worthy of genuine love or care. And he'd just added his voice to that chorus, had reinforced every painful lesson her parents had drilled into her.
The realization made him cry harder, his own sobs mixing with hers. He was part of the problem. He'd hurt her. For more than a year, he'd hurt her in the exact same ways her parents had hurt her, and he hadn't even realized it until now. Hadn't understood the depth of the damage he was causing.
"I'm sorry," Lando choked out, the words torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "Y/N, I'm so fucking sorry. For everything. For every moment I made you feel like they were right. For every time I treated you like you weren't enough. For being exactly like them. I'm so sorry."
Y/N's crying intensified at his words, her fingers clutching tighter at his shirt, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. She made sounds that didn't sound quite human—broken, animal sounds of pure grief that tore Lando apart from the inside out.
And she was crying because she wanted him. God help her, she wanted Lando Norris so badly it physically hurt. Wanted him to keep holding her like this forever, wanted him to mean every word he was saying, wanted to believe that this could be real and lasting and safe. But wanting him was the most terrifying thing of all because it meant giving him the power to hurt her even more than he already had. It meant trusting him with the parts of herself she'd spent a lifetime protecting. And that frustration—the frustration of wanting something she was too afraid to reach for—made her cry even harder.
He kept holding her, kept whispering reassurances, kept trying to pour every ounce of love and regret and desperate need to fix this into the way he held her. His hand moved in slow, continuous strokes through her hair—God, her hair was so soft, so perfect, and he'd wanted to touch it for so long but never been allowed, never been invited into her space like this.
Now that he finally was, now that she was finally letting him hold her, all he could think about was how he'd wasted so much time. More than a year of keeping her at arm's length, over a year of cruelty and coldness, over a year when he could have been doing this—holding her, comforting her, being the person she came to when she was hurting instead of the person who caused the hurt.
His hand in her hair felt too good. Everything about this felt too good. The solid warmth of his chest against her cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, the way his arms wrapped around her like he was trying to shield her from the entire world. It was the soulmate bond, she told herself desperately. It had to be. This couldn't be real—couldn't be her actually wanting this, actually needing this. But even as she told herself that, she knew she was lying. And that knowledge, that admission even just in the privacy of her own mind, made her feel more vulnerable than she'd ever felt in her life.
Time lost meaning. Lando had no idea how long they stood there in the middle of her open-plan living space, wrapped around each other, both of them crying, both of them breaking and healing and breaking again. The morning sun climbed higher, sending golden light through her windows. Outside, London continued its Saturday rhythm—traffic sounds, distant sirens, the general hum of city life. But in here, in this moment, there was only them.
Eventually, Lando realized his legs were shaking from holding them both upright for so long. His muscles were protesting, his back starting to ache, but he didn't want to let go, didn't want to risk her pulling away if he suggested moving.
But they couldn't stand here forever.
"Come here," he murmured against her hair, his voice gentle and coaxing. "Let me hold you properly."
He guided them toward the sofa, never loosening his hold on her, moving them together like they were dancing, like they were one unit instead of two separate people. When they reached it, Lando sat down and pulled Y/N with him, settling her in his lap.
She curled into him instinctively, immediately, like her body knew where it belonged even if her mind was still fighting it. Her face remained buried against his neck, her breath hot and uneven against his skin. Her legs drew up, tucking against his thigh, making herself as small as possible. One of her hands was still fisted in his shirt, holding on like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.
And God, she loved this. Loved the feeling of him beneath her, around her, everywhere. Loved being in his lap, loved him holding her like this. She wanted to stay like this forever—wrapped in his arms, safe in his lap, hidden from the rest of the world. In this moment, the anger that had been her constant companion for so long just... faded. Dissolved. All she could focus on was feeling him—the solid warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands held her like she was something precious. She wasn't overthinking anymore, wasn't analyzing or questioning or fighting. She was just... feeling. Just being. Just existing in this moment with him.
Lando wrapped himself around her completely, protectively. His arms formed a cage around her—not to trap her, but to keep her safe, to shield her from the entire world if he could. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair again, thumb stroking gently behind her ear. The other arm locked around her waist, his palm spread flat across her back, feeling every shuddering breath she took.
He never wanted to let her go. Not now, not ever. She felt absolutely perfect in his arms—like she'd been made to fit there, like every curve of her body had been designed to press against him exactly like this. But with every sob that shook her frame, with every shuddering breath she took, he hated himself more. The more she cried, the more the reality of what he'd done crashed over him in devastating waves. He'd contributed to this. He'd added to her pain. He'd hurt his own soulmate for over a year, and the realization was breaking him into pieces. He wanted to scream at himself, wanted to shake himself, wanted to go back in time and beat sense into his past self. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so cruel?
His own tears fell freely now, uncontrollably, sliding down his face and disappearing into her hair. He didn't try to stop them. Didn't try to regain control. How could he, when the woman he loved was falling apart in his arms? When he could feel the magnitude of her pain, could understand finally the depth of damage that had been done to her?
And he was understanding it now—truly understanding it for the first time. The depth of the hurt he'd caused. Every cold word, every dismissive glance, every moment he'd treated her like she was invisible or unimportant. He'd spent such a long time hurting his own soulmate, reinforcing every painful lesson her parents had taught her, proving to her that she wasn't worthy of love or care or kindness. The magnitude of it was crushing him, suffocating him. This was his soulmate—the person he was meant to love and protect and cherish—and he'd spent more than a year doing the exact opposite. How could he ever forgive himself for that? How could she ever forgive him?
This was what he'd been searching for his entire life without knowing it. Not the racing, not the fame, not the success or the money or the glory. This. Just this. Holding Y/N, feeling her weight in his arms, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling her heart beat against his chest.
Even in her pain, even in her breaking, being able to hold her felt like a gift. Like something sacred and precious that he didn't deserve but had been given anyway.
Y/N shifted slightly in his lap, and Lando felt something inside him settle. She wasn't pulling away. She was burrowing closer, seeking more comfort, more contact. Her crying had quieted to softer sobs now, less violent, but no less heartbreaking.
She couldn't pull away even if she wanted to. Didn't want to. The anger would come back later—she knew it would, knew she'd rebuild her walls and remember why she'd built them in the first place. But right now, in this moment, all she wanted was to stay exactly where she was. In his lap. In his arms. Feeling him surround her, feeling him hold her like she mattered, like she was worth holding.
"You're not nothing," Lando said fiercely, the words tumbling out of him like a confession, like a prayer. "Do you hear me, Y/N? You're not nothing. You're everything. You're everything."
She made a broken sound against his neck, something between a sob and a whimper, and her fingers clutched tighter at his shirt.
"Your parents are wrong," Lando continued, unable to stop now that he'd started, needing her to hear this, needing her to understand. "They're so fucking wrong. You're not reaching above your station—there is no station. There's just you and me. Just two people who were meant to find each other. And you're my equal in every way that matters. You're brilliant and strong and you've survived things that should have broken you. Things that would have broken me."
His words hit her like physical blows—but good ones, healing ones, even though they hurt. No one had ever said these things to her before. No one had ever called her brilliant or strong or told her she'd survived something that would have broken them. Part of her wanted to reject his words, to push them away like she'd been taught to do with any compliment, any kindness. But a larger part—a part she'd been trying so hard to ignore—desperately wanted to believe him. Wanted to let his words sink in and take root somewhere deep inside her chest.
Y/N's breathing had changed again, becoming even less frantic, more steady. But she still hadn't said anything. Still hadn't pulled away. Her face remained hidden in the crook of his neck, her tears still falling but quieter now, soaking into his skin.
Lando felt the shift in her breathing and something in his chest loosened just slightly. She was listening. She wasn't running. She was letting him hold her, letting him say these things, and that had to mean something. It had to. He'd been terrified she would push him away, would shut him out completely after this. But she was still here, still in his arms, still letting him hold her. It was more than he deserved, more than he'd dared to hope for.
"I'm sorry," Lando said again, his voice cracking on the words. "I'm so fucking sorry for every moment I made you feel like they were right. Like you weren't enough. For more than a year, I treated you like you were invisible, like you didn't matter. I questioned your ambition, your work ethic, your competence. I made you feel small and I didn't even realize I was doing it. I didn't realize I was just... repeating what they'd already taught you. Reinforcing it."
Each word he said carved deeper into him, opening up wounds he'd inflicted on himself with his own blindness and cruelty. Every specific instance was flooding back now—every dismissive comment, every time he'd walked past her without acknowledgment, every meeting where he'd questioned her ideas or contributions. The memories were like knives, each one a reminder of how badly he'd failed her. Failed them. How many times had he made her feel exactly the way her parents made her feel? How many times had he proven their cruelty right?
He felt Y/N tense slightly in his arms, and he kept talking, needing to get this out, needing her to understand the depth of his regret.
She tensed because his words were too accurate, too specific. He understood. He actually understood what he'd done to her, how he'd made her feel. And that understanding—that he could see it now, could articulate it, could acknowledge the specific ways he'd hurt her—it made something inside her chest crack open even wider. She'd spent so long thinking no one could see her pain, that no one would ever understand. But he saw it. He understood. And that realization was almost more overwhelming than the pain itself.
"You deserved so much better than what I gave you. What they gave you. You deserved to be built up, not torn down. You deserved to be told every single day how remarkable you are, how extraordinary, how much you matter. Instead, you got me being a complete asshole to you because I was too blind and stupid to see what was right in front of me."
He meant it. Every word. And the realization that he'd wasted so much time—over a year of being the exact thing she didn't need, when he could have been what she did need—was crushing him. She'd been right there, his soulmate, the person he was meant to cherish and protect, and he'd treated her like she was nothing. Like she was a burden. Like she was unworthy of even basic respect. The weight of that failure pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.
She couldn't speak. Didn't trust her voice not to break, didn't trust what would come out if she tried to form words. So she stayed silent, stayed pressed against him, let his words wash over her while his arms held her together. She was still crying but it felt different now—less like breaking apart and more like... releasing something. Something she'd been holding onto for far too long. And being held while she released it, being safe in his lap while she let it go, felt like the only thing keeping her from shattering completely.
The feel of her in his arms was grounding him even as it was breaking him apart. Each stroke through her hair, each circle his palm traced on her back, each breath she took against his neck—it all reminded him of what he'd almost lost, what he'd been throwing away for so long. And her mother's voice kept replaying in his head, those casual, cutting words delivered like they were nothing, like destroying your daughter's sense of self-worth was just another Saturday morning conversation. The rage that sparked in him at the memory made his jaw clench, made his arms tighten protectively around Y/N.
They sat like that for what felt like hours. Lando lost track of time—twenty minutes, thirty, an hour. It stopped meaning anything. There was just Y/N in his arms, breathing with him, existing with him in this small bubble where nothing else could touch them.
Time had stopped having meaning for Y/N too. She'd cried herself out, exhausted herself, and now she was just... existing. Being held. Being safe. The storm of emotions that had torn through her was beginning to settle into something quieter, something almost peaceful. She knew she should pull away, should rebuild her defenses, should remember all the reasons why letting Lando hold her like this was dangerous. But she couldn't. Not yet. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. Just a little longer in this moment where nothing hurt quite as much.
He could feel her heart beating against his chest, could feel the rise and fall of her breathing gradually syncing with his. Could feel the weight of her in his lap, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the softness of her hair against his palm.
Every physical detail was imprinting itself on his memory—the exact weight of her, the specific rhythm of her breathing, the precise texture of her hair between his fingers. He was memorizing this moment because he was terrified it might be the only time she ever let him hold her like this. Terrified that once she pulled away, once her walls came back up, she'd never let him this close again. So he was cataloging every sensation, every detail, storing it all away like treasure.
She felt like home. Like safety. Like everything he'd been looking for without knowing he was searching for it.
And to Y/N, being held by him felt like something she couldn't quite name. Not home—she'd never really had one of those. But something close to it. Something that felt like what home was supposed to feel like. Like maybe, possibly, this could be what safety felt like. What being cherished felt like. It terrified her how much she wanted it, how much she wanted to believe this could be real and lasting. How much she wanted to stop fighting and just... let herself have this.
The dream from the night before flashed through his mind—their daughter with Y/N's stubbornness and his eyes, the life they could build together, the home they could make. It felt both impossibly far away and heartbreakingly close. So close he could almost reach out and touch it, if only Y/N would let herself believe it was possible.
Y/N had no idea what Lando was thinking about, but her own mind was starting to drift toward the future despite her best efforts to keep it anchored in the present. What if she let herself hope? What if she let herself believe that this—whatever this was between them—could actually work? The possibility was so fragile, so terrifying, that even thinking about it felt dangerous. Like she was jinxing it just by acknowledging it existed. But lying here in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath her ear, it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that hope was pointless.
But then reality started creeping back in, cold and insistent. The fog of exhaustion and emotion that had been protecting her began to lift, and with brutal clarity, Y/N realized what she'd just done. What she'd let happen. She'd cried in front of Lando. Not just cried—she'd completely fallen apart in front of him. Let him hold her while she sobbed like a child. Let him witness the phone call with her mum, let him hear every cruel word, every piece of her fucked-up family dynamic laid bare. She'd let him see her weak, vulnerable, broken. She'd curled up in his lap like she belonged there, like she had any right to seek comfort from him after spending months pushing him away. The walls she'd spent years carefully constructing, the armor she'd built to protect herself from him—she'd let it all crumble in less than an hour. Panic started rising in her chest, cold and sharp. What had she done? What had she given him? She'd handed him ammunition, shown him exactly where and how to hurt her, exposed every raw nerve and open wound. And worse—so much worse—she'd shown him how easily he could break through her defenses. How badly she wanted him to.
But she was pulling away now, the moment breaking, reality crashing back in. Lando felt it happening—felt her walls starting to rebuild themselves, the way she always did when things got too intense, too real, too vulnerable. Y/N lifted her head from his neck, just enough for him to catch the shift in her eyes. The fear flooding back. Her remembering that she'd just spent the last however long crying in his arms, being held by him, letting him see her at her most broken.
She needed distance. Now. Needed to get away from him before she did something even more stupid, like telling him she didn't want him to leave. Like asking him to stay and hold her longer. Like admitting that being in his arms had felt better than anything in her entire life. No. She had to shut this down, had to rebuild the walls, had to protect herself before it was too late. Before she let herself hope for something that would only destroy her in the end.
"No," Lando said immediately, his arms tightening around her instinctively. His voice was desperate, pleading. "Don't. Please don't do that."
Panic was clawing up her throat. She could feel him trying to hold on, could feel herself wanting to let him, and that terrified her more than anything. She'd shown him too much, given him too much power. She had to take it back. Had to protect herself.
And it was already happening. She was pulling away, physically and emotionally, retreating behind the barriers she'd spent years constructing. Lando tried to hold on, tried to keep her close, but he could feel her starting to panic, could see the way her breathing was speeding up, could sense her need to escape.
He was losing her. Right here, right now, he was losing her and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The fear was suffocating, making it hard to breathe. After everything they'd just shared, after holding her while she cried, after finally understanding the depth of what she'd been through—she was shutting him out anyway. And he had no idea how to stop it.
He loosened his hold—not letting go, but giving her space, not wanting to make her feel trapped—and watched helplessly as she scrambled out of his lap. The loss of her warmth was immediate and devastating. His arms felt empty, useless, aching for her weight, for her presence, for the connection they'd just shared.
Y/N stood up quickly, putting the couch between them like it was a barrier that could protect her, like maintaining physical distance could somehow undo what had just happened, could somehow erase the vulnerability she'd shown him.
The couch between them wasn't enough. She needed more space, needed to regain control, needed to remember who she was—someone who didn't break down, didn't need comfort, didn't let people see her weak. She had to fix this, had to put everything back the way it was supposed to be.
"This was a mistake," she said, her voice eerily calm now, that same controlled tone she'd used with her mother. The transformation was terrifying—from broken and vulnerable to locked down and distant in a matter of seconds. "This was a mistake."
"No," Lando said, standing up from the couch, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel panic rising in his throat, could feel the moment slipping away from them. "No, this wasn't a mistake. Y/N, please—"
"You need to leave," she interrupted, still in that calm voice that meant she was shutting herself down, locking herself away. She pointed toward the door, her face a blank slate, all emotion carefully hidden. "I need you to leave."
Say it. Make him go. If he stays, you'll break again. You'll let him in further. You'll start believing this could be real and then it'll hurt even more when it falls apart. Send him away. Protect yourself.
"I'm not going anywhere," Lando said desperately, taking a step toward her. She immediately took a step back, maintaining the distance between them, and the rejection felt like a physical blow. "Not like this. Not when you're hurting."
"I'm not hurting," she said, but her hands were shaking where she'd wrapped them around herself, betraying the lie. "I'm fine. I'm always fine."
"You're not fine!" Lando's voice rose, frustration and fear bleeding through. His own hands were shaking now, his whole body trembling with the need to go to her, to hold her again, to fix this somehow. "You just spent an hour crying in my arms. You're not fine, and that's okay. You don't have to be fine all the time."
"I shouldn't have let you see that." Y/N was still backing away, still putting more distance between them. "I shouldn't have cried in front of you. I shouldn't have let you hold me. It was a mistake."
Each word was a knife to his heart. She regretted it. Regretted letting him in, regretted showing him her pain, regretted the closeness they'd just shared. The moment that had meant everything to him was something she wanted to erase, to pretend never happened.
Every word she said was true and she hated that they hurt him. Could see them hurting him. But it was necessary. This was survival. This was self-preservation. This was the only way to protect herself from the inevitable devastation of believing in something that couldn't last.
"Why?" Lando asked, his voice breaking. He could feel tears threatening again, could feel his chest tightening with a different kind of pain now. "Why was it a mistake to let someone care about you?"
"Because I can't do this!" Y/N's voice rose, her carefully maintained control finally cracking. "I can't be the girl you cry over while you're holding hands with someone else for the cameras! I can't watch you be with her while you tell me you love me! I can't—" Her voice broke, and she pressed her hands to her face, trying to regain control. "I can't let myself believe any of this is real only to have it all fall apart. I've been through enough. I'm done."
And there it was. The truth she'd been avoiding. She couldn't watch him with Matilde anymore. Couldn't see those photos and pretend they didn't destroy her. Couldn't listen to him say he loved her while the whole world watched him pretend to love someone else. It was too much. She couldn't survive it.
"You're not done," Lando said, and he knew he should back off, should give her space, but he couldn't. Not now. Not after everything. "You're scared. And I get it—I'm scared too. But Y/N, what we have—"
"We don't have anything," Y/N interrupted, her hands dropping from her face. Her eyes were dry now, that careful control back in place, and it was more terrifying than her tears had been. "You have a contract with Matilde. You have a public image to maintain. You have obligations and appearances and a whole life that doesn't include me. So no, Lando. We don't have anything."
"The contract won't last forever—"
"And until it ends?" Y/N's laugh was bitter, hollow. "What am I supposed to do? Wait around while you parade with her? Watch you pretend to be in love with someone else? Hope that maybe someday you'll be free to claim me?" She shook her head, and Lando saw tears threatening again. "I can't do that. I won't. I deserve better than being someone's secret, someone's 'someday.'"
She did deserve better. She was absolutely right and it was killing him that he couldn't give it to her. That he'd trapped himself in this contract, in this lie, and now the woman he loved—his soulmate—was paying the price for his mistakes.
"You do deserve better," Lando agreed desperately, his own voice breaking again. "You deserve everything. But Y/N, please—"
"And I can't be with someone who treated me like the dirt under his shoes for such a long time," Y/N continued, her voice getting stronger, angrier. "Someone who called me miserable and broken and pathetic. Someone who told me—" Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. "Someone who told me that I 'suck the fucking joy out of every room I walk into.'"
The words hit Lando like a sledgehammer to the chest. He remembered that argument. Remembered saying those exact words to her, remembered the look on her face when he did, remembered the way she'd gone completely still before walking away. He'd been so angry, so frustrated at his inability to understand the bond, so furious at himself for wanting her when he thought he shouldn't. And he'd taken it all out on her.
He wanted to punch himself. Wanted to go back in time and beat the living shit out of the version of himself that had said those things to her. None of it had been real. Nothing he'd said had been real—it had all been his own fear and anger and self-hatred projected onto her. And he knew—God, he knew—that no amount of apologies would ever erase how he'd made her feel. Knew that "I'm sorry" was just words, meaningless in the face of the systematic destruction he'd inflicted on her for such a long time.
Y/N's hands were shaking now, her arms wrapped tight around herself. "I never forgot those words, Lando. I never forgot any of it. Every cruel thing you said, every time you made me feel small and worthless and like I didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you. You made me feel exactly the way my parents made me feel. And now you want me to just... what? Forget all of that because you say you're sorry? Because you suddenly decided I'm worth something?"
"No," Lando choked out, tears streaming down his face. "No, I don't expect you to forget. I don't expect you to forgive me. What I said to you—" His voice broke completely. "What I said to you was unforgivable. It was cruel and wrong and none of it was true. Not a single fucking word. I was angry at myself, at the situation, and I took it all out on you. And I know—I know—that saying sorry doesn't fix it. Doesn't erase how I made you feel. Doesn't undo over a year of treating you like you were nothing."
He could see every argument now with perfect, devastating clarity. Could remember every cutting remark, every dismissive comment, every moment he'd deliberately hurt her because hurting her felt safer than admitting he wanted her. He'd called her joy-sucking, broken, pathetic, miserable—had systematically torn her down the same way her parents had. Had proven to her that even her soulmate thought she was worthless. And now she was standing in front of him, throwing his own words back at him, and he had no defense. Because she was right. Everything she was saying was right.
"You're right," Lando said, his voice wrecked. "You're absolutely right. I treated you like dirt. I said things that were designed to hurt you, to break you down, to make you feel as small as possible. And I can stand here and say I didn't mean any of it, that I was lashing out because I was scared and confused and angry at myself. But that doesn't change what I did. That doesn't change how I made you feel. And I know—I know, Y/N—that no amount of apologizing will ever make up for it."
"My mother was right," Y/N said quietly, and those four words destroyed him more than anything else she could have said. "I'm reaching above my station. I'm expecting too much. I'm fooling myself into thinking someone like you could actually want someone like me."
No. No, she couldn't believe that. She couldn't let her mother's poison back in, not after everything. But even as the words left her mouth, part of her believed them. Had always believed them. Would probably always believe them.
"That's not true!" Lando took another step toward her, his hands outstretched, pleading. Tears were streaming down his face now, and he didn't care. "Your mother is wrong about everything. She's wrong about you, she's wrong about us, she's wrong about—"
"I embarrassed the whole family," Y/N continued, her voice getting smaller, more defeated. "I made her look bad."
She sounded like she believed it. Like she'd internalized every cruel word her mother had said. And watching her shrink into herself, watching her accept her mother's abuse as truth, was destroying him in ways he didn't know were possible.
"No," Lando said fiercely, finally closing the distance between them and gripping her shoulders gently. He could feel her trying to pull away, but he held on, needing her to hear this, needing her to understand. "She made herself look bad by calling her daughter to tear her down instead of checking if she was okay. She made herself look bad by being cruel instead of kind. That's on her, not you."
Y/N closed her eyes, fresh tears leaking out from between her lashes. "You don't understand. This is normal for her. This is... this is actually one of the better conversations we've had."
The words hit Lando like a physical blow, making him stagger slightly. His grip on her shoulders tightened, his own tears falling faster. This was one of the better conversations. Meaning there had been worse. Meaning the systematic destruction he'd witnessed was actually her mother being relatively kind.
How had she survived this? How had she made it through childhood, through adolescence, through her entire life with parents who treated her like this? The strength it must have taken, the resilience, the sheer determination to keep going despite being told every day that she wasn't enough—it staggered him. And it made him hate himself even more for adding to her pain instead of alleviating it.
"Y/N," he breathed, his voice destroyed by the weight of understanding.
"I know," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "I know it's not normal. I know it's not okay. But it's all I've ever known, and I don't... I don't know how to not believe her. She's my mum. She's supposed to know me better than anyone. And if she thinks I'm not good enough, if she thinks I'm reaching above my station, if she thinks I'm embarrassing and desperate and—"
"Stop," Lando interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. He released one of her shoulders to cup her face, his thumb wiping away her tears even as his own continued to fall. "Stop. Listen to me. She doesn't know you. She never did. Because if she knew you—really knew you—she could never say those things. She could never think those things."
His voice was shaking, breaking on every word, but he kept going. "You are not too much. You are not reaching above your station. You are not embarrassing. You are not any of the horrible things she said. Do you hear me?"
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But believing him meant accepting that her mother—the woman who raised her, who was supposed to love her—had been wrong about her for her entire life. And that felt impossible.
Y/N's face crumpled, and she buried it against his chest again, her fingers clutching at his already tear-soaked t-shirt. Lando wrapped his arms around her immediately, pulling her close, holding her tight, and they stood there in the middle of her living room, both of them crying again, both of them broken, both of them desperately trying to hold each other together.
"I see you," Lando whispered against her hair, his own sobs making his voice unsteady. "I see you, Y/N. And you are so much more than what she thinks. So much more than what she'll ever be capable of understanding. And I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry that you've had to spend your whole life believing you were less than you are because the people who should have told you the truth were too blind or too cruel to see it."
He meant it. Every word. And the fact that he could see her—really see her—when no one else ever had made something in her chest crack open even wider. It was terrifying and wonderful and devastating all at once.
Y/N's hands tightened in his t-shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and Lando held her through another wave of tears—hers and his mixing together, their pain shared in a way that was both devastating and somehow healing.
They stood like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, crying together, existing in this space of shared grief and understanding. Lando lost track of time, lost track of everything except the feeling of Y/N in his arms and the knowledge that despite everything—despite her fear, despite his mistakes, despite her mother's cruelty and his own past coldness—they were here together, holding each other, letting each other in.
Eventually, inevitably, Y/N started to pull away again. This time, Lando let her go, his arms falling to his sides as she put distance between them once more. He could see the walls going back up again, could see her retreating into herself, and he knew what was coming.
She had to do this. Had to protect herself. She'd let herself break twice now in front of him, and she couldn't afford a third time. Couldn't afford to keep hoping, keep believing, keep letting him in. It would destroy her completely when it all fell apart.
"You need to leave," she said, and her voice was stronger now, more certain. Still tear-rough, but determined. "This—what just happened—that can't happen again."
"Why not?" Lando asked, though he already knew the answer. His own voice was wrecked, hoarse from crying, and he felt hollowed out, emptied of everything except the aching need to stay with her.
Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, that defensive posture he'd seen so many times before. "Because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep hoping and being disappointed. I can't keep thinking maybe this time it'll be different, maybe this time he'll actually choose me, and then watching you walk away again. It's killing me, Lando. Slowly, day by day, it's killing me."
The words destroyed what was left of his heart. He'd done this to her. He and her parents and everyone else who'd ever made her feel like she wasn't enough—they'd broken her down so completely that she couldn't even imagine being chosen, being valued, being loved without conditions.
She expected him to walk away. Was already bracing for it, already preparing herself for the inevitable abandonment. Because everyone always walked away eventually. Everyone always chose something—or someone—else over her.
"I'm not walking away," Lando said desperately. "Y/N, I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," she interrupted, moving toward the door and opening it. The gesture was clear, unmistakable. She wanted him gone. "You're going to leave now. And you're going to go back to your fake girlfriend and your contract obligations and your carefully managed public image. And I'm going to stay here and try to put myself back together. Again."
Again. Like she'd done this before. Like she'd spent her whole life breaking apart and having to reassemble herself alone. The thought made him want to scream, want to punch something, want to go back in time and protect her from every person who'd ever hurt her.
Lando stared at her, at the exhaustion in her eyes, at the resignation in her posture, at the way she was holding the door open like she couldn't wait for him to leave. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to refuse, to stay until she understood that he meant every word he'd said.
But he could see how close she was to completely shattering. Could see that pushing her now would only break her further. And he'd hurt her enough already.
"Okay," he said quietly, the word feeling like surrender. Like defeat. Like the death of something precious. "I'll go."
He walked toward the door on legs that felt like they might give out at any moment. Each step was agony, every fiber of his being protesting, screaming at him to turn back, to stay, to fight for her. When he reached her, he paused, one hand on the doorframe, so close he could reach out and touch her if he dared.
Don't look at him. Don't let him see how much this is hurting you. Don't let him see that you want him to stay. Just let him go. It's better this way. Safer this way.
"I meant what I said," he told her, his voice rough and raw and completely destroyed. "About seeing you. About loving you. About all of it. This wasn't just about comforting you or feeling obligated because of a bond. I held you because I wanted to. Because I needed to. Because feeling you in my arms felt like coming home."
Y/N's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond, didn't look at him.
She couldn't look at him. If she looked at him, she'd break. She'd ask him to stay. She'd let herself hope again. And she couldn't survive that.
"And I'm going to fix this," Lando continued, tears threatening again. "The contract, the photos, all of it. I'm going to protect you from as much of this as I can. And then I'm going to come back, and I'm going to prove to you that we can make this work. That you're not ordinary or boring or any of the other things you've been told your whole life. You're extraordinary. And I'm not going to stop until you believe it."
Still nothing. She just stood there, holding the door, her expression carefully blank.
Lando wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pull her back into his arms and refuse to let go. Wanted to stay until she believed him, until she trusted him, until she let him love her the way she deserved.
But he couldn't. Not when she was looking at him like this, not when every line of her body was screaming for space.
So he walked out the door.
Y/N closed it behind him immediately. He heard the lock click into place.
The sound of the lock was final. Definitive. And as soon as it clicked into place, she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, fresh tears already falling. She'd done the right thing. She'd protected herself. So why did it feel like she'd just made the worst mistake of her life?
Lando stood in the hallway for a long moment, staring at her closed door, his chest hollow, his arms empty, his whole body aching for her. He could still smell her shampoo on his t-shirt, could still feel the ghost of her weight in his arms, could still remember exactly how it felt to hold her.
He'd had her. For those precious minutes, he'd held her in his arms, had felt her cry against him, had been allowed into her pain. They'd been so close to something real, something lasting.
And then she'd kicked him out like none of it mattered.
But it did matter. He knew it mattered. He'd seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way she'd held onto him, heard it in those broken sobs. She was just too scared to believe it, too convinced by years of conditioning that she didn't deserve it.
He couldn't give up. Not on her. Not on them. Even if it took forever, even if she kept pushing him away, even if it meant fighting through contract obligations and public scrutiny and her own fear—he wouldn't give up.
Lando pulled out his phone as he walked down the stairs, his vision blurry with fresh tears. He had work to do—photos to take down, a contract to terminate, a life to reorganize around the one truth he knew for certain.
Y/N was his soulmate. Not just because of marks on their skin, but because holding her felt like coming home. Because her pain was his pain. Because loving her felt as natural as breathing.
And he wasn't giving up on her.
Not now. Not ever. Even if it took him the rest of his life, he would prove to her that she was worth everything. That she deserved to be loved without conditions or limitations. That she was extraordinary, not in spite of who she was, but because of it.
–
Y/N didn't move from where she'd slid down against the door. She stayed there on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself like she could physically hold the pieces together. The tears came in waves—violent at first, then gradually subsiding into something quieter, more exhausted. Her body felt wrung out, hollowed, like something essential had been extracted and she was just the empty shell left behind.
Eventually, she dragged herself to the couch. She didn't have the energy for anything else—not for changing out of her nightdress, not for eating, not for processing what had just happened. She curled onto her side, pulling a throw blanket over herself, and let the tears continue to fall silently into the cushions.
The morning had felt endless. The phone call with her mother. Lando showing up. Breaking down in his arms—twice. Feeling safe and terrified and furious all at once. And then sending him away because she had to, because she couldn't survive hoping for something that would inevitably fall apart.
Her eyes were so heavy. Swollen from crying, burning from the tears, exhausted from the emotional devastation of the past few hours. She didn't mean to fall asleep. Didn't want to sleep. But her body had other plans, dragging her down into unconsciousness whether she liked it or not.
It was just past noon when sleep finally claimed her.
—
The dream started differently this time.
Y/N stood in a living room she didn't recognize but somehow knew intimately. Warm afternoon light streamed through large windows. There were photos on the walls—her and Lando, smiling, together. Happy in a way that seemed impossible.
Their daughter was there again. The same girl from before, maybe five years old, with Lando's eyes and Y/N's features. She was sitting at a coffee table, crayons scattered everywhere, completely absorbed in her drawing.
Y/N felt herself drawn forward, compelled to look. To see.
"What are you drawing, sweetheart?" The words left her mouth before she'd consciously decided to speak.
The girl looked up, her face lighting up with pure, uncomplicated joy. "I made something for you, Mummy!" She held up the paper proudly.
It was a child's drawing—a house with a triangle roof and a square body, the kind every child draws. But it was the three stick figures that made Y/N's breath catch. Three stick figures holding hands in front of the house. One tall with dark scribbled hair, one smaller with long hair, and one tiny figure between them.
"That's you, me, and Daddy," the girl said proudly, pointing to each figure in turn. "See? We're all holding hands. We're a family."
Y/N stared at the drawing, something painful twisting in her chest. The stick figures were holding hands. Connected. Together. Except—
"Why am I standing so far away?" Y/N heard herself ask, her voice small and confused.
She looked closer. The girl was right—they were holding hands. But Y/N's figure was drawn slightly apart from the other two. Not by much, but enough to notice. A gap. A distance. The child had drawn the hands connected, but the body was pulled back, separated.
The girl's bright expression faltered. Her little face scrunched up, confused and sad in the way only children could be—complete, unfiltered emotion. "Because you keep walking away," she said, and her voice was so matter-of-fact, so honest, it cut deeper than any accusation could have. "Every time Daddy tries to hold your hand, you let go and walk away."
"I don't mean to—" Y/N started, but her throat was closing up.
"Can you stop, please?" The girl's eyes—Lando's eyes—were pleading now, filling with tears that made Y/N's chest crack open. "I want you to stay. Daddy wants you to stay. We drew you right here, between us, but you keep leaving. Why do you keep leaving?"
Y/N dropped to her knees in front of her daughter, tears streaming down her face. "Baby, I—"
"I don't want you to be far away anymore," the girl whispered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I want you close. Right here." She pointed to the middle stick figure again. "With us. Please don't walk away again, Mummy. Please."
Y/N reached out to touch her daughter's face, to wipe away that tear, to pull her close and promise she'd never leave—
But her hand passed through the air. The room was dissolving. The little girl was fading, her voice echoing as everything crumbled: "Please don't go... please don't go... please..."
—
Y/N jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs. For a disorienting moment, she didn't know where she was. The dream clung to her like spiderweb—sticky, invasive, impossible to shake off.
Her face was wet. She was crying again, or still, or maybe she'd been crying in her sleep. The apartment felt suffocating—air heavy and still, pressing down on her chest like a physical weight. Outside, the afternoon sun was bright, indifferent to her pain.
"Why now?" Y/N whispered to the empty room, her voice cracked and hoarse. "Why are you showing me this now?"
But she knew why. She'd sent Lando away. Again. She'd felt safe in his arms, had let herself break in front of him, had experienced something that felt dangerously close to home—and then she'd pushed him out the door because she was terrified.
You keep walking away.
Her daughter's voice echoed in her head, accusatory and heartbroken.
Y/N curled into a tighter ball on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, trying to hold together. But she couldn't stay still. The dream was suffocating her, the walls of her apartment closing in. She threw off the blanket and stood, her legs unsteady, and started pacing.
Barefoot across the hardwood. Living room to kitchen. Kitchen to bedroom. Bedroom to living room. Every room felt hollow, empty of meaning, like a stage set for a life she wasn't actually living. She'd built this space to be her sanctuary, her escape, her safe place. But right now it felt like a tomb.
Her phone sat facedown on the windowsill where she'd abandoned it after the call with her mum. She'd been too drained to even look at it after Lando left, too emotionally devastated to face whatever messages might be waiting. But now, hours later, the pull was irresistible.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. 2:17 PM. She'd been asleep for over two hours.
There was only one message. One from Pietra, timestamped just twenty minutes ago. And none from Lando. She felt disappointed in a way, but she knew he was giving her space, which was what she needed, what she wanted.
Pietra: Hey babe, I know this morning was rough. Want to meet up for coffee? Just us. We can talk, or not talk, whatever you need. Just let me know. I'm here. xx
Y/N stared at the message, her vision blurring with fresh tears. Pietra. Sweet, perceptive Pietra who always seemed to know when Y/N needed her. Who'd probably heard about the photos by now, who'd probably seen them and put together what that phone call with Y/N's mother must have been like.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling. Part of her wanted to decline, wanted to curl back up on the couch and disappear from the world entirely. But another part—the part that had just dreamed of a daughter begging her to stop walking away—needed connection. Needed to be around someone who cared without conditions, who wouldn't judge, who might help her make sense of the chaos in her head.
Y/N: Yes. Please. Where?
The response came almost immediately.
Pietra: That little café near yours? The one with the good pastries? I can be there in 30 minutes.
Y/N: I'll be there.
Y/N set the phone down and looked at herself in the reflection of the dark TV screen. She looked destroyed—eyes swollen and red, face blotchy, hair a mess from sleeping. She needed to pull herself together. Needed to shower, to change, to make herself presentable enough to leave the apartment.
But first, she needed a moment. Just one more moment to feel the weight of that dream, to let herself acknowledge what it meant.
Can you stop, please?
Her daughter's voice. Pleading. Desperate.
And Y/N didn't have an answer. Because she didn't know if she could stop. Didn't know if she was strong enough to stay, to risk the devastation that would come when it all fell apart.
—
She needed to pull herself together. Needed to look like a functioning human being before meeting Pietra, who had an uncanny ability to see through every carefully constructed facade Y/N had ever attempted.
The shower helped, though the hot water made her already-puffy eyes worse. Y/N went through the motions mechanically—washing her hair, conditioning, going through her skincare routine with the kind of deliberate precision that came from years of using repetitive tasks to calm her racing mind. Each step was familiar, grounding, a way to build herself back into someone recognizable.
By the time she was dressed—light-wash jeans, a simple white cotton t-shirt, a thin sage-green cardigan left open, her comfortable leather sandals—she looked almost normal. The makeup took longer. Concealer to hide the evidence of tears, a bit more than usual under her eyes where the skin was still puffy. Mascara to make her eyes look less small and swollen. A touch of blush to combat the paleness that came from emotional exhaustion.
She studied her reflection critically. Not perfect, but acceptable. Someone having a normal Saturday afternoon, not someone who'd spent the morning crying in Lando Norris's arms before sending him away, then sobbing herself to sleep only to be haunted by dreams of a daughter who didn't exist yet.
Can you stop, please?
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of that small, pleading voice. It was just a dream. Just her subconscious processing stress and fear and the impossible situation she'd found herself in. Nothing more.
She grabbed her keys and phone, deliberately leaving the newest bouquet of flowers in her peripheral vision as she headed for the door. A reminder of why she needed to stay guarded, why hope was dangerous, why letting herself believe in Lando's apparent change of heart would only lead to more devastation.
The café was only a ten-minute walk from her apartment, a small independent place that Pietra had discovered months ago and declared their official meeting spot. It had good coffee, better pastries, and enough ambient noise that private conversations could be had without fear of being overheard by curious neighbors or colleagues.
Pietra was already there when Y/N arrived, settled into their usual corner table with two cups already waiting. She looked up as Y/N approached, and her expression immediately shifted from casual friendliness to sharp concern.
"Jesus, Y/N," Pietra said as Y/N slid into the seat across from her. "You look—I mean, no offense, but you look like you've been crying for hours."
Y/N felt her carefully constructed composure crack slightly. Of course Pietra would notice. Of course her friend would see right through the makeup and the normal clothes and the attempt at functioning like everything was fine.
"I'm fine," Y/N said automatically, reaching for the coffee Pietra had ordered for her. "Just a rough morning."
"A rough morning," Pietra repeated flatly, her tone making it clear she didn't believe that for a second. "Y/N, your eyes are so puffy I can barely see your actual eye color. That's not a 'rough morning,' that's a complete breakdown."
Y/N took a sip of her coffee, buying herself a moment to formulate a response that would satisfy Pietra's concern without revealing anything too damaging. The problem was, she didn't know where to start. With Lando showing up at her door? With the phone call from her mother? With the dream that had felt more real than reality itself?
She couldn't tell Pietra about Lando being her soulmate. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through her chest. If she told Pietra, everything would change. Pietra would be excited—devastatingly, overwhelmingly excited because not many people found their soulmates so early in life. Pietra would finally have someone who understood, someone to share soulmate experiences with, someone who knew what it felt like to find your other half.
But she'd also be furious. Absolutely, incandescently furious at Lando for how he'd treated Y/N. Pietra knew enough about Lando's past cruelty—the dismissiveness, the coldness, the year of being treated like she was invisible. If Pietra found out he was Y/N's soulmate and had been treating her that way? She'd probably hunt him down and strangle him herself.
And that was exactly the problem. Because if Lando had wanted Pietra to know, he would have told Max. The two of them told each other everything—they were best friends, had been for years. If Lando had told Max about the soulmate connection, Pietra would have known within hours. She would have called Y/N immediately, demanding the whole truth, probably already planning how to fix everything.
The silence from Pietra meant Lando hadn't told Max. Which meant he wanted to keep it secret. And Y/N couldn't betray that, couldn't expose something he clearly wasn't ready to share, no matter how much she might want to confide in her friend.
"The photos," Y/N said finally, settling on the one piece of truth that wouldn't require too much explanation. "From last night. Someone photographed us leaving the restaurant, and they're everywhere online. Lando came over this morning to tell me he's working on getting them taken down."
It wasn't a lie, exactly. Just a careful selection of which truths to share.
Pietra's eyes widened. "Shit. I saw those. I was hoping you hadn't." She paused, studying Y/N's face with growing concern. "But that doesn't explain why you look like you've been sobbing for hours. What really happened?"
Y/N felt something in her chest tighten. This was the problem with having friends who actually cared—they didn't accept surface explanations when something was clearly wrong.
"My mother called," she admitted quietly, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "After she saw the photos. She had... opinions about them. About me being photographed with someone like Lando."
Pietra's expression darkened immediately. Y/N had told her friend enough about her family over the course of their friendship that Pietra understood, at least in broad strokes, what phone calls with Y/N's mother usually entailed.
"What did she say?"
Y/N shook her head, not trusting herself to repeat any of it without starting to cry again. "The usual. That I was embarrassing myself, that I don't belong in that world, that I should be grateful if someone like Lando gives me any attention at all because men at his level don't usually look twice at girls like me."
The summary was sanitized, leaving out the worst of her mother's cruelty, but even the cleaned-up version made Pietra's face flush with anger.
"I want to hunt her down and—" Pietra stopped herself, visibly forcing herself to calm down. "Sorry. I know she's your mother, but Christ, Y/N. The way she talks to you is so beyond fucked up."
"I know." Y/N's voice was barely above a whisper. "I know it's not normal. I know it's not okay. But knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less when she says it."
Pietra reached across the table and grabbed Y/N's hand, squeezing tightly. The simple gesture of comfort made Y/N's eyes burn with fresh tears she refused to shed.
"And Lando was there?" Pietra asked carefully. "When your mother called?"
Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice. She could still see the expression on his face as he'd watched her take that call, the horror and rage and helplessness as he'd witnessed her mother systematically destroy her with words that sounded almost loving if you didn't listen to the content.
Pietra was quiet for a moment, clearly processing this information. Something was happening here, something bigger than Y/N was telling her. She'd noticed the shift in dynamics between Y/N and Lando over the past few weeks—the way Lando asked about Y/N constantly, the way Y/N's entire body seemed to tense whenever his name was mentioned. It didn't make sense, especially given how Lando had treated Y/N for over a year. Cold, dismissive, sometimes outright cruel. Pietra had watched it happen, had felt helpless to intervene because Y/N had always insisted she was fine, that it didn't bother her.
But something had changed. Pietra just couldn't figure out what, or when, or why.
"Did he..." Pietra hesitated, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase her question. "How did he react?"
"He held me," Y/N said, and then immediately regretted the admission because she could see Pietra's entire expression shift into something that looked dangerously like hope and excitement.
"He held you," Pietra repeated, her voice taking on a different quality. "Like... held you held you? Or just a friendly comfort thing?"
Y/N closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of his arms around her, the way she'd completely fallen apart against his chest, the way he'd cried with her while whispering reassurances she desperately wanted to believe.
"He held me while I cried," she admitted, knowing there was no point in trying to downplay it when Pietra was looking at her with such intense focus. "For... a while. And then I asked him to leave."
"You asked him to—" Pietra looked genuinely baffled. "Y/N, why? If he was there comforting you, if he was being supportive, why would you send him away?"
Because he told me he loved me and I can't believe him, Y/N thought desperately. Because even when he holds me and makes me feel safe, I can't trust that it's real and not just an obligation to a soulmate mark he never wanted. Because if I let myself hope and I'm wrong, it will destroy what's left of me.
But she couldn't say any of that. Couldn't explain the soulmate connection without breaking Lando's apparent desire for secrecy. And more than that—she couldn't bear the thought of telling Pietra everything only to have Lando realize later that he didn't actually want her. The image of living the rest of her life with Pietra's pity was almost as unbearable as the rejection itself. She hated pity, had spent her entire life refusing to be an object of sympathy. The thought of seeing that look in Pietra's eyes every time they met, knowing her friend felt sorry for her because even her soulmate didn't want her—it was intolerable.
And then there was the other fear, the one that made her stomach twist with guilt. If Pietra knew the truth, she'd pressure Lando. Pietra understood how important soulmates were, how sacred that connection was supposed to be. She'd probably corner Lando and demand he treat Y/N better, and then Y/N would never know if his actions were genuine or just him responding to social pressure. She'd never know if he wanted her or if he just felt obligated by cosmic destiny and his best friend's girlfriend.
The question hung between them, and Y/N felt the weight of everything she couldn't say pressing down on her chest.
"Because I can't do this, Pietra," Y/N said instead, her voice cracking slightly. "I can't let myself need someone who's made it very clear in the past that I'm not someone worth wanting. Even if he's being nice now, even if he seems like he cares, I can't forget how he treated me before."
Pietra was quiet for a long moment, her thumb rubbing absently over Y/N's knuckles where their hands were still clasped across the table. There was a conflict playing across her face—she clearly wanted to say something but was holding back.
"Y/N," Pietra said carefully, choosing her words with obvious deliberation. "I know Lando was... difficult with you. For a long time. I watched it happen and I should have said something, should have called him out on it more forcefully. The way he treated you—the coldness, the dismissiveness, sometimes the outright rudeness—it wasn't okay. And I'm sorry I didn't do more to stop it."
Y/N felt her throat tighten. Hearing Pietra acknowledge what she'd endured, having someone validate that it hadn't been in her imagination, that Lando really had been cruel—it made something crack in her chest.
"But something's changed," Pietra continued, her eyes searching Y/N's face. "I don't know what or when, but something has definitely changed. Max has noticed it too. Lando's different now, especially when it comes to you. The questions he asks about you, the way he talks about you when you're not around—it's not the same person who was cold to you for over a year."
"People don't just change like that," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Sometimes they do," Pietra said gently. "Sometimes something happens that makes them see everything differently. I'm not saying you should forget how he treated you before—God knows I haven't forgotten, and I'm still angry at him for it. But Y/N, what if he's genuinely trying to make amends? What if whatever changed for him is real?"
What if the only reason he changed is because he found out about the marks? The question burned in Y/N's mind but couldn't be voiced. What if he only wants me because the universe told him he should, not because he actually chose me?
"Has something happened between you two?" Pietra asked carefully, leaning forward slightly. "Something you're not telling me? Because the way you're talking about him right now... it doesn't sound like you're just casual acquaintances who happen to be in the same friend group. It sounds like something deeper. Something that matters."
Y/N felt panic spike in her chest. She'd revealed too much, let too much emotion show through in her words. Pietra was too perceptive, too good at reading between the lines.
Pietra was watching her friend with growing concern and confusion. Something significant had happened between Y/N and Lando, something that had shifted the entire dynamic between them. But what? When? Why was Y/N so clearly conflicted about someone who had treated her so poorly for so long? And more importantly, why was Y/N protecting him by not explaining what was really going on?
"It's complicated," Y/N said, which was perhaps the biggest understatement of her life.
"Complicated how?"
"I can't—" Y/N pulled her hand back, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup like it could anchor her. "Pietra, I can't talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It's just... it's too much, and I'm barely holding myself together as it is."
The words hurt to say because Pietra was one of her closest friends, and keeping this secret felt like a betrayal of their friendship. But how could she explain that she was protecting Lando's privacy, protecting herself from pity, and protecting him from pressure all at the same time? How could she make Pietra understand that telling the truth would create more problems than it solved?
Pietra studied her for a long moment, her expression cycling through concern, frustration, and something that looked like understanding.
"Okay," she said finally. "I won't push. But Y/N, whatever's going on, whatever happened between you two... you know you can tell me, right? When you're ready? I'm not going to judge you, and I'm not going to make it weird or—"
"I know," Y/N interrupted, feeling guilty for the secrets she was keeping from one of her best friends. "I know you wouldn't. It's just... I need to figure some things out myself first. Before I can talk about it with anyone else."
Before I know if Lando actually wants me or just feels obligated to want me. Before I know if telling you would help or just make everything infinitely worse.
"Fair enough." Pietra picked up her own coffee, taking a sip before adding, "But for what it's worth? Lando's been different lately. Max has noticed it too. He's more serious, more focused, like something shifted for him. And he asks about you. A lot."
Y/N's heart stuttered at that information, even though she'd already known from their previous conversations that Lando had been gathering intelligence about her preferences. But hearing it confirmed again, hearing that it was noticeable enough that even Max had picked up on the change in Lando's behavior...
"What kind of things does he ask about?" The question slipped out before Y/N could stop it.
Pietra's expression softened into something that looked almost like pity mixed with hope. "Everything. Your favorite foods, your work schedule, what you do on weekends. Whether you're seeing anyone. If you've mentioned him. He's... Max says he's never seen Lando this invested in someone before. Not even with Olivia."
The name made Y/N flinch involuntarily. Olivia. The ex-girlfriend who'd been perfect and beautiful and everything Y/N wasn't.
And now Pietra was saying he was more invested in Y/N than he'd been in Olivia? The thought should have been comforting, but instead it just made Y/N more suspicious. More convinced that his interest was driven by obligation rather than genuine feeling.
"What about Matilde?" Y/N asked, because she needed to remind herself—and Pietra—that Lando was still publicly involved with someone else, regardless of whatever attention he was paying to Y/N in private.
"What about her?" Pietra's tone suggested she didn't think Matilde was particularly relevant to whatever was happening.
"He's still with her. Still doing appearances, still letting the world think they're together. So whatever questions he's asking about me, whatever interest he's showing... it doesn't really matter, does it? He's not actually available."
Pietra looked like she wanted to argue, opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it. "Actually," she said slowly, setting down her coffee cup, "I already told you this before, remember? About Lando working on ending the contract early?"
Y/N froze, the words hitting her with sudden clarity. Pietra had mentioned it. In one of their previous conversations, before everything had become so overwhelming. She'd been so caught up in her own pain and fear that the information hadn't really registered at the time.
"He's still doing it," Pietra continued gently. "Max says he's been in constant meetings with his lawyers. It's going to cost him an absolute fortune in penalties, but he's still determined. He hasn't stopped, Y/N. Even with everything that's happened between you two, he's still fighting to get out of that contract."
The reminder hit Y/N like a physical blow. He was actually taking steps to end his fake relationship. Had been taking those steps even before their conversation this morning, before he'd held her while she cried, before she'd kicked him out. One of the main things she'd said he'd need to do if he was serious about them. He was doing it.
The knowledge should have filled her with hope, but instead it just made the fear more acute. What if he was doing all of this—ending the contract, sending the gifts, showing genuine interest—and then decided she wasn't worth it after all? What if he went through all that trouble and expense only to realize that his soulmate was exactly what he'd thought for that first year: broken, damaged, not worth the effort?
"That doesn't change the past," Y/N said quietly, her hands wrapping tighter around her coffee cup. "It doesn't change how he treated me for over a year. How he made me feel invisible, or worse than invisible. Like I was... less than nothing."
Pietra squeezed Y/N's hand again, her eyes bright with sympathy and something that looked like anger on Y/N's behalf. "I know. I watched it happen and it killed me. The way he'd light up the room for everyone except you. The way he'd go out of his way to avoid talking to you. There were times I wanted to shake him and demand to know what his problem was, why he was being so unnecessarily cruel to someone who'd never done anything to him."
The validation made Y/N's eyes burn with tears. "You noticed?"
"Of course I noticed," Pietra said fiercely. "Everyone noticed. Max talked to him about it a few times, tried to get him to explain why he treated you so differently. Lando always brushed it off, said you rubbed him the wrong way or that you two just didn't click. But it was more than that. It was deliberate. And it hurt to watch, especially knowing how much it must have hurt you."
Y/N felt something break open in her chest. She'd thought she'd hidden it so well, had convinced herself that no one noticed how much Lando's coldness affected her. But Pietra had seen it. Had understood. Had even tried to intervene.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Y/N asked, her voice small. "To me, I mean. Why didn't you tell me you'd noticed?"
"Because you never wanted to talk about it," Pietra said gently. "Every time I tried to bring up Lando's behavior, you changed the subject or insisted it didn't bother you. I figured you'd talk to me when you were ready. I just... I'm sorry I didn't push harder. I should have called him out more forcefully, should have made it clear that treating you like that wasn't acceptable."
"It's not your responsibility to manage his behavior," Y/N said, but part of her was grateful for Pietra's anger on her behalf, for having someone who saw the hurt even when she tried to hide it.
"Maybe not," Pietra agreed. "But you're my friend, and I should have done more to protect you. That's what hurts me now—knowing you were dealing with that for over a year and I didn't do enough to stop it."
The words hung between them, heavy with shared history and unspoken pain. Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before she started crying again.
"Just... don't completely close yourself off to possibilities, okay?" Pietra said after a moment. "Sometimes people surprise us. Sometimes they're actually capable of change. And yes, Lando treated you horribly for over a year. That's real, and it matters, and you have every right to be wary. But what if he's genuinely trying to make it right? What if whatever changed for him is real and lasting?"
Y/N nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Because that was exactly what terrified her—the possibility that Lando had changed, that his feelings were genuine, that she might actually be able to have what she'd been dreaming about for over a year. The hope felt more dangerous than the despair ever had, because hope meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant the possibility of devastation so complete she might never recover.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both sipping their coffee, the ambient noise of the café filling the space between them. Y/N felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. This was good. This was normal. Just two friends having coffee on a Saturday afternoon, nothing dramatic or overwhelming or emotionally devastating about it.
"Did you at least get some good sleep last night?" Pietra asked eventually. "After everything with dinner and your mother and Lando?"
Y/N thought about the dream—the little girl with Lando's eyes and her features, the kitchen that had felt like home, the devastating conversation about why Mummy and Daddy didn't talk anymore. The way she'd woken up reaching for something that wasn't there, tears already streaming down her face.
"Not really," she said quietly. "I had... strange dreams."
"Strange how?"
Y/N shook her head. She couldn't talk about the dream, couldn't explain how real it had felt or how completely it had shattered her when that little girl had asked her to stop walking away. Couldn't voice the terrible fear that the dream was some kind of prophecy—that even if she and Lando managed to build something together, even if they had a child, they'd still end up broken and miserable because she couldn't trust his love enough to let herself be happy.
"Just weird stress dreams. My brain processing everything, I guess."
Pietra accepted that explanation with a nod, though Y/N could see her friend filing away the information for later consideration. Pietra had that look on her face—the one that said she knew Y/N wasn't telling her everything, but she was going to respect her privacy even though it clearly frustrated her.
They talked about safer topics after that—work gossip, weekend plans, a new restaurant Pietra wanted to try. Normal conversation that helped Y/N feel slightly more human, slightly less like she was drowning in emotions she couldn't control.
But underneath the surface normalcy, Pietra's mind was racing. Something had happened between Y/N and Lando, something significant enough to make Y/N look like she'd been crying for hours, something important enough that she couldn't talk about it even with one of her closest friends. And Lando—Lando who'd been so cold to Y/N for over a year—was asking about her constantly, sending her things (Pietra had noticed the expensive handbag Y/N had been carrying lately, had recognized the Hermès Kelly), being different in ways that Max had noticed too.
What had changed? And more importantly, why was Y/N protecting him by keeping it secret?
As they eventually gathered their things to leave, as Pietra pulled Y/N into a tight hug on the street outside the café, she made a decision. She wouldn't push Y/N for information she clearly wasn't ready to share. But she would be paying very close attention to both of them from now on. Would be watching for signs of whatever was happening between them, ready to intervene if Lando hurt Y/N again.
"Take care of yourself," Pietra murmured against her hair. "And Y/N? Whatever's happening with Lando, whatever you decide to do about it... just make sure you're choosing what you actually want, not what you think you deserve. Those are two very different things."
The words settled into Y/N's chest like stones. What she wanted and what she thought she deserved. Pietra made it sound so simple, like those were just two options she could choose between with clear-eyed rationality.
But what if what she wanted was exactly what she was most afraid to reach for? What if what she deserved was protection from the kind of hope that could destroy her completely when it inevitably crumbled? What if the two things were so tangled up with each other that she couldn't separate them anymore?
The words followed Y/N all the way home, echoing in her mind as she took the lift to her apartment, as she opened the door to find the peonies still beautiful on her kitchen counter, as she collapsed onto her couch and stared at the ceiling.
She thought about Pietra's face when she'd acknowledged Lando's past cruelty, the anger in her friend's voice when she'd said everyone had noticed. At least Y/N hadn't been crazy, hadn't been imagining the coldness or the deliberate distance. Even Pietra had seen it, had recognized it for what it was—unnecessary cruelty that had left wounds still raw even now.
And yet Pietra thought he'd changed. Believed whatever shift had occurred in Lando was real enough to give him another chance. The vote of confidence from someone who'd witnessed the worst of his behavior should have meant something, should have made Y/N feel more secure in considering the possibility of trusting him.
Instead, it just made her more terrified. Because if Pietra was wrong, if this was all just obligation dressed up as feeling, then Y/N would have let herself hope for nothing. Would have exposed herself to exactly the kind of devastation she'd spent her entire life learning to protect herself from.
Y/N closed her eyes and saw that little girl again, heard her voice pleading: Can you stop, please? I just want you both to be happy again.
"It was just a dream," she whispered to her empty apartment, trying to convince herself. "Just a dream."
But it had felt like so much more than that. It had felt like a warning, like her subconscious showing her exactly what would happen if she let herself hope and then couldn't sustain that hope through all the challenges that would inevitably come.
Because that was the real fear, wasn't it? Not just that Lando didn't genuinely want her, but that even if he did, even if his feelings were real and lasting, she was too broken to accept them. Too damaged by her childhood and by his initial cruelty to ever fully trust in his love. Too convinced of her own unworthiness to believe that anyone—even her soulmate—could choose her and mean it.
The dream had shown her a future where they had everything—a home, a child, a life together. And even with all of that, they'd been miserable because she couldn't stop walking away, couldn't stop protecting herself, couldn't stop expecting abandonment long enough to actually be happy.
Maybe that was the real tragedy. Not that Lando might not want her, but that even if he did, she was too broken to receive his love in any meaningful way.
You're fundamentally, irreparably broken.
His words from their fight months ago echoed in her memory, mixing with her mother's voice from this morning, creating a chorus of condemnation that felt impossible to escape.
Maybe they were all right. Maybe she really was too damaged to be anyone's soulmate, even when the universe itself had designated her as such.
Y/N pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as possible on her expensive couch in her expensive apartment—all the material comfort in the world unable to fill the void where her sense of self-worth should have been.
The peonies on her kitchen counter caught her eye, their pale pink petals still beautiful despite everything. A gift from someone who claimed to see her, to want her, to love her.
But how could she believe it when she'd spent over a year being invisible to him? When she still didn't know if his feelings were genuine or just cosmic obligation? When the thought of trusting him felt like stepping off a cliff without knowing if there was ground below or just endless falling?
Pietra's words echoed in her mind: Just make sure you're choosing what you actually want, not what you think you deserve.
But what if she'd lost the ability to tell the difference? What if fear had so thoroughly infiltrated her decision-making that she couldn't separate genuine self-protection from self-sabotage anymore?
Y/N didn't have answers to any of these questions. All she knew was that she was exhausted—emotionally, physically, spiritually exhausted from carrying the weight of this secret, from trying to protect everyone including herself, from being caught between hope and terror with no clear path forward.
She closed her eyes and wished, desperately, that the universe had just left her alone. That she'd never seen that mark on Lando's hip, never known they were soulmates, never had to carry this impossible knowledge while watching him transform from her cruelest critic to her most devoted pursuer.
Ignorance might not have been bliss, but at least it would have been simpler than this.
–
The drive from London to Bristol should have taken just three hours. Lando made it in two and a half hours, his McLaren eating up the M4 motorway with the kind of aggressive speed that would have gotten him pulled over if any traffic police had been paying attention. But it was Saturday afternoon, and luck—or perhaps the universe taking pity on him—kept his route clear.
He didn't remember making the conscious decision to go to his parents' house. One moment he'd been standing in the hallway outside Y/N's apartment, staring at her closed door and trying to process what he'd just witnessed. The next, he was in his car, pointing it west toward Bristol, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
The scene in Y/N's apartment played on repeat in his mind like a horror film he couldn't turn off. The way she'd transformed when her mother called—her voice becoming bright and cheerful while her face remained completely blank. The careful military posture, the white-knuckled grip on the counter, the tears that had streamed down her face while her voice never wavered once.
He'd watched her cry for fifteen minutes without a single hitch in her breathing, without a single crack in her tone. She'd sobbed silently while speaking to her mother in that horrible, false-cheerful voice, and the disconnect between the two had been so viscerally wrong that Lando had felt physically ill witnessing it.
Practice, she'd said when he'd asked how she did it. Lots and lots of practice.
The words made his stomach turn even now, hours later. What kind of childhood did you have to endure to perfect the art of crying in complete silence? What kind of parents trained their daughter to hide every emotional response, to perform happiness while dying inside?
And then—God, and then—the realization that had hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.
He'd done the same thing to her.
For so long, he'd been systematically destroying Y/N's sense of self-worth with the same kind of calculated cruelty her mother had displayed on that phone call. Different words, different methods, but the same result: making her feel fundamentally unworthy of love or basic human kindness.
You're fundamentally, irreparably broken.
His own words from their fight echoed in his head, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He'd called her broken. Had looked at his soulmate—the person the universe had literally designed for him—and told her she was incapable of human connection. Had used her deepest insecurities as weapons against her, just like her parents had been doing her entire life.
He was no better than them. Maybe he was worse, because at least her parents had the excuse of their own trauma, their own damaged childhoods. What was his excuse? That he'd been scared? That he'd been running from feelings he didn't understand?
Lando pulled into his parents' driveway just after 3 PM, his body running on pure adrenaline. He'd barely slept, hadn't eaten, had spent the entire morning watching Y/N fall apart and then holding her while they both cried.
His mother must have heard the car, because she opened the front door before he'd even made it halfway up the path. Cisca Norris took one look at her son's face—pale, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed from crying—and her expression immediately shifted from surprise to concern.
"Lando? Sweetheart, what's wrong? Why didn't you call? We would have—"
"Mum," Lando said, and his voice cracked on the word. "Mum, I fucked up. I fucked up so badly and I don't know how to fix it."
Cisca didn't ask any more questions. She just pulled him into the house, wrapped her arms around him, and held him while he struggled not to break down completely on her doorstep. Over her shoulder, Lando could see his father Adam emerging from the living room, his face creasing with worry at the sight of his son's obvious distress.
"What happened?" Adam asked, his voice carrying that particular tone of parental concern that could make even a twenty-five-year-old racing driver feel like a child again.
"I need..." Lando pulled away from his mother, running his hands through his hair in a gesture that made it stand up even more than it already was. "I need to talk to you both. About... about everything. About her."
Cisca and Adam exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them that came from decades of marriage. Cisca took Lando's arm and gently guided him toward the living room, settling him onto the familiar sofa where he'd spent countless hours throughout his childhood.
"I'll make tea," she said, which was her solution to every crisis, big or small.
"I don't want tea," Lando said, but she was already moving toward the kitchen.
"You're getting tea anyway," she called back. "And you're going to sit there and collect yourself before you tell us what's got you looking like death warmed over."
Adam settled into his usual armchair, studying his son with the kind of careful attention that suggested he was cataloging every detail—the shadows under Lando's eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands couldn't seem to stay still.
"This is about the girl you mentioned on the phone," Adam said quietly. Not a question, but a statement. "Your soulmate."
Lando nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Even now, even in his parents' living room surrounded by the comfort of home, saying the words out loud felt impossible. How could he explain what had happened this morning? How could he make them understand the depth of his failure?
Cisca returned with tea faster than should have been physically possible, which meant she'd probably just reheated what was already in the kettle. She pressed a mug into Lando's hands and settled onto the sofa beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched—a small gesture of maternal support that made Lando's eyes burn with fresh tears.
"Start from the beginning," she said gently. "Tell us everything."
So he did.
The words came haltingly at first, then faster, then in a rush that felt like a dam breaking. He told them about finding Y/N at Max and Pietra's gathering, about seeing her collapse and discovering the mark that matched his own. He told them about the car ride, about her finally admitting that she'd known for over a year that they were soulmates.
"A year," Cisca breathed, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "She's known for more than a year that you were her soulmate and never said anything?"
"Because I made it clear I didn't want her," Lando said, and the words tasted like ash in his mouth. "Because I spent that time treating her like she was nothing."
He saw his parents exchange another look, this one darker, more concerned. But they didn't interrupt, just let him continue.
He told them about going to her apartment, about the conversation where he'd finally admitted his feelings. About the gifts he'd been sending, the text messages, the desperate attempts to prove that what he felt was real.
And then, voice breaking, he told them about this morning.
"There were photos," he said. "From dinner last night. Someone photographed us leaving the restaurant, and they're everywhere online. Her mother saw them and called."
"And?" Adam prompted gently when Lando fell silent.
"And I watched her take that call," Lando said, his hands tightening around the mug until his knuckles went white. "I watched her mother—" He stopped himself, the words dying in his throat.
He couldn't. He couldn't repeat what Y/N's mother had said. Couldn't expose the specific cruelties, the systematic destruction of her daughter's worth. Those were Y/N's private wounds, her personal pain, and even in his desperation to make his parents understand, he wouldn't betray her privacy like that.
If—when—Y/N finally agreed to meet his parents, he couldn't have her walking into their home knowing they'd heard every horrible thing her mother had said about her. Couldn't have her feeling like she was being pitied or judged or discussed like some kind of case study.
"I watched her mother destroy her for fifteen minutes," Lando said carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision. "And Y/N just... she just stood there and took it. Her voice stayed bright and cheerful while tears streamed down her face. She never once let her voice break. Not once. She cried—God, she cried so hard—but her voice stayed perfectly steady the whole time. And when I asked her how she did it, she said 'practice.' Like it was the most normal thing in the world."
Cisca's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. Adam's face had gone pale, his jaw clenched tight with barely contained fury.
"Her mother said things designed to make Y/N feel like she didn't belong, like she should be grateful for any attention at all. But I won't repeat the specifics. That's... that's Y/N's story to tell, not mine." He looked between his parents, needing them to understand. "If she ever does meet you, I can't have her knowing you've heard every horrible thing her mother said about her. Her dignity, her privacy—those are things I can protect, even if I've failed to protect her heart."
Adam nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're protecting her privacy."
"That shows you understand that she's a person first, not just your soulmate," Cisca said softly, though her eyes were still bright with unshed tears. "That her dignity matters regardless of whether she chooses you."
"That's abuse," Adam said flatly, even without knowing the full details. "What you've described—that's emotional abuse."
"I know," Lando whispered. "And the worst part is... the worst part is that I did the same thing to her."
The silence that followed was deafening. Lando could feel his parents staring at him, could sense the question they were both afraid to ask.
"What do you mean?" Cisca asked finally, her voice very quiet and very careful.
Lando set his mug down on the coffee table before he could drop it, his hands shaking too badly to hold it steady. This was it. This was where he had to confess everything, where he had to admit to his parents—who had raised him to be kind and respectful and decent—just how badly he'd failed to live up to those values.
"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice rough. "About how I treated her. Before I knew we were soulmates. Before I understood what she meant to me."
He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his mother's eyes even though it felt like being flayed open.
"From the moment I met her, I was cruel to her. Not just cold or distant—actively cruel. I spoke to her with contempt. I dismissed everything she said. I made it clear through every interaction that I found her presence barely tolerable."
Cisca's face had gone very still, that particular kind of stillness that mothers get when they're trying very hard not to react before hearing the full story.
"I called her miserable," Lando continued, the words coming faster now, like poison he needed to expel. "I told her she was fundamentally broken. I said she sucked the joy out of every room she walked into. I told her she was incapable of human connection, that she was pathetic, that no one wanted her because there was something wrong with her at her core."
"Lando," Adam said, his voice carrying a warning, but Lando couldn't stop now. The confession was pouring out of him like blood from a wound.
"I questioned her ambition, her work ethic, her competence. I made her feel small and stupid and worthless. For months, every time we were in the same room, I made sure she knew I didn't want her there. That she was taking up space she hadn't earned."
His mother had gone completely pale, her hand pressed against her chest like she was trying to hold her heart in place. His father's face had darkened with an anger Lando had rarely seen directed at him.
"And the worst part," Lando said, his voice breaking completely now, "is that I did it on purpose. I wasn't just being thoughtless or careless. I knew exactly what I was doing. I saw how my words affected her, and I kept going. Kept finding new ways to hurt her, new insecurities to exploit."
"Why?" The word came from Cisca, barely above a whisper, and it carried more weight than a shout would have.
"Because I was scared," Lando admitted, tears streaming down his face now. "Because from the moment I met her, something about her terrified me. She made me feel things I didn't understand, and instead of dealing with those feelings like an adult, I tried to destroy her. Tried to make her so small and insignificant that I could convince myself she didn't matter."
The silence that followed was crushing. Lando watched his mother's face cycle through emotions—shock, disappointment, anger, grief. He watched his father's jaw work as he visibly struggled for words.
"You remind me," Cisca said finally, her voice shaking, "of every bully you ever came home crying about as a child. Every person who made you feel less than, who used their power to hurt you. You became exactly what you hated most."
The words hit Lando like physical blows, each one finding its mark with devastating accuracy. Because she was right. He'd become the bullies who'd tormented him in karting, the journalists who'd written cruel things about him, the social media trolls who found pleasure in tearing him down.
He'd become the thing he'd always feared being.
"I know," he whispered. "I know, and I don't know how to fix it. She won't even look at me without seeing someone who confirmed every horrible thing her parents ever taught her about herself. I'm just another person in a long line of people who made her feel worthless."
"Good God, Lando," Adam said, and his voice was rough with disappointment and anger. "This girl has been abused her entire life by her own parents, and your response was to pile on? To add your voice to the chorus telling her she was worthless?"
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't know about her parents," Adam cut him off, his voice sharp. "But you knew you were being cruel. You knew you were hurting her. You just said you did it on purpose."
"Adam," Cisca said quietly, but there was steel in her voice. "Let him finish."
Lando slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "She doesn't believe me," he said, his voice muffled. "I've told her I love her, I've sent her gifts, I've been trying to show her that my feelings are real. But she thinks it's all just obligation. That I only want her because we're soulmates, not because I actually chose her."
"Can you blame her?" Cisca asked, and her voice was gentler now but no less devastating. "You spent such a long time proving that you didn't choose her. That you actively rejected her. And now you expect her to believe that finding out about the soulmate connection magically changed everything?"
"It did change everything," Lando said desperately, looking up at his mother. "The moment I saw that mark, everything clicked into place. All the feelings I'd been running from, all the confusion about why I couldn't stop thinking about her—it all made sense."
"But from her perspective," Adam said slowly, "all she knows is that you treated her terribly until you discovered you were cosmically obligated to care about her. How is she supposed to trust that your feelings are genuine when they only appeared after you learned about the marks?"
The question hung in the air like an accusation, and Lando had no answer for it. Because they were right. From Y/N's perspective, his sudden change of heart looked like nothing more than acceptance of cosmic duty, not genuine feeling.
"I don't know what to do," Lando admitted, his voice breaking. "I've tried everything I can think of. I ended my PR relationship—or I'm in the process of ending it. I sent gifts to show I've been paying attention to her preferences. I've been texting her, trying to maintain connection without pressure. But nothing works. She just... she won't let me in."
"Because you haven't earned it," Cisca said bluntly. "Lando, you spent months systematically destroying this woman's self-worth. You don't undo that kind of damage with expensive gifts and text messages."
"Then how do I undo it?" Lando asked, desperation making his voice rise. "Tell me how to fix this, because I'm losing my mind. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think about anything except how badly I've fucked this up."
His mother was quiet for a long moment, studying him with eyes that seemed to see straight through to his soul. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, careful.
"You may not be able to fix it," she said, and the words hit Lando like a death sentence. "The damage you've done—the damage her parents have done—it's not something that can be erased with gestures or words. She needs therapy, probably. She needs time. She needs to rebuild the sense of self-worth that you and her family spent years destroying."
"But I love her," Lando said, and he hated how broken he sounded, how desperate. "She's my soulmate. I'm supposed to—"
"You're supposed to protect her," Adam interrupted, his voice hard. "You're supposed to cherish her, support her, make her feel valued and loved. Instead, you made her feel exactly the way her abusive parents made her feel. The soulmate connection doesn't excuse that. If anything, it makes it worse."
Lando felt something inside him crumble at his father's words. Because Adam was right. The soulmate bond should have made him treat Y/N better, should have triggered some instinctive need to protect and cherish her. Instead, he'd used his position to hurt her more effectively than almost anyone else could have.
"I watched her this morning," Lando said quietly, staring at his hands. "Watched her cry silently while her mother told her things designed to hurt her. And all I could think was that I'd said similar things to her. Maybe not in those exact words, but the message was the same: you're not good enough, you don't belong, there's something wrong with you."
He looked up at his parents, saw the disappointment written clearly on both their faces, and felt his heart break all over again.
"She can cry without making a single sound," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "She's perfected the art of suffering in silence because her parents taught her that showing pain only invites more pain. And when I held her this morning, when I felt her body shaking with sobs while she stayed completely quiet, I realized I'd helped train her to do that. I'd reinforced the lesson that her emotions were inconvenient, that her pain didn't matter, that she needed to hide who she really was to be acceptable."
Cisca's eyes were brimming with tears now, and even Adam's stern expression had softened into something that looked like grief.
"How do I come back from that?" Lando asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I prove to her that I'm not just another person who's going to hurt her? That I actually see her and value her and want her for who she is, not because the universe told me I should?"
"I don't know if you can," Cisca said honestly, and the words felt like a knife to Lando's chest. "I hope you can, because the thought of you both spending your lives missing out on what you could have together breaks my heart. But Lando, you need to understand that this isn't about you anymore. It's not about your feelings or your guilt or your desperate need to fix things."
She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly.
"This is about her healing," she continued. "About her learning to trust again, to value herself again, to believe that she deserves love without conditions. And that process might not include you. You might have damaged things beyond repair, and if that's the case, you're going to have to accept it."
"I can't accept that," Lando said immediately, shaking his head. "I can't just give up on her. On us."
"I'm not saying give up," Cisca clarified. "I'm saying you need to respect her process. You need to give her space and time and the freedom to heal without pressure from you. And if that healing leads her to decide she can't trust you, that she can't forgive what you did, then you need to respect that decision too."
"But she's my soulmate," Lando said, and he hated how petulant he sounded, like a child who'd been told he couldn't have something he wanted.
"She's a human being first," Adam said firmly. "A human being who's been abused and mistreated and taught that she's worthless. The soulmate connection doesn't erase that, and it doesn't mean she owes you forgiveness or a relationship or anything else."
The words settled over Lando like a heavy blanket, smothering and inescapable. His parents were right, and he knew they were right, but accepting it felt impossible when every cell in his body was screaming at him to fix this, to make Y/N understand, to prove that his feelings were real.
"I don't know how to just... wait," he admitted. "Every instinct I have is telling me to go to her, to keep trying, to make her see that I'm serious about this."
"Those instincts are wrong," Cisca said bluntly. "They're what got you into this mess in the first place. Your instincts told you to push her away, and you listened. Now your instincts are telling you to push for a relationship, and you need to resist. You give her the space she's asked for. You respect her boundaries. You work on yourself—figure out why you were capable of such cruelty, go to therapy if you need to, make sure you're never capable of treating anyone like that again."
"And then what?"
"And then you wait," Adam said. "You wait and you hope that she decides you're worth giving another chance. But Lando, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that she won't. That the damage is too severe, the hurt too deep, the trust too broken."
The thought made Lando's chest tighten with panic. The idea of spending his life without Y/N, of never getting the chance to prove that his love was real, of watching her from afar while she built a life that didn't include him—it was unbearable.
"I can't lose her," he whispered, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "Mum, I can't. She's everything. She's always been everything, even when I was too stupid and scared to admit it."
Cisca pulled him into her arms, and Lando collapsed against her the way he hadn't since he was a child, sobbing into his mother's shoulder while she stroked his hair and murmured soft comfort.
"I know, sweetheart," she said softly. "I know it hurts. But you have to understand that what you did to her hurt too. Probably worse than what you're feeling now, because you at least have hope. You at least believe that your feelings are genuine. She doesn't have that certainty. All she has is the memory of over a year of cruelty from someone who's supposed to love her unconditionally."
The words were brutal in their honesty, but Lando needed to hear them. Needed to understand the full extent of what he'd done, the damage he'd caused, the mountain of broken trust he'd have to climb if he ever wanted a chance with Y/N.
"What if she never forgives me?" he asked, pulling back to look at his mother. "What if I've destroyed the one thing that was supposed to be perfect and permanent?"
"Then you live with that," Adam said, his voice gentler now but no less serious. "You live with the consequences of your actions, and you learn from them. You make sure you never treat anyone else the way you treated her. And you hope that someday, somehow, she finds the happiness she deserves—even if it's not with you."
The thought was like acid in Lando's veins, burning and corrosive and absolutely unbearable. But he knew his parents were right. Knew that he'd forfeited any claim to Y/N's love the moment he'd chosen cruelty over kindness, fear over courage, self-protection over compassion.
"I fucked up," he said quietly, the words feeling inadequate for the magnitude of his failure. "I fucked up so badly, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix it."
"Maybe you won't," Cisca said honestly. "But that doesn't mean you stop trying to be better. That doesn't mean you stop respecting her needs and her boundaries. That doesn't mean you stop holding onto hope while also preparing yourself for heartbreak."
They sat together for a long time after that, Lando's parents on either side of him, offering the kind of unconditional support that he'd taken for granted his entire life. The kind of support that Y/N had never had, that she'd been forced to live without while building herself into the remarkable woman she'd become despite every obstacle.
Lando took a shaky breath, his mind still spinning from the conversation, from the weight of his parents' words. But there was something else, something he hadn't told them yet. Something that had been haunting him since he'd woken up at 3:49 AM with tears on his face and the phantom weight of a child in his arms.
"There's... there's something else," he said quietly, pulling back from his mother's embrace. "Something that happened last night. Or this morning, I guess."
Cisca and Adam exchanged glances, concern evident in both their faces.
"What is it?" Adam asked gently.
Lando ran his hands through his hair, trying to find the words. "I had this dream. It was so vivid, so real. I was in this house—our house, I knew it was ours even though I'd never seen it before. And Y/N was there, in the kitchen. She looked exhausted, defeated. And then..." His voice cracked. "And then I saw her. Our daughter."
Cisca's hand came up to cover her mouth, her eyes widening.
"She was maybe four or five years old," Lando continued, the words tumbling out faster now. "She had Y/N's face but my eyes. Dark curls. And she was asking Y/N why we didn't talk to each other anymore, why we couldn't just be happy. She said..." He had to stop, his throat closing up. "She said she heard me crying when Y/N wasn't looking. That I told her stories about when we used to be happy."
"Oh, Lando," Cisca breathed.
"But here's the thing," Lando pressed on, needing to get it all out. "I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I was frozen, just watching this happen. Watching our daughter cry, watching Y/N break down, completely helpless to do anything about it. And when I woke up..." He touched his face, remembering the wetness he'd found there. "I'd been crying in my sleep. It felt so real, Mum. More real than any dream I've ever had."
Cisca and Adam exchanged another look, this one longer, more significant.
"What?" Lando asked, catching the unspoken communication between them. "What is it?"
Cisca was quiet for a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. "Lando, what you're describing... it sounds like it might be more than just a dream."
"What do you mean?"
"The soulmate bond," she said slowly. "It has certain... mechanisms. Features that most people never experience because they don't need them. One of those is shared dreaming."
Lando felt his heart skip a beat. "Shared dreaming? You mean—"
"I mean that under very specific circumstances, soulmates can share dreams," Cisca explained. "Experience the same dream at the same time, from different perspectives. It's extraordinarily rare because it only happens when both soulmates are aware of their connection but are separated or actively refusing to be together for an extended period. It's essentially the bond's emergency intervention. A last resort."
"The bond doesn't do this lightly," Adam added. "Shared dreaming is intense, invasive even. It breaks down walls, forces soulmates to confront their deepest fears and desires in a space where their conscious defenses can't protect them."
Lando's mind was racing. "But Max and Pietra are soulmates. They've never mentioned anything like this."
"Because they didn't need it," Cisca said gently. "They met, recognized the connection, and embraced it. There was no prolonged rejection, no one actively fighting against the bond. The shared dreaming only activates when soulmates know about each other but won't come together."
"Wait," Lando said, trying to process this. "So you're saying that dream might have been real? That Y/N might have had the same dream?"
"It's very possible, given the circumstances," Cisca said. "You both know about the marks. She's actively refusing the bond while you're desperate to make it work. That's exactly the kind of situation that would trigger shared dreaming."
"But I can't know for sure," Lando said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I mean, it could have just been my subconscious processing everything, right? The fight, the way she kicked me out, my own fears about the future?"
"It could be," Adam agreed. "But the vividness, the fact that you woke up crying—those are all indicators that it might have been more than just your mind working through stress."
"If it is happening," Cisca said carefully, "the dreams will likely continue. And they'll probably intensify until you either come together or the situation reaches some kind of breaking point."
Lando dropped his head into his hands, overwhelmed. "I don't even know if it was a shared dream. Y/N might have just had a normal night's sleep while I had a nightmare about our hypothetical future."
"There's one way to find out," Cisca pointed out gently.
"Ask her?" Lando laughed bitterly. "Mum, last night she kicked me out of her apartment screaming that she couldn't stand to hear me lie to her anymore. How am I supposed to call her up and ask if she had a weird dream about our nonexistent daughter?"
"You might not have to ask directly," Adam suggested. "If she had the same dream, it would have affected her. Changed something."
"Lando," Cisca said firmly, taking his face in her hands the way she used to when he was a child. "Listen to me. If this was a shared dream—if the bond is intervening this way—it means something important."
She paused, her eyes searching his face.
"The bond doesn't intervene like this unless both people have genuine feelings for each other," she said carefully. "It's not a one-sided mechanism. The shared dreaming only activates when two soulmates want each other but can't get past their own barriers."
Lando felt his breath catch. "But she—she kicked me out. She screamed that she couldn't stand to hear me lie to her."
"Because she's terrified of what she feels," Cisca said gently. "The bond wouldn't activate this emergency intervention if she didn't have real, genuine feelings for you. It doesn't force connections that don't exist—it breaks down walls between people who already want each other but are too afraid to admit it."
"Think about it," Adam continued. "If Y/N truly felt nothing for you, if her rejection was absolute, the bond would recognize that. The shared dreaming is proof that she feels something real for you—something deep enough that the bond has decided you both need help getting past your fears."
The words settled over Lando with a weight he hadn't expected. "She has feelings for me," he said slowly, testing the words. "Real feelings. That's what the shared dreaming means."
"Yes," Cisca confirmed. "Her anger, her fear, her desperate attempts to push you away—those aren't signs of indifference. They're signs of someone fighting feelings that terrify her."
Lando felt something shift in his chest—not quite hope, but not quite despair either. Something in between.
"But," Cisca said, and her voice carried a warning, "having feelings for you doesn't mean she's ready to forgive you. It doesn't mean she's obligated to give you another chance. The bond can show her what you could have together, can even confirm that her feelings are real. But it can't make her trust you. That's something you have to earn yourself."
"The bond will bring you to the door," Adam said quietly. "But you're the one who has to prove you're worthy of walking through it."
"What do I do?" Lando asked, looking between his parents.
"You honor her boundaries," Cisca said immediately. "No matter how desperate you become, no matter how much the dreams are affecting you, you don't use them as ammunition. You don't pressure her or try to force her hand. If she had the same dream, she'll bring it up when she's ready. Or she won't. And you'll have to respect that either way."
"That's discipline," Adam added. "It's respect. It's proof that you've learned from your mistakes."
Lando nodded slowly, understanding settling over him. "Even if we're sharing these dreams, even if the bond is telling us we're meant to be together—I still have to wait. Still have to give her space."
"Yes," Cisca said. "Because the bond breaking down her walls won't be enough. You have to prove you're worthy of what's on the other side of those walls."
Eventually, Cisca stood up and announced she was making proper food, because tea and emotional breakdowns weren't sufficient sustenance for anyone. Adam stayed with Lando, sitting in comfortable silence while they both processed everything that had been said.
"Dad?" Lando said finally, his voice rough from crying. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"
Adam was quiet for a moment, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved.
"I think you made bad choices," he said finally. "I think you let fear and confusion turn you into someone cruel, someone who hurt another person deliberately and repeatedly. But I also think you're capable of change, capable of growth, capable of becoming the person you should have been all along."
He paused, his expression serious but not without compassion.
"The path forward won't be easy. But if the bond is intervening the way your mother described, then there's hope. Real hope. The bond is telling you that despite everything, Y/N has feelings for you. That her rejection isn't indifference—it's fear of caring too much."
"But having those feelings doesn't mean she owes me anything," Lando said quietly, repeating what his parents had drilled into him.
"No, it doesn't," Adam agreed. "But it means the door isn't closed. It's locked, maybe. Barricaded. But not sealed shut forever. The bond is working to open it. Your job is to become someone worthy of being let in when it does."
The brutal honesty hurt, but it came with something Lando hadn't expected: genuine hope. His parents were treating him like an adult, holding him accountable for his actions while still offering their support.
"I love her," Lando said, and it felt important to say it out loud. "I'm in love with her, and I have been since the moment we met. I just didn't want to admit it because it scared me."
"Then prove it," Adam said simply. "Not with words or gifts, but with patience. With respect. With the discipline to let her heal on her own timeline, not yours."
When Cisca called them for dinner, Lando forced himself to eat. His mother watched him with concerned but slightly less worried eyes.
"You need to take care of yourself," she said. "When she's ready—and the bond is telling us she will be ready eventually—you need to be the best version of yourself."
"I can't stop thinking about her," Lando admitted. "About this morning, about the dream, about everything."
"The bond will keep working on both of you," Adam said. "But you need to be patient while it does, and make sure you're worthy of what it's trying to give you."
Lando nodded, and for the first time since this morning, the acknowledgment didn't feel quite so much like dying.
"I want to meet her," Cisca said suddenly. "Someday, when she's ready—I want to meet the woman who's captured my son's heart so completely."
"When she's ready," Lando said quietly, but this time there was more certainty in his voice. Not "if." When. "After I've proven I deserve to be in her life."
"And when that day comes," Adam said, "we'll welcome her with open arms. We'll show her what a family is supposed to look like, how parents are supposed to treat their children. We'll help her understand that the love you feel for her is real, and that she deserves it."
The words made Lando's throat tight with emotion. His parents, despite their disappointment in his behavior, were already thinking about how to support Y/N. Already preparing to offer her the kind of unconditional love and acceptance she'd never received from her own family. And they were speaking about it with certainty, not just possibility—but also with the clear understanding that Lando had work to do first.
"Thank you," he said, his voice rough. "For not giving up on me. For being honest about how badly I fucked up. For helping me understand what I need to do."
"We'll always believe in you," Cisca said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "And now you have reason to believe too. The bond is fighting for you both. But you still need to do the work to deserve what it's offering."
"Stay tonight," Adam said finally. "Get some proper sleep, eat some proper food. You need to be at your best for what's ahead."
Lando wanted to protest, wanted to argue that he needed to be closer to Y/N in case she needed him. But the exhaustion was catching up with him now, and there was something new to cushion it: hope.
"Okay," he agreed quietly. "Just for tonight."
As he helped his mother clear the dishes, as he settled onto the familiar sofa where he'd spent countless hours throughout his childhood, Lando allowed himself to hope. That someday Y/N would be sitting here with him. That she'd get to experience the warmth and acceptance of his family. That the bond would break down her walls the way it was designed to do.
But he also understood now that the bond opening the door wouldn't be enough. He had to prove he was worthy of walking through it.
The possibility that it wouldn't happen still existed. He'd damaged things severely, hurt her deeply. But the bond had given him something precious: the knowledge that her feelings were real.
And that changed everything—while also changing nothing about his responsibility to earn her trust.
It was, he thought as exhaustion finally began to pull him under, more than he deserved. But it was also proof that the universe believed in second chances.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, that dream lingered. The little girl with Y/N's face and his eyes. The kitchen that had felt like home. The future that had seemed so real.
If it had been a shared dream—and the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that it was—then Y/N was fighting feelings that were real. The bond had confirmed it.
All Lando had to do was be patient. Be worthy. Be ready when Y/N finally let those walls crumble.
And thanks to what his parents had helped him understand, he now believed—truly believed—that day would come.
ᨒ the daughter of the town mayor, you, have always lived a life of ease and comfort. until the day you’re kidnapped by a feared and ruthless outlaw wanted for crimes across multiple counties: toji zenin. toji plans to use you as a bargaining chip to blackmail your father, but as time goes by, the connection between you grows more complicated.
for you, this is your first taste of real danger and the harsh realities of the world outside your sheltered life. for toji, you’re initially just a means to an end, but you begin to slowly break through the hardened exterior he’s built to survive ˓˓
WHAT'CHU GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU?
characters. outlaw!toji zenin x mayor’s daughter!reader. wild west au. includes fluff, smut and angst. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s) cw’s are included seperately in the fics down below !
MAIN STORY ␥ BACKGROUND INFO
꒰ ꒰ PROLOGUE — first meeting
❑ you were just heading home when you’re pulled into the bushes, blindfolded and tied up before being placed on the back of a horse. the infamous outlaw and your current kidnapper, toji zenin, won’t give you back to your family until your father pays your ransom. while you wait for a response from your family, toji keeps you thoroughly entertained.
꒰ ꒰ CHAPTER 1 — surviving a criminal
❑ your rescue operation is taking its sweet time. toji moves from one place to the other to avoid the law enforcement snooping around. as the days go by, you slowly become to appreciate the freedom this whole ordeal has given you. perhaps this little life in the forest with your captor isn’t all too bad.
꒰ ꒰ CHAPTER 2 — trouble finds you again
❑ taking shelter in a shady inn with toji on the outskirts of a faraway town, you’re forced to share your bed. as if that wasn’t enough, you’re awakened by him carrying your half-naked body along on the run from . . . bounty hunters ?
| pairing | divorced dad! sukuna x ex-wife! reader
| summary | Your ex-husband doesn't mind leaving the porch light on for you at night. After all, he was with you for years; he has you memorized, so he knows how lonely you can get with a husband as inattentive as yours
"...Can we just pretend that we still love each other or something?”
“Sure.” The scornful hiss in his voice burned you. “We can pretend..."
| overall content & warnings | MDNI, angst, cheating, toxic/taboo relationships, friends to lovers to enemies to lovers (full circle), explicit sexual content, unplanned pregnancy, terrible communication, terrible decisions, but it's fun imo, so much domestic fluff, everyone needs therapy, Sukuna is a mechanic with a criminal record (mama, i'm in love with a criminal), Reader and Sukuna have a kid together, but the story is more focused on them fixing their relationship, so there's lots of drama ;)
| chapter index |
A Couple Of Animals
Why Are You Calling Me So Late?
Just A Sucker With No Self-Esteem
Can't Help You Fix Yourself
Until You Make Me Move
Thoughts Arrive Like Butterflies
I'm Sorry You're Blue
Down To One Last Breath
The Silence Gets Us Nowhere
Can You Take It All Away?
|| tag list is closed || notifs via ao3 || ily <3!
you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude! No, he must bathe with his concubines, but when he sees you for the first time and doesn't even know you're his wife? Everything shifts, but it turns out he doesn't know that you're not happy to be here either. Leaving your past love behind and everything you know for a foreign country, just to be unwanted by your new 'husband' is almost enough to break you. You're ready to go through the motions, play your role, but do you really know who Emperor Gojo is?
pairings- emperor! gojo x arranged empress! reader
contents/warnings - Historically INNACURATE asf, some angst, depression, enemies to lovers, lots of dry humour, longing, mutual pining, explicit smut, court tactics, Satoru being a hoe, reader missing her lover Suguru, a fuck ton of drama and games, he falls first and he falls hard. This chap - oral (f receiving) p in v sex, semi public sex, possessive Satoru, heavy angst, evil Suguru, court plots against our pookies, love confessions, a mix of fluff/smut/ anddd angst <3 - 10.2k wc
art is by @3-aem they're insanely talented 🥹
Enjoy this messy long chap - sorry for the wait my loves <3
<<<part five - playlist - masterlist - part seven (soon)
part six
Satoru swallows down his nausea when he peers at a letter that’s all folded up laying on your table, you’re fast asleep, spent from the love making. This week back has been cruel to both of you, and his time is scattered, it’s torn between you, endless meetings, the three concubines left, and planning peace agreements with the neighboring territory.
He’s barely been able to see you.
Last night he met you in your room late, kissing you until you cried out, holding you against him and making sure you came as much as you could until you almost fainted. He woke up and gently brushed your cheek, admiring your pretty little face as the hints of morning shone in, before he stood and studied more about you, the things you’ve brought.
He wanted to learn more of who you were, he saw some pretty silver brushes that must be from your family, the pin he knew was from the night shoved in a drawer hastily he notes. It’s almost as if you threw the damn thing in there, along with a little bottle of that fragrance you wore constantly, the one that entrances him to no end.
But the note, he can’t help but look at it, knowing he shouldn’t but he unfolds it carefully anyway, jaw setting then. He worried it would be some sort of love note, he knows you cared for that dumb knight, even if it wasn’t returned, but the nature of the note in question has his heart pounding in his ears, hands shaking with anger that anyone wrote you like that.
It’s not an anger at you, it’s an anger that he got to touch you, when he clearly gave you some fucking counterfeit necklace you clung to for dear life, traipsing around town spinning his dumb fucking tales. Yet he can’t help but want to burn this and any note to the fucking ground when he reads its contents in a scrawled, elegant handwriting.
My princess,
Forgive me for this, but I cannot stop thinking of you, the essence of your perfect nectar slipping across my fingers, I must admit I hungrily sucked it off and got just a taste of your sweetness. Your innocence which I hold so dearly to my heart, I know you wish it to be taken, but we must wait, my sweet flower, I wish to take my time and cherish every part of you when we do.
The memory of that alone lives on in a loop in my heated mind, and I know it’s a certain death if this gets out, but how can I not write to you, how can I not memorize every movement? Every flutter of your eyelashes like a butterfly's wings when I curled my fingers, the way your teeth sunk into your plush lip? It will be ingrained, as is the sweet way you asked for me to take you.
Soon, princess, soon.
“Mnh, morning handsome,” you murmur behind him, eyeing his perfect form and exhaling. “This is a sight I could get used to.”
He says nothing, making you frown then, you sit up and stretch, just wearing a little slip of material, walking up to him now carefully, feet padding on the marble stone beneath you, cold and unyielding. Your hand touches his back and he tenses, the muscles bunching, not pulling back but not giving in, looking over his shoulder so you see the set of his jaw.
“Toru?”
“My mama calls me that too,” he murmurs, cursing himself now internally. He is mad, furious, sick that you have this, but how can he be when you originally were just dragged here, and he acted as he did?
“Are you okay?” He turns, and you see a letter open in his hand, feeling sick to your stomach. “Fuck I thought I got rid of them all, I forgot one.”
“You had many?” He asks, tense now, a hand crumpling it as he reads it. “The fucker really called your cunt a flower, and your juices his nectar huh?”
“Oh shit,” you back off then, covering your face. “Satoru, as soon as we became intimate, I burned them. I swear, please do not be-”
“Shh,” he halts you, easing your wrists down, you see his blue eyes glowing with anger. “I’m not mad at you, of course I knew you kept things from him. It’s just… it’s just it makes me fucking want to kill him for ever touching you, ever.”
“I know the feeling,” you murmur softly now, tears in your eyes, as you think of yesterday. “Seeing Jia on your arm, laughing and kissing you? It killed me, it made me nauseous, I wanted to throw her into the fucking river.”
“I’d gladly let you,” Satoru grimaces, running a hand across your cheek and setting the note down, the other hand slipping up your waist. “I know it hurts you, trust me sweetheart. I fucking hate that you have to endure this.”
You swallow nervously, your throat gone dry. “You’re really not mad at me? I expected you to burn it right here.”
“Oh, I’d love to burn it, but I am not mad at you for having it,” you blink in surprise, letting him cup your face possessively, fingers wrapping your jaw. “I know you’re all mine.”
“Greedy for me?” You tease, earning his groan, as he kisses you now, hungrily, backing you until your knees are against the foot board of the bed, an arm on either side, towering over you with hungry lips.
“Fuck, Suguru had no right to ever touch you, I swear to god I want to dismember him in front of the whole fucking country.”
You take a shaky breath, feeling his anger, the tenseness of his lithe form in front of you. “I won’t go to see him.”
“You can,” he exhales as he picks you up in his arms, letting your feet dangle off the floor, as you wrap them around his neck. “How can I tell you not to?”
Your forehead rests on his, as memories swim back, of yesterday morning knowing his hands were on her waist, but not like this, not like you. “You don’t kiss them like this, hold them like this.”
He shakes his head, swallowing down the guilt of having to do anything with them, knowing it hurts you. “No, I have never kissed or held anyone like you.”
“Then I’ll know you’re mine,” your tears slip down your cheeks, as he sets you down, feeling his own emotions rise. “You do everything to show me how much you care, please don’t mistake it, though I am… horrible at sharing things sometimes, please know I care too.”
“You’re not,” he shakes his head, brushing aside your tears in the quiet of your chamber, tears burning his pretty blue eyes. “Do you want to keep the note?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” He asks again, cupping your face tightly, kissing your forehead so sweetly. “He uses lofty, poetic words that I cannot.”
You lean back now, head falling so you can look up at him, brows going together, the sunlight filters and illuminates his pretty features, breaking your heart. “You do not need to use poetic words, I love your filthy ones.”
“Do you?” He hums a bit, hand slipping across your bare shoulder, exhaling and leaning low. “You don’t want me calling it a flower?”
“Call it a cunt,” you giggle even through your tears, and he can’t help but grin, before it falters, and he sighs, tugging you close, burying his head against your neck. “I thought you’d want to kill me just now.”
“No, just him,” he mumbles, then falters again. “Jia, she was all over me yesterday, grinding on me… I know you don’t wanna fucking hear but how do I just keep it inside?”
You ease back once more, and meet his gaze.
“I feel like I’m unfaithful and lying,” he swallows and brushes your hair back, sighing now.
“Satoru…”
“No, I feel horrible, like I have no control over shit when I ‘run’ the country, and all I do is hurt you.”
“You do much more, stop that,” you frown now. “You’re not being my cocky, conceited emperor. Where is he?”
“Wherever the conceited empress went,” you both are quiet for a moment. “I don’t want anyone but you.”
“I know.”
“My body didn’t even react,” he looks down at your pretty breasts, brushing his fingers across them. “Couldn’t if I wanted to, little witch and her spells.”
“I put a good one on you,” you want to tease, but it hurts, his pain – your pain, mingling together on your breaths as your lips meet once more. A gentle press, his strong hands against you, holding you so tightly. “If I don’t get my monthlies today, we will know.”
Any signs of them?”
“None yet,” you bite your lip then, brows together. “I’m scared it’ll take time to get pregnant, and we don’t even have time if…”
“I’ll put more cum in you then, and we’ll keep trying,” you blush now, so pretty in front of him. “I’ll drink your ‘nectar’ and all.”
“Lord he was something,” you laugh then, head against his chest, feeling it shake slightly as he chuckles. “I still haven’t gone to talk.”
“No?”
“No.” Satoru pauses for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. "Spit it out, Toru. I know that look."
“When he… when he fingered you, did you bleed?”
You pause then, frowning and nodding. "How could you know?"
Suguru’s tales make sense, he relished surely in the fact that he did ‘take your innocence’. Satoru sighs as you study him, rubbing the back of his neck. "A guess."
“Is that terrible?”
“No, not at all sweetheart,” he brushes your hair back gently. “If not gentle enough, and long enough fingers, you can break a maidenhead.”
“Oh… oh!? Oh god… and me and you…”
“It’s also normal to break it horse riding, anything, so do not feel terrible, I was still your first,” he tries to calm you as your brows draw together. “But he did say he ‘took it first’ so after this letter I was curious.”
“I thought I’d gotten some spotting or something,” you admit, remembering the confusion and how scared you were, it’s not like you could tell someone. “Is it why it didn’t hurt with you?”
“It didn’t hurt because you were soaked,” he teases now, sighing. “Dripping wet and easy.”
You heat up, flushed cheeks warm under his lips. “You're not upset at me?”
“Sweetheart I was a whore,” you giggle a bit then, nodding. “A complete whore actually, till you reformed me.”
“Are you reformed forever?” You ask softly. He lifts you now, big hands on your hips, moaning and kissing you gently.
“I am too susceptible to your witchcraft,” his kisses get more desperate, more needy. “Mnh I care not even if you'd laid with him, I just want to kill him for going around saying such.”
“He really did?” Your face has fallen, he nods. “Perhaps I should see him, to smack his face.”
There is a knock on your door, the two of you sigh.
“Another day of duty and not fucking your perfect cunt,” he feels you heat up at the comment as he presses you firmly against the bed, silky hair falling over a brow. “You're all mine tonight.”
“Am I?” He smiles and nods, so much still left unsaid, lingering in the air between you both, his arms on either side of you, pinning you there.
When would he build the courage to tell you he's fallen in love?
“If I have to…”
“Use Kiyotaka’s method?” You raise a brow, he grimaces at the thought. “I think it’s preferable to actually fucking-”
“As if I could,” he presses against you, hard and insistent. “From the moment I saw you in those baths you’ve had me ruined.”
“Oh did I? With my witchy ways?” You tease softly, he just studies you, carefully in the chambers you both now share, on the bed it’s nigh impossible to get you both out of some days.
“Acting innocent,” he scoffs – your hands trailing down his chest make his abdomen tighten, his breath hitching, looking down at a face he finds so fucking precious. “You knew the spells you cast.”
“Maybe so,” you tease, he hears the knock again and curses, glaring at the door. “Toru, if you have to… do what is needed, I’ll understand. I know how much trouble I cause with my jealousy.”
“Even if you weren’t, I don’t like doing things I don’t want to,” he brushes your hair back gently. “I think it’s time I change much about this country with you by my side, hmm?”
“I would enjoy that, too, you can do what you want, without… the shadow of the past.” You’re stroking his cheek, studying him calmly.
It’s not just the sex with you both.
It’s so much more, but the nerves get you, the situation gets you, when will you both just be able to enjoy this blossoming love?
*****
Suguru Geto did care for you.
He simply just didn't love who you were, what you stood for, everything about the monarchy in your country, but it was better there than this fucking empire. That white haired dick of a husband you have who has other women on his arm right now, but you seem perfectly content.
You didn't kiss him back, that wouldn't have bothered him before, you were just a game at first after all, just a pawn. His job was to use you to gain Intel for his group that was going to riot against your family, but god – every time he kissed your neck you would moan so pretty, you'd arch your back so he could kiss down your breasts, spilling secrets as he acted casual.
You were so painfully easy to manipulate, even easier to toy with, and Suguru loved that about you. How you confessed your love and spilled so many details his team could make sure to start wreaking havoc, to one day stop all of this archaic way of being, and usher in a new era.
The thing is, Suguru became fond of you in all those years together before he joined that revolution, and he knew you'd be hurt by this. It's why when you were promised he almost felt relief. He didn't want your death or assault on his conscience – it wasn't you who wanted to do all those things after all, you were just a girl when he met you.
Suguru was a little older, not by much but he'd already been through hell by the time his family adopted him and he became well respected. He saw the poverty you were too sheltered to, saw the corruption of your own parents who truly sold their daughter off without blinking an eye.
Yes, he had many of those necklaces you cried over, but he didn't expect your tears to hit him like they did. He didn't expect the assignment he had to be so sweet, for her pretty cunt to be so perfect, for her eyes to look at him with love.
Maybe he started falling then.
When he saw you again and kissed you, it was this piece of him that had been missing falling into place, like a missing part of a puzzle. You pulled back so fast he didn't get to really chase that feeling. Seeing your husband getting kissed across the way, locking eyes with Suguru and giving him a glare though?
He can't help but be upset for you.
If he had broken every vow and married you, got you against your own family, he would be having multiple partners.
“Thank you Sir Geto,” the former concubine Lola is in disguise as a lady in waiting, looking up at him now with pretty blue eyes. “You must want the empire to fall as badly as I do.”
Suguru had snuck her into the grounds as his servant, she apparently wanted revenge on Gojo himself. Suguru had no qualms about it, considering he could possibly get you away from him, and single handedly take down the empire – or at least, damage it.
She wasn't going to kill Satoru, but she was going to seduce him and make him ill, just enough time for Suguru to sneak you out of here. He already had the perfect disguise from Lola. She wanted Satoru back, for whatever odd reason. So she'd do anything – including getting herself pregnant so Satoru couldn't cast her away.
You'd be upset for a bit of time, but Suguru wants you back. The chaos at home and the uprisings, he planned on becoming the leader, and who better to bring a nation together than the country's princess?
“Of course, remember I want her,” Suguru’s tone is dark, she just giggles, she'd already sucked Suguru off at the bar last night but he can't say he's very interested. Just thought of you and how he wishes he could have had your lips around him.
“Good luck with her,” he raises a brow and she rushes off, you walk past her towards him now.
Yet you were furious when you finally did meet up with him, crossing your arms and raising a brow, so much smaller than the six foot four knight yet you held your own.
“Princess… I mean. Empress,” he takes your hand in his, seeing your scowl fade just a bit when you see Gojo. You shake yourself out of it, looking up at him instead.
“We can talk somewhere private, eyes are everywhere,” You're smarter than before, he can see you've grown, affection tugging at his heart, who you lead him to a quiet area surrounded by cherry blossoms. They fall and some land in your braided hair, Suguru delicately brushes the pink petals off.
“You're so beautiful,” he means that, but you're crossing your arms. “Can I not even say it?”
“No, you may not,” you bristle. “Care to tell me why you're telling the world you took my virginity!?”
*****
‘Do what you must for now, Satoru. I'll always know you want it to be me.’
The words echo in his head, making him furious with his current situation, he doesn't want to do anything. You know he must pleasure these girls at some point but how does it make it any better? How can he not be disgusted when it's not you?
“Satoru, please,” he’s getting lips kissed up his neck by Jia, he knows he’s likely going to fucking have to do something, but the thoughts are making him sick. He has this sinking feeling worrying about you that he can’t explain. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” he lies through his teeth, she’s grinding against him, but there’s nothing to grind against, how can he have excitement since he evil little empress entered his life? “I'm still so exhausted.”
“I know you were tired, but you can’t still be so tired?” She pulls back and bats her long blond lashes at him, pouty lips.
“I was at battle, it was physically taxing…” She kneels between his thighs now, hand paling his cock over his robes, Satoru sucks in a breath, jerking back and gripping her wrist.
She blinks when she feels nothing – his empress clearly broke his cock, and he's not mad about it. “Why are you not-”
“Um, hold on,” the last thing he needs are impotence rumors, however, he lifts her up and turns her, cursing with what he knows he's going to have to do.
Why couldn't you just come please them? At least he'd get to see his pretty empress lapping at a cunt and get some pleasure from it. As it stands he must hope that Kiyotaka’s ridiculous idea would work. He slips her skirt up, cringing at the fact that he has to put a damn fake cock in a girl.
It's not as big as him!?
Kiyo said it was, which may be an insult – But if she was foolish enough he could make it work.
“You're blindfolding me?” She giggles and Satoru just cringes. Hoping she's wet enough he wouldn't have to finger her upon all other things.
You approved of the idea but it's not okay with him even so, inserting it into her and watching her gush down it. Maybe at one point it would have been attractive or exciting, but it certainly wasn't now.
“Oh it feels so good! You're so big, mmm!” he sighs, clearly it is working but now he has to get this girl off without his own cock and he's not sure how to do it with such a contraception. He tries to angle it until she’s making all those noises he thinks he used to enjoy.
He can't wait to get rid of them.
He keeps thinking of you. You met with Suguru and he just hopes he doesn't mess with your head, he seems manipulative and if he hurts you Satoru will fucking kill him. The thought of killing him floods his mind more than the girl moaning and making a mess in front of him.
After she… is done or whatnot – He wasn't paying attention – Satoru has to kiss her even, perhaps that is the worst of it. He has to smile and play his role.
He immediately sinks into his copper tub after his dumb fucking meeting where the pretentious fucks at least seemed a little more satisfied than they were before. He supposes giving the women some pleasure and attention helped – they at least dropped the idea for another concubine, but there is no washing off how he felt
Laying back his eyes flutter shut, picturing how beautiful you looked this morning in his arms and hoping you will be back soon. Just thinking of you riding him in this tub has him aching, stroking it and wincing at how sensitive he is. But he'll wait to give it all to you, and hope that you're still all his.
****
You knew Satoru was probably using that fake cock Kiyo procured from the brothel, and you’re not happy about it of course, but you were okay with it. In a way it prevented Satoru from having to use his own and avoided rumors if it worked, but also he was making someone cum, he was kissing them.
That hurts.
Not in the way that you're upset with Satoru, if he could have already done so they'd all be gone now, but every girl was a delicate important part of a partnership with the empire. Once at least there were heirs the concubines could stay but Satoru didn't want any of them here anymore.
You don't either. But you understand, this was his world, and he just couldn't accept that anymore, he was ever so the man who wants to control everything he craves the power away from the elders and the ones that run things in secret.
You still don't know how you feel right now, the gnawing in your mind that you can’t focus on right now. All of the ‘what ifs’ – what if he did end up doing more, not because he wanted to but… because he needed to? You'd forgive him – you love him after all, but it would hurt if he did in fact enjoy one of them. What if their pretty tits and their cunts on his fingers got him throbbing?
You can't think that way, especially with a secretive Suguru standing in front of you. You raise a brow, his dark hair is long and flowing against his face. At one time not long ago, Suguru was everything to you, your comfort when Gojo didn't try to know you, the man who first touched you.
Who was he now?
“I shouldn't have said it, I was hurt,” you flush furiously now. “Yet I did make you cum first and I felt…”
“Clearly you got my maidenhead,” you struggle to even say it, blushing at the conversation. “I won't disagree, yet to run around and say it to strangers, to ruin my reputation? What have I done to ever deserve your cruelty?”
Suguru pauses, saying nothing for a moment, stepping closer. “You haven't done anything,” he cups your face, an arm wrapping your waist now, tugging you against his hard body. You pull back, but he doesn't let you go.
“Do you not remember I am married?”
“So only you are loyal?” You blink back tears. “I just saw him kissing two girls and you have to be a pure little flower?”
“You know nothing of him, or my life,” he walks you until you're pressed against a tree, the branches curling overhead and keeping you both enshrouded in the cool shade. You're sniffling back tears of betrayal and hurt that he brushes off. “He… cares for me…”
“He loves you?”
You swallow now, looking down, only to earn your chin being tilted back up.
Does he love you?
He hasn't said but it feels like love. You want his love.
“I would only see you,” his fingers slide across your face now, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I'd tell them all to fuck off and burn the empire down for you.”
You scoff, he's kissing down the side of your neck, hungry kisses that remind you of back then, but your nails dig into his tunic, shaking your head. “You wouldn't even run away.”
“I regret it,” you can't believe him, as he laps his tongue up to your ear, hands on your hips. “I’m so sorry,” Suguru cups your face gently and pulls back a bit. Your lips tremble as the familiarity hits, as he leans low. “I was an ass.”
“An understatement,” Suguru sinks to his knees in front of you. Making you panic as his lips kiss up the waist of your silk yukata. “Get up, what are you doing!?”
“Just at least let me taste you again,” he looks up with amethyst eyes, hands sliding up your thighs. “I dreamt of licking your pretty, perfect pussy so many times, of even seeing it.”
“You certainly cannot!” You kick at him only for him to snatch one of your thighs, fingers drifting up your stocking clad leg, slipping your skirts as you shove at his head. “Get up this instant before I have him behead you!”
He chuckles now, eyeing your cunt and moaning, his breath ghosting your inner thigh. You kick him off you and lose your balance, he buffers your fall and you brace yourself up, looking at a face you once held dear. The boy you grew up with, his huge hands grabbing your waist and grinding you on his length.
“I want your nectar all over me, to drown in your sweetness, your pretty rose just so dewy for me,” those words you read over and over. He leans up on his elbows now, cupping your face, his other hand slipping up your stocking and higher. “Prettiest girl there is. I'd only see you.”
You take a moment, shutting your eyes, thinking of the last couple months. When Satoru was cruel, when he kissed up Lola's thigh, when he flaunted them. Yet there are memories of him trying. Changing for you, turning them all down as you rode him on his throne, grinning so handsome when he came back from battle.
His love even if he doesn't say it.
You had a young love with Suguru, but there was nothing like what you felt with your emperor. You grip Suguru’s wrist before he can toy with your clit the way he used to, scowling down at him.
“It's a cunt,” Suguru pauses, raising a brow when you pin down his wrist, smiling meanly down at him. “A messy, slutty cunt.”
“Princess–”
“I’m not your princess,” you lean back and smack his handsome face sharply. “I'm a fucking empress, your flowery words won't work on me anymore. I assure you I cum harder than you ever could have made me.”
It's Suguru’s turn to scowl, yanking you back down when you go to stand, cheek reddened by your handprint. “So you don't want it all sweet and gentle? Oh princess, I could fill your messy cunt so full you'll be broken.”
“You're shit at dirty talk,” you smack his other cheek as he pins your wrists, your breaths making your chest rise and fall spastically. “I’m not so sweet anymore.”
“Yeah, I clearly fucking see it,” he grips your hair, slamming his lips upon yours only for you to bite him, he laughs, pulling back from you, his dilated eyes tracing the curves of your face, the swell of your breasts straining against your gown.
“Don’t you dare even look at my tits,” your words make him smirk up at you, swiping the crimson blood off his lip.
“I think I love you more like this.”
“You’re psychotic,” you stand now and grab your skirts so hard your hands hurt, only to make it a few steps before his words halt you.
“Don’t wanna know about your parents?”
You turn to him, lips swollen from his kisses, god your filthy words and the way you just hit him, bit him, threw him down? Your pretty breasts heaving up and down in that gown? Fuck you’re so pretty like that, it’s all he can think when you walk back up reluctantly, fingers twitching on your fabric, so different than what he remembers you wearing.
High cut gowns, corsets, intricate curls, you’re not that girl anymore, clearly judging even from your eyes. Perhaps Suguru never really knew you, and just knew the girl you’d been so raised to be, not a girl who smacks him and says ‘slutty cunt’. Then again, this was likely that fucking emperor’s influence, and as hot as you are, that infuriates him.
He doesn’t feel bad for whatever will happen to him.
Maybe he’ll feel bad that it’ll hurt you.
“What about my parents?” You demand, coming to him and tilting your head back to look into eyes that are making you furious, making you sick.
“There are uprisings back home," Suguru says, a calculating glint in his eyes, still dilated while they trace the curve of your neck.
“Uprisings?” You frown now, though your parents had essentially married you off, they were not cruel. Your mother had been kind in fact, and your father doted on you as a little girl, though of course you were not ‘a son’ which they still actively wanted.
It doesn't mean you want harm to come.
So absorbed in the whirlwind that was Satoru Gojo and this empire, you haven’t spared them all the thoughts that perhaps you should have. Guilt gnaws at you, under his annoyingly astute gaze, one that you currently can’t read. Was he being truthful, or was he manipulating you?
"Your parents are in a very precarious position, the commoners grow tired of them living in wealth while they starve. Something you know nothing about, hmm?” He tilts your chin up, nausea rolls in waves through your stomach. “Locked in your tower, and now an Empress.”
“I know pain, I know suffering in my own way, of course not in that capacity and I don’t pretend to know,” you blink hot tears, shoving at his chest. “Do you know the pain I went through when they sent me away with nothing!?”
“Did you even miss me?” You scoff, shaking your head in his grip. “Or miss the idea of me?”
“I could ask you the same Sir Geto, if you ever cared would you spread such rumors?” He pauses, jaw tensing.
“I was hurt how quickly you moved on.”
“It wasn’t my intention to fall in love…” Love, you love Gojo. Every moment torn apart from him is agonizing, unlike without Suguru where you longed for him, without Gojo it was like a piece of you was ripped out and bleeding.
“If you want to come back, I’ll make sure they’re protected,” you gasp, stepping out of his hold. “For you I would.”
“Make sure they are… are you involved!?” His lips purse together.
“As I said, you know nothing of poverty, especially in our home, it’s far worse than here.”
“If there are uprisings, I will use an alliance with the imperial forces, I wouldn’t leave my husband, leave my duty behind! How involved are you, Sir Geto?”
“I’m Sir Geto now,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I can just say they’re in danger, that’s all I can.”
You recoil from him like a reflex, a surge of anger bubbling up inside you. "You're manipulating me, aren't you? Using my family's troubles to control me?"
“You’re smarter than I knew,” your teeth clench so hard they hurt, unbelieving his fucking audacity. “I am not manipulating you though, I’m giving you a chance. I’ll be here another week if you change your mind.”
“I should have you killed now,” Suguru brushes a hand through your hair, hovering over you, you swallow, scared suddenly of him. “Do not kiss me.”
“I get it, you’re in ‘love’ with your emperor, who doesn’t love you enough to get rid of his other girls,” you shake your head, earning a sharp tug at the roots. “You think once the newness wears off he won’t want them?”
You almost throw up.
Your heart pounds so rapidly you feel dizzy, blinking back tears at his words – ones that are already in your mind, the insecurities that eat at you from seeing those beautiful women having access to the man you love. You trust Gojo, you do, but you worry that you won’t be enough, and Suguru seems to hone in on it like a cruel attack on your mind.
“A man like that from what I’ve heard? Isn’t into commitment, isn’t into anything other than having fun at his country’s expense.”
“You don’t get to pretend to know him,” your tears fall no matter how hard you try to keep them in, but you stand firm with your gaze locked. “If that day comes, where he doesn’t want me? I’ll go from there, but there’s no world where I don’t want him.”
“You said that to me,” his hands grip your upper arms. “You said I was the love of your lifetime, look how fickle you are.”
“Let me go,” you tug away for him to grab your wrist, turning you back toward him once more. “I said let me fucking go, Suguru. The only reason I won’t have him kill you is the memory of our childhood where you protected me. Though you never even wanted to, did you?”
“I take protecting you so seriously that I’m the one that fucking sent you away,” you gasp, and he curses, eyes shutting.
“You. What!?”
“It’s too much to explain-”
“You sent me to another country!? For what purpose? Then acted ignorant when you knew? Let me fall for you when…”
You can’t breathe, the pain Suguru puts you through in those moments is far, far too much, you rip away from him, ignoring him calling your name, rushing out into the now cloudy sky overhead and trying to catch your breath. Your heart pounds in your chest so loudly you think it will burst out.
You bump into a servant girl who has a little scarf wrapped around her lower face, looking at you and lowering her eyes quickly.
“I’m so sorry,” you manage to gasp out, she just bows and walks away, you don’t think you’ve seen her before. You have no time to think of that.
You need Gojo.
“How was the reunion?” Lola asks Suguru quietly, he sighs, eyes narrowing on your retreating frame.
“Something,” he mumbles, she touches his arm but he pauses, taking her hand off just as quickly as you had his. “Your plan, it cannot hurt her.”
“Of course not, I’ll make sure she doesn’t get hurt.” She rushes off, and Suguru wonders then – what were his feelings?
Anger, at the emperor, and disgust at himself at that moment.
He can’t just leave you here.
*****
Instead of sitting in your seat for dinner tonight, you rush over to Gojo, and his face falls when he takes you in his arms, holding you tight. The room empties quickly, Kiyotaka and Miwa both looking concerned at you, Satoru’s arms grip you closely as the door echoes with a firm close, leaving you two alone.
“Shh,” he doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you like this, crying to the point you’re sniffling, unable to speak, all while he rocks you gently, inhaling your hair and shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry if it’s because of me.”
“S’not,” you manage to mumble, shaking as the sobs wrack your body. “I just… can’t… I can’t do this… I c-can’t anymore, I j-just…”
“Sweetheart,” you’re nonsensical when he leans back and cups your tear streaked face, and it breaks his heart into pieces, swallowing nervously while brushing your hair back, sticky from your tears. “You have to take a breath, please.”
He sits you on his lap, brushing his hand up and down your body, aching to fix it, whatever it is – knowing some of it was beyond his scope right now, even as he had things in action. To see the pain he’s put you through wounds him to his core, the girl he loves crying so hard that her face is puffy and swollen, eyes bloodshot and glittering with fresh tears.
“I’m here,” he murmurs soothingly, you cling to him again, burying your face against his neck. “This is because of me.”
“It’s not,” you shake your head, sobs shaking your frame, Gojo hugs you closely, sighing. “What happened that makes you… think it’s that.”
Satoru pauses, sighing, you lean up to look at his eyes, welling with his own emotions. “Kiyo’s trick worked, but… I still…”
He can’t finish his sentence.
Your heart breaks more, anger at this situation makes you want to explode. They put you both in this, and you found each other, just to drag you both the fuck apart in every way imaginable?
“You didn’t um… you weren’t in her or…”
“Not at all, didn’t even have to use the fingers,” he crooks his lips up, a sad smile on his lips. “It still felt wrong. I can’t scrub my skin enough.”
“It’s good it worked, it gives us time,” you murmur, even though it hurts, and he knows it does. “I have my own reason for being upset, it’s not you. I knew your plan and told you I would not get upset.”
“What happened, then?” He eases you to sit on the table, his hands resting on your upper thighs.
“I need a drink for this, and so will you.” Satoru’s jaw tenses, swiping your tears first with the rough pads of his thumbs. “Trust me.”
“I’m fucking terrified if something got my tough little empress like this,” he tries to lighten the mood, like he’s not hopelessly in love and furious that likely Suguru has you this upset. He pours you a little dish of sake and puts it to your lips. “Take a sip.”
“The only time I’ll follow your orders,” you tease even while you tremulously sip the little dish, he laughs softly, pulling back and tilting your chin up, thumb swiping your lip.
“Who’s going first today?”
“I’m tired of that being a thing for us,” you admit. “Aren’t you?”
“Very, I’ll go first since yours seems more upsetting,” he sits back in the chair, hands brushing your calves underneath your silk dress, exhaling at just how beautiful you look like this. It’s hard to remember it’s not just the two of you. “I had to hold a fake cock.”
You snort and cover your mouth, he glares all pretty up at you, snowy lashes trembling with his anger. “Sorry, shit, I… oh my god…”
You’re laughing as he throws back a sake dish, snorting himself. “You mean little thing.”
“Sorry, it just sounded so funny and I needed that laugh,” you swipe your tears, leaning now, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Continue, I’m sorry.”
“Laughing at my expense, cruel empress,” he kisses you though, moaning against your lips before pulling back, frowning. “Making her cum was… it just felt so fucking…”
“Shh,” you kiss him once more. “No details then. It worked?”
“Yes, she made a mess and it was quite annoying, I bathed as soon as I could,” he shivers as if he’s disgusted. “The only squirting I’ll accept is from your cunt.”
The softly flickering candles of the cast iron mounts on the walls cast an ethereal glow across Satoru's chiseled features, illuminating the soft curve of his lips as he smiles at you, devious and cocky, so fucking charming you struggle to hold back those words threatening to spill in that moment.
You love him.
“Filthy man,” you brush his hair back softly. “Sometimes it’s so easy with us it scares me, when the world seems to want to crush it all.”
He’s quiet, long fingers wrapping your wrist, kissing the inside of it with a soft peck. “I know, I feel the same way about you. Basically she came, seemed happy enough and apparently thought the blindfold was kinky.”
“Would you use a fake cock on me?” You grin and he scowls. “What!?”
“I’d never even let you have the hint of another cock in that perfect cunt,” you’re throbbing as he leans close, a hand entangling in your hair. “If you liked anything but me inside of you? I’d fucking lose it.”
“I’d never like anything better,” you blush then, looking down shyly at your admission. “Bet you’re gonna be so cocky about that.”
“Fuck yes I am,” he grins, then sobers up a bit. “You’d know if it wasn’t my real cock, hmm?”
“Of course I would… so that’s all though?”
“A kiss which was maybe worse, but yes, she fucked off and then I met with Kiyo to make more progress. Now,” he stands up between your thighs again, pouring you another glass. “Tell me what made you that upset, and who I need to dismember.”
“Have another drink,” you order, he does just that, sipping one side of the glass, putting the other to your lips. “Like the wedding night.”
“It is,” he caresses your cheek, tasting the sweet rice wine mixing with your lips when they take over yours again. “Mnh, lay it on me.”
“Suguru, he…” How do you even say all he did? “He said there’s an uprising with my parents.”
“Shit, what!?”
“Yes,” you sigh now, looking up into Satoru’s baby blue eyes, lost in them for a moment, hands slipping up his arms. It’s quiet save for your own heartbeat thudding in your ear, the distant clinks and murmurs of servants and others walking around outside. “I’m not sure how much I believe him, but he’s got something to do with it.”
“I heard he was involved in that sort of thing, but your parents?”
“Mhm, it seems he wants to take them down, and the only way to ‘keep them safe’ is to go with him.”
Satoru’s hands tighten bruisingly on your waist where they rest, pulse hammering as rage fills him. “He's playing a dangerous and dumb fucking game against me. I’ll help them, I promise.”
“I know you will,” your thumb brushes his lip now in return, leaning close and resting your forehead on his, sighing. “He kissed me and…”
“What. The fuck. Did he do?” Satoru asks – feigning a calm, his eye goddamn near twitching at the thought of his fucking hands on you. You’re blushing furiously, trembling in his hold. “I will not be mad at you.”
“He begged to… taste my ‘dewy rose’,” Satoru’s gripping so hard you gasp. “Toru!”
“Sorry, shit…” He’s going to murder him in cold blood.
“I told him it was a ‘slutty cunt’ and smacked him,” he laughs then, cupping your face, seeing your shaky little smile. “Twice.”
“God I fucking love you,” it’s quiet then, it had come out so teasing, so natural, but your eyes lock, and the moment hums through both of your veins, until he sobers up, swallowing and stepping back just a bit, his hand tracing your body carefully.
“You love me?” You whisper, eyes glimmering with a fresh set of tears, he closes his eyes and takes a breath, before looking back at you, his heart hammering in his chest.
“I wanted to say that at the right time, but it just came out, and-”
You cut him off with a kiss that pours everything you feel into it, two hands on either side of a face you find so precious, pulling back to see his dilated pupils swallowing that azure of those irises. He just watches you, lips parted, breathless, your tears slip and fall down your gown, leaving little spots and blotches, trying to compose yourself.
“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” he exhales, kissing you deeper, tugging you against his hard body, lost in you then. “Mmm, I didn’t know w-when to tell you.”
“You love me?” He asks, voice heartbreaking, looking at your husband, your emperor…
Satoru.
He’s just Satoru when he’s with you, when he’s kissing you until you’re dizzy, when your thighs press on either side of your hips, arching desperately.
“Fuck everything right now, I need you.”
“Mnh!” He’s lost, pulling back, his hands gripping your hips to drag you closer, the dishes falling off the elegant table cloth, your hands braced on his strong chest, feeling the heat through his robes.
“He doesn’t get to touch you,” he whispers, you pause then, biting your lip, and he takes a pause, moaning. “I can wait. What else, shit…”
“He said… you’d move on, once I’m not shiny and new,” Satoru’s jaw clenches then. “That hurt the most, because it’s my fear.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no one but you,” your tears meld on his lips, wishing it was just you both, alone in your perfect little world. “Mnh, he’s trying to manipulate you, but guess what?”
You blink just a bit, dizzy off him, off the love he feels that you share, such happiness mixed with so much anxiety – yet all you can feel in this moment is that love.
“What?”
He smiles tenderly, gaze flickering across your face. “He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with, doesn’t even know you, how ruthless and smart my little empress is.”
You’re arching and kissing him again, all those thoughts swim from your mind – the fact that Satoru had to pleasure them, the fact that Suguru took shit too far, you can’t comprehend anything but that Satoru Gojo loves you. Real and tangible, pulling back with a desperate gasp, body humming.
“When you look at me like that, and I forget all about the world,” you say softly, lost in his ragged breaths, in how close he is. “I forget Suguru, I forget those girls, it’s all gone… and just you.”
“Then let it all be me,” he whispers into your mouth, his breath hot against your swollen lips, cupping your face so tightly. “All me, sweetheart, let me make sure you forget he did anything to you.”
“Please,” Satoru kneels right before you, parting your thighs.
“God tell me how you slapped him again,” you giggle, even through your tears, every emotion rampant as he toys with your clit. “Call it that again.”
“A slutty cunt?”
“Fuck I’m so in love,” your laugh dies as his fingers spread your puffy lips, kisses trailing over your stockings. “This cunt belongs to me.”
“Just you.”
He pauses, breathing ragged against the inside of your thigh, lips brushing lightly over the sensitive skin there, tickling you and earning your wanton moan, before you close your mouth as if to muffle the sound. He takes your hand off it, bringing your fingers to touch your own soaking wet cunt.
“Feel this? It’s all me,” he’s lost now, insanity filling his pretty blue eyes, thumbs tugging at your glittering lips, arousal pooling. Your finger lifts off, bringing it to Satoru’s lips, earning his moan as he laps it off. “Mmm.”
“All you, Satoru,” you answer back softly. “Only ever y-you.”
“Fuckkk,” he murmurs, voice thick and husky, his tongue drags up the length of your inner thigh, slow and deliberate and teasing as he drinks you up, precum drooling and making him ache. “He thinks he can fucking have you, huh?”
“He can’t,” you answer softly, gasping when he lifts you up with a smirk. “Where are we going?”
“Where everyone can hear me fucking my wife,” you blush furiously. “Those slutty concubines who are jealous, and your dumb fucking knight. Where does he stay, hmm?”
You’re throbbing now, letting him carry you with your fucking thighs wrapped around his hips, the palace echoes with the distant murmurs of people as he walks by casually. “You’re crazy!”
“I am,” he grins against your skin, passing several people until he eyes about the area all the guards are from your home country, sitting in the kitchens, he catches sight of Suguru then and smirks, earning a glare. “Ah, found him.”
You can’t look, you just cling to him and bury your face when he hauls you right into the study across from the kitchens, shutting the door and easing you down on a desk, spreading your thighs again. “You… here!?”
“Mhm, should echo good enough for him to fucking hear you scream my name,” he kneels between your thighs again, grinning up at you. “I want them all to hear you cumming, so don’t you dare close your pretty mouth.”
“It’ll be a scandal… it’ll… ah!” You can’t take it, the pleasure and desire mixing with the filthy thoughts of Suguru and the servants all hearing you, knowing they’d whisper it to the concubines.
You want this.
You cling to his silky white locks as he licks higher, desperately moaning, the faint echo of your gasps lingering in the room. “Love your cunt, love your taste, god I just fucking need you.”
It’s too much to remember propriety.
“After you cum?” He grins up at you. “I’m going to beat the fuck out of that man.”
“Toru!”
“Shh,” he’s rutting against his own palm, lapping that long pink tongue even higher. “All mine.”
When his tongue finally finds your core, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath. He licks into you like a man starving, one hand pinning your hips to the desk while the other grips your thigh hard enough to leave bruises, fingers dimpling in the plush of your thigh. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling sharply as pleasure coils tight in your core.
“T-Toru…”
“God, when you say that,” he palms his cock and moans, flicking his tongue up your slit. “And he thought he could taste this? Hah.”
Satoru’s lost in his anger, his jealousy, the need for you to be his and only his, forever. Never one day did he want to not have you by his side, on him, underneath him, lost in your essence, your scent, your beauty while he sucks your clit into his hot mouth and hums. You go to quiet yourself but stop it, finally just whining out his name, uncaring just like him.
You’re his, you belong to Satoru, all he can think of is the fact that you’re only his, that you’re made for him, that you taste so fucking perfect on his tastebuds. He had you first, he’ll be the one to only have you.
Your thoughts aren’t much different, no – spiteful, possessive, petty, you want Suguru to hear it too, you want all the concubines to know Satoru wants you, and only you. And that you are his – arching your hips up for more, hearing the hushed
“That’s it, fuck my face, make all that noise,” Satoru’s stroking his cock – your nails press into his scalp with your tugging, with your arching, cunt just drooling down his face. He drinks every drop up so desperately, the noises of just that alone so filthy, his cock pulsing in his own grip.
You gasp, tossing your head back, slamming the desk and making you cry out. You bite your lip, trying not to cry out as pleasure builds higher, his tongue relentless against your most sensitive spot, pausing and pulling back, saliva dripping in strings from where it was firmly planted on your slick lips.
“Sweetheart, let go,” he murmurs against you, flicking his tongue up with the lewdest sound, smirking. “Let them all hear who you belong to.”
Your hips jerk violently as you finally let go – you don’t hold back a thing, uncaring of just what the fucking court would think, in fact you hope it’s a scandal, you hope they talk about it. You hope all of those listening to your desperate whines and Satoru’s muffled moans realize it.
Even Suguru – especially him.
Touching you without your consent, trying to break you, those women and those people who just want to control and take you both away when they put you together, no it’s all too easy to spread your thighs wider and let the Emperor fuck you with his tongue. You let go so quickly, he knows every spot, a desperate little cry from your throat echoing as that orgasm hits you.
It’s so intense you can’t even see, that white hot pleasure just coursing over you in waves, gushing and pulsing all down his handsome face, earning his own soft whimper. Satoru laps at your mess greedily, drinking down every drop, his own cock ready to fill you, stretch you, but he lets it ride out, smirking as he hears those gasps all outside, the murmurs of conversation.
Fuck them.
Fuck Suguru, fuck the elders, and fuck those girls who say a goddamn thing to the girl he loves.
Loves, he loves you.
You barely have time to catch your breath and blink back your vision when your husband is flipping you around. “Bend over f’me, slutty empress.”
You’re all too eager, arching your ass up against him, your silk robes shoved up around your waist in mere moments, Satoru grips the base of his cock and moans when he finally gets that tip against you. The cold wood of the desk and the fluttering papers are doing nothing against your heated skin as he spreads you wide, hitching a knee on that desk.
His cock sliding effortlessly through your slick folds, making your head fall back, he leans over you, a hand on your throat. “Say it f’me,” he whispers, lining himself up with your fluttering hole. “Who does this tight little cunt belong to?”
“You,” you whimper when you feel that pink tip pop in with a filthy sound, lookign at him – drunk not just off the sake, but on him, both of your breaths converging. “Only yours, Satoru.”
Satoru kisses you, using one hand to brace himself when he fucks himself into you fully with just one mean thrust, drawing a filthy moan from your swollen lips, he pauses and groans, whispering your name, before he pulls back and slams in again, bruising your cervix. “F-fuck, that’s it, you’re s’good…”
His praise makes you wetter as he pounds your cunt in this damn study where everyone can hear, the sounds of skin smacking with every pummel of his hips loud, carrying through the thin door separating you both from the rest of the palace. All it does is make you wetter, more sensitive, letting him fill you so full, trying not to just scream with how he’s pounding your slutty hole.
“Ah- ah, louder,” he snaps his hips forward, pressing and exhaling, feeling you grip him like you’re ready to milk him dry, pulling back to lift your thigh even higher, until your other leg is just dangling, fully at his mercy. “Let them all hear how well their emperor fucks his wife, how they’ll never fucking get you.”
Each stroke sets a punishing rhythm, his tip brutally bullying your walls with every glide, tip grazing your spot in delicious drags that make you senseless. Coated in a sheen of sweat, cunt spasming and sensitive, his heavy balls hitting your needy clit in each smack, ripping every lewd and obscene sound from your throat.
“Satoru!”
In the hallway, you catch the sounds of them all, affronted clearly, Satoru chuckles and grins, leaning over you now. “That’s right,” he murmurs against your ear. “Let them hear how you take me, how you’re made for me.”
“For you,” you whisper desperately, feeling that pleasure building again, faster this time. “You love it, don’t you slutty emperor?”
“Says you, hah… pretty little whore f’me no one else,” you love it, the mix of his sweetness and his thick cock wrecking you. “Cum again, and again, let them all hear who I want wrapped around me.”
You are even more sensitive, lost in Satoru and his cock gliding easier and easier with how wet you are, arm wrapping and that hand sliding between your legs. “Ngh! Too much!”
Long fingers circle your clit with just the right pressure, pushing you to the point you can’t see, blackened fuzzy vision when he presses in so goddamn deep you feel him in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, clinging to his neck as he presses his heavy weight on you, his other hand leaving bruises on your hips, little marks of him he can kiss later.
“Love you,” you whisper again, testing the word on your lips, he pauses, fingers halting for a moment. “I do, love you. S’much.”
“I love you, fuck you’re all there is,” he kisses you again, moving slower now with those words in the air, the insanity of the situation fading. “Cum for me again, sweetheart, I want her milkin’ me for all this seed, fill you so full you’re round with my babies.”
That does you in, your cunt convulsing around him as your cunt does just that, milking him for all he has, he groans and follows you, painting your walls in white while desperately kissing you, drool spilling between you both. It’s messy, needy, desperate, his cock thrusting easier now, letting you swallow his moans, his cries.
You’re so shaky when he eases back with a filthy squelch, dripping your cum and his – your knees give out, he catches you with an arm around your waist, kissing you and turning you, smiling against your lips.
“Satoru you’re batshit you know,” he chuckles, his teeth glinting with that feral smile. “They all heard it, it’ll be…”
“The talk of the court,” he gently fixes your gown, peppering kisses on your sweat soaked brow. “Come.”
“I did.”
He snorts and kisses you again, the two of you slipping out to the several pairs of eyes on you all, Satoru grins at them, you see Concubine Jia, you see Suguru, the eunuchs of the court blushing and the servant girls whispering. Satoru’s robes are undone, you’re covered in his marks, as he looks directly at Suguru.
“Having a good night?” He asks everyone, raising a brow. “Something to say?”
“No! Your Excellence!” They all run off in different directions, Suguru’s jaw is locked, his eyes narrowed, studying the mess you are, you feel it and heat up in embarrassment.
“Let them see,” Satoru says softly, tugging you with him, where Suguru stands next to a servant, raising a brow at the man. “Ah, the failed knight. Heard you had some important information about my wife’s family?”
Suguru says nothing, just looking at you.
“I’ll have you in my aha…” he looks to the door open, the papers and ledgers strewn along the floor. “Study tomorrow, for a meeting. Sound good?”
He just inclines his head, Satoru unceremoniously lifts you over his shoulder like a goddamn cave man, but you can’t act like you don’t love it.
“See you tomorrow at noon,” as Satoru walks off with you, Suguru almost throws up in front of the entire room, seeing your giggling, flushed face as the tall man takes you away.
“You sure you don’t want to hurt her too?” Lola asks, Suguru shakes his head and scowls at her now.
“No. Only him.”
Lola just nods, turning away and glaring herself at that fucking display – before making sure she has just the right amounts of arsenic to take the girl Suguru and Satoru hold so dear.
She’s fucking tired of you.
ahhh so much drama ahead <3 I can't wait to get your thoughts!
synopsis: after so many years of trying and failing, you’ve finally found the one for you. he’s handsome, hardworking, and keeps to himself— sukuna’s perfect. well, in your eyes, he was. you're sure his victims would say otherwise. you're not supposed to know about them, by the way.
your boyfriend still has no idea that you snooped through his belongings while he was at work. let's hope it stays that way.
cw: toxic relationship, serial killer sukuna, obsessive reader, joe and love vibes tbh lol, smut, some fluff, angst, violence
notes: HAI WELCOME TO THE LAST CHAPTER!! im actually so surprised i finished this, i totally forgot about it until last week 💀 with that being said, if you've gotten this far, tysm for reading!!! 4.5k words, don't forget to check the end notes ❤️
m.list | part four | epilogue
“You’re really going to do this to me and our baby?”
For a second, he stops breathing. Pupils slowly dilating as his own feelings began to surge to the surface, drowning any and all reasoning in the process, like he’s always done for you. It was like clockwork— making exceptions, mindlessly bending his own will for you, even if it chipped away at the parts he had spent years honing. You were like a parasite.
“Stop it.” You can hear the desperation in his tone as he jerks your face in his hands, as if he were begging you to not make this harder than it already is. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I’m not,” you cry out, pushing yourself off of him hard enough to escape his grasp. You don’t take your eyes off of him as you slowly heave, trying to catch your breath. “The tests are under the bathroom sink if you don’t believe me.”
At first you think he’s going to lunge at you, everything from his stance to his clenched jaw says so. Instead, he rushes past you, going straight to the master bathroom. Minutes later you find him sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands. All four pregnancy tests scattered on the counter where he threw them, one positive test at a time.
He already didn’t want to kill you at first, how could he possibly go through with it now?
He lets out a deep sigh, but the shame doesn’t allow him to raise his head. “When did you take these?”
“On Monday,” you murmur, picking at your cuticles, keeping yourself at a safe distance from him. He doesn’t blame you. “I was going to tell you this weekend.”
Hearing the apprehension in your voice made him feel worse. You were supposed to be happy while telling him this, not while trying to leave enough space between you two, just in case you needed to get a head start from him.
He could try to convince himself that it was the pregnancy hormones that made you act up today, but he wouldn’t believe that. You were too calm earlier. He wouldn’t be touching a single hair on your head either way.
“Do you want it?” he dully asks, bracing himself for a no.
When you first found out, yes. But now? “I don’t know anymore.”
Again, he doesn’t blame you. He takes a deep breath before standing up, feeling his chest tighten even more from the way you took a step back. Instead of leaning against the doorframe, you’re now standing slightly behind it.
He could tell you to stop, tell you that he wasn’t going to hurt you, but why would you believe him? You can’t even look at him right now.
He can barely look at you either.
“Hey.” He uses a hushed tone, waiting for your eyes to meet his before daring to take another step forward. He holds his hand out, in hopes that you’d take it, but your arms never leave your sides, and he’s left cautiously inching himself closer towards you until he’s pulling you into his arms.
The aggressions gone, he holds you like he’d break you if he so much as breathed too hard.
“Whatever you decide to do, just know none of what happened today isn’t going to trace back to us.”
—
Ryu’s the spitting image of his father.
He’s got the pink hair, the same facial features, down to the same smile. He’ll probably have his height too, he’s a big baby. To think there was a time where you two thought the 6 lb newborn you brought home was going to starve if you didn't feed him on time. Now here he is at 10 months old, with the chunkiest rolls on his arms and legs.
“Got the milk monster all cleaned up?” Sukuna snorts at the sight of his son, who’s burrito wrapped up in a towel and smiling from ear to ear as you walk into the living room to show off how clean he is.
“I did. He was so nice too, didn’t splash me with water this time.” Ryu’s smile grows wider when you pinch his cheek a little, kicking his little feet around.
“Good job, kid,” he laughs under his breath, pulling himself up off the couch so he could take the boy off your hands.
Nights usually end with you two hanging out in the nursery, waiting for the boy to fall asleep.
He liked being a dad. He was terrified at first, but having him around genuinely made him happy. Ryu made life better. You two ended up moving into a bigger house that was closer to the shop. Not to mention you two were too busy being parents to even focus on others… let alone harming them.
He gets the itch every now and then, he’ll rarely scratch it. But when he does, he goes for someone easy— someone who really won't be missed. Makes the clean up extra easy, you know?
No extra steps, like scrubbing the absolute fuck out of the floor of his garage, or brainstorming different alibis while yanking someone’s teeth out.
The whole wrench incident still hit a nerve with Sukuna. He was a little more calculated and planned his kills. Then there was you, who literally popped up out of nowhere. You’re always quick to shut him up whenever you mention that he tried to kill you while you were pregnant.
Which he still feels really bad about, by the way. He was already starting to get cold feet to begin with— imagine how he felt when you dropped the news on him.
But of course, you two were able to maneuver through that dark period in your relationship. He has you and your incredibly lenient list of conditions to thank for that— one of them being: no more secrets.
He’s free to do as he pleases, just as long as he lets you know. Kind of a bummer given how it’s only been less than a handful of times he has gotten the chance to give you a heads up. But again, parents— busy.
You were also free to do as you pleased, just as long as you didn’t go about it so… irrationally.
“Ew, no. You seriously think I’d get my hands dirty like that again?”
Not the response he was expecting. He thought it’d be something a little more heartwarming. Maybe even be something you could bond over. All it seemed to have done was insult you, so he never brought it up again.
You two already had the baby and the new house to bond over, anyway. You had moved to a neighborhood closer to the shop when you were 4 months along. The house was bigger, had more rooms and a nice backyard for the kid to run around in one day.
A fixer-upper for sure, but you found yourself more excited than stressed over it. If anyone was stressed, it was him. He just randomly woke up one morning believing he had to build half the furniture himself or else it’d break after one use. A little dramatic. Though you’d admit, the furniture he built put the ones you bought to shame, even the crib that you’re watching your baby boy peacefully sleep in right now.
You hope he grows up and sees all the effort Sukuna puts into being a father as something that's normal— that being loved and cared for isn't something you have to beg for. You also hope you two don’t mess him up before that time comes either.
“He’s so cute,” you whisper as you wrap your arms around Sukuna, laying your head against his chest.
He whispers back, “I know,” before pressing a kiss against your temple, hand slowly tracing down your back. “We should practice making another one tonight.” You immediately frown at his response and he just smirks. “What? I said practice.”
You were on the fence about having a second one. He doesn’t mind at all. He actually wants a second one, but doesn’t try to push you. He doubts he has to— you practically melt every time you see him using one of those stupid baby carriers, looking like a real family man. He was convinced you just needed some time, that’s all.
He wasn’t wrong.
You weren't in a rush, not when your plan of turning him into an actual family man worked. He works 4 days a week now, so he’s home more. He got you a bigger house. A better car. Gave you the sweetest baby. Your life turned out exactly how you wanted when you first met Sukuna.
Maybe one day you’ll give him a sibling, but for now, you were content.
But practicing?
“Been waiting to sit here all day, huh?” he grins, his big, calloused hands grabbing your hips, holding you steady as you ride him on the couch.
“Yes,” you let out a sigh, still rolling your hips back. “I like being a mom, but do you know how nice it is going back to being me?”
“A slut?” he smirks, earning himself a smack on the chest even though you bursted out laughing at the same time as him.
“You’re so annoying,” you say, slowing down to reach for the glass of wine you’re sharing, though Sukuna may be sitting a couple inches too far from the end table.
He watches you with dazed, half lidded eyes as you struggle to grab the stem of it. “Careful,” he murmurs, grabbing onto your hips tighter so you don't fall, making you giggle some more before taking a sip.
You hand him the glass next, only for you to click your tongue in annoyance as you watch him take a big gulp. “This is the type of greed that they talk about in the Bible, you know.”
“I’m already going to hell, sweetheart.” He sets the glass back down, then pulls your body forward, pressing his feet against the floor. “You’re going there, too,” he murmurs in your ear as he slowly starts to fuck into you, pulling your hips down to meet each thrust.
“Mmm— don’t remind me.” You softly hum, leaning down further to kiss him, tasting the wine on his lips, then on his tongue as you swirl yours around it. He nips at your bottom lip when you pull back and your tipsy self just lets out an airy laugh.
“Then don’t complain,” he slides his hand down your ass before giving it a light strike. “You’re already drunk, anyway.”
“M’not,” you respond stubbornly, even though your words come out slightly slurred. “You’re making it really difficult right now.”
“You poor thing,” he murmurs, as condescending as always, “too busy getting your pussy stuffed to get up and grab another bottle, must be rough.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you just sipped on it.”
He snorts, eyes tracing down to your chest, smirking when an idea pops up in his head. “Here–” You let out a sudden gasp when he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks on it, as if it solves the problem. He holds you still so you don’t push away when he starts to flick his tongue over it, making you squeeze around him trying to bite back a moan.
All it does is make him pull your hips down and grind you harder against his cock, until you’re out of breath, left with no other choice but to let out all the little sounds you’ve been holding back.
There’s a lew pop when he pulls his mouth back. “Can’t complain now, huh?” he taunts you, still grinding you against him. “Fuuck yeah– you like it when I’m nice and deep like this.” His hips snap up again, pulling another little moan out of you.
“Mhm,” you nod, trying to hold yourself up without sinking your nails into his chest, arching your back as he starts snapping his hips up again, and again, and again, until your eyes are rolling back and unable to form a thought outside of how good he feels.
“Fuck– yes, yes,” you begin to whine, “oh my god— right there.”
“Yeah?” he rasps, gripping your hips tighter as he starts picking up the pace, filling the room with the messy sounds of him bouncing you on his cock, “that feel good?”
“So good,” you desperately nod again, moans broken up from each thrust, “don't– don’t fucking stop– please.”
Hearing you beg goes straight to his dick— he fucking loves it when you need him.
“I’ll make you cum baby, don’t worry,” he lets out a low laugh, and you’re too fucked out to think anything of it when he has you wrap your arms around his neck.
“Ready?”
“For what?” you’re still giggling, so blissfully unaware of the plans he has to turn them into screams. He doesn’t answer and instead abruptly stands up at full height, with every inch of his dick still buried inside of you. “What are y– Kuna!” you cry out, holding on to him way too tight for someone that’s supposed to trust him.
Not that he really cares right now.
“Just hold on to me, alright?”
It was more of a warning, and you listened, because holding on to him quickly became the only thing that grounded you.
He has you in tears, immediately. Driving his cock into you at an insane pace, dropping you down to meet each thrust. Legs helplessly swinging in the air as he bounces you up and down his length. The rooms filled with the filthy sounds of him pounding into you– there’s an obscene squelch every time his hips smack against yours, and both are almost as loud as all of the sounds his dick forces out of you.
“Fuuuck yeah– look at that,” Sukuna groans as he plants a foot on the couch, making it easier to watch the creamy ring at the base of his cock thicken. He doesn’t even realize he’s fucking into you at a new angle until the sounds of your moans start to grow desperate. “Oh shit, you like that?” he laughs, continuing to bounce you up and down his dick, making you feel every inch and every vein.
“Yeah,” the spot he starts to hit pulls a drawn out moan, “mmm– keep going.”
“Bouta cum aren’t you?” he lightly teases you, dragging himself over your sweet spot, over and over again. You nod in response, looking absolutely spent. He snorts and leans down to mutter in ear, “Be a good girl and show me then. Think you can do that?”
“Mhm, just– keep going, feels so good.”
He keeps going at the same pace, staying on the certain spot that drove you crazy, letting his fat tip drag over it until your moans rose in pitch and face scrunched up, on the verge of overstimulation.
“Fuck. I’m gonna–” you choke out, starting to tremble in his hold. “I’m gonna– nghh.”
He’s an impatient man. One particularly rough thrust is all it takes to make the orgasm completely rip through you, leaving you a crying, gushing mess while Sukuna starts to talk through it.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans, still working you through it with deep strokes. “Shit– look at the mess you’re making. Keep fuckin’ going.”
And he meant it when he told you to keep going, you were limp by the time he finished dragging it out for as long as he could, leaving you out of breath and your legs shaking when he finally set you back down on the couch.
“You alright?” he asks, running the back of his fingers down your cheek, admiring the little post sex glow you had.
“Yeah,” you murmur, turning to him and forcing yourself to open your eyes. “Did you finish?”
“Nope,” he didn’t mind breaking it to you, it was only 9:00 anyways. “I’ll let you take a break though.”
“How sweet of you,” you respond sarcastically. All he does is kiss your cheekbone in response, before getting up and walking back into the kitchen.
He comes back less than a minute later with a new bottle of wine in his hand.
“Want it?”
You take a moment to think about it, and your responsibilities as a mother of a baby that wasn’t even a year old. You sigh at first, but then remembered Sukuna had a high alcohol tolerance and the day off tomorrow.
“Will you watch Ryu in the morning if I wake up hungover?
He smiles, twists the bottle open, and flicks the cap off, sending it flying across the room.
“Yes.”
—
The trunk of the SUV opens with a muffled hiss. Sukuna doesn’t let the door fully open before tossing in a giant case of bottled water into the car, as if it weighed nothing to him. Ryu’s sitting in the grocery cart, babbling and chewing on his teether, unphased by all the noise his father makes as he loads the trunk with various household essentials.
It all goes in one ear and out the other, despite the watchful eye he keeps on his son. He’s pretty much on autopilot as he loads the car, until he hears Ryu throwing out the only word he knows how to properly say.
“Mama.”
How demanding. Sukuna turns his head to the boy and huffs out a laugh, “I know. You’ll see her in a minute.” His smile grows as he watches his kid kick his feet around and babble something else. “You got a lot to say for someone that hasn’t said Dada yet, y’know that?”
“Ada,” Ryu bounces up in his seat.
Sukuna shakes his head as he reaches for a bag of rice, “close enough.” There’s still a smile on his face when he feels his phone start to buzz in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls it out to see your contact photo on the screen, ready to chastise you for making Ryu a mama’s boy when he swipes to answer.
“We’ll be home soon— kid’s already asking for you,” he says, thinking that’s what you called him for. You usually ask him to turn facetime on so you could see Ryu, so he waits, but you don’t ask.
You don’t say anything.
It takes him a moment to realize the faint noise in the background is your breathing. It’s restrained. Shaky. He still tells himself the connection’s just bad.
“Can you hear me?” he asks, trying to not sound too concerned as he throws the last item into the trunk. Seconds pass, he grows impatient. “Babe– you there?”
Your breath catches and it immediately makes his blood run cold. His grip on the shopping cart tightens, pulling it closer to him out of instinct as he listens to your breathing worsen. It grew labored, like you were about to break out into a sob at any second.
“Talk to me,” he almost snaps, just barely keeping his composure. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
“N-no. I– fuck,” you start to whimper, but then stop.
“You what?” he responds through a clenched jaw, all concern and confusion coming out as frustration. “Baby you gotta tell me what’s going on.”
“Something happened,” your voice trembled, taking a sharp breath after.
He quickly closes the trunk, then takes Ryu out of the cart before kicking it into an empty parking spot. “I’m on my way right now, stay on the ph–”
“Don’t bring Ryu here,” you frantically cut him off.
“Why not?”
“Don’t bring him here,” your voice breaks, bursting out into a sob as you begin to beg him. “Please— don’t bring Ryu here.”
“Where the fuck is he supposed to go then?” he scoffs and begins to argue with you, “I can’t just leave him in the car–”
“I don’t know! Fuck! I don’t know– leave him at Jin’s,” you continue crying and pleading with him, not letting him get another word in. “Just anywhere but here— please.”
Maybe if you weren’t going into a full blown crisis, you’d be able to imagine the look on Sukuna’s face right now as he imagines what could’ve possibly happened to you.
Better yet, what you could’ve possibly done.
“You better not move an inch until I’m there,” he sharply says, using a tone that’d scare anyone off, “do you understand me?”
“I won’t,” you whimper, just glad he’s coming back alone.
He tries not to think about it while he drives to his brother's house, for the sake of sounding like everything was okay despite randomly dropping his kid off with him. It’s when he’s speeding back home to you, the pit in his stomach growing as he keeps a lookout for cops, when his mind starts to run wild.
All the possibilities race through his mind, up until he steps foot into his home. It’s eerily quiet. For a moment, he thinks of how beautiful his home is— the high ceilings, the natural light, how you did such a good job coming up with a color scheme. You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone, and for Sukuna, he didn’t appreciate how much room there was to breathe in his home until he suddenly found himself suffocating in it.
The image he had in his head wasn’t too far off from reality. Not like it was some crazy conclusion he jumped to— can’t be that surprised about being right when it’s something that’s happened before. So no, when he finally catches sight of what you called him crying about, and realizes he underestimated you, he’s not surprised.
He’s speechless.
You used a fucking knife this time.
And he told you not to fucking move, so you’re still holding it. Frozen in place, save for the light tremble. There’s blood smeared all over the blade and your hand. It’s splattered across your cheek too. You’ve also been crying, so some of your tears cut through the stain and left behind a trail of faint red streaks.
There’s a body that’s awkwardly leaning against the kitchen island. It’s sitting in a pool of blood that stretches far enough to reach your feet, and now your favorite slippers are ruined. Lucky for you, you’re at the very edge. You can just slip out of them and step on to the dry part of the floor.
Sukuna takes another look at the body and rolls his eyes when he realizes it’s an ex-girlfriend. At least this one won’t have many people wondering where she is, he doubts anyone will even report her missing.
His silence eventually gets to you, making your eyes begin to tear up and bottom lip quiver. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle.
You don’t feel bad for what you did— he can tell by how you looked at her dead body, all disgusted, like this mess was all her fault. The only thing you’re sorry about is making him clean up after you, long after he told you not to attack people on a whim.
You claimed it was a fluke at the time, but it’s still all he’s ever really asked of you, so he doesn’t acknowledge the apology.
“What did she say to you?” he murmurs, already knowing she said something you didn’t like.
And of course, he’s right. “She came knocking on the door, asking if you were home,” you say defensively, clearly getting annoyed all over again, “and then she started talking about how she wanted to catch up with you.”
“So you lured her inside?” he pinches the bridge of his nose, unimpressed by your answer.
“She asked if she could wait for you inside,” you correct him, as if telling her to fuck off wasn’t an option. “I tried being nice to her but then she kept talking about you like she wanted to fuck you.”
That’s where he decides to stop— there isn’t one question that’ll get a reasonable answer out of you. At this point, it’s on her for asking to come inside. He shakes his head and sighs, walking over to one of the cabinets to grab a trash bag and shakes it open.
“Alright,” he says flatly, rubbing the stubble on his jaw as he looks over the literal crime scene one more time. “Step out of the puddle– stop, leave the slippers there– good.”
He stands there for a moment, going through a mental checklist and wondering where he should start, when you ask him a question.
“Would you have let her in if I wasn’t home?”
You couldn’t help yourself, but also kind of regretted it when he swung his head around to look at you like you were stupid.
“What do you fuckin’ think?” he harshly asks, irritated that you even thought to ask in the first place. To no one's surprise, it hurts your fucking feelings, so he drops the glare and actually answers. “No. Now strip.”
He holds the trash bag out and you begin throwing in pieces of clothing one by one, starting with your sweater. “You’re not mad?” you cautiously ask, throwing in your leggings, then your socks. By the time you're standing in front of him in nothing but a bra and panties, he’s still wondering if he should lie or not.
“I’m not.”
He is.
It’s not so much at you anymore, it's the fact that he can get mad at you and it changes nothing. Not even if you straight up told him that this will continue to happen. You don’t even have to tell him, he knows it will.
“Go wash yourself off,” he murmurs, “I’ll take care of this.”
It’s like clockwork. Killing off his own reasoning, all so you’d stay right where he placed you– suffocating any and all logic he had, just so he wouldn’t question it.
You are the little bird he caught and locked away in a cage.
He put you there.
He clipped your wings.
He swears he did.
You pretend not to notice the way he starts to fight with himself all over again. It’s not often, but it’s always right after you catch him looking at you in a way he can’t explain.
He’ll still try— and try, and fail, and try, and he’ll almost get it— almost. But then, he’ll start to feel unease, it’ll start to feel like something went wrong, like he got into something he should’ve have. He always ends up with the same feeling.
Like something’s off.
And it’s visceral— sinking into his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck start to raise, he’ll s—
“Thank you, baby.”
He doesn’t respond. Not that you were looking for one. You just needed him to snap out of it, and he did— abandoning whatever thought that was making his spiral.
It wasn’t you. It was his own guilt starting to take over, a feeling he’s grown more than familiar with now ever since he put you behind a lock and held on to the key.
For what it’s worth, getting to look into your eyes for as long as you’d let him was worth the guilt.
“Hey,” he murmurs, catching you right before you disappear into the hallway. You turn around, raising your eyebrows as you wait for him to talk. “I’m still not okay with this, but I don’t want you thinking I love you any less. Alright?”
“Okay,” you smile and shuffle in place for a moment, “...can I have a kiss then?”
He tries to take you seriously, but huffs out a laugh, “Fine.”
You like it when he looks into your eyes too, even if he’s always mistaken the look you have in them for love. Even now, with your face only inches away from his, he still doesn’t see the way they darken from satisfaction.
You’re starting to think he’ll never be able to tell the difference.
There wasn’t much of a difference when it came to you, anyway.
You love your possessions.
notes: i'm literally just throwing random details out rn. first and foremost, if reader wasn't pregnant, he would've backed out of killing her, but at the very last minute. she'd also stay, bc reader is reader. she probably would've gotten pregnant right after LMAO. she knows that too, and isn't phased by it bc she knows he chooses emotion over logic when it comes to her, but she does bring it up if she wants him to feel like shit.
reader is the parasite btw 🥳 one thing i wanted to bring up is how sukuna's secret came to light, but not so much of readers. like he knows she gets jealous and kills people, but he's obv in denial abt her. his whole thing is "i fucked HER up, i snatched her off the streets, i babytrapped HER. I'M the serial killer," when really it's the other way around, she just lets him think that bc he'll literally start fighting with himself.
her obsession with him started the moment the she laid her eyes on him. he kinda clocked it (her being off, not obsessive), which is why he tried to kill her (the whole uncanny valley thing, the look/feeling he couldn't describe was and is still something that set off alarms for him on a spiritual level 💀), but she was like no we're gonna be together 4 ever! if he left her, she'd fucking KILL him omg
i also hope some of you caught the small details with reader/ryu and the baby trapping thing. she got pregnant around the time her jealousy started to pick up (when she was sending all the women to gojos shop lol), but even with her reason for having a child, she really does love him and i tried to show that through her briefly talking about her hopes for him (that he's loved and they don't fuck him up) and then her freaking out and begging sukuna not to bring him home, because she does not want to fuck him up (even tho he wouldn't remember hehe)
that's all i can think about for now! feel free to send an ask tho if you had any questions ❤️❤️❤️
synopsis: after so many years of trying and failing, you’ve finally found the one for you. he’s handsome, hardworking, and keeps to himself— sukuna’s perfect. well, in your eyes, he was. you're sure his victims would say otherwise. you're not supposed to know about them, by the way.
your boyfriend still has no idea that you snooped through his belongings while he was at work. let's hope it stays that way.
cw: toxic relationship, serial killer sukuna, obsessive reader, joe and love vibes tbh lol, smut, some fluff, angst, violence, more to be added
notes: barely proofread!! please read through the warnings, enjoy <3
m.list | part three | part four | epilogue
Sukuna liked hurting girls.
Hurting them. Not so much killing them— most of his victims were men, after all. He liked how he didn’t have to put too much work into hurting them either. All it really took was making them realize he didn’t love them as much as they thought he did to see that look. It’s the same exact look he sees in his victims eyes when they realize that, yes, they really were going to die.
Something about seeing the loss of hope, how the world didn’t stop for them, was really satisfying for him.
But, notice how he said most of his victims were men? There were a few women sprinkled in there, ones he chose carefully, all for different reasons. They never really suffered though, he always ended up snapping their necks after watching them cry for a few minutes after learning he was going to cut their stories short.
You were supposed to be one of them.
It wasn’t because you were being a brat, or because he caught you looking around the shop like it was a dump, clutching on to your little purse while your kitten heels clacked around the oil stained floor. His ego wasn’t fragile. You were supposed to act like that. Like you were better than him.
Then you turned around and looked at him the way you did.
To this day, he still couldn’t explain it.
It wasn’t just interest. It was almost as if you could tell he was capable of doing very bad things to you. You looked like you wanted to see him do them too, and he wanted to prove to you that he could, just not in the way you thought.
That was the plan after your first date, yet instead of driving you to your grave, he drove you back home. 15 minutes later he found himself on your couch, with his head thrown back and legs spread wide, slowly rocking you back and forth against his growing bulge while you kissed on his neck, tongue and all.
He doesn’t recall fucking anyone as hard as he fucked you that night.
There’s a lot of people he regrets not killing. You aren’t one of them. He likes talking to you, likes fucking you, likes coming to home to you and waking up beside you.
He loves you.
He really does.
He doesn’t have to do much to prove it either. It’s in the way he never bothers to open his eyes when he first wakes up in the morning— nuzzling his face deeper into the crook of your neck instead, holding you closer against him.
It’s in the way he does his best to hide you from the world. He enjoys taking care of you, wants to be the only one you run to for help. He likes protecting you, even though it’s people like him that you need protection from the most.
It was selfish.
He knows he should’ve left you alone, yet instead, he lured you in and turned you into some sort of caged bird. The worst part is he doesn’t regret it. Not even when he thinks about how much you could be doing with your life right now.
He wants you here, in his bed, well within reach.
Sometimes he wonders what he’d do if you ever tried to leave. It makes his mind wander off to a place he’d rather not go to when thinking of you. It was actually quite shameful, the things he’d resort to if you ever tried to split from him, which is why he doesn’t ponder on it for too long.
You stir a little bit in his hold, taking in a sharp breath and wrapping your arms around his neck. The room was chilly in the mornings and he was warm, not to mention you’re naked, like you always are. He opens his eyes a little to see you haven’t bothered to open yours at all, and once again, he feels no regrets. Not with how hard you cling on to him.
It’s starting to get lighter outside. The sun’s starting to peak through the curtains and there’s a faint sound of chirping from different directions. He hates that it’s a Friday, he’d stay with you like this all day if he could. “Gotta get up,” he mumbles against your skin, before pressing a kiss over it, then another one right under your ear. It takes you a moment to answer after your initial sigh, and even then it’s a little, “kay’.”
He’s gone and out the door by 8:30 am, leaving you to sleep for another couple hours before you eventually force yourself out of bed to make some coffee.
You don’t have much of a routine to your day. Sometimes you stay in bed all day, sometimes you get yourself ready and run around town, doing a bunch of little errands. You’re not exactly sure what to do today, you just know you want to get out of the house for a bit.
You let yourself think about it while showering and getting ready. By the time you’re done applying the last coat of mascara to your lashes, you decide you’re going to surprise Sukuna with some lunch at work. It’s nothing fancy, just rice and stir-fry with some gyoza on the side. Definitely a lot better than the instant noodles he’d sometimes eat when he’s in a rush, you know he appreciates it, too.
It’s a little after 12:00 pm when you get to his shop, and the first thing you hear while walking up to the garage is this irritating giggling that should not be in the shop unless it’s coming out of you. It stops you in your tracks, just a few feet away from their view, and you decide to stand there and wait.
“Hey, uh– you don’t happen to be doing anything tonight, do you?”
“Taking my girl out to dinner probably,” you hear him say, sounding as uninterested as he should be.
It should be enough.
“What a lucky girl— snatched you up before anyone else could,” she does that infuriating giggle again, still sounding pretty optimistic for someone that will never have a chance, “well… if that doesn’t work out, feel free to give me a call sometime.”
You don’t really catch what Sukuna says after, your ears immediately started ringing after that. All you know is you hear the door to his office shut and you’re turning the corner seconds later. She’s standing there, patiently waiting for him to come back outside with her bill.
She turns and smiles when she notices you, thinking you’re just another customer or something with how calm you look walking into the garage.
You smile back. It’s warm, non-threatening. It makes her comfortable enough to take her eyes off of you as she continues to wait.
She doesn’t see you grab the nearest wrench and doesn’t turn to look back at you until it’s too late.
There’s a sharp crack, followed by a soft thud.
You stare at her for a moment, as if you were waiting for her to get up and fight back or something. When you realize she never will, you turn your head back in the direction of the office.
The door is wide open at that point. Sukuna’s frozen and as pale as a ghost, trying to process what he just witnessed— in his business, in broad daylight. Trying to process how fucking easy it was for you to do it.
“What the fuck,” he breathes out, eyes widening at the unresponsive body at your feet before ultimately losing his shit. “Why the fuck would you do that?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“I don’t– I don’t know.” The reality of it all finally hits you, and you slowly start to panic. “I just overheard what she was saying and–”
“And what?!” he cuts you off, yanking the tool out of your hand and scoffing at the blood that’s on it because of you. “You thought that’d be a good enough reason to crack her fuckin’ skull open with a wrench?” He’s livid, running a hand down his face and cursing under his breath.
Of all fucking things, you just had to use a wrench.
He crouches down and you begin to panic some more. “W-what are you doing?”
“Shut up,” he snaps at you in a threatening tone. He feels for a pulse and gets angrier when he realizes that she’s still alive. Neither of you were going to get out of this without any serious consequences, so he does what he thinks is best and snaps her neck. “Go home.”
“But Kuna, I–”
“I’m not fuckin’ around with you right now,” he warns you, standing up at full height and pointing in the direction your cars parked. “Go home.”
—
Hours go by, and you do nothing to fill it, staring at the wall until it’s well into the night. You know exactly what he’s doing, he’s cleaning up with the mess you made, and then covering it up so that the girl's disappearance doesn’t trace back to either of you.
And you’re scared, not of the police, but of Sukuna and what he’d do. You’ve never seen him that mad before. Ever.
You don’t realize he’s home until he’s slamming the door shut behind him at full force, making you startle out of your skin while the entire house rattles. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stops and stares at you. His eyes are dull and his hair’s messy like it is in the mornings. The longer the silence stretches on for, the more you shrink into the couch, waiting for what he could possibly say to you after today’s events.
He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s been too busy burying a fucking body to even think about it, pissed off the whole time over how you couldn’t control yourself, how messy of a job you did. Where should he even start? It wasn’t just you that did something, it was him too. You watched him snap her neck, it’s obvious what he’s been doing the past several hours. There’s still blood and dirt under his fingernails because of it.
And of course, when he finally does say something, it’s not much. You can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done today?”
“I’m sorry,” you stand up from your seat, slowly walking up to him.
It’s sincere, you sound like you mean it, but that doesn’t matter.
“Someone’s dead because of you, and all you have to say is sorry?” he laughs bitterly, running his hands through his hair for the hundredth time that night. “All because, what? You didn’t like what she was saying?”
“You told her that you were taken and she didn’t stop!”
“That doesn’t mean you can go ahead and try to KILL her!” he snaps, reminded all over again that this was all caused by jealousy, even after he declined her. Not once, but twice.
There’s a strong gust of wind that hits the windows shortly after, as if the heavens were just as angry at you as Sukuna was, and you feel yourself begin to crumble under the weight of his stare
“Like you’re any better,” you mutter under your breath.
You shouldn’t have said that, because his demeanor changes instantly.
“What did you just say?” he murmurs, eyes suddenly zeroing in on you, like you’re next. You don’t repeat yourself, you just continue to stand there with your arms crossed, looking anywhere but into his eyes. It’s so quiet right now that you could hear a pin drop, the only thing that interrupts it is the threatening sounds of his footsteps as he walks closer to you. “Say that again,” he dares you.
You continue to ignore him, even as he gets closer. It’s not until he grabs your jaw and lifts your head up when you finally look at him. “Say it again,” he repeats himself, like it was the last time he was going to do it.
“You heard what I said,” you stubbornly respond, trying to turn your head away from his hold, but finding yourself unable to do so. No, it didn’t hurt, but you could tell he was going to make it hurt if you tried that again.
“Alright, then.” He laughs, and it’s fucking dark. “Wanna tell me what the fuck you meant by that then?”
“I’m sure you know exactly what I meant with the way you’re acting right now.”
“Oh, I know.” He lightly hums, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and yanking you closer to him. “Are you sure that’s something you wanna accuse me of, sweetheart?”
“You’re acting like I didn’t watch you finish her off.”
“And that didn’t seem to bother you at all, did it?” he asks, using his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before wrapping it behind your neck as well, now holding your face with both hands. “Tell me, how long have you known?”
He doesn’t sound angry anymore. There’s resolve in his tone, as if a suffocating weight has just been lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe again. It’s quite rattling, given how his grip on you hasn’t loosened.
“Does it matter?” you nearly whisper, heart starting to pick up knowing he could snap your neck right here, right now, if he wanted.
“No– guess not.” He softly kisses your forehead, then smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess it just sucks, this little dream of ours is over.” It’s not even a threat at this point, it was reality. A promise, even. What did he look like to you? Some movie villain that had finally found the one that was as crazy as him? No. It didn’t matter how he felt about you anymore, you were a liability.
Your eyes widen, giving him the same look so many others have given him in the past. He must admit that this time around, he doesn’t enjoy it. Seeing you in a situation like this made his chest tighten. The time he spent with you truly was a dream. He wanted to look into your eyes for the rest of his life.
He loves you.
He really does.
The tears start to well up, and your heart starts to break right in front of him, and his chest tightens some more. He was going to regret this so fucking much. He knows he really shouldn’t, especially when he already knew the sight of you right now was going to haunt him until the day he died, but he lets you have your last words anyways.
“You’re really going to do this to me and our baby?”
synopsis: after so many years of trying and failing, you’ve finally found the one for you. he’s handsome, hardworking, and keeps to himself— sukuna’s perfect. well, in your eyes, he was. you're sure his victims would say otherwise. you're not supposed to know about them, by the way.
your boyfriend still has no idea that you snooped through his belongings while he was at work. let's hope it stays that way.
cw: toxic relationship, serial killer sukuna, obsessive reader, joe and love vibes tbh lol, smut, fluff, angst, more to be added
notes: 4k word again, barely proofread!! enjoy <3
m.list | part two | part three | part four
It’s been five days since you and Sukuna had gotten into a fight. In those five days, you have said a total of 13 words to him.
The first day, you completely ignored him. Understandable.
The second, he asked if you would like a cup of coffee. You said no.
On the third day, he asked if you wanted to go out to dinner. You told him to shut up.
Then there was yesterday, he didn’t have to approach you. You were walking past him in the living room, stopped, scanned him from head to toe a couple times, then said, “get a fucking haircut, you look like you have depression.”
He got a haircut— not because he had depression, but because he genuinely felt like something really bad was going to happen to him if he didn’t with the way you looked at him.
And today, you slept in. There was no way in hell he was going to wake you up, just to say goodbye, before he left for work. You probably would’ve smacked the shit out of him.
It’s only been five days. Yeah, he was starting to get a little impatient, but he hasn’t given up. He just hated the silence, and how stubborn you were, and how you chose the couch over the bed. You knew he’d go to bed feeling like a piece of shit because of it— it's just another punishment.
But again, it’s been five days. It was a normal amount of time to be mad at someone, especially given how bad he fucked up. He’s giving you your space, even though space was also something he really fucking hated.
Since he had to deal with it, he had to find some way to decompress.
Explains why he’s on his way back from the woods right now. Digging an 8 foot grave was a lot, even for him, but it helped. Jerry probably helped out a little more though. 5’10. 173 pounds. 49 years old. An alcoholic, with a long history of domestic abuse and sexual abuse charges. And he was a fighter.
No one was going to miss Jerry.
You know who would miss Sukuna though if disappeared?
You.
You’d feel so fucking bad. Probably get up in front of some mic, talking about how good of a person he was and how much you missed him, too. The guilt would eat away at you the entire time, because your last words to him would’ve been, “you look like you have fucking depression.”
You’d feel terrible.
He glances over at the flowers laying on the passenger seat of his car, and already knew you were going to reject them. It was going to have to be him to replace the flowers in your vase today. Then he checks his phone, seeing that he was right on time. You weren’t speaking to him, but that wasn’t going to stop you from questioning his whereabouts if he came home late.
—
The first thing you planned to do when you made up with Sukuna was to wait for him to go to work, just so you could check that little polaroid stash of his. You wonder how many new photos have been added to his stack in the last five days.
You’re not exactly sure when that’ll exactly happen though. It’s ultimately up to you, but you really don’t want to initiate that. What you want is for him to start screaming, crying, and throwing up over how much he misses you, and of course he’s failing at that, because he’s a fucking man. All he’s done is to walk around the house with a sorry look on his face the entire time.
Not to mention his hair looked great the other day. You wanted him to fight you, not to immediately give in and get it cut.
You’re making dinner tonight for the first time since your little one-sided war started. You already know how it’s going to go when he gets home.
He’s going to glance at the pot of stew about a hundred times— thinking you won’t notice, because he thinks he’s slick. Then from across the room, in the most pathetic voice, he’ll ask, “can I have some?”
You’ll probably end up having to fight back snarky remark, like, “I made an entire pot of it, what do you think?”
You get about another hour of tranquility, before Sadness walks in with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. The ones you had were starting to wilt. You really shouldn’t have looked at him when you did, it was right when he looked away from the pot to look at you, and he looked like he wanted to give you the damn flowers.
And of course they were prettier than normal.
“I can change the old flowers out,” he says, walking through the kitchen to find the vase.
Why can’t he just give you the flowers? He acts like you’re going to snatch them out of his hands and start beating him with them. You close your eyes and sigh, erasing the image of petals flying all around the room, while you continue to whack the stems against a certain individual from your mind.
You were just being mean at this point.
“I can do it,” you murmur, sounding as neutral as possible as you begin to walk up to him.
“You sure?” he ends up asking, shocked that you even responded to him. It wasn't rude either.
“Yeah.” You plucked them out of his hand, not at all meaning to do that. He was just lagging and not letting them go. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs back.
He doesn’t stay around for too long, but comes right back out after his shower to find you curled up on the couch, reading a book. You didn’t take your eyes off the page when he first came back. You didn’t do it once in the thirty minutes he spent loitering in the living room, trying to make himself look busy while periodically moving some random object around.
Eventually, the sound of random objects moving around in the background gets replaced by a throat being cleared, and thank god he only did it once, because you would’ve lost it. Instead, he finally spoke up. “What’d you make today?”
“Stew,” you say, holding yourself back from laughing because you were right. You let some silence between you two drag out before you speak up again, after realizing you really didn’t want him asking for permission to eat. “You can have some if you want.”
“Do you want a bowl?” he doesn’t hesitate to ask, as if he knew you were already going to tell him he could have some.
“No, I’m fine,” you hum, turning to the next page in your book. “I’m still full from earlier.”
“Alright,” he mumbles, walking back into the kitchen. You can hear the drawer open and spoons clanking against one another as he grabs one. Microwaved buttons being pushed, then beeping a couple minutes later letting him know his food was warm. His heavy footsteps grow louder as he walks past the dining room table to enter the living room again. “Is the T.V gonna distract you?”
“No,” you say with a tinge of regret, he already knew how easy it was for you to drown out noise. It comes in handy, especially when he’s watching some sports game you know nothing about. It makes you wonder how many serial killers tune in to watch the FIFA World Cop.
You currently know of one, and he’s sitting slightly off-center on the couch, closer to your side instead of the other, that was completely empty. You start to reevaluate just how problematic you are when you find yourself getting irritated at him for it— you were just mad about how cautious he’s been around you.
“What are you doing?” you start to complain the moment you feel his big arms scoop you up, and then he takes your seat while setting you down on his lap. “I was sitting here!”
“And now you’re sitting on my lap,” he says, still keeping his eyes on the game. “Go back to reading your book.”
“Can’t fuckin’ stand you sometimes,” you murmur under your breath, trying to find the page you were on, while he wrapped his arms around you and you back against his chest.
“Stop talking,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against the side of your head.
You let out an annoyed sigh, but didn't say anything else, figuring this was the closest thing you were going to get in terms of what you wanted out of him. You got your apology too, shortly after you put your book down and he noticed you staring at the screen. Three separate apologies actually— one for trying to say you were ungrateful, one for making fun of the $80, one for accusing you of wanting to cheat on him.
You really only cared about the last one. That one that actually struck a nerve, having him compare you to his last relationship and all. Which is silly, it was just his go-to sob story that he used to make his behavior seem more normal. It’s easier to forgive someone that got cheated on, rather than someone who just wanted to straight up control you. Sometimes you wonder if that ex-girlfriend is even real.
Real or not— you were not going to let him accuse you of being a person that was capable of cheating. You didn’t want to hear about her again, either.
And honestly, you doubt you ever will with Sukuna’s reaction to you not taking the job in the end.
He actually felt bad. Asked you when your first day was going to be and all, only for you to shrug and say you turned it down. When he asked you why?
“I mean… it’s not like you need random gifts,” you barely explained, all while you watched him experience the consequences of his own actions through his own guilt. “I guess you were right. I have the card, I can always just use it if you really need one, but I doubt it.”
It could’ve been worded differently, but the goal was to twist the knife… and shove it in a little further. You don’t even care about working at the flower shop anymore, honestly. There will be plenty of opportunities in the future, where he will have to pretend he’s happy for you.
You are satisfied.
Sukuna is not.
He eventually starts to get handsy with you. You’re able to ignore it for a while, but then he starts messing with the waistband of your shorts. Tracing his fingers around the stitching, pulling them back and letting go so it smacks against your skin. You flip your head around to look at him after the loudest one.
“What?” he smirks and does it again, ignoring the pout on your face, “I can’t play with your shorts anymore?”
“You’re waiting to stick your hands in them,” you mumble, squirming in his lap, trying not to think about the hard bulge pressed against your ass.
“Yeah, they’re cold,” he chuckles, kissing the back of your neck.
You let out a disappointed sigh, trying to not let him affect you as he continues to trail kisses along your shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re actually trying to have sex with me right now.”
“I’m trying to make it up to you,” he hums, giving your thigh a light squeeze. “I don’t have to fuck you for that.”
“You don’t deserve anything right now,” you let out a little laugh, feeling his other arm wrap around your waist a little tighter.
“You deserve something though,” his fingers start to trace around your waistband again. “C’mon, let me get these off you,” he murmurs, hooking a finger around them.
A small hum escapes you while he continues to kiss on the back of your neck. It’s not quite a yes, but he notices the way your thighs start to clench together and grins.
“Kuna..” You let out a breathy laugh while he pulls you up off his lap and has you lay down on the couch for him.
“You’re alright,” he purrs, pulls your shorts and panties off with a satisfied hum and throws them off to the side somewhere. “Just gonna eat this little pussy of yours.”
The whole time, you're way too giddy for someone that still hated him an hour before, but you’re already forgetting about it the moment he’s pulling your thighs apart and putting his head in between them.
“Fuckin’ missed being here,” he murmurs, taking his time leaving a trail of kisses up your inner thighs. You’re already holding your breath from each wet smack his lips leave, the closer he gets the harder you find it to keep still.
Then he reaches your clit and slowly drags his tongue over it, pulling a soft moan out of you. ”Bet you missed this too, huh?” He drags his tongue over it again, and again, watching the way your eyes start to glaze over with each harsh flick.
“Mhm— oh fuck,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he continued to swipe his tongue over your sensitive clit. “feels so good.”
“Yeah, you like that?” he hums, spreading you open with his thumbs and pressing his tongue flat against your entrance, dragging a long stripe through your folds. “Can’t believe you almost didn’t want this.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a dick,” you murmur.
“I know,” he licks another long stripe before lapping at your clit again, “m’sorry, baby.”
He wraps his lips around your sensitive clit before you even get a chance to respond, groaning while he sucks and flicks his tongue over it. He’s not even in a rush right now and he’s already hearing all the pretty little sounds you make whenever he gets his mouth on you.
So he goes faster.
Pulling back with a lewd pop, he grabs on to the back of your thighs and pins them to your chest. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy, I swear,” he hums, then buries his face back into your cunt, like he was starving.
He’s dragging his tongue up and down your folds, making your moans grow higher in pitch until you're whining for him.
“Oh my god–” your nails start digging into his scalp and he just groans, “Sukuna— f-fuck–”
“Yeah— keep crying my name like that,” he rasps against you, dragging his tongue through your folds over and over again, making your hips jerk with each harsh flick. “Who else could get you like this? Hm?”
“No one,” you whine, feeling the grip on your thighs grow tighter. “Only— fuck— only you.”
“That’s right,” he grins against you, “fuckin’ love this pussy.” He gives you one last lick before latching onto your clit, making you nearly squeal from the way he starts to harshly suck on it.
“M’gonna cum,” your hips stutter and legs start to tremble under his hold, “you’re gonna make me cum.”
“Cum then,” he rasps in between the obscene slurping noises he’s making, “let go for me, baby.”
Your legs try to push back on the iron grip he has on them as pressure continues to build up, faster. “Oh my god— baby, please,” you begin to babble as he continues to work you with that tongue of his, until you’re gasping and crying out his name from the way the orgasm rips right through you.
You start gushing around him and he just groans into your pussy while drinking it up.
“Thaaat’s it,” he rasp, tongue still working you but coming to a slow. “Fuckin’ love how hard you cum for me.”
“That was so good,” you choke out, trying to catch your breath as he licks you through the come down.
“I know,” he murmurs in satisfaction, as smug as ever, giving your clit one last kiss before pulling back and admiring how much of a mess you look. “I’m just getting started, too.”
—
Car shops were gross.
There’s grease everywhere. The smell of smoke and gasoline clung to the walls. You could be flipping through a brand new manual and you’d still somehow get this weird dusty, black residue on the tips of your fingers. And when you go to wash it off, you’d end up having to wash your hands again because that same residue is stuck in the crevices of the faucet turner.
You can’t think of a time where you’ve visited and haven’t genuinely asked yourself, “why?”
Sukuna’s well aware of it and thinks it’s cute, which is why he still continues to bring you here. He doesn’t care for cute things. You’re pretty sure he likes seeing you with grease or dust stuck to you. He makes you answer the phone while you’re there too, and you’re almost certain he thinks of you as his receptionist that he fucks during his lunch breaks.
“Ryo-motive– how can I help you? Mhm. Oh– I’m so sorry to hear that! Here, let me check the schedule– see which dates we can get you taken care of.”
The customer on the other end hears you flipping through papers, then eventually hears a very frustrated sigh, as if you ran into an issue that’s been going on for way too long.
“It looks like we’re fully booked, I’m sorry. Ugh, trust me, I know. This sounds pretty urgent though. There’s another auto shop just two towns over that I’m pretty familiar with— yeah, mhm— yeah, highly recommend— absolutely, the name is Six-Eye’s Auto Service. Yeah, of course! Car troubles are the worst. The sooner you get it checked out, the better. Mhm. Aw yeah, you too! Haha, you take care now. Bye.”
There were plenty of openings for this week. She probably would’ve been able to come today, honestly. You made up for it by giving her a good recommendation though. That Six-Eyes guy should really cut you a check for all the business you’ve sent him.
Good thing Sukuna doesn’t pay you to answer the phones— you are one shitty receptionist. He’d probably kill you if he found out, but you try to convince yourself it’s for the best. You obviously can’t stop all customers from making advances towards him, but can you blame a girl for wanting to protect herself from that sight?
That is not something you want to see.
He wouldn’t want to see it either, because on the off chance that you saw a customer making a move on Sukuna, there was a 100% guarantee that you’d be going to jail right after.
You lay back in the creaky chair and let out a bored sigh. Tapping your fingers on the arm rests as you look around the small office, eyes eventually landing to the window looking into the open garage. Sukuna’s under some car, probably in his own little world as he worked on whatever problem it had.
It’s just him that works here. You don’t know how he does it all on his own, but he manages everything pretty well. He likes it that way too. Every day’s technically a slow day with how he works, taking his time, making sure he gets the job done right so his customers can justify the insane prices he charges. It’s actually quite peaceful for him.
It was about another hour until he decided to call it a day, knowing he’d be there for another few hours if he moved on to the next car. Locking the place up doesn’t take too long, all he really has to do is whip off whatever tools he used and close the doors. Maybe take the trash out if it was full. Usually he’d check his voicemail, but forgets it since he put you to work today.
“I’m done,” he mutters, not really paying attention when he opens the door to the office and steps in, “you ready to g–”
You look up from your phone when his voice gets caught in throat, and you wouldn’t say he looked nervous or anything, but his brain was definitely going into overdrive as he looked right past your head.
You ignored it.
“Hm? Yeah, I’m starting to get hungry, too,” you say, pushing yourself off the chair and throwing your purse over your shoulder.
“Yeah.. me too,” he sounds more distant when he responds, eyes tracing back to you as you start walking up to him.
“You look tired, too,” you place your hands on his chest and give him a kiss, softly humming into it. “Got everything locked up?”
“Mhm,” he still looks distracted, but still wraps an arm around your waist, leading you out of the office.
There’s a light trembling in his hand as he locks the door to the office shut, but you pretend not to notice it. “Wanna just go to that diner by the house?” you ask, not really in the mood to cook tonight.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” he murmurs, walking back to the car with you following suit.
He’s quiet for those first couple minutes, grinding his jaw as he tries to focus on the road, but eventually realized you’d start questioning him if he didn’t say anything soon.
“Hey, uh– I forgot to ask,” Sukuna briefly takes his eyes off the road to look at you, trying to be very careful with his wording. “Did you see a rag in the office? I used it to wipe a bunch of gunk off this guys engine this morning and I can’t find it— been worried about it fuckin’ up one of the shelves.”
You look dumbfounded by the question. “You mean the ones you throw in the corner?”
“No, I checked. Didn’t toss it in there.”
“Hm. I mean, maybe,” you tentatively say.
“Maybe?” he lets out a low laugh, and it sounds forced, because why the hell would you say that?
“Or probably,” you hum, going back on your phone, “There’s dirty rags all over the shop. I don’t pay attention.”
“We’re talking about my office right now though. Not the shop,” he tries to redirect you, but does a bad job from the growing frustration in his voice. “I’m really not trying to fuck up the furniture right now. Everything’s on its last leg.”
“And I’m saying, I don’t know,” you say it slowly for him, annoyed that he’s even asking about towels in the first place— it’s not like you work there. “You should’ve told me earlier. I would’ve tried to find it for you so we wouldn’t be spending the car ride back playing I Spy from memory.”
He lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat, shifting the gears. You’re on your phone, and you clearly do not care about anything in that office, so he doesn’t hold his breath waiting for you to say or do anything out of the ordinary.
“M’sorry,” he reaches out and places a hand on your thigh, “I should’ve dealt with that right after the guy left.”
“I know,” you boredly say, still on your phone, “Should’ve dealt with that furniture years ago, too. That stupid desk is gonna randomly crumble away one day, it’s so old.”
“Yeah?” he snorts, giving you a light squeeze, “Will that make you stop talking so much shit about it?”
“Maybe. It’s so depressing in there.”
“Mmm— I’ll sprinkle some holy water in there for you.”
“Bring in a priest to bless it at this point.”
You end up laughing with him, but you were being dead serious. You know exactly which rag he was asking you about, it was you who put it up on the shelf behind you for him to see. But that doesn’t change the fact that the place needs spiritual cleaning of some sorts.
Who knew how many more bloody rags were in that shop.
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 angst, cheating, Satoru is 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. This chap - sexual tension like a MF, reader growing as a character, obsessed Sukuna, Gojo is still horrible, kissing, fingering, guided masturbation. Mostly Sukuna/reader this chap and their relationship - also MORE angst.
This WILL have multiple endings, all of these three are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV based on this drabble - WC - 11k
<<<part one
part two
You
You wish that you could turn off your feelings.
Easier said than done, right? To make yourself stop wanting Satoru Gojo, to act like him walking around shirtless didn’t make you ache, that seeing him pleasuring that girl in the office hadn’t made you wonder. Him tumbling into the door with her and kissing her on the wall when he didn’t know you were home, lifting her and grabbing her thighs as she clung to him.
You wonder what it would be like to be desired in that way, staring at the two of them and earning a little look from that woman’s face, a mean, nasty little look that damn near makes you sick. Satoru pauses, looking back with lipstick all over his mouth smeared, but he doesn’t smirk like he did in the office, he pauses just a bit, eyeing you in the little crop top and yoga pants you’re wearing.
His blue gaze slips across your body calculatingly, before he eases her down, turning over to you. “I thought you were ‘boxing’?”
“I am going soon,” you manage to mumble, hugging yourself suddenly insecure, seeing her in her pretty dress as if she’d been on some date with your husband. “I’m sorry.”
You’re apologizing again, for existing in Satoru Gojo’s proximity.
Always a very soft and obedient girl, last night was the first time you stood up to him in any way, and you were met with immediate regret, wondering why you couldn’t be enough for him to at least try. Why weren’t you perfect enough, pretty enough, worth enough for even a kiss, a look, anything?
You had laid in bed thinking of Sukuna and then realizing how dumb and foolish those thoughts were, how pathetic you are for this man who has given you nothing. What, a brief moment where he asked you to eat? Did that make up for making sure his Secretary came before he was able to speak to you?
You’re not sure you hate him yet.
You hate yourself though.
“I’ll be gone in like twenty,” you mumble a bit, Satoru leans down, lips a glossy red like she wears, pressing together.
“You’re apologizing again, for living here?” You nod then, looking down and hearing him sigh. “You’re not gonna make me like you.”
“I’m not trying to,” you wring your hands together, blinking back tears as she sighs and walks right over to the fridge like she fucking lives here. Your jaw sets, breaths coming in short little pants, he grips your chin, tilting your gaze to focus on him. “I’m not.”
“You’re exactly who they programmed you as,” he laughs without humor. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t.” Your voice steels just a bit, hating how good his fingertips feel grazing against your skin. “I’ll get my things.”
“Satoru…”
He’s not listening to her as he casually follows you, raising a brow at the pink gloves you bought, slipping his hands in his pockets and leaning in the doorway. “You boxing, huh?”
He laughs softly.
Your teeth clench together.
“You can go fuck her, don’t let me interrupt,” you say then, struggling to gather yourself, chest rising and falling as you snatch up your ear buds, the little water bottle you bought, a few things in a bright pink bag you brought with you from home. You hastily snatch it up, throwing it over your shoulder and seeing he’s still in the doorway studying you.
It’s quiet when you stand in front of him, his fingertips brushing your cheek in a way they shouldn’t, you detest yourself more when you tremble from it. He shakes his head, letting his hand fall, eyes glinting cruelly.
“You’d sink to your knees if I called you pretty, wouldn’t you?” You gasp, stepping back for a moment, as his fucked ass words sink in.
“Go to her,” you murmur. “Why even talk to me, I’m nothing to you.”
“I see how you look at me even now,” he scoffs, brushing his fingertips down your shoulder, tilting his head curiously. “Do you touch yourself when you hear me?”
He draws out those words, leaving goosebumps along your skin, your breaths come quicker. “What?”
“Do you touch yourself,” he leans down, that mean smirk quirking up even more, as he clearly thrives in embarrassing you. “Listening to me fuck her?”
“No!? I’ve never even…” You blush furiously and trail off, you can’t just say that to him, give him more ammo to hurt you.
He raises a brow. “Never?”
“Why do you care, we won’t do that,” you mumble, blood pressure rising so much you feel dizzy, like you can’t catch a breath. “But no. I haven’t, so I don’t touch myself.”
“You’re that much of a good girl for mommy and daddy, huh? Staying all pure for me of all people,” a tear slips from your eye, his gaze watches it trail down without bothering to swipe it away. “What a waste.”
“A waste?” It’s not like you ever even wanted to have sex with someone before. Your jaw sets now, eyes shutting for a moment, another tear traitorous in its escape. “Not all of us love to whore around.”
“Whore around huh,” he crosses his arms now, watching your eyes flicker open. “Admit it.”
“Admit what!?”
“That you’d do anything if I asked,” you swallow down the pain, biting down on your lower lip as his voice drops an octave, a mean caress that sends shivers down your spine. “If you asked pretty enough maybe I’d let you suck me at least.”
Your pause earns his smirk.
“Holy fuck, you would? Hmm,” his cruel gaze gets darker, snowy lashes flickering just a bit. “I guess I’d consider that, but I wouldn’t touch you.”
“I don’t want to,” you finally breathe out. “I wouldn’t… do that with someone who hates me, who doesn’t even want me to exist.” Satoru blinks a bit when you slip your bag higher on your shoulder. “I’m glad that you didn’t.”
It’s utterly quiet.
“Please move.”
He steps aside and you pass by his dumb fucking secretary sitting right at the chair you do, her blouse unbuttoned, just smiling at you, the anger rising like bile in your throat. You’re humiliated again, and you almost said you would – you’d do damn near anything if the man you’d been infatuated with – promised to at that, gave you a tiny bit of attention.
It was all a game to him.
“Have fun boxing,” she has the audacity to say, laughing just a bit at you in the fucking place you live in, in the chair you cry in. You feel so much rage it doesn’t even feel like you – it’s like it belongs to someone else. “Your gloves are so cute!”
“Jennifer,” ah, that’s her fucking name, coming from Satoru’s lips. “Come over here.”
She hops up obediently and you turn to gaze at Satoru by his bedroom door, eyes unreadable, smirk off his face, you don’t even want to know what’s in his mind, even if it’s something half way decent for you. You don’t want to live like this, to have someone so blatantly disregarding your feelings.
“Could you all please keep it in the room?” You ask then, she giggles and Satoru raises a brow. “I live here too, for now.”
“You think the maids wouldn’t clean up all the cum from every surface?” you can’t believe him at that moment. “But yes, we can while you’re still in my home.”
His home.
He makes it dead ass fucking clear, as if you didn’t already know he hates you here, that none of this is going to last because he can’t wait to fucking have you out. You shut your eyes for a moment, hands pressing into the wood of the door before you rush out of the opulent, ostentatious home.
It was once a dream, to drive by Gojo’s home and imagine yourself as his wife, so enamored with the man you thought he was and the kindness you remembered as a child that it felt like a dream come true. Yet it was anything but that, it was all just a cruel joke, much like your life.
Satoru was right on one thing, you did everything to live up to your parents expectations, and that included remaining ‘pure’. If they even knew that you were headed in your car to go boxing of all places and things to do, they’d likely be appalled at you.
Ladies don’t do that – Satoru’s wife doesn’t do that.
Just the small thing for yourself makes you smile a bit, hands gripping the wheel tightly, you swear you see Satoru’s curtain flutter, who knows maybe he’s got her pressed up on the window, pleasuring her and making sure the world knows how he wants anyone but you.
It shouldn’t hurt this bad, you were trained to be the perfect wife even if Gojo did cheat, and you could handle it, as taught.
Yet he didn’t even touch you, his words echoing in your ears and making you so ill you almost throw up remembering. Proving his point – you had so desperately been eager to sink to your knees right for him, if he’d just look at you with anything other than hatred, if he’d brush your hair back and give that look he had when he was with other women.
You can’t be everything your parents want if he divorces you anyway, it’ll bring so much shame on your family and there’s nothing you can do to salvage it, so you have to try to find who you are. You don’t even know – it’s so sad, if someone asked you what you liked you wouldn’t know what to say.
Who are you?
The thoughts keep coming as you sit in front of the boxing gym, so nervous now, not to do something new completely.
Sukuna makes you nervous.
You’ve not felt whatever it was when those ruby eyes hit you, whatever that gaze was on his handsome face. You’ve been hit on plenty, you’ve had boys have crushes on you, yet you had to remain ‘all intact’ and ‘proper’ so you never explored that. Even so, Sukuna looked at you differently, and it felt like a physical touch.
Satoru, it felt like an assessment – Sukuna, it felt like appreciation.
He saw things in you that you’re not sure are there from one meeting – that you weren’t eating, that you’re a mess, things you keep so hidden from even yourself, the perception terrified you. You don’t know what to think about it, how to interpret it, maybe you’re over thinking it too.
The dream last night didn’t help, him kissing up your throat, hand gripping your hair at the nape of your neck. To get him involved in any capacity was dangerous for your family’s reputation, and you’re ‘married’ so surely he wouldn’t want that. Yet those images make you blush.
Even as you walk in now and see a boy standing next to him that looks almost identical, just a shorter, younger version, you smile nervously and wave.
You feel Sukuna’s gaze assessing you, and just that alone is more than Satoru has given you in your marriage. The way he looks at you makes you feel…
Good… Was good the word?
Nervous, apprehensive, tummy fluttering. You swallow nervously, trying not to overthink it – You’re here to get stress out, and maybe to learn who you were, to find an existence away from being ‘Satoru’s wife’.
******
Sukuna
"Sukuna seriously," his annoying little nephew Yuuji is up at the gym with him today. The kid has a hell of a right hook and a hell of an annoying way about him.
Sukuna couldn't help but let him stay with him when he also wanted to get away from all the pressure that came with their family. But now the kid stays over far too much, bringing his friends over and soon dragging them all to the gym too. Sukuna has a bunch of teenagers constantly annoying the shit out of him.
Yet he can't complain, it's good for the business, and it keeps Yuuji and the other kids out of trouble. Yuuji is only eighteen after all, Sukuna is twenty-four – thus the 'mentor'.
Hah, what a mentor he must be.
"She's married!?" Sukuna glares now at the blurted out fucking statement, and Yuuji quickly hushes. "I mean... I know you're all ‘anti the family’ this and that but really?"
"Will you shut your trap kid," Yuuji glares right up at Sukuna, he's damn near a smaller version of his cousin, just with brown eyes instead of red. "I haven't done anything, she's just..."
You walk in then, as if on cue, holding your hands together in front of you nervously, some cute pink pair of boxing gloves that are ridiculous, pink duffel bag slung over one of your shoulders. He can't help but smirk a bit at how… cute, you’re fucking cute. Shy and adorable.
Yuuji eyes you as well, then him, curiously.
"Shit," Yuuji never cusses, so Sukuna raises a brow at him, seeing him run a hand through identical pastel locks. "That's her?"
"Don't say shit in front of her, if you do I'll make sure not to take you to Cabo this summer," Sukuna threatens, but Yuuji frowns, looking intently as you come closer. "Get it out now. Your moral high ground on my thoughts."
"She is very pretty," he murmurs, frowning. "And she does look... she looks so sad."
Sukuna pauses then. You give your best effort with a tremulous little smile, walking up to both of them, taking a breath and holding a hand out to Yuuji.
A forced smile, but it’s as pretty as you. What’s a real one look like?
"Hey there!" You say, Yuuji takes your hand in his, smiling sweetly at you.
"Hey there, welcome to the gym," He's friendly, sweet even. "We have lockers over there if you need!"
"Perfect I'll be right back," your eyes catch Sukuna's and his breath falters. He's never felt anything like wanting to fuck the sadness right out of your body. He knows it's already obsession, already fucking ridiculous. It doesn't stop him. "Sukuna, it's good to see you again."
"You're late," he teases gruffly, you sigh and glare a bit all cute, a look he didn't think he'd see, it does something to him. "Just a few minutes though. Go get ready."
You rush off and Yuuji puts a hand on his chest over his dark blue hoodie, wincing a bit. "Her pain, like I feel it?"
"Yeah," Sukuna mutters, the kid has always been... fuck, what's the word? Empath or some shit. "I know."
"Just... be careful Sukuna. You don't know who she's with."
"I'm not afraid of anyone, have you seen me?" Yuuji rolls his eyes.
"Yeah I saw you, and you couldn't even stop the drool from coming out of your mouth." Sukuna scowls, fists clenched at his sides, one step making Yuuji back up. "I've um... gotta go!"
"Nice to meet you!" You wave at Yuuji as you come out, in a little sports bra and shorts, as if to fucking torture him. Yuuji waves and smiles sweetly at you, leaving Sukuna alone with you in the quiet of the gym. "He looks just like you! Your little brother?"
"Annoying nephew," you laugh a little, the sound doing something to him again, fuck he doesn’t know what it is. Yuuji is right, he has to be careful, to try to hold back.
But holding back really isn't Sukuna's thing.
"So," he draws on the words, seeing how you hug yourself a bit around your waist, as if you're nervous to have it bare.
It takes a lot of effort not to just touch your body, make you feel as pretty as you are, see how those eyes could light up if you came all over his mouth, if he drank you. He knows he can't say that shit, so he instead teases you, tugging at the little ponytail you're wearing.
"Tell me where you got these dumb gloves, and you better tell me you've fucking eaten something too."
“They’re so cute, excuse me!” You cover your mouth then, eyes lowering. “Sorry that came out so rude-”
“I like it, see if there’s something feisty underneath all this,” he gestures to all of you then. “Perfect little girl, time to mess you up. Get you all sweaty and wrecked.”
He watches a blush dance on your cheeks underneath the bright lights overhead, you shift just a bit, nodding. “I want to see if there is, too.”
“You don’t know?” He asks, and you sigh, blinking back tears again.
Fuck what’s happened to you to make you constantly on the verge of them? Sukuna wasn’t some ‘mr fix it’ especially when it came to women. He liked things simple, fun, unattached, never has he been so obsessed with what’s going on in a mind like he is yours.
Be careful. Could he be?
“I want to learn who I am, I know I’m like twenty four and don’t know,” you shake your head a bit and sigh. “Quarter life crisis?”
He snorts at that. “You make jokes?”
“I don’t know,” you answer softly. “I’m trying?”
“Meh it wasn’t that funny,” he shoves playfully but you’re so damn weak you stumble, he grabs you quickly, holding you too closely. “You said you ate.”
“I did, I swear, just still feeling it I think?” Your hand rests on one of his biceps, he sees that blush up close, spreading down your neck. “I really ate dinner and breakfast!”
“Can’t box if you’re falling over and shit,” he sighs, his hands still on your waist, shaking his head a bit. “I’ll show you some basics, you just pay attention for now. I’m grabbing you a protein bar.”
“I’m okay!” Sukuna ignores you, coming back with a bar and shoving it unceremoniously in your hand. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, your eyes are too pretty looking up at him like that, and he needs to make you comfortable. Not do every filthy thing he keeps thinking of – fuck that sadness right out of you. How can he fucking think that? “Come with me, and you better finish it.”
“You’re bossy,” you tease, he snorts and rolls his eyes, feeling the warmth of your skin with your close proximity. “It’s good!”
“Hmm, you’re just starving, those suck,” you sigh, chewing thoughtfully, when he shows you to the training area. “You need some muscle so I suggest doing some light weights first, then next time maybe I’ll let you hit a bag.”
“Got it,” you murmur, mouth just a little full, the wrapper crinkles a bit as you down it. “Maybe I was hungry? I’ve not had an appetite.”
“Yeah, sounds like…” He trails off now. “You have stress at home.”
You laugh a little without humor. “You could say that.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightens just a bit, feeling his teeth press together in irritation at the thought of whatever has you like this. Yet in just a good twenty minutes you relax your shoulders just a bit, you smile a little more real and not forced, he watches as you ease just a bit with every movement.
“These are tiny weights, I can do more,” you pout as he puts ten on each arm. Sukuna shakes his head. “I can!”
“Yeah champ okay,” he grabs twenties and watches your arms drop down, stabilizing you and smirking. “You’re a regular Arnold.”
“Oh hush!” He takes them and tugs and your pony tail again, you dab just a little sweat off your brow.
“You are bratty, see?”
“I am so not,” you get a little quiet at his hands on your wrists then, clearing your throat and looking down so shy and cute.
Sukuna would just corrupt you.
You’re clearly an innocent little thing and his thoughts are about as far from that as they could be, it’s hard to pull back and act casual – as if this is normal and he just grips on his clients’ fucking biceps. You’re so fragile then as he studies you for a heartbeat too long, you don’t move away, just staring up at him. Your pupils dilate and make your eyes too damn pretty.
“You good?” He manages to ask, rubbing the back of his neck, annoyed by whatever the fuck effect this is.
“I am, thank you Sukuna,” if your lips would stop moving like that, if your voice would stop sounding that way, maybe he would be all right and not throbbing just inhaling your scent. “You’re very sweet.”
“Me? Tch, m’not sweet,” he rolls his eyes as you giggle again, turning away so you don’t see the dopey grin on his face before he gets rid of it, turning back and raising a brow. “I’ll show you some movements and you can come hit the bag tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sukuna wraps his knuckles as you look around a bit. “You are seeing me after the gym closes, you don’t have to.”
“I usually stay after anyway,” he just wants to fucking be alone with you. “Not a problem.”
“I’ll come a little earlier tomorrow, if that’s okay?” Your brows draw together.
“I don’t care, whenever, come hold this for me. I won’t accidentally punch you, don't worry.”
“I didn’t think so,” you go over and hold it, gasping when you feel the impact, looking at him curiously. “You think I’ll really be able to hit this thing?”
“Mmhmm, of course you will,” he takes it easy, even if you’re behind the bag he doesn’t want to scare you. He typically doesn’t have girls in the gym.
He shows you a few of the basics, and you study him carefully, he doesn’t realize he’s getting distracted until he stops punching and focuses on you, you’re watching him intently, your eyes flickering down his body, then to his lips before shooting back up to his eyes quickly.
Sukuna smirks a bit at you, walking around the bag to stand in front of you. “What is it?”
“N-nothing,” you squeak out, lashes trembling. “You look – I mean you are very good.”
He snorts at that, you’re too fucking cute. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He leans against the bag now, stepping closer and looking down at you “You’re were staring.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, eyes lowering. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t be, I don’t mind,” he murmurs back, his eyes lowering to your lips, watching them part just slightly. He leans in a fraction, your breath catches – he hears it, a sharp little inhale. “I’m just teasin’ ya, okay?”
Sukuna’s voice is soft to his own ears, he almost feels the need to be gentle when it comes to you, you’re so delicate and afraid. You nod and wring your hands a little bit in front of your lap. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I look that good?” He’s chuckling as you cover your face all cute. “It’s okay, I already know I do.”
“You’re teasing me!” He eases your hands down, sighing at the contrast of his huge hands around your wrists.
“Yeah, I was, don’t take me serious, yeah?” You nod and just stand there, when he drops his hands and clears his throat. “Finish up, then I’ll walk you out.”
You just stand there for a moment, breathing softly as he watches you bite your lip now, staring at him nervously. He wonders what you’d do if he just kissed you? He wonders how you’d taste, if you’d melt into him, if he could kiss you on every inch of your body.
He can’t be this way.
“Okay,” you whisper, turning away to grab your stuff quickly. He walks you out silently to the back exit, the cool air whipping your hair around – this time of year, it was chilly and dark early. “Time went quick.”
“Yeah,” he looks at you carefully then. “What had you almost in tears this morning, or can you not tell me?”
You tug your bag closer, sighing. “The other woman was just… in my fridge and on my couch and it threw me off.”
“Other woman?” You nod. “In your house?”
“Yeah, I could handle it if maybe he could keep it to his room,” Sukuna’s brows raise now and you hesitate. “It had me upset more than usual.”
“You just… are okay with it?” You look down at his lips once more, if you don’t stop doing that he’s gonna lose his tentative control. “Why?”
“It’s arranged, that sounds archaic–”
“Nah,” Sukuna sighs now. “Let me guess, rich family?”
“Yeah, are you?” He smirks. “The name sounded familiar? I don’t know how I didn’t put it together.”
“Yep,” he drags out that word with a pop of his lips. “I’m from that shitty ass line of family, I just decided to tell them all to fuck off. You should try it, it’s fun.”
“Saying ‘fuck off’ huh?” You giggle again, shaking your head as he smirks down at you. “That’s impressive to not bow under pressure.”
“I just wasn’t one for rules, decorum, I just don’t give a shit,” he shrugs a broad shoulder. “Arranged shit was in my parents’ plans but in that I also told them to fuck off. But that’s enough therapy.” He flicks your forehead, you rub it and glare.
“Ah, stay all mysterious,” you tease just a bit, hesitating and then turning. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mhmm,” you turn to look at him one more time, suddenly stepping forward and tip-toeing, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Fuck.
You should not do that.
“Thank you again,” you murmur shyly, stepping back quickly and rushing to your car like you’re embarrassed by the little action.
Sukuna jerks off that night to a kiss on the cheek from a shy, sweet little woman who is married, and wishes he felt worse about imagining decorating you in ropes of cum, but he really doesn’t. Moreso he’s irritated you’ve made him so pathetic in the span of a couple days.
He was fucked.
*****
You
You’re wolfing down eggs and bacon when Satoru walks out the next morning, eyeing you curiously at the array of food on the counter. You should tell him to fuck off really, just like Sukuna said you should tell everyone but some part of you would like to not hate Satoru Gojo, some part would like some sort of peace or even an understanding, for him to stop his cruelty to some extent.
So you smile, and he pauses, shirtless and just in his boxers, but your smile freezes on your face when you observe the dark hickies littering him right over his pelvis. It’s his turn to smirk as he walks closer to you, putting a coffee pod in casually, as if it’s normal to have hickies on your v cuts by your happy trail.
Why are you hurt, you knew he was with her?
“Good morning,” you manage to try to be cordial. “I made a big breakfast if you’re hungry.”
“You know I have cooks,” he says, nibbling a muffin then moaning, his snowy lashes fluttering shut. “Oh fuck.”
“I like to bake,” you say with a little shrug, he pauses as he watches you nibble your own. “It gives me something to do. I think I may… get a job or something.”
“Why, you have enough money you never need to even without me.”
“Why, to give me… something?” You say, shrugging a bit. “I’ve never been able to work other than at charity functions, so I guess my resume would be kind of shitty though.”
“You don’t need to work while you’re here, it would just look bad,” you blink again. “Maybe work with me but…”
“Yeah, no,” he chuckles, as if it’s funny. “Bad enough the secretary is over at my… your house, now.” You correct yourself, tension between you both rising as you stand in the kitchen, his eyes sweep over you.
“Going to box again?”
“I am,” you’re wearing a sweater over your top this time, hanging just a bit off your shoulder, his gaze drifts down to it. “I think I like it.”
“Ah,” he steps closer, leaning down. “You ever figure out how to touch yourself?”
“If I did I wouldn’t do it thinking of you,” he glares and you smile now. “You’d be the last guy in my mind.”
“Sure, sweetheart, keep tellin’ yourself that, I see how you look at me,” you scoff, tensing when he brushes his fingers on your shoulder. “I can tell by every reaction you want me.”
You smack his hand off and he smirks. “You told me we’d never do anything, be anything, so stop trying.”
“Ah, you gave up on your little goal? Don’t wanna leave better marks on me than Jennifer?”
You feel sick.
“You know what, Gojo?” He raises a brow. “You’re not just mean, not just cruel, you’re sadistic, like you don’t just want me gone, you want to torture me.”
It’s quiet now, you blink back tears of frustration, of pain, feeling your heart pound in your chest.
“I said I’ll not try again, and I mean it,” you look away. “Whether I want you or not, I never will.”
He continues his silence, when your gaze meets his it’s softer, blue eyes unreadable, as if there’s a hint of humanity in him. What a joke, what a delusion to think he’d have even the most basic empathy for you.
“I didn’t do anything to deserve how you act,” your whisper breaks in the middle, traitorous tears leaking. “All I did was try. Now I give up, you get what you want.”
Satoru’s fists clench at the sides, taking a breath now. “You’ll thank me.”
“I’ll what!?”
“You’ll thank me,” he murmurs again, slipping your sweater up over your shoulder, fingertips brushing. “For not letting you be with me, for letting you have your own choice.”
“Acting like you’re being such a great fucking guy,” you never cuss but it spills out, when out of frustration you shove at his chest, not like he’ll move, glaring up into his eyes. “Mr. ‘hold on let me cum’ really? There’s no world where I’ll thank you for what you’ve put me through these past few weeks.”
You rush out past him and hear him murmur your name, you ignore it completely, gathering your things and rushing out, tears swimming even as you drive over to the gym. How can Satoru continue to hurt you like this and then have the audacity to act like he’s being kind!?
You barely get yourself together, peering in the mirror to fix yourself up, dabbing concealer to hide your sleepless night. It was hard to sleep when your husband was loudly moaning across the house, and when you kept thinking about Sukuna and the little kiss on his cheek.
Was it too far? Would it be weird?
Why do you want his lips so bad? Sure, he’s handsome, but the pull is more than that, as if you know he’d be able to kiss you the way you always dreamt – as much as you’re trying to hold back, it’s there. The feeling when you step into the busy gym, seeing Sukuna training in the ring with his nephew, he tackles him down and laughs so loud it echoes off the walls.
“Hey! Off me!” Yuuji shoves at him, but he’s way bigger, you blush as you think just how huge Sukuna is, he’s even taller than Satoru and you thought that pretty impossible. “You cheated!”
“Didn’t cheat, kid, you just weren’t paying attention,” his gaze hits you then, and he falters, only to get slammed down by Yuuji quickly.
“Hah! Got you,” Sukuna smacks his hand away as he grins, he’s literally adorable, the sunshine to Sukuna’s grumpy nature. Your heart tugs just a bit with affection at the sight, when Yuuji sees you and waves. “Hey, did you see me stomp his ass?”
“I did,” Sukuna snorts and stands on his own, brushing off his gym shorts, leaning a bit against the ropes and taking you in. “Hey Sukuna.”
“You’re actually on time,” he peeks at his watch. “Early.”
“Breakfast too,” you grin and he chuckles, suddenly it’s like that gym is just white noise and it’s all him, hopping over the ropes and down the platform, the sounds of sneakers squeaking on hardwood and punches drowned by your beating heart. He comes to stand and cross his arms, ruby eyes assessing you. “Protein, it was all protein filled.”
“Good,” he ruffles your hair like you’re Yuuji, you huff a bit, but part of how touch starved you are? You want him to keep patting your head, almost leaning into the quick little touch.
What’s wrong with you?
He’s friendly, kinder than you are used to – your own parents were not much better than Satoru, yet their cruelty was more in dismissing you, in the strict nature they raised you, the coldness. You grew up privileged and know you shouldn’t feel sorry for yourself, but the pain was there, only having been made better by the dream of Satoru taking you far away.
Some dream, a cinderella tale, you’re not sure what the fuck you were thinking, were you enamored with his pretty eyes, his kindness? With Sukuna you had those butterflies like you did that night Satoru unzipped your dress, but it was without that sinking feeling in your stomach.
The next couple days you spend at the gym – sometimes watching him, sometimes training a bit, the people there are all so friendly it feels nice. You find yourself there longer than usual, a little stronger, you keep waiting for Sukuna to let you spar or something cool, but he eases you into a few different things.
You enjoy him so much you find yourself staying after and wiping down equipment, seeing him raise a brow and laugh at you, telling you to go. But what’s waiting at home? Satoru and whoever he decides to bring home for the evening? It’s not just the secretary, you wish that it was only her in fact, she at least pretended to be a little nice to you.
You’re not sure if Satoru even works or if he just gets his dick wet.
You pass him in the morning and see one of them knocked out in his bed with the door cracked open, and that’s when you feel a deeper pain, eyeing him sleeping next to her. They’re not cuddling, but she’s sleeping in his bed. Alone in the room that was made for the two of you, staring up at the ceiling and touching your lips, thinking of kissing Sukuna then.
You can’t.
You shouldn’t.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, but something about that sends you over the edge – pushes you to where you don’t feel so terrible thinking of what you want to do. It’s just a step further even for him, your interactions get even shorter, he doesn’t taunt you as much since you got upset in that kitchen, but now it’s like living in a home where you’re unwanted.
You can’t wait to leave, for whatever he needs to figure out to cause the least scandal, you’re tired of smiling on his arm for the get togethers, only to sit on opposite sides of the backseat of that limo in the quiet. You’re lonely until you go to that gym, but you know it’s nonsense, Sukuna has not tried to kiss you or cross that line, even when his touches linger.
He’s a good man, a good uncle clearly, maybe a good friend – and all you can think half the time is those tattooed hands touching you longer, in places you know you shouldn’t want them. Trailing your hands up his biceps and feeling the strength in them, falling into his kisses until you’re dizzy.
It’s hard not to think of it when you watch his body move.
He’s shirtless today as if to distract you more, the way he’s built is enough to make you miss your punch, earning his chuckle, teasing glint in his ruby eyes. “Distracted?”
“No,” you’re such a liar. This morning threw you off seeing that girl in his damn bed, and now you can’t stop staring at your trainer’s body. “Just a bit.”
“What’s on that mind of yours?” Everyone has left for the day, you and him are all alone in the enormous gym, your pink gloves on your hands.
“A lot,” you murmur, punching the bag again and again, remembering to cross as he showed you, then wincing a bit as your wrist twists. “Ouch!”
“Bad angle, lemme see,” he carefully slips it off, thumb brushing your inner wrist, you suck in a breath. “I think you just kinked it a bit. Does it hurt to move?”
You shake your head, but you don’t move your hand, you keep it in his grip, biting down on your lip so hard it hurts. He’s too close, too fucking big all over – you shouldn’t think of everywhere. Not like you’ve even seen one aside from Satoru after he’d been inside that ‘jennifer’ whatever the fuck her name was, and that didn’t make you ‘excited’.
You’re curious at times, at how wet you get around Sukuna, but as a sheltered girl who was hardly allowed friends – and they’re all trad wives – there hasn’t been much talk. ‘Let your husband do anything and just live that way’ was damn near their advice – though that did land you here, after all.
“You’re real distracted,” you sigh, nodding. “Lemme guess, your husband has a new girl over?”
“She slept in his bed,” you blink back emotion, shaking your head, Sukuna just quietly checks your wrist, moving it a bit. “You’d think I couldn’t hurt anymore, couldn’t feel anymore pain about it.”
“I think you’re surprisingly calm about it,” he says then. “Arranged or not, how would anyone not want you?”
Your world shifts on its axis at his gruff little confession, you’re blushing furiously now, stepping a little closer, feeling his warmth near you sink in. “Sukuna, that's sweet.”
“You keep trying to call me that,” he shakes his head – thumb slipping across the delicate veins raised on your inner wrist. “I’m not sweet.”
“You are to me,” he scoffs. “You make me feel better, that is sweet.”
“The things I’m thinking are as far from fucking ‘sweet’ as they can be,” you gasp then, when his hand slips up your arm, before he stops himself, pulling back when you wish he wouldn’t. “How innocent are you?”
“Very,” you admit. “But you could tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Hah,” he has one arm on either side of you when you press against the bag you’d just been hitting, he’s right behind you, cupping your face with a calloused, rough hand so big it takes you over. “You’d run out the door if I told you half of it.”
He backs off then, leaving you trembling, hand on your chest, going to open your mouth when he hops down as if to rush away from you. Terrified you’ve fucked it all up you hop down too, rushing to get your bag, Sukuna comes back with a little brace for your wrist and glares.
“You running off?”
“I made it weird,” you mumble, suddenly so insecure. If your own husband could fuck anything but you, what made you think Sukuna would want you being married, complicated, messy.
“I was just getting a wrap, get over here,” he tugs you over to him, sitting you on one of the cool metal benches. “Your wrists will toughen up in time.”
“Okay,” every time he touches you it sends waves of desire, your teeth clamp down on your lower lip, trying to focus. “Thank you, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry you hurt your wrist?” You nod, making Sukuna sigh now, shaking his head. “Stop apologizing for the dumbest shit. You’re fine.”
It’s awkward when you leave this time, too much between you both, your doubts raging even as you come home. For once, Satoru has no girl there, dressed in a suit and gazing over at you, gaze rushing across your body. He has no business looking that pretty and being that cruel.
“You’ve been training a lot,” he mentions, tilting his head curiously. “Every day seems excessive.”
“I like it,” you slip off your sweater, a little warm with the heat blasting, and then you feel his eyes hit your breasts. “Sorry it’s warm.”
You’re apologizing again.
For ‘dumb shit’. Is that just what you do, what you’ve always done?
“We have an event in an hour.” You nod and rush off to get ready, struggling into your dress so you don’t have to ask him for help again, he stands by the bathroom, the door open, crossing his arms. “What happened to your wrist?”
“Oh, I twisted it,” you take off the little velcro now. “It probably would look bad with the outfit.” He just shrugs, eyeing the marks left from the brace. “Do I look all right? I don’t think I have time to do makeup.”
“I guess,” that’s his answer.
‘I guess.’
You suppose it’s better than him telling you he’s unattracted again, you already know that now, looking at yourself in the mirror and hastily trying to do something with your hair. “What’s the event?”
“Some dumb fucking charity auction,” he eyes his phone now. “I thought that Jennifer told you.”
“No, she did not,” you scoff then, looking at him. “You ask your mistress to send me your itinerary?”
“She’s my secretary so yes, that’s what she’s for,” you can’t with him, especially his mean little smile. “That make you mad?”
You say nothing, you’re not taking his obvious bait – pushing past him quickly and grabbing your clutch, seeing a pair of black lace panties underneath the little glass side table then. Your jaw sets, glaring over at him.
“I asked you to keep the fucking to your room,” he frowns, looking down now, sighing. “What the fuck, Gojo?”
“I didn’t fuck her out here,” he answers with a shrug. “Just fingered her.”
You blush and he laughs softly, walking up to you, tilting your chin so that you’re forced to meet his gaze.
“Haven’t been fingered even?” You refuse to answer, jaw setting, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, his fingers drifting down your dress, achingly slow, blue eyes dilating just a bit. “You’re all heated thinking of it, huh?”
The backs of his knuckles drag against your puffy folds over your dress, you bite down on your lip, hating what his eyes do, when they look for a moment like maybe he would want you. You grip his wrist firmly though, shocking him for a moment when you shove his hand off.
“Aren’t we late?”
*****
Gojo
“Satoru,” his best friend frowns at him, seeing you across the room sitting alone, avoiding everyone and everything. “She looks miserable, the fuck are you doing?”
“She’ll be free soon enough,” Suguru narrows his eyes, Satoru’s mind goes to earlier when you gripped him so damn strong out of nowhere.
What sort of working out were you doing, and with who? The thought of someone touching you makes him unreasonably jealous, considering any time he did you froze like you did. He almost felt your heat, imagining the slick, perfect little cunt you must have that he actively turned down.
Now it’s driving him insane, you are gone all the time, not even bothering to look at him. Isn’t this what he wanted, you to hate him, to get over your dumb crush and realize he’s not worth it? Satoru will never love anyone, he knows that he's not capable of it any more than his parents were capable of loving him.
He supposes Suguru was as close as he got to ‘loving’ someone, though even his best friend was done with his shit clearly.
“She seems really sweet,” Satoru sighs.
“She is annoyingly sweet. And perfect. And pure.” He says it with disdain.
“So you need an average, slutty ass secretary?” Satoru rolls his eyes, sipping on his whiskey. “I’m sorry everyone knows.”
“Good, give the Gojo name a scandal,” his lips quirk up. “She is too sweet for someone like me anyway.”
“I don’t understand why you’re going that far,” Suguru says, shaking his head. “Have you even looked at her? If you had to be arranged, wouldn’t you want it to be someone like her?”
“You like how she looks so much, you go fuck her,” Suguru glares at him, and Satoru tenses when he realizes you’re walking past right behind Suguru, looking up at him with devastated eyes.
Those eyes.
He didn’t love to hurt you, despite what you thought, he just needed you to give up, to not have any feelings, and you still seem to. Still seem to respond to him, still try for whatever reason. He’s given you no possible sign that he feels what he feels, that he does want you, he does think you’re beautiful, he couldn’t say that shit when he’s finally got you shoved far enough away.
Yet he hates himself for it, loathes himself for the tears in your eyes as Suguru turns and sees you, flush on his cheeks, scowling back at his own friend. Satoru opens his mouth then closes it, seeing that you’re about to break apart hearing it – that he told his best friend to go fuck his wife because he won’t.
“Let’s dance, hmm?” Suguru asks you, and Satoru watches you take his hand and nod, swiping a tear with a tremulous smile.
“Yes please,” Satoru watches you both, leaning back against the wall, studying how his hand takes over your waist, how you seem…
Happy at that moment.
“Satoru Gojo,” his mother’s voice is in his ear, right next to your parents, he blinks just a bit. “We’d like to know what’s going on.”
“Is she not doing good enough?” Your mother asks, Satoru frowns then, blinking just a bit.
“We tried our best to make sure she was perfect for you,” that’s your dad, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is she giving you trouble?”
“Is she giving me trouble?” He’s dumbfounded at their question, looking back at you on the floor.
“You could stand to keep your affairs discreet,” his mother chides. “You don’t need to flaunt them around even if she’s not adequate.”
Not adequate – you.
This is why he fucking hates this.
“We can keep her for a bit, if she needs more polishing.”
“She’s not a fucking golden retriever who needs training,” he says then, earning their surprised looks. “She’s polished to a tee, I assure you.”
“Then surely there’s more we can do, she does look disheveled," your mom says, Satoru swallows down guilt now.
This would only look bad on you. He’s a Gojo, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, he’s a man and you’re…
“I’ll dance with her, yeah?” He gets them to shut up for now, he’s still got too much going on, trying to find the best way to annul the marriage without you getting hurt in the process.
Well, more hurt.
When he cuts in, you’re stiff in his arms, he tugs you against him, remembering the first dance he had, where he had the maid’s cunt all over his fingers. You tried even then, pathetically trying when you look like that, and it all starts to make sense why you are so desperate, meeting them.
“Act like you enjoy it, they’re on my ass,” he says gruffly. He doesn’t want to hear more shit about you ‘training’ or getting ‘polished’ but he doesn’t tell you that, his hand on the small of your back. “Smile like you did at Suguru.”
“I like Suguru,” you say softly, a mean smile on a usually shy, soft face, stabbing Gojo in the heart. “I don’t like you.”
He chuckles now, leaning low and murmuring your ear. “That’s perfect.”
*****
You
You’re extra aggressive after that night, after hearing him so casually not just dismiss you as a woman but tell his friend to ‘have at it’.
You’re imagining his dumb pretty face as you punch the bag over and over, Sukuna is quiet, it’s early before he even opens the gym but when you asked to come he had no problem, he was there early anyway. You couldn’t stand one more moment not hitting something, all of the energy you’ve spent crying over Gojo, over your fucking parents.
Coming to you all ‘disappointed’ when you’ve done NOTHING but try, what’s it got you, what’s anything get you? Perfect, perfect, perfect – for what. It keeps racing in your mind until you feel sick to your stomach, breaths coming in short little pants, hitting it so hard you almost tweak your sore wrist, but you welcome the pain, until Sukuna steps back.
“Hey,” Sukuna is dabbing a little washcloth on your brow, you're shaky and overheated from punching that bag so damn hard. The cool cloth feels good against your clammy skin, you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. "Feel better?"
"Actually yes," you look up into those ruby eyes that hold so much in them, lost for a moment. He grabs you a water and twists it open, you drink from it – a little drop slipping across your chin, he swipes it with ease, making you tremble.
Fuck you want him, you want to feel what it’s like, whatever he thinks you’re ‘too sweet and innocent’ to hear. You want to know what’s behind those eyes, so fucking guarded, but you don’t know how to say it when you stand in that ring with him. It’d be so selfish to drag him into your fucked life, but for some reason he deals with you, he spends the time.
Your friend, he’s your friend right?
Yet when Sukuna’s sooty pink lashes lower, and his hands gently fix one of your bobby pins up, you catch his wrist without thinking. He pauses, teeth glinting with his little grin. "Practicing self defense against big ass pink haired men who touch your hair, huh woman?"
You know he's joking with you, but you step closer, breath catching when you inhale his scent in your nostrils. Not that obnoxious cologne Satoru wears, it's real and male and musky – sweat mixed with something inherently him. It shoots straight to your core, the need for him in every single way, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, like his gravity is pulling you.
Sukuna exhales, letting you put his hand on your cheek, so big and tall over you, shadows casting across the boxing ring.
“Treading in dangerous territory, brat,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move your hand, letting you slip your fingers across the jut of his jaw, feeling his pulse fluttering when it slips across his neck.
"I don't want to get you involved in my mess, Sukuna," you say then, catching his attention, pulling back ever so slightly.
"Maybe I don't mind a mess," you sigh, looking at his plump lips, his tattooed hand tugging you closer by the waist until you’re almost against him. "Messes are my specialty. Wanna know why?"
You swallow nervously, trembling in front of him, sweat making you shiver just a bit as the AC kicks on overhead, cooling sweat soaked skin. "Why?"
"Because, I'm damaged too, I just hide it better than you," you shut your eyes for a moment.
"I've only kissed once," he blinks a bit, frowning. "So maybe I'll suck at this."
"What now-"
That's when you - Mrs. Gojo - tiptoe and kiss Ryomen Sukuna on his lips.
And that's when he drags you against him and presses your back on the ropes around the boxing ring, moaning. Hard body, hot and heavy, a thigh pressing where you've never been touched, making you whine out, lifting you like it’s nothing. His tongue slips past the seam of your lips, gripping you so tight you can’t breathe.
You don’t want to though, you want him to take all your breath away.
For the first time maybe ever, you feel so wanted, the way he devours you like he's waited forever for it, moaning against your skin and easing you down then, letting you slip down his body, cupping your face. Huge hands taking it over – his breath coming in pants, this look in his eyes, his pupils swallowing those irises until they’re black underneath those pink lashes.
“Don’t do that,” he huffs, shoulders heaving up and down.
“I’m sor-”
“I’ll fucking break you,” your tummy clenches in response, pussy drooling at his desperation, looking at you like you’re it. “Ruin your perfect little cunt, is that really what you want?”
“Ruin my… um… you…” You don’t even really get his terminology, but the way he says it just makes you slip your arms across his neck. “You didn’t mind the kiss, then?”
He laughs, shaking his head before a sorrow hits his eyes, brushing your hair back with one hand, the other pulling you close. “Do I mind it?”
“I haven’t done anything,” you admit, the insinuation clear as hands drag along the curve of your waist. “I don’t know if-”
Sukuna cuts you off with another kiss, tongue delving into the recesses of your mouth, holding you up so his thickness presses your needy cunt through the thin layers of your yoga pants and his gym shorts. You taste a hint of that coffee he had earlier – mixed with the light salt of his sweat dripping from his lips, groaning as he feels your thighs wrap him.
“Mmm, if you don’t go I’ll fucking break you,” you’re too far gone, just rolling your hips, making him suck in a breath while precum leaks and makes him sticky. His breaths mingle with yours, all the tension of this week coming to a head, he’s done holding back yet he still tries to. “M’not fucking kidding. Should go.”
“Do you want me to go?” His answer is somehow gently landing you on the white floor underneath your feet – now on your back – and spreading your thighs, pressing up between them so hot and thick. “Sukuna…”
“Don’t say my name that way, fuck,” his lips are all over you, tongues dancing so messy with that saliva dripping you blush. Your fingers trail down his abdomen, over the rippling muscles, feeling them tense and bunch. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, finding him then, watching his eyes flutter shut. “I wanna hear the things you won’t say.”
“You don’t.” His grip is on your wrist, pinning it over your head. Your breasts heave up and down, one of his hands slipping under your top, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“I’ll tell you something I think,” he raises a slutty eyebrow, two barbells that make it even sluttier, just that look has you writhing under him, as you bite down on your lip. “Deal?”
“What’s your cute little comment, hmm? Wanna hold my hand?” You glare and he chuckles. “I love when you scowl.”
“I have never touched myself,” Sukuna’s face goes into shock, red eyes wide. “Never um… came. And last night, I thought of you and… I tried to. I don’t know what I was doing and it didn’t work, but I thought of you and was…”
“Don’t say it.”
You sigh, suddenly feeling bold with him.
“Wet.”
“Fuck me,” Sukuna’s taking back over your mouth, kisses more desperate and hungry by the moment, you’re soaked when he finds your puffy cunt for the first time, tentatively slipping a fingertip inside and hissing, you gasp out. “Cunt is way too small, I’d split you in half.”
Whatever he means you’re just wetter, gasping when he pulls it back before he gives you what you crave. Slick fingers on your lip, watching your blush for a moment before kissing your cunt off him, a hand now under your head so it doesn’t hurt pressing into the ring’s floor. Your thighs spread for more, arching your hips.
“Too fuckin’ pretty,” you shake your head, blinking tears and making him halt, scowling. “You are.”
“You’re-”
“If you say sweet I’ll bruise your cervix,” you’re a flustered mess at that, earning his groan of frustration, taking your hand in his, nipping your finger with his teeth, sharp pain pressing in. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Deal?”
“If you can make yourself cum for me tonight, I’ll let you use my fingers tomorrow,” your fingers slip down your puffy folds guided with his own, before he pushes yours up. “Your clit, rub it.”
“It’s… ah!” Sukuna watches you jolt at your own touch, pulling your fingers away as if burned, cheeks flushing.
"Twitching I bet," he sighs, amused, hovering over you and putting your fingers back down. “Do you want me to make you cum tomorrow?”
You nod eagerly but you don’t feel ‘pathetic’ with Sukuna, he wants you just as desperately. “Y-yes.”
“Be a good girl,” you whine out, making him smirk just a bit. “Touch it again, little circles."
Those fingers find your clit again, this time obeying him and testing the little movements, shaky breaths overtaking you. Sukuna's eyes darken as he watches, his own fingers guiding your movements. “Sukuna… mnh!”
"Do it slower," he whispers, looking at you in this way…
Is this what it is, to be desired?
You’re shaking, wantonly playing with yourself in Sukuna’s boxing ring under his hungry gaze, rubbing circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, hips jerking. A whimper escapes when you accidentally press too hard, when it jumps and gets so slick your fingers slip off almost.
“Too much!”
Sukuna's knuckles brush your inner thigh where slick has trailed, moaning and spreading it around until it’s glossy. "Keep going, imagine it's my fingers."
The thought sends heat from your core – little movements feeling so fucking good that your eyes are rolling back in your skull, his hot lips pressing kisses on your upper breasts, letting them gently bounce from your yoga top. When his tongue flicks over your nipple you’re about to shatter, whimpering in Sukuna’s ear as he keeps guiding your fingers.
Your slick drowns both of you.
“Go ahead,” he urges, looking down at you. “Lemme see how pretty you are when you cum for the first time.”
It’s heady and insane, lewd and filthy him watching you fall apart – you whine out as the first bit of that orgasm fucking destroys you, hips lifting off the cold mat as white stars burst behind your eyelids. The pleasure makes you dizzy, head falling back, back arching up as you ride it out, gushing in spurts in embarrassing amounts.
Your fingers fall weakly, opening your eyes to the blurry vision of Sukuna watching with lidded, dazed eyes.
“You did such a good job today,” you almost cry then.
Praise was something you’ve never gotten. Your breaths quicken, tits almost slipping up and out where he’d tugged at them, Sukuna gently moves your hand, his crimson gaze locks onto yours as he brings your fingertips to his mouth.
“Sukuna! You’re…” His long tongue swipes against your fingers in a circle, before he slips a filthy drag between them, lapping up all of your juices. “Tasting me?”
“Mmm, fuck,” he hums low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks each little digit clean, his cheeks hollowing. He looks like he’s cumming – you think, you’re not sure.
You do know it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, the sight of it pulls another broken moan from your throat, the obscene sound echoing in the gym's quiet, until there is no sound but that suctioned pop.
“I wanna bury my face in you,” his words are insanity, things you never thought you’d hear, hovering over you and pulling your thigh up so you feel him. “Then I wanna bury my cock, wreck you until you won’t walk out of here, pump you full until you drip me when you get home to your fuck ass husband.”
“Sukuna… I… you really…” He kisses you quiet, pulling back and laughing softly, huge body casting a shadow across you both, eyes dangerous, grin psychotic – white against his skin.
“That’s just a bit of my thoughts, you need to go before you’re not a virgin anymore,” he touches your lips thoughtfully. “I’d fill all your holes though.”
“All!? Um…” He pulls up and gently adjusts your clothing with precise fingers, kissing you again and again.
“Don’t let me corrupt you, just run off,” his words hurt, as if he’s not good enough for you, when that’s so not the case. “Shouldn’t even come back.”
“No,” is your answer. A firm answer you almost apologize for, his sigh loud as he runs a hand shaky through his hair. “I don’t want to run, if you don’t want me to.”
“Dangerous and dumb idea,” his hand entangles in the nape of your neck, his own breaths erratic. “If you do good tonight I’ll make sure you have my fingers. Will you cum thinking of them?”
“I’ll try to do it right,” you blush now, letting him stroke your back, sending shivers as you fall into another kiss.
You don’t want to go home.
When you go to leave, he pauses you, a hand on your shoulder. “He doesn’t hit you or some shit, yeah? Because I swear-”
“Never, I smacked him,” Sukuna sighs in relief. “It’s mental pain, not that. I promise.”
“Still fucked but,” he shakes his head. “If it ever got there I have a champion belt I can throw on.”
“I bet you do,” you smile, feeling cared for was new.
“Go.”
“One more?”
“No, won’t stop there,” he shakes his head and you turn, just for him to drag you back, kissing you over and over, as gone in you as you are in him, pulling back to brush your cheeks, sighing. “Now go.”
You don’t say anything, the intentions were clear, Sukuna wanted you in ways you knew nothing of other that watching Satoru and hearing things here and there, in ways that makes your clit still twitch. Cunt pulsing around nothing, hands shaky as you drive, a mix of pleasure, desire, and more.
Feelings, brand new and blooming, intense.
And guilt.
Why?
You walk up quietly to see Satoru standing in front of the porch, gaze flickering to you, as if he fucking knew somehow, smoking a cigarette. You blink for a moment, you didn’t know him to smoke, but then you don’t really know him, not at all. You walk up and go to open the door as he blows some of it out, leaned back on the railing, crossing his legs at the ankles.
“Your lips are swollen,” you suck in a breath, freezing and turning to look at him. “You bite them or get them bitten?”
“How would you even notice? You don’t notice me,” your words are carried by the chilled breeze. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Hah,” he inhales a drag, stepping near you, exhaling up and away. “I do smoke. I have.”
“Ah,” you look away then. “It’s shit for you but… I can’t say I care enough to tell you to stop.”
“Ouch,” his hand brushes your hair back, frowning. “Hair’s a mess.”
“Yep,” you won’t deny it if he asks, but he’s not owed a fucking explanation either. “You eat dinner?”
“Yeah there’s food in the kitchen,” he flicks his cigarette out, quiet.
“Where’s Jennifer? Or… Chloe? Is that her name?”
“I don’t have a woman every night,” you laugh then, Satoru eyes you. “I don’t.”
“Okay, it’s ‘not my business’ right, Gojo?”
He says nothing.
You’re tired of trying to see something in him, when he presses against you, your front against the door, tilting your chin and eyeing your lips carefully, thumb brushing over them. “You were kissing or sucking cock?”
“Wouldn’t tell you,” you lift your chin, looking up at him, feeling his grip tighten on either side of your chin. “I’m gonna eat.”
“Yeah.” He lets you go, you struggle inside, trying to catch a breath.
That night you think of him – of Sukuna’s ruby eyes and vermillion lips, of his hungry kisses and the way he looked at you. Even if it was fleeting, even if he was just in the moment, you never knew you could feel that way, feel so wanted, so beautiful.
You can’t stop thinking of the words.
Break you.
Fuck all your holes.
Fuck you’re pretty.
You touch yourself alone for the first time in your life tonight, and Satoru Gojo may have heard you outside your door, he may have stroked his cock right outside your door, head resting on it. He may be regretting things, he may desire you, hearing your sharp gasps as he knows you’re touching yourself, imagining you gripping those sheets and fucking yourself with your fingers.
It’s a sick thing to do, to jerk his cock to a girl he turned down, a girl he’s made hate him on purpose, one he’s acted like he doesn’t want, one that soon will be long gone and think of him as a traumatic fucking memory. Yet it doesn’t stop him from pumping his cock up and down with his fist, moaning quietly as you reach your peak so loudly.
Yet he doesn’t hear his name.
He hears you mumbling – Kuna.
Welp it just gets messier from heeerree <3 A/N here, plz don't hate on reader for being a 'doormat' she literally is traumatized and will have more character development as we go. You can hate on Gojo though LMAO!!! I hope you enjoy, I am so thankful for the love and look forward to hearing your thoughts!
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link (commissions here)🍷
Your roommate grew up on a ranch before moving to the City and now she INSISTS that you come along with her to one of the biggest rodeos around. Having moved in not too long ago, you reluctantly agree even though dusty, wide open spaces are a foreign concept to your polished City girl demeanor. By chance, you meet one of the biggest names in pro-rodeo complete with a belt buckle as big as his ego. A cowboy through and through, he hates the City and the people that reside it. Little does he know that lasting eight seconds on a bull is easy compared to fighting feelings for a girl he’s supposed to hate.
Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: slight enemies to lovers, eventual smut, Sukuna is a rodeo cowboy, reader is a city girl, slight mentions of blood/injury from rodeo activities, happy ending, kissing
AN: Extra credit if you know what real life rodeo this is based on lol. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.
The carnival was about as lame as you had suspected, but you were making the most of it by having a good time with your friends. The people watching was top notch. Children scampered around, amped up on sugar from the plentiful cotton candy and funnel cake vendors much to the chagrin of their poor parents. Groups of teenagers cackled loudly, clearly enjoying their freedom away from their guardians and the adults weren’t much different. Beer and wine was available at almost every other cart so while the kids were going buckwild, the adults weren’t far off.
The heat of the day had subsided substantially, the jean shirts and skirts now replaced with full length jeans as a light breeze helped to circulate the stale air. The dusty paths had ladened your shoes with a sheen of brown as you and your friends trudged through the crowds, laughing and giggling at the scenes all around you.
After an afternoon break at Shoko’s place to cool off, the three of you were fully refreshed to take on the carnival together. While resting, Shoko had been grilling you on how your time with Sukuna had gone. You’d shied away from getting into details as much as possible knowing she was desperate for signs of him being interested in you.
Sure he’d said some borderline questionable things that had made your heartbeat soar and caused your stomach to get all fluttery. But, the fact of the matter was that he was a country boy through and through and your worlds just didn’t overlap save for this one random weekend.
He was the entertainment and you were just a fan paying to watch him…one of thousands.
Who were you but one girl who seemed to pique his interest when there was a damn army who’d drop everything at a chance to garner a second of his attention. You weren’t special, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to be. Surely this was just him being bored and lonely on the road, probably just wanting someone interesting to warm his bed.
Holding onto your dignity was more important than being used and humiliated by a man who damn near wasn’t going to respect you and likely you would just become the butt of his jokes to his other stupid cowboy friends.
Another notch on his obnoxiously large belt.
Geto had met back up with you all again giving Nanami another guy to shoot the shit with while you and Shoko pranced around in your tipsy states. What you were learning about being in the middle of nowhere was that drinking was one of the standard activities, not that you were complaining.
After multiple bottles of beer and way too many rides on the rickety carnival rides, your group had settled at some tables on the outskirts to “hydrate”.
“So who’s gonna win a prize tonight?” Nanami asks, pointing at the array of games on the edge of the seating area.
“Fuck that! Shit is a scam,” you bark back, making the whole group laugh.
“Sounds like a skill issue,” Geto shakes his head, “I’ll win something no problem.”
“Same,” Nanami echos.
“Okay boys, quit having a dick measuring competition,” Shoko slaps the table between them, making you burst into laughter.
Upon opening your eyes, you do a triple take as a flash of pink catches your eye across the seating area.
Pink accompanied by white.
Gojo and Sukuna taking a picture with a group of giddy looking girls.
You feel your face get hot, quickly averting your gaze. Suddenly the wooden table under your hands is the most interesting thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. You don’t even know why you want to hide away.
Surely they won’t notice your group of nobodies.
“Ope, the fan girls are in full force,” Geto and Shoko chuckle as it’s clear the famous cowboys have drawn more attention. Oh well, better for you if they distract the pink haired menace.
Wait, why are you even flattering yourself with the thought that he’d even want to come talk to you?
“Gojo is hamming it up as usual,” Shoko giggles, making you look up again.
As she said, Gojo is clearly egging on the attention while Sukuna seems to be simply tolerating it, jaw tight as he smiles.
Then your breath hitches as you make contact with those dark crimson eyes, causing you to jerk your own away to focus on anything else.
“Uh oh,” Nanami mutters, noticing how Sukuna had honed in on you.
“Oh god, is he…”
“Mhmm, coming straight over here,” he cuts you off. “I can tell him to leave you alone if you want?” Nanami murmurs, looking concerned.
Your roommate is sweet. Earlier he’d been a little more cautious than Shoko when listening to your account of hanging out with Sukuna, ensuring he didn’t do anything inappropriate.
“It’s okay,” you answer quickly, painfully aware of the duo now just a few paces away.
The bench you are sitting on suddenly creaks under the weight of Sukuna throwing himself down. His blue jeans brush against your leg as he wedges himself onto what little space is left.
The scent of his cologne is familiar after being around him earlier, reducing you to a nervous mess as it attempts to awaken something within your brain. The static in your ears finally ceases when you hear Sukuna snap at the posse standing next to him.
“I’m busy, go away,” he waves his hand, long sleeved shirt tight against his muscular arm.
“Save me,” his voice is deep as his hot breath tickles your ear. You realize he’s dipped his face down so only you can hear him.
You giggle at his admission.
“And what do you expect me to do about this?” you move closer to him, making him huff in response.
“Whatever you want,” he grunts, sliding his sleeves up to reveal his tatted forearms.
Your skin suddenly feels hot as his simple words cause a reaction in your blood, like he’s daring you to take the bait. With the beers making you brave, you ponder doing something reckless.
“Pretend to be your girl?” you whisper.
He just gives you a smirk, shrugging his broad shoulders as he glances at you with lidded eyes.
Whatever the hell is going on here, you kinda like it. A million possibilities race through your mind in the mere seconds that pass, forgetting how your friends are all sitting right there.
You drop your hand to the bench, building up the courage before you place it on his thigh. It almost takes your breath away feeling his muscles tense against the fabric, Sukuna’s own breath hitching in your ear.
“Careful,” he mutters, voice raspier than it was just moments before.
Psh, like he means that with the way he’s spreading his legs, forcing your fingers to slide to his inner thigh.
“Tch, sure aren’t acting careful,” you strain up to his ear, lips barely brushing his skin. Sparks rush through your veins and it's like you have tunnel vision, forgetting everything happening around you…everyone around you.
Sukuna’s face flushes, ears turning a slight pink like his hair as he pulls off his hat and sets it in his lap.
Is he…no way, you’re thinking too much into it.
You were onto something though, all your actions were causing the man’s jeans to get way too damn tight on his dick as he tried to fight it to no avail.
“How’s your side feeling?” you ask him, trying to help distract yourself from the heat coursing through your body.
“Mmm, it still hurts. But it didn’t open up today so if I can get some decent sleep tonight, I should be in good shape tomorrow,” he answers.
“Oh is that from earlier today?” Shoko asks, looking puzzled at your hand in his lap. You’re sure you’ll get an earful later.
“Yeah, she walked in right as it was getting tended to earlier,” Sukuna responds, still holding his hat in his lap while raking one hand through his hair.
“I’m glad it’s feeling a little better,” you smile up at him, tracing small circles with your thumb on the fabric of his jeans, enjoying the way he stiffens again. You’re enjoying toying with him, unsure if you’re going to get some backlash from him later.
Eventually the crowd that was at his side disperses, so you figure your job is done.
“Coast looks clear,” you announce to him, moving your hand back up to rest on the table in front of you.
He hums in response, shifting on the bench so his legs are closer together again. If he gives you any shit again, you are one hundred percent bringing up the boner he surely just had.
“Good to see you survived your time with this brute,” Gojo teases, now sitting next to Shoko.
“Fuck off, why do you gotta be like this?” Sukuna snaps.
You start giggling with Shoko, watching Gojo’s lips curl into a grin as Sukuna gives him exactly the reaction that he wanted.
“Like what Sukuna? Also didn’t know you were such a gentleman taking your hat off at the table even if it’s outside,” he says boldly, making you almost choke on your spit in surprise.
Sukuna meanwhile turns beet red, fists clenched as tight as his jaw. He slams his hat back on his head in response, glaring daggers across the table at Gojo.
“Shall we go check out the games now?” Geto jumps in.
“Yes!” you say quickly. “You wanna come with? Or do you have to go be important somewhere else?” you turn to Sukuna with a grin.
“I’ll go. I already said this morning I’m gonna win you something,” he grunts, swinging his legs around to stand up.
Oh yeah you had forgotten that he’d mentioned that. You truly don’t believe he can pull it off because those games are designed to be impossible to win, taking money from schmucks like your group.
Sukuna stretches his arms towards the sky after standing up, shirt riding up just enough to reveal another massive belt buckle.
“Why do you wear those?” you point at it, earning a laugh out of the man.
“These belt things help your pants stay fitted you know,” he chides, earning a smack on the side from you…his good side, you weren't that cruel.
“Ha-ha, so fucking funny,” you roll your eyes, he seems way more relaxed now that he wasn’t in ‘work’ mode. “The belt buckle, it’s massive.”
He lifts his shirt, revealing the silver piece that’s almost as big as your palm.
“They’re buckles given to rodeo winners, look closer,” he explains. You feel a little odd staring at his waist, but you do as he says, noticing the buckle is actually quite intricate, similar to a high school class ring. It’s engraved with a bucking bull and says “2023 National Finals Champion - Houston Texas”.
“Wow, I had no idea,” you say, standing back up, catching Shoko’s eye again. With no context, it must’ve looked like you were staring at his crotch.
“I was looking at the belt buckle, I didn’t know they actually meant something,” you are quick to speak, making her laugh in return.
“Well, you can buy them in western wear stores, so not all of them mean you won something,” Sukuna adds.
That makes sense, there’s no way every man at this event was some kind of rodeo winner. Maybe there were some male cowboy cosplayers just like the women that got flamed for the same thing.
You continue talking as your group begins to walk, Sukuna falling in step with you. His brown boots are worn and dusty next to your white sneakers, you surely look wildly different standing next to him.
“So how many do you have? Belt buckles I mean?” you ask.
“Uhhh, I reckon a lot. I’ve placed in probably like 50 competitions at least over the years since I was younger, but I don’t wear all of them. Some are sentimental, so I keep them locked away. I’m vain though and like to wear the big competition ones,” he chuckles.
You are surprised at how successful he is, feeling a little star struck. As you look around, the way people stop and stare cements it. The man draws eyes from all ages, even down to the children who excitedly wave at him. Sukuna must be used to it though because he doesn't even bat an eye, ignoring everything and focusing on you.
“That’s actually pretty cool. To be honest I thought they were like lifted trucks. Public displays of overcompensation,” you giggle, making him burst out laughing in return.
“I mean, it could be for some, not me though.”
“Ummmm, what exactly are you saying Sukuna?” you tease.
“Brat, that’s not what I meant. But if you’re dying to know, no, I’m confident in what I’m packing,” he mutters, making your breath catch in your throat.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” you laugh nervously.
Is it the heat making your inner thighs sweaty? And your heartbeat slamming in your ears? Yes, that’s definitely it. Certainly not the image of him pinning you against the concrete building you are walking past, feeling every inch of him pressed against your panties. He’s so muscular and strong, there’s no way you’d be able to move from his grasp, especially if he had your legs locked around his waist, driving himself into you, showing you just how that large belt buckle wasn’t an exaggeration.
More like it’s a warning, one that hints at how you’d probably have to stretch to accommodate him, feeling every vein on your snug walls as he finds spots inside you didn’t even know existed.
A loose rock beneath your feet lurches you from the vision, causing you to stumble. Sukuna’s strong arm is quick to react, catching you before you can humiliate yourself in front of all these people.
“God you city girls can’t fucking walk once the concrete ends,” he laughs, helping you steady yourself.
You don’t even respond, you can’t. Why the hell were you thinking about that?? Okay it had been a minute since you’d gotten laid, and you might be experiencing the effects of a dry spell.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” you quickly turn towards the building, glancing at the outside wall one more time that was the setting for your nighttime daydream. “You don’t need to wait for me,” you call over your shoulder, not bothering to wait for his response.
You practically stumble to the sink, turning on the cold water to splash it in your face. The shock of the icy droplets makes you gasp, distracting you momentarily to try and pull yourself together. Staring into the mirror, you drag your fingers down your face, huffing back at the flusteredt reflection.
Is it really so bad to flirt with a hot guy? Maybe you were putting too much pressure on yourself. You were never going to see him again after this weekend. You’d go back to your life and he’d find another you to hang out with at his next event. All of this was temporary, it didn’t need to be this serious.
After your internal pep talk, you decide to go back outside. The screams of kids on rides blasts you in the face when you open the door and the flow of people going by reminds you of where you are.
Sukuna is leaning against a railing, chewing on his lip and playing on his phone. Your friend group is a little ways away, playing some game that involves throwing a baseball to knock down some pins.
You swallow down your apprehension and march back towards him.
“I said you didn’t need to wait,” you announce your presence once more.
“I wanted to,” Sukuna shrugs, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.
You lead the way towards the booth just as Geto knocks down one of the pins. He looks frustrated, staring at the next ball as if trying to imbue it with some spell to magically make it do what he wants.
“Has anybody won yet?” you ask Nanami.
“Geto technically got the lowest level prize, but he’s been trying to improve it. I think he should just cut his losses,” Nanami explains as you both watch the ball whiz past the upright pins, earning a loud scoff from Geto.
“You playing?” Gojo appears and nudges Sukuna.
“Are you challenging me?” he answers, his lips curling into a smirk.
“Maybe. Gotta win the ladies something ya know,” he says with a huge grin.
Sukuna scowls immediately, pushing past him to shove money into the attendant's hands. Gojo scampers up to join him, leaving you, Nanami, and Shoko to watch.
The attendant sets up three pins and explains that you have three throws to knock them all off the table. Sukuna rolls up his sleeve past his elbows, winds up, and nails a pin with his first throw.
“Oh damn,” Shoko says, equally as surprised as you. Maybe he will win something after all.
Gojo misses his first throw, pouting as Sukuna taunts him. You can’t hear them, but the two are bickering at each other. As much as Sukuna was hating on Gojo, deep down they really do seem to be good friends.
Sukuna winds up and knocks down another one as Gojo hits his second pin. One more to go! You don’t want to jinx him, but you really do feel like he can win it all. Is there anything the man can’t do?
You predicted correctly because you and Shoko squeal in delight when Sukuna effortlessly knocks down the final pin. Gojo shakes his hand in defeat, clapping Sukuna on the back as he pulls him in and whispers something.
Sukuna throws his head back in laughter as he turns around, pointing directly at you.
“Me?” you mouth at him, looking around to make sure it was indeed you he was intending to point at.
He nods, pointing to the stuffed animals hanging from the roof of the booth.
You feel a little embarrassed because everyone is staring at you now. There’s no way anyone can miss this, usually guys winning stuffed animals for girls is labeled as some kind of love interest…at least it's that way in all the movies.
You hop to his side, holding out your hand to give him a high five.
“Nice job Kuna!” you smile as his large hand connects with yours, lifting an eyebrow at the way you shortened his name.
“Kuna? What’s up with that shit?” he smirks, standing up straighter like it’s a badge of honor to have won the game for you.
“Just thought it was funny. So you’re sure you want me to pick? You did all the work,” you laugh, eyes darting between the numerous stuffed animals.
“Yes brat, pick you one. I have no need for stuffed animals,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.
You end up picking a neon pink dolphin, carrying it in your arms proudly as your group continues to wander about. Eventually it gets annoying to hold and you decide you want to bring it to the car.
“It’s parked so far away though, are you sure?” Shoko asks, reminding you that you all had parked in the furthest lot.
“Let’s bring it to mine, I’m able to park pretty close,” Sukuna interrupts.
“How will I get it back though?” you ask, assuming that this was surely the last time that you’d be seeing him. Tomorrow he’d be competing and doing some kind of after party for the contestants, and then the next day you’d be heading back home.
“I’ll make sure you get it, don’t worry about it,” he narrows his eyes at what you are suggesting.
You and Shoko look at each other before you shrug, just accepting his words at this point.
“Okay,” you say finally, following Sukuna through the maze of vendors and rides towards the entrance.
Once it’s finally quiet, you slow down, hugging the dolphin to your chest as he leads the way towards a parking lot tucked away near the main entrance.
“I guess if you forget, you can just keep it. You won it technically-”
“I’m not going to forget, why do you keep insinuating that I’m not going to see you any more?” he sounds irritated, confusing you.
“Uhhh, cuz you’re competing tomorrow and I am but a lowly spectator?” you snap back, unsure of why this is so difficult to understand.
Sukuna just stays quiet, the gravel crackling and shifting under each heavy step he takes while you struggle to keep up. He’s walking fast now, keeping a few paces ahead of you. Now he just seems frustrated and you just become more and more confused. You swear there is some underlying message he’s trying to convey, but you just can’t fathom that it’s what your mind keeps wandering to.
The air is dead quiet now that you are away from the crowds. Street lights buzz overhead and the occasional sound of a car engine revving up to leave are the only sounds cutting through the night.
Sukuna stops at a red truck that looks like it could be pretty pricey, and likely it is given his success in the rodeo business.
“Sukuna, what's wrong?” you blurt out, making the man come to a dead stop just as he’s unlocking the door. He pulls the key from the door, slowly turning to where you stand, piercing red eyes cutting through you like a dagger.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You’re giving me the cold shoulder and seem mad. Use your words like an adult,” you counter, refusing to put up with his antics.
“Tch, smart ass mouth,” he mutters, turning to open the truck again. The lighting is dim where he’s parked on the edge of the lot, partway in the grass.
You walk past him to peer into the bed of the truck since it wasn’t every day you were up close to one. It's large and imposing, just like him. The sharp black interior catches your eye as it lights up.
“Give me the dolphin,” he holds his hand out to you.
One more forlorn look at the stuffed animal, you hand it off to him, silently apologizing to the dolphin for needing to be trapped in this grumpy man’s truck. The tension in the air was thick, unsure of what the hell was going through his head. It didn’t feel fair that you were at his mercy, like he was controlling how much information he was willing to share.
Sukuna slams the door closed and instead of turning back towards the carnival, he leans against the truck instead, blocking the way. His large stature looks intimidating in the low light and for a moment you feel scared.
“I’m not mad,” he finally sighs, shuffling his feet in the grass beneath him. “I just…I don’t want this to be the last time I see you,” he says so softly you swear you misheard him.
It’s dead silent and you wonder if he can hear the way your heart is hammering in your chest.
“Sukuna, if this is just you trying to sleep with a fan or something, I think you have the wrong idea,” you answer, fighting the quiver in your voice. “You’re single right? Like I get it, you have every right to not commit and just have a good time-”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snarls, interrupting you. “This isn’t me just trying to fuck you, it’s not like that…I’m not like that.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out what to say next. Never in a million years did you think you’d be having this conversation this weekend…with a rodeo cowboy nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, I assumed, you know, you’re famous and well, that’s what famous people usually do,” you murmur, ashamed to look him in the eyes.
“I’ve had girlfriends, you know. I’m not some huge slut like Gojo,” his mouth is tight as he forces out the words.
You remember the articles online about his messy breakup with his model girlfriend, but you’re not sure what that has to do with anything right now.
“I know you did, I saw it online,” you gulp, not wanting to upset him any further.
“Hmph, the tabloids definitely were all about publishing how she wanted to spin it,” he growls, fists clenching. Sukuna walks towards you, passing by you and dropping the tailgate. He hops up, legs dangling as he sits on the edge.
“Sit,” he pats the spot next to him. After a questionable look, you join him, leaving a comfortable gap between the two of you.
“Okay, you want the truth? Well here it is, I’m trying really hard to not be interested in you. Ever since the other night actually. I swore, never again would I fuck with a girl from the city. Not after her. But you’re really attractive, and fun to talk to, and you don’t fucking put me on a pedestal like every one else. In fact, the way you don’t seem to care about me makes me want you more,” his voice is raspier now, like some of the gravel from the ground got kicked up into his throat.
Your pounding heart feels like it’s stopped, all the stars above you blurring in the night sky as your vision tunnels. The tailgate below you is shaking, realizing you are trembling as you process his words. Is he…confessing? All this time you felt there was no way he’d want someone like you, and technically he was trying to not want you based on what he said.
But deep down, you know you wanted him. It was the same for you, you hated guys like him. Country losers with no sophistication have no place in your life.
And here you were sitting on a damn tailgate being a massive hypocrite yourself.
You can’t help but feel jealous of this stranger too. Does he still love her? Pine after her? Trying to emulate her with you?
“Do you still love her?” you ask.
“Fuck no, I don’t think I ever really did. I was young and stupid. I was starting to accrue a lot of money and becoming famous in this world. Well what I didn’t know was that cowboys and country guys are like a fun toy to those Hollywood elites. All I saw was a hot model giving me attention and my dumb boy brain just had one thing on its mind. Well come to find out, while I thought it was real, I was just something on the side, and she was just making fun of me when she was back in LA. I mean, I bought a place out there, thinking if I was around she’d pay attention to me, that I’d be able to carve out a place for myself in that world. But it wasn’t real, and I got humiliated in the public eye as just some stupid hick that her and her world never took seriously,” he explains, running a hand through his hair.
Your stomach lurches, how could you possibly ever compete with a model? He’d probably always be comparing you to the pinnacle of beauty if you were to give into him. You weren’t exactly insecure, but normal women usually just need to worry about other average women, not A list celebrities.
“Do you still talk to her?” your insecurities have you wanting to ask a million questions, that being one of the more tame ones.
“I don’t want to talk about her any more. Not right now, not when I’m here sitting with you. Don’t wanna think about her, hear about her, nothing. She doesn’t matter and I want nothing to do with it. Especially not now when I want everything to do with you, the only person who’s been occupying my mind the last two damn days,” he says, turning to you. His eyes are serious, baring it all right here and now, seeming to hang on to every moment of silence while awaiting your response.
Your worries start to melt away as the rugged cowboy spills his feelings to you. Feelings that you’re sure are painful and downright scary to reveal given his traumatic past. You don’t want to hurt him, but you are honestly caught so off guard by it all that you are unable to speak.
For the second time tonight, your hand finds his thigh, realizing actions are easier than words right now. And maybe it was for him too, because his strong hand grasps your chin, pulling you closer to him. Time stands still as his lips hover over yours, like he’s waiting for you to decide, the faint scent of beer and something minty drawing you in.
Your breath hitches, lips brushing as you try to inhale deeply one more time. You don’t get that chance however because all you feel is him, his lips pressing hard against yours, hand moving to cup your cheek as all the tension from the last two days breaks free as you drown in his heat.
It’s rough and intense, just like him. You weren’t sure what you thought it’d be like, but it was nothing you expected and everything you needed as his teeth tug at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open.
And then you’re tasting him, that grumpy, sharp tongue now dominating yours as he claims every square inch, sloppy but determined, like he’s trying to take everything he can before you both change your minds. Your instincts are outrunning the rational thought churning through your brain, hands untucking his shirt from his pants to then slide beneath the fabric.
Your fingers trace the outlines of the muscles you’d seen this morning, navigating the hard ridges and valleys of his abs, earning a deep groan from the man that vibrates through your mouth. The kiss becomes more fervent the more you wander until he flinches, realizing you’d squeezed the bandaged area on his side.
You quickly pull away, his movements almost being the wake up call you needed.
“I’m sorry!” you squeal, jerking your hands back into your lap.
“Why’d you stop? I’m fine,” he grumbles, licking his lips of the excess saliva that ended up coating them. He doesn’t even wait for you to respond, gripping your cheek and leaning back in.
The sound of kids laughing and running distracts you however, pulling your eyes to the edge of the parking lot where groups of people seem to be leaving for tonight. A steady flow of attendees seems to be behind them. The carnival must be shutting down for tonight and you need to go find your friends.
Sukuna’s red eyes widen, fingers digging into the metal of the tailgate as he realizes he’s losing his chance.
“Come back to my hotel with me,” he utters in your ear, lips barely brushing your skin in a way that makes your thighs clench.
Part of you wants to get up and jump in the truck, desperate to get a few more moments with him. The sounds of the people around you however are clearing your mind from the lust filled haze that had settled in, making you think about what’s the best move here.
He said he doesn't want you, well, shouldn’t want you, and you should be saying the same. Would you both look up when you were done, disgusted at your actions? Post nut clarity hitting you both like a truck and filling you both with regret?
Maybe it's a sign to stop while you are ahead, go back and find your friends. Save yourself from the inevitable fallout of sleeping with a famous rodeo star.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you finally answer, scooting away as you slowly raise your eyes to meet his.
The hurt in his eyes is obvious and the way his jaw clenches shows that he’s holding himself back from responding in the way he wants to.
“Why?” his voice is so low.
“We both said we don’t want this, now is our chance to stop-”
“I said I wish I didn’t want this. I wish I didn’t want a lot of things, but I enjoy them anyways and will continue to do so,” he doubles down, eyes blazing to match the conviction in his voice.
“I wish I didn’t decide to ride fucking bulls for a living. I know it’s bad for me and dangerous, but it’s fucking fun and I love it all the same.”
“Are you comparing me to a bull?” you giggle, making him tch in annoyance.
“Fuck no. Well, not literally I guess,” he lowers his gaze, deep in thought before he speaks again.
“Loving you, er, fuck. I mean, liking you is dangerous. It could be painful and leave a hole in my chest if I can’t hold on, but the benefits outweigh the risks if I could tame it,” his voice is steady, grabbing your hand with his.
You just stare back at him, unsure of how to respond to that. Everything seems so heavy and intense, like the weight of the world is teetering on its axis and the stars above you will fall if you say the wrong thing.
“We should sleep on it. This is a lot Sukuna,” you say softly, gently pulling your hand away from him. His grip is tight, but he lets you go, feeling every callous in his palm as you slip away.
He sighs deeply, looking out into the field in front of where you both sit.
“Fine. Just…just please don’t leave without saying something. You’re here tomorrow right?”
You nod, waiting for him to continue.
“Kay. I’m gonna win this shit tomorrow, so you better be there to watch,” his face morphs into a smirk, regaining his cocky demeanor.
You chuckle at his words, feeling emboldened in the moment now that things have settled down.
“If you win, I’ll blow you. How’s that sound?” you give him your own cheeky grin.
It must sound divine because his face flushes profusely and his eyes widen. The man coughs loudly before giving you a devilish smile.
“Fuck, I’ve got no choice now,” he chuckles.
With that, you hop off the tailgate to stand between his legs. You get on your toes, planting one more soft kiss on his cheek before pulling away.
“You forgot the dolphin,” he gestures at the stuffed toy in the backseat.
“If you wanna give it back to me, you’ll have to win tomorrow,” you answer, noticing the way his brow cocks at your response just as you turn around and start walking back towards the carnival.
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students, with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds that this was a purely sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. —
series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)
quiet silence filled the night. the steady rise and fall of your chest seemed to ease the pounding in sukuna’s head, pressing himself closer to you eventually pulling him to sleep.
after he’d muttered the quiet words against you, revealing the truth behind his hectic and miserable week, he didn’t add anything further. no further explanation of his family trauma, or why he was yelling on the phone. instead he just allows his shoulders to relax, brushing his lips against your jaw again, sighing against the warm skin, silently praying you can take the hint and be satisfied with that.
unfortunately for him, neither of you are mind readers. and the revelation only triggered an array of thoughts swirling in your mind. eventually being the reason you woke up the next morning.
the sun peaked through your sheer curtains as you rolled onto your back. sukuna’s arm loosely wrapped around your waist, laying on his stomach. the gentle rise of his back clear evidence of his exhaustion.
your lips purse.
fingers gently picking the corners of your eyes as you continue staring at the man sleeping peacefully beside you. his unruly pink hair falling over his forehead reaching just the top of his thick brows. his lashes lightly kiss his cheek, face calm.
his sharp intimidating features are gentle.
wetting your lips, you slowly sit up. thoughts swirling around the man. you carefully lean over him, grabbing your phone on the nightstand. the time blinks back at you, an annoying itch ticking your eye, you barely have time to get ready.
reluctantly, you maneuver off the man, setting his arm in your empty spot before crawling off the bed.
your eyes drift back to him when he shifts his leg. blanket falling perfectly over the curve of his toned ass. one arm tucked under the pillow, muscles taunt comfortably. your fingers grip the light fabric of your cardigan, brows pinched in thought, before crawling back to him.
your touch is gentle, afraid to disturb him, but also being your intention. your finger lightly brushes his nape, scratching under his ear as you lean over.
“ryo?”
you swallow the nervous lump, unsure, but ultimately shaking him lightly just to hear the gruff groan as he buries himself deeper into your pillows.
“it’s almost nine. i don’t know if y’have class too, but I’m gonna head out,” you hesitate, gauging his response as he lightly blinks, eyes squinting at the light. “you can sleep. the door locks automatically behind so it’s fine if y’leave later.”
his slow blinks clearly indicate nothings registering, especially when his eyes fall back shut. steady breath resuming.
well, you tried.
your morning routine is rushed afterwards. quickly showering and stepping out of the bathroom, and slipping into your room to grab some clothes. your eyes watch the man, still unmoving as you slip on your shirt, quickly stepping out to grab a quick post it. scribbling a short message for him before sticking it right on top his phone, giving him one final look before leaving.
now unlike you, sukuna paid no mind to what he told you that night. instead sleeping for most of the afternoon until his phone finally went off. no longer able to sleep through them, he grumbles into the pillow, sighing even louder when your scent suddenly floods his senses. fuck, he grumbles your name, not hearing a response he feels the bed. the cold sheets his clear answer. with a louder groan, he buries his face further into your pillow.
“haah,” his jaw tightens, rolling his hips down on the mattress, arms tightening around the pillow, eyes screwed shut in shameful pleasure as he gets off to the scent of your bedsheets. this was much better than fucking at his place, he thinks.
groan rumbling deep in his chest as he recalls your moans from last night, the pretty bruises that decorate your ass now. “fu-ck,” he chokes. he was inside you raw, his abs tighten, the way your velvety walls clamped around him, and your little whimpers as you pushed back, waiting for him to fuck you.
his face turned groaning at the friction, hand moving between his body, grabbing his base pushing it harder against the mattress. your sweet voice echoing in his ear, the flowery scent mixed with your natural aroma had his eyes rolling back,
ryo.
“ngh-shit—“
his body convulses, abs clenching and balls tightening as a spurt of cum hits the mattress. his hips buck, rutting harder into the mess, cock head rubbing against the soft fabric, inhaling the pillow with more vigor until he’s spilling more ropes of warm cum onto your precious bed.
his chest heaves, pressing his face into the pillow as he catches his breath. the distant cars in the background and the few voices screaming down the street has him slowly blinking the haze away.
his lips downturn, jaw clenching at the sticky mess beneath him, a shameful result of how he’d just humped your bed and in less than five minutes, had already cum all over it.
“fuck me,” he mutters lowly, rolling off the mess to sit up. eyes darkening at the spilled cum on your soft sheets. how pathetic is he? his eyes trail up, glancing over the few plushies he’d remember knocking to the floor and a few getting stuck between the mattress and wall. his mind was definitely set on you last night. he glanced further up, breath catching at the sight of your room.
cute. was the first word that came to mind.
his cheeks sting as he sat up, hand lazily tugging his cock, to wipe the excess cum dripping from his tip, standing in front of your wall. his lip upturns at the few postcards you had up, along with a handful of movie tickets you’d taped haphazardly up. his eyes continue soaking up your room. brushing his chest as he reached out to touch the cute zoro look up figure you had on your desk.
you were a full blown closeted nerd, he laughs to himself.
there was more trinkets around the small bedroom. candles and hanging plants, and a few books on a shelf.
then there were the photos taped beside your mini dresser. another airy laugh escapes his lips as he sees you in most of them. recognizing your two friends, shoko and utahime, in most of them. most of these photos has them in it, a few others were of another girl he’s never seen around you before. then there was one with gojo in it, he tsks.
his fingers dance over a few in curiosity. your hair was different in a couple—
buzz.
his short bubble of peace is popped in seconds. mind pulsing like a reaction as he drags his feet to the nightstand. brows pinching at the post it stuck to his phone, before answering.
his gramps voice was enough of a wake up call as any, the sharp barking on the other line triggering sukuna’s headache from last night. his scowl returning as his gaze skimmed over the note you’d left, your handwriting rushed, but still tidy enough that he’s wondering if you wrote it before or after you got changed.
his memory foggy, unable to fully register whether the soft voice he heard in the morning was really from you or his dream.
“are you even listening to me, boy?”
the clipped tone snaps sukuna back, jaw tensing as he tosses the note on the nightstand with a tsk directed towards his gramps. “i saw ya last night, what’s the problem now? seriously, you said y’wanted to stay out of this—“
“so you weren’t listenin’,” his grandfather tsks, sukuna licks his teeth in annoyance. hearing the old man take a deep breath, pushing down the frustration of having to repeat himself again, before continuing. “your brother skipped school, said he was sick this mornin’, I let him stay since i know he overheard everythin’ las’ night. but I’m comin’ back from the shop and the kids gone. not answering his phone. did he call you?”
sukuna’s face grows pale, falling down on the bed to put the phone on speaker and check his missed calls and texts.
“why’re you lettin’ him skip?” sukuna barks, “y’ never let me skip when I was in high school.”
“and look how y’ both turned out,” his gramps snaps, just as frustrated.
there’s no missed calls from choso, or texts since last night. his jaw tightens, checking his other missed calls, one from toji, “did y’ talk to toji?”
“called him first.”
sukuna’s eye twitches, “thanks.”
“he lives closer. and has a car, don’t give me lip,”his gramps snaps again.
“lemme try callin’ him, I’ll call you back if he doesn’t answer, and I’ll take the next train up,” sukuna’s running a hand through his disheveled hair, tugging at the roots as he ends the call before his gramps can say anything. swallowing the tightening around his chest as he quickly taps his younger brothers number, waiting impatiently, leg bouncing with each ring.
the veins on his neck strain when he hears the operator. curses falling from his mouth as he swipes out checking his other missed calls, and texts, until he’s suddenly getting a call from gojo.
“what?” sukuna snaps.
“morning to you too. do you not check your phone in the morning?” the fraternity president’s voice rings on the other line.
“I have a late class anyways,” sukuna grumbles, “y’need something?”
“yeah, first of all where the fuck are you? second of all, we have your younger brother hostage here.”
sukuna’s up. “what? choso?” he barks.
“yup, tried sneaking in here. and the pledges got him,” gojo explains, with an airy tone.
sukuna’s blood pressure spikes, jaw tense, “why the fuck—don’t let him leave, I’ll be there in thirty.”
“I I captain.”
—
one thing that you can guarantee about sukuna is he’ll be on time. and those thirty minutes of rushing through your apartment, ripping the covers off your bed and stuffing them in your washing machine, grabbing his shit and dashing out. was also accompanied by the rising anger pumping his veins.
his muscles tense. and by the time the front door swung open, everyone was holding their breath.
choso, aka. sukuna’s fifteen year old brother, was completely still when he locked eyes with the older brute.
“you.” sukuna seethes, footsteps heavy as he stomps over.
“wait!” choso yells, hand out as he tries turning to climb over the couch ready to bolt, but gojo was holding him down. “let me explain, ryo!”
“explain? why the fuck are you here?!” sukuna’s charging, arm extending to grab the kids collar yanking him up.
choso was still a growing teen. so the size difference, and strength difference between the brothers was completely unfair.
“I wanted to talk to you, man! c’mon put me down!” choso is grabbing at his brother’s forearm, struggling in his grip. the dark circles under his eyes a clear indication of teens restless night.
geto, who’d just come back from the kitchen, cautiously put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “calm down. he definitely just came to see you.”
the living room is still. the three boys quietly waiting to see what sukuna decides. his chest still heaving like an animal, desperately trying to swallow his anger, before releasing the kid, watching him fall back on the couch.
choso rubs his homemade band t-shirt, the material strained from his brothers grip of it.
“outside, now.”
the order is immediately followed by choso scrambling up. trailing quickly behind his older brother as they both step outside into the backyard. sliding door slamming behind them.
the ticking in sukuna’s jaw is not easily missed by his brother. the younger awkwardly stands in front of him as he sits on the concrete steps of the shitty frat patio. his arms propped on his knee as he leans forward, gaze lidded as he glares at the kid.
“I’ll hear y’out for sixty seconds, then I’m taking you home.”
choso’s shoulders tense, fighting the scowl on his face, fists tightening. “i heard what you guys were talkin’ about last night.” sukuna doesn’t react, only further escalating his brother’s emotions. “i feel like i get to have a say in this, and you didn’t even talk to me about it!”
the older brother leans back, glare harsher as he cocks his head to the side. “it wasn’t just my decision. gramps makes the calls—“
“gramps hates her and you do too!” choso snaps, chest heaving, eyes already brimming with tears.
“and you don’t?” sukuna’s stare rips through, reading his brother way too easily as the younger averts his gaze quickly. shoulders tensing up again.
“i…” choso swallows a lump. “i want to talk to her too….i wanna know why she left.”
“because she’s a piece of shit,” sukuna snaps, standing up as choso glares at him. “and I don’t give a flying shit why she’s back, and you shouldn’t either—“
“but I do!”
sukuna’s gaze sinks deeper, voice dropping as he seethes the next words out, every vein in his body straining, as if he’s controlling some beast from taking him over. “she killed dad.”
the leaves brush past their feet. wind waffling through the space between them.
choso shifts his weight, throat closing up as he looks away, tears stinging his eyes.
it wasn’t fair. nothing is really, and that’s a simple fact of life. sukuna’s hand comes down, gently, on choso’s shoulder. shadow casting over him as towers over the teen. his thumb tapping the kids cheek getting him to look up. “she’s not coming anywhere near you or yuuji.” sukuna’s eyes bore into him. “and that’s final.”
choso swallows another lump, jaw clenching.
“got it?”
gojo and geto glance up once the sliding door opens. sukuna walking back in, with choso sulking behind him. head down, hair over his face.
“everything okay?” gojo asks cautiously.
“yeah,” sukuna crosses the kitchen and living room. “gonna change real quick, keep an eye on him.” sukuna disappears upstairs, missing the way choso mutters, I’m not going anywhere.
—
the stale air of the library, and hushed whispers in corners seemed to be infinitely more distracting when you’re trying to focus on your work.
especially with the way shoko’s tapping her pen on her iPad as she reads over her lectures. your eyes unable to rip away from the movement, only allowing your thoughts to trail back to your morning recitation. jaw clenching as you look back down at your notes.
you had two more finals for this class, and you still haven’t heard from any of the places you applied to do research in over the summer. or from the clinics you wanted to volunteer in near campus.
the twist in your chest grew tighter. teeth pulling at the skin of your lips.
“wait, do you remember what we had to do here?” shoko interrupts, pushing her laptop so you can see the study guide she’s practicing.
you blink, scrolling up on your own iPad since you’d just done this study guide last night, your cheeks flushing as you explain it over to shoko, remembering sukuna interrupting you, and correcting something you’d done on the question.
shoko nods along, copying your work, which you don’t mind, not when you know you couldn’t have done it without his help.
however, this doesn’t stop your mind from wandering back to the six foot so tall man, wondering when he’d gotten up this morning? whether he saw your note? your bite your cheek, shifting in your seat, the bruises on your ass a constant reminder of what happened last night.
hopefully he didn’t skip any classes. your lips purse subtly as you tap his messages. nothing after last night…
you know he told you to text if you needed anything. but you don’t…at least nothing that has to do with sex. so it doesn’t count if you ask how he’s doing, right?
“okay thanks—ugh! I’m gonna fail this exam, I haven’t been paying attention at all,” shoko moans, earning glares from a few students near by.
you cringe, closing your phone, anxiety crawling up your throat. “please don’t say that, because if you fail then there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m failing too.”
shoko’s head falls on the table. “we’re so fucked.”
this wasn’t a good feeling.
the second churning in your gut. the palpating of your heart. everything feeling like these exams were the only thing saving you from the summer, and will be the ultimate reason whether you land some miracle of an internship this close to the break.
the sinking in your chest painfully spreading at the thought of your father’s inevitable phone call during finals week. the looming question of what you’ll be doing this summer felt like barbed wire wrapping around your neck.
“at least you have something to fall back on in the summer,” shoko cuts through your thoughts. your eyes widening momentarily, quickly pushing it down.
“yeah…” you mutter, glancing at your notes as shoko lifts her head.
“I wish my dad was a fucking surgeon, but he’s just a basic accountant. don’t get me wrong—i know how hard you work, but also…medical nepotism is such a steal. please please get me to at least shadow your dad over the summer, i don’t even need the internship,” shoko rants, only getting like this after four cups of straight coffee and no smoking breaks. your lips upturn.
“I already told him about you, I’ll get you the internship, don’t worry,” you chuckle, anxiety clawing at your skin.
shoko’s eyes light up. “okay please! I don’t wanna get my hopes up, but you’re the only thing I’ll have this summer.”
your face softens, lips gently pulling into a smile as you hum. the disgusting twist of jealousy simmering inside, itching at you. as much as shoko complains about the million exams you both have and struggles to stay awake during lectures, at the core of it all…she desperately wants to be a doctor. even though that means going through another four years of med school, and then more years spent doing residency. and the thought of that alone has you squeezing your wrist.
“are you gonna answer that?” shoko interrupts again, eyeing your buzzing phone.
“oh,” your lips part, a shot of adrenaline running through you once you see the familiar name. “one sec.” you mutter, standing up to excuse yourself to the hall. answering.
“hi.”
“hey,” the low rumble of his voice flows straight into your ear, warming your cheeks. “you wanna come over later?”
you glance down at your watch. “when? I’m jus’ gonna be studying for a few more hours.”
“whenever you’re done. I’m not home yet either, so no rush,” his gravely tone has you hiring the volume. distant voices in the background.
“oh, you still have class or practice now?”
“neither,” he tsks, quickly correcting himself. “my brother stopped by this morning. had to take him back to my gramps.”
your eyes widen at the reveal, stunned for a moment, before recovering. “you have a brother?”
“yeah, two younger ones,” he says. your lips curl. that fits, you think, definitely seeing the man as the eldest son. It explains a lot about his character. “what about you? you have any brothers?”
you shake your head, “no brothers. just an older sister.”
“hot.”
“she’s married,” you frown. sukuna’s contagious laugh breaks through the speaker, your cheeks flushing at the sound.
however between that moment, sukuna seems to connect the dots to the unknown girl in your photos. “she’s the one in your pictures.”
your brows pinch, “what pictures?”
“the ones in y’r room.”
your cheeks flush, almost forgetting the man has agency, and looked around your room after leaving him alone there. there wasn’t much to hide except—
“would’ve never guessed you’d be a movie geek. hiding everything in your room.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything. and I always talk about films,” you mutter defensively.
“oh films, my bad,” he snorts, ignoring the flip in your tummy at the teasing. “well come over and we can watch a film after.”
your pout can almost be felt through the phone. “you don’t have to bribe me with movies. sex is enough.”
it’s sukuna’s turn to flush, chuckling lightly as he takes a seat on the train. “yeah?” his voice lowers, just so his phone can pick up his words. “I didn’t break ya last night?”
“as if,” you shoot, hearing him chuckle again.
“how’s y’r ass?”
you flush, “it’s fine.”
“i didn’t get to see it in the mornin’,” he starts, dragging each syllable. “made y’cry a lot. big fat tears everytime a touched that pretty ass.”
“I wasn’t crying,” you tsk, cheeks beyond hot.
“you were,” he laughs, “s’ okay, I don’t mind y’ being a crybaby…gets me hard.”
“oh my god, shut up,” you huff, heart pounding erratically. the man barking out a loud laugh, as if you’re some fucking comedian.
“I’ll be at the frat in two-ish hours, come anytime. y’ can also get there before me and wait on my bed,” he teases.
“you want me naked, or should I keep the panties on for you?” you play along, not expecting the deep groan to hit your ear, chills running down your spine, heat pooling between your legs.
“fuck. yeah keep the panties on, wanna take em off myself.”
you swallow thickly unable to form words as you hum.
“kay, I’ll see y’later, crybaby,” the line cuts.
you’re frozen for a moment. lips parting before your hand is slapping your cheek. ignoring shoko’s raised brow when you return to your seat, you quickly pick up your pen, putting more energy than before to focus on your work.
unfortunately, just like most things for you. your studying goes on longer than you planned. the pulsing in your temples a testament to how much you and shoko fried your brains. hand cramping from the notes you took rewatching most of the lectures from the first half of the semester, preparing to do the second half tomorrow and sunday.
the campus was quiet. the few sound of cars passing in the distance, and rowdy campus bars still open this late. the noise seemed to be the only thing keeping you awake as you drudged down the street.
eventually arriving at the door step of the two story greek house. stifling another yawn as you press the doorbell.
your eyelids slowly betray you, swaying as they kept falling shut.
“you look worse than me,” the distant sound has you looking up. gaze softening with exhaustion at the sight of sukuna dressed in low hanging sweats and an oversized sweater, hair damp.
“I hate studying,” you mumble, dragging your feet towards the man, pressing your face into his chest, bag hitting the ground by your feet. “it’s so hard,” your words muffle against his sweater, arms coming up pathetically holding his shoulders, head tilting back to look at the fratboy.
his hand easily comes to your waist, rubbing the material of your shirt, as you pull him down, a bit too eagerly. “are you actin’ needy righ’now?”
your arms circle his neck, nodding your head once his lips brush yours, a small sigh escaping your parted mouth. “just a little…’s that okay?”
he chuckles, canines peaking as he licks his lips. “as long as I get to suck this pussy.”
“please shut up,” you grumble, lips pressing against his, ignoring the flip in your stomach when you feel him smiling. tongue easily slipping in, wet smacks filling the air as he locks your hips against his, leaning over, still kissing at the door until an obnoxious voice cuts in.
“close the door! all the bugs are comin’ in!”
sukuna pulls away with a tsk. he licks his lips, tugging you inside.
your fingers quickly snatch your bag, following his, lips parting momentarily to ask for some water, until you hear a groan in the corner.
your eyes slowly trail over to the living room, face going pale, muscles tensing…
sukuna halts, feeling you stop behind him, hand around your wrist as he turns, brow quirked.
“you good—“
your jaw clenches. tongue poking your cheek as you glance up, meeting his quirked brow with controlled anger. “i came…because you called.”
his lips upturn, “yeah.”
“then,” you swallow thickly, “tell “em to stop using those boys as foot stools,” your words cut through sharply.
sukuna raises a brow, looking over his shoulder in disinterest, almost forgetting how gojo and a couple of the other senior members of the frat are huddled on the couches, watching a movie, while the pledges are down on their hands and knees, being used as their own personal foot stools, some even balancing beer bottles and coffee mug on their bare backs.
sukuna chuckles humorously, licking his teeth. “you serious?”
you swallow the lump in your throat, brows pinching in mild hurt. god, you hate fraternities so much. your rub your cheek, unable to look away from the boys, noticing a few in the corner in push-up position, arms trembling and faces red.
sukuna has to control his eye roll, especially when he notices the way your jaw tightens, brows pinching even more, eyes swimming with anger. his grip doesn’t waver, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the stairs.
“we’re gonna be upstairs anyways, it never bothered you before,” he cuts heartlessly. your chest tightening, eyes snapping to his.
“well i never saw,” you spit.
sukuna tsks, loud and uncontrolled, eyes rolling exasperated, and head falling back, sharp jaw straining. there’s another beat. your eyes are lidded with annoyance at his hesitance. god forbid you don’t want to see a bunch of freshmen abused for no reason—
“on your feet!”
the sudden bark cut through the air. the pledges all scrambling to their feet at the command. a few bottles crashing on the ground as they all stand, sweating profusely. gojo lurched back when one pledge sent coffee spilling on his feet.
“what the fuck?” his eyes snap to the vice president. “excuse me?”
“we’ve got a lady here who’s suddenly bothered by this. so let’s be respectful,” sukuna sarcastically spits, already feeling your glare before meeting your eyes.
your name falls from gojo’s lips, brow quirking up. “seriously? when have you been bothered?”
“why does everyone keep saying that?” you snap, groaning in frustration. “always. I’ve always been bothered.” you huff, turning abruptly and stomping up the stairs.
sukuna and gojo exchange looks, both irritated and confused. sukuna rubs the bridge of his nose.
“just make sure she’s not seein’ shit.”
“she your girlfriend now?” gojo snorts.
sukuna glares, eyes sharp. “don’t start.”
gojo puts his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying, if she’s making demands around here I’m only assuming,” he laughs, a few other seniors joining in. sukuna scowls, dark orbs biting through them.
“just do me favor,” sukuna spits with a scowl, “I’ve done more jus’ so you can get pussy.”
gojo groans, head falling back. “yeah, whatever, okay,” he waves him off.
once sukuna settles the house, he eventually drags his feet upstairs. rough palms rubbing together, mind swirling with the problem that is you now.
at least you didn’t leave, is all he’s thinking. mind racking through ideas of how he’ll get you to let him fuck you. hopefully you’re not waiting up in his room to talk, because he sure as hell is not prepared to discuss the intricacies of the fraternity and pledges.
his jaw locks, eyes closing, twisting the handle of his door. deep breath—
the room is silent. your shoes neatly placed beside his door, bag a few feet away. then he hears the clearing of a sweet girl’s throat, catching his attention. his gaze tracks up, prepared for a scowl except—
“shiit…”
“i left the panties on for you,” you tilt your head to the side, moment broken briefly by your small yawn. but it doesn’t stop him from gawking in awe. throat tightening immediately, pupils dilating.
his tongue darts out to wet his lips, drinking in the sight of you sitting on your side, unclothed on his bed. the glow from his desk light enough for him to soak up the softness of your skin, the curve of your hips, your nipples perked up from the cool air, and your tired gaze heavy, and gentle, lashes kissing your cheeks every few seconds as you wait for him.
“you’re….” he stops himself, drawling closer to the bed like you’re some siren luring him in. his large form crawls over you like some deprived needy man. hand wrapping around your throat tilting your head to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.
“I’m what?” you pant, hand grasping his clothed bicep, as he presses a thumb under your chin, tipping your head further back, tongue playing with yours.
“you’re impossible,” he groans, letting his knee slot between your legs, kissing you hungrily. your head tips back, allowing him to trail wet kisses down your neck, sucking on the same bruises he left last night. continuing his path down your precious body, giving your breasts close attention as he latches his lips onto each hot nipple, squeezing them together and groping them.
your head tilts back on the sheets, arms relaxing by your side as he kisses down your stomach, licking a strip to taste the sweat you’ve collected throughout the day. your natural pretty scent invading his nose, and without wanting he presses his face between your legs.
“fuck ryo,” you sigh, stroking his hair affectionately, nails scratching his scalp as he nuzzles your mound, kissing the thin fabric separating you from his greedy mouth.
the only thing comparable to this lapse in sanity, is a trance like state.
the moment this man sees you unclothed on his bed, his body reacts immediately. skin heating up, abs tightening, unable to tear his hands away as he explores your body like it’s the first time, however, just a month in, he can kiss the sweet spot on your inner thigh with such precision, your pussy tightens every time, a new sweet heat flooding out, whining as you tug his sweater.
“take it off,” you don’t give him a second, pulling at the material until he’s clicking his tongue, yanking the sweater and tshirt off in one go. abs flexing as he kisses your lips again, harsher.
“y’er so fuckin’ annoying,” he husks, biting your lip as you whine, legs wrapping around his waist, just for him to pull away, pushing your thighs up, deft fingers wrapping around the flimsy material of your panties — ripping it easily.
“woah, what?” you gasp, eyes wide as he tosses the ruined material, cheeky grin on his face when he sees you try to close your legs. lips attacking yours again.
“my bad,” he mutters sarcastically, your brain too foggy to rebut, letting him handle you like some doll. the wet sounds of lips smacking each other, working you up, nails digging into his nape and bicep, as he rubs your waist and thigh affectionately.
fuck he wants to drop down already, but your lips are too addicting. the taste of your tongue, and the throaty whines you were letting out. “can probably cum just from kissin’ ya,” he admits, smile so wide he doesn’t even care how it sounds. and the flip in your tummy confirms how he can say just about anything and it’ll still sound so sexy, and not pathetic.
“no,” you kiss, hand feeling down his chest to palm his painful bulge. obvious he’s not wearing any boxers underneath. “had a long day,” you sigh as he kisses the corner of your lips, then your jaw, squeezing your waist.
“tell me about it.”
you sigh again, pretty chest rising, “make it go away,” your eyes flutter, his lips returning. hands spreading you out again.
“m’kay,” he groans, kissing down your precious body again. worshipping every touch and kiss, lips marking your soft skin as he settles between your legs again. tongue darting out as he uses his thumbs to spread your sticky lips apart, putting you on full display for his dark eyes.
you sigh in pleasure, the cool breeze hitting, hips shifting, unbothered by his staring.
“how can a pussy look so good?” he leans close, tongue licking a long strip through your pretty folds, groaning at the taste. “so good.” his hips lock against the mattress. diving for another taste, until he’s latching his lips around your cute clit, sucking hard.
“ryo,” your back arches off the sheets, legs locking around his head before he’s wrapping his huge arms around each thigh, holding you in place, slurping up your sweet slick.
“mmm fuck… y’taste so good,” his throaty groan sends shivers down your spine, jaw falling agape in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut, as you sink into the mattress.
sukuna can’t help melting to your taste, his jaw loosening to slurp louder, big tongue more sensual, caressing your clit over and over before going down to push into your hole. tongue feelings the tight gummy walls of your insides. thick lashes kissing his cheek as his messy tongue grows tender, worshipping your pussy, lulling your body peacefully.
it feels like you’re floating, moans once high, lowered, softly sighing and hiccuping when his tongue would swirl your swollen clit affectionately.
your fingers trail over your tummy, eyes heavy as you grasp his hair for balance, nails scratching his nape, pushing him further between your thighs. he groans in response. pulling back to spit on your clit, biting his lip mesmerized as it drips down your lips,
your tongue peaks out, thumb rubbing against your bottom lip as he glances up at you. pupils blown at the lewd sight.
“you enjoyin’ y’rself, baby?”
you nod with an airy hum, glossy lips parting as he leans down, lapping your pretty folds slowly, sweet syrup invading his mouth as he keeps eye contact,
“yeah?“
“yeah ryo,” you mumble, moaning softly as your eyes grow heavy again.
“y’look like you’re gonna knock out,” he chuckles, sucking your clit sharply making you cry unexpectedly, nails tugging his roots.
“m’ not—“ you babble, a surprising yawn managing to slip out.
he snorts, paying close attention to your clit, tongue running over the sensitive bud, until you’re whining a little louder, voice so sweet he’s subtly rutting into the mattress. slurping your folds obscenely, until you’re shaking desperately. jaw slack, tongue out as you come undone.
“mmm there we go,” he sucks your sweet juices, dragging out your orgasm as you tremble. tugging his hair, limps too weak and exhausted. “you’re kinda bossy tonight,” he tsks, climbing up to kiss your lips.
“might fall asleep…so put it inside me now,” you mutter, nails scratching his seductive v-line, pushing his sweats slightly.
“you can last long enough for a quickie?” he helps you push his waistband enough to pull his cock free. groaning against your lips as you thumb his slit.
“just wake me up if i fall asleep.”
“very funny,” he pushes your hand out of the way, reaching over to grab the condoms in the drawer. and in a matter of seconds he’s pushing inside you with slow, steady thrusts, lips back against yours.
“haah ryo,” your soft moans had him tensing, tonguing your bottom lip, eyes lidded as he watches your eyes flutter. nails lazily digging into his back with every measured thrust, thick veins stretching your poor cunt, lewd squelching singing in his ears.
“am i makin’ ya feel good? feel better when y’r stuffed full of my dick, huh?” his husky tone had a wave of heat burning your cheeks.
“yeah,” you hum, lips parting after another deep thrust, reaching your tummy,
“good,” he grunts, head tucking in your nape as his pace quickens a bit more, humming when he feels your pretty nails dig into his ass, clawing at him, legs locked around his body. “makin’ me feel good too,” he chokes when you clamp around him.
“yeaah,” you whine, head foggy as you feel his tip kiss your cervix, cock dragging out before hitting the same sweet spot again.
“yeah, baby,” he groans your name lowly, kissing your jaw as he picks up the pace, welcoming your body heat and warmth, ignoring his own thoughts to focus on pleasuring you. “ngh fuckk, you’re so tight, y’gonna cum?”
he’s snaking a hand between your bodies, thumb pressing on you clit harshly, rubbing the oversensitive bud until your crying out.
“attaa girl…c’mon you’re close,” he’s kissing up your neck, thrusts not seizing as he fucks you to another orgasm, chills breaking out, eyes rolling back. “haah fuck yeah,” sukuna’s palm presses into the mattress beside your head, gripping your thigh with the other, pumping his cock faster in your tight hole.
your jaw’s slack, choked gasps slipping out with each thrust. “angh ah haah,” your voice comes back as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, jaw clenched, sweaty head pressing against yours as you clamp around his thick base, his abs flexing, dropping his full weight into his final thrust, filling the condom with a low drawn-out moan.
the room stills once more, the distant sounds of the boys laughing downstairs, slowly pulling sukuna back.
it took little effort for him to tie and toss the used condom in the trash— missing.
he doesn’t move an inch from you, letting you turn over and leg still thrown over his lap, pressing yourself close, and kissing his neck softly. the soft pants coming from him easing your mind, eyes growing heavy once more. he’s so warm…
sukuna brushes your thigh, absentmindedly, lazily glancing at the bruises he left from yesterday. a weird twist clamping down in his gut at the large hand purple prints, ignoring the stir in his cock at the same time.
he breaks the silence, “y’know…you can tell me if it hurts…i won’t be mad.”
your brow furrows, shifting to tilt your head, pretty eyes heavy with exhaustion, but still shining up at him. “what’re you talkin’ about?” your thumb presses against the tattoo on his chin, unbothered by the casual intimacy as you brush it. his gaze briefly catching yours, looking between the pretty orbs staring up at him.
“the spanking. or the sex in general,” his usual scowl returns, caressing the pretty bruises on your hips too. however, you sigh, tired and slightly irritated, shifting yourself back so you can look at him better.
“if I had an issue I would say something, for real,” you sternly say.
sukuna’s jaw clenches, hand still brushing your side, then to your marked tits.
“you’re okay with this?” he asks again, hand now brushing your jaw, checking out the hickey on your collarbone.
you inhale, eyes closing before blinking up. “yes.”
the man is silent for another beat, licking his teeth in thought.
the argument from last night seemed so long ago. but your gentleness, and honesty made him waver. swallowing thickly as his mind continued to swarm around the tightness in his chest.
choso hadn’t spoken to him the entire trip back. well not until they arrived back at gramps’ place. yuuji had just gotten back from practice with megumi, the two eating dinner in the kitchen, when choso and sukuna walk in.
“you’re seriously gonna ignore me—“
choso storms past the two boys heading straight to his room.
“hey!” sukuna barks, following the teen.
“what’s going—oh ryo!” yuuji’s eyes brighten, swiveling around to greet the eldest, just as thier gramps, wasuke, walks in.
“where is he?”
“fu—he ran off to his room,” sukuna holds his tongue, jaw clenching in anger, standing behind choso’s door, wiggling the door knob. “cho!”
“leave him be. did he tell you why he went to you?” wasuke asks, still in his work clothes.
sukuna glances over at yuuji, jaw tight. “yuu can you give me a second with gramps?”
yuuji deadpans, “do we have to go to my room?”
sukuna nods, jerking his head in the direction of yuuji’s room beside choso’s. with a disgruntled huff, yuuji and megumi take their plates and disappear, door clicking shut behind them.
sukuna paces in the kitchen. head pounding as he tries to cool his breathing.
“deep breaths, kid,” wasuke grumbles.
“that’s what I’m fuckin’ doing,” sukuna presses his palms to his eyes, blood pumping faster thinking back to choso. “i understand he was fucking seven, but jesus there’s no way he forgot what happened!”
wasuke clenches his fist, sitting down at the table. “that’s young, ryomen.”
sukuna’s phone buzzes again, jaw clenching as he checks the message from the devil. more texts followed from last nights, spamming sukuna with ludicrous threats.
“fucking bitch.”
the crease between the athletes brows deepens. reading each text more thoroughly, and in that concentration only catches the backdoor slamming shut.
“who was that?” his eyes catch wasuke, both on alert. “yuuji?”
“yeah?” the distant response from the boy confirms he’s still in his room.
“did choso just leave?” sukuna mutters, jaw clenched as he storms to the back of the house only to catch choso’s figure running from the side of the house. “what the fuck?”
“ryomen!” wasuke reaches out for the eldest, but sukuna’s already kicking the front door open, just as choso’s running past, heading towards the parked car blasting music.
“don’t get in that fucking car, cho!” sukuna barks, right on his heels, and in a blink of an eye, right ad choso’s reaches for the car door, he’s being yanked back by his collar. meeting sukuna’s furious eyes. “you deaf?”
“I’m going out!” choso struggles in his brother’s grip, twisting in desperation, reaching for the car door, again.
“out?” sukuna violently kicks the door shut. “you fucking skipped school and ran to me and now you’re running off again!”
“I’m not allowed to hang out with my friends now?” choso snaps, eyes furious and red, obvious he was crying just seconds ago.
“not when you’re mute for two hours,” sukuna barks back, pulling choso away from car.
“h-hey man, we were jus’ gonna practice, we got a performance in a few weeks,” one of the kids in the backseat interrupts, head peaking out with caution. his beanie falls just above his eyebrows, brown hair peaking underneath. “I’m i-ino,” he squeaks out.
sukuna scowls, sharp eyes glaring daggers at the poor high schooler. “choso’s busy.”
“I’m not—“
“you are—“
“ryomen!” the booming shout had both boys freezing. chills running down sukuna’s spine, fist clenching around choso’s collar.
he slowly glances over his shoulder, meeting the old man’s eyes. “let em go,” wasuke barks.
“you heard me!” wasuke shouts again. “choso, if you’re not back before ten—“
“I’ll be back,” choso aggressively snaps, shoving himself off the eldest, who reluctantly lets go, jaw tense as he watches the teen slip past him and into the car. choso doesn’t spare him a second look before the car’s speeding off.
dogs bark in the distance, leaves brushing past sukuna’s sock covered feet as he watches the car disappear, chest heaving. the sharp coiling in his temple has him squeezing his head.
“I’ll calm him down, you should get back,“ wasuke starts, sukuna passing him through the front door.
“yeah, because I’m always the bad guy,” sukuna grabs his phone and wallet from the kitchen.
wasuke’s temper rises, meeting sukuna’s, “watch your tone—“
“I’m watching it, and clearly it’s not enough considering choso’s running to me pretending like it’s all my fault, that bitch killed dad and suddenly strolls in outta nowhere!”
“did he say it was your fault?”
“doesn’t matter what he fucking said. I know what he thinks, and you,” sukuna shoves his shoes on, irritation gnawing at his insides. unbeknownst to either of yuuji and megumi peaking from the hall. “ill handle it all this weekend,” the front door swings open.
“ryomen—“
the door slams behind him.
“hey.”
the sweet voice cuts through his thoughts. head tilting down to meet your exhausted eyes. pretty.
“you just disappeared mid-convo,” you laugh lightly, thumb brushing the corner of his lips. he grunts, mind still distant as he studies your features lazily. you look unusually more tired than before. the slight bloodshot of your pupils, the lidded eyes.
his thumb brushes your spine. “how long were you studying for?” he husks out. chest rising evenly underneath you.
you sigh, head falling back, “too long,” your eyes close briefly, the silence filling the space once more before you mutter, “let’s talk about something else.”
sukuna doesn’t say anything. gaze tracking the way your lips part again with a gentle exhale, your fingers gently brushing his tattoo.
“how’s your brother?”
sukuna snorts, loud, “let’s not talk about that.”
you chuckle, glancing at his expression. “how old is he?”
“fifteen,” he tsks, thoughts swarming back to the forefront of his mind. “fucking teenagers.”
you laugh again, palm pressing against his pec, using it to gently lay beside him, leg still intertwined with his. “he rebellious?”
“he picks his fucking moments. like today,” sukuna pokes his cheek.
“same for your other brother?” you ask, eyes growing heavy with each passing second, but still attentive enough to hear him.
“yuuji’s another handful,” sukuna snorts, “not bad, just insane.”
your soft laugh eases sukuna. “how old is he?”
“just turned eleven last month.”
you hum, “so there’s still time for him to be rebellious.”
sukuna snorts again, brushing your hip as he shifts, getting comfortable. “wouldn’t be surprised. basically runs in the family.” you smile lightly, your blinks growing slower. “how old is your married sister?”
“too old for you,” you frown.
he shrugs, “I’ve done old.”
“stop talking.”
a loud unfiltered laugh rumbles through his chest making you deadpan. he grips your hips tighter, pulling you closer still laughing.
“ha ha,” you sarcastically laugh, glaring at him.
the laugh echos louder, infectious as his muscles relax, easing beside you. “you’re not gonna tell me how old y’r sister is cause’ you think I’ll fuck a married woman?”
“you think that’s the only reason?” you raise a brow.
he shrugs again, “if she looks like you then—“
“stop talking!” you shriek, the man ultimately laughing again. you huff, eyeing him as you mumble an answer to his question, “she’s seven years older than me, so I guess she’s uh, twenty-eight now.”
“so five years older than me then,” sukuna teases, but your brow flys up, leaning back in surprise.
“five years? you’re older than me? we’re in the same year?” you ramble, suddenly awake.
sukuna scratches his chest calmly, “i took a gap year.”
your lips part, “you’re two years older than me.”
“for two years. deferred my acceptance when I was in high school,” his eyes close yawning, clearly not in the mood to discuss those two years. “what’s your sister like?”
“stop talking about her,” you mutter sharply. sukuna closes his eyes with exhaustion, before your thoughts go to your older sister…jaw tensing, and body shifting uncomfortably.
“she’s really smart.”
your mind wanders off, eyes trailing up to the ceiling, shifting on your side. “super judgmental,” your words hand heavy on your tongue, inhaling sharply to calm your breathing. “but….also right about everything, which makes it more annoying,” the soft exhale beside you has you glancing at the burly man. eyes meeting deep crimson. “just older sister things,” you conclude.
the room grows quiet once more, just the soft breathing between you, exhaustion swimming in your gazes. the shouting downstairs seizing.
your gentle expression held an unspoken reservation. cheek pressed softly against his pillow keeping your bodies close.
his hand instinctively comes up, caressing the skin of your neck, breath escaping as he speaks lowly. “you close with your sister?”
your brain is slowly beginning to shut down, sleep gnawing at you, but still able to register his questions. “yes…but not like before.”
you blink again, eyelids struggling to stay open, “before she got married.”
sukuna’s jaw clenches, grip tightening on your waist. “do you hate her?”
your brows crease, “no.” your jaw locks, a storm swarming behind your eyes before closing them again. “it’s just not like before. being close.”
“did she pull away or you?”
“I don’t know….she did, it’s just—she’s still…” you cut yourself off, inhaling. “i don’t hate her.” you state once more. “do you hate your brothers?”
“no.” sukuna answers in a heart beat.
you sigh, hand rubbing your head, “you can’t hate your siblings. it’s impossible.” you swallow thickly, “they’re the only ones that know you.”
sukuna contemplates your words. mind wandering back to choso. the hurt in his sunken eyes before shrugging sukuna’s hand off and storming off to his friends. was sukuna too harsh? should he have heard the kid out? he only wants to protect them. something that’s impossible if choso keeps eating at him at every decision.
“I’m gonna…” your yawn breaks your sentence, pressing closer to the pillow, “tired.”
sukuna watches with low eyes as you easily sink into the mattress, consciousness drifting into the void, and even breaths taking over. the moonlight softly illuminating your gentle features. his throat closing in as he slides closer to you, arm firmly around your torso, forcing his mind to rest with the comfort of your small body.
unfortunately, the roaring thoughts in his mind never settles, so when his alarm goes off, the instant grogginess hits him like a trunk. limbs reaching out slamming his phone shut.
he shifts, arms pressed under the pillow groaning into it.
“fuck,” his body aches, muscles tense as he sits up. you were still dead asleep beside him. luckily it was a weekend, the gentle rise and fall of your back was like a beautiful trance. pushing the blanket further down your back, caressing the dip in your spine, large hand wrapping around your waist, leaning down.
his lips trail up to your nape, nose pressing into your hair. “you smell good,” he sighs, brushing your waist a little firmer. kissing below your ear, your name falling from his lips like a moan.
you stir softly, mouth agape as you exhale, arm shifting higher under the pillow, exhausted. he calls your name again, pushing the blanket lower as his lips trail over your much smaller bicep. each kiss wet and loud, making a show of the smacking.
“ah!” you jerk when he presses his face under your arm, kissing your tricep, then your armpit, inhaling. “what’re you doing,” you groan, eyes heavy as you push his head away.
“I’m tense,” he grumbles, kissing your shoulders now, moving behind you, to straddle your legs. “how about another quickie before my practice?”
your lips part with a yawn, shifting your hips when he massages down your sides, thumbs pressing over the dip of your ass. “m’kay,” you yawn again. palm pressing to your face waking yourself up. “wake me up a bit.”
sukuna hums, pushing his body between your legs, large palms pulling your ass apart, biting his lips at the sight of your hot cunt, and bruised ass. “won’t take long for this pussy to get wet anyways,” he chuckles, two fingers rubbing through your lips, biting a groan when he presses into your tight entrance, pushing in.
the immediate whine that drawls from your pretty lip has him groaning. “there we go,” he keeps a palm holding your ass open, watching his fingers pump inside your warm hole so early in the morning, “taking my fingers like a big girl.”
“ryo,” you whine into the pillow, hips shifting again, as he curls his fingers, your slick easily starting to flow out.
sukuna’s low groan had you clenching around his hick digits, “fuck, this pussy knows exactly who she’s talking too, righ,” he licks his lips, knees spreading further apart, heavy cock hanging between his legs, aching. “good girl,” he presses down on your ass for balance, pumping his fingers quicker, the wet squelching of your pussy has you shivering, the coil twisting further as you moan lewdly into the pillow.
your choked whines edging the frat boy, pupils blown at the sight, cock twitching at the obscene sounds.
“wanna grab me a condom, baby?”
you whine, wiggling as you try to reach for the few still on the nightstand. however, when sukuna curls his fingers again, shoving the entire length of his long digits deep inside your cunt, pressing against your sweet spot, your eyes roll back, back arching, ass pushing up and tongue falling out, falling over the edge.
“aww,” sukuna mockingly coos, chuckling as he fingers you through your trembling orgasm. “that was so fast,” he leans over, stilling his fingers inside as he grinds them inside, your back arching, pushing your ass into him. “there we are...”
“ryoo,” you whine, twisting in desperation, but he doesn’t ease up.
“c’mon, it’s so early, you can say more than my name,” he laughs, grabbing the condom you were reaching for, fingers still stretching your dripping pussy as he rips the condom with his teeth. “you want it deep?”
your words pitch when he keeps fingering you. “yeah.”
“hard?”
“y-yes,” you shake, trying to push up on your forearms and knees, legs butterflying against the mattress, ass rising in the air.
sukuna chuckles, whistling, “c’mon woman, is that how you ask to get your pussy stuffed? ya like shaking your cunt to anyone?”
“ryo, you said a quickie,” you huff, glancing over your shoulder, mind still foggy with sleep and now, need. you choke on another gasp when you feel his cock glide through your folds, wetting himself, then pulling away. your head falls back on the mattress, muscles weak so early in the morning. “ryo please.”
“as much as I like the begging, shake your pussy a little and I’ll give y’what you want,” the shameless request had your cheeks flushing, glancing over your shoulder to see the man in question leaning back on his knees, fat thighs spread and large palm stroking his lengthy cock, heavy balls tugging up with each jerk.
you lick your lips, spreading your legs further to arch even deep for him, ass naturally spreading, pussy on display for the frat boy.
“you’re soaked,” he groans, wetting his bottom lip, eyeing the clear slick dripping down your thighs and drooling out of your hole, hanging mid-air. “just from my fingers too,” his jaw tenses controlling himself when you suck up your pride, and wiggle your hips. “good girl.”
your face is buried in your arms, cheeks and neck hot with embarrassment, especially when his large palm is groping your ass cheeks.
it felt like hours of him staring, until you finally felt the burning stretch.
“good girls get rewards,” he coos with a drawn groan. hand pulling your hips back to meet his. “y’ like that?”
“mhm,” your voice is muffled against the sheets, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out.
“yeah,” his sharp jaw tilts back, throat bobbing as his grip on your hips tighten, pulling back slowly, letting you feel every curve and ridge of his cock, then jackhammering his unbelievable size back in. the precession knocking the air out of your lungs.
the heat in the room builds as sweat and sex fill your senses. drool coating the blankets underneath you as sukuna’s drills his cock straight through your cervix. his name falling from your lips with dumb fixation.
“sorry baby, still haven’t cum yet,” he’s grunting beast-like, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you up.
“s-sensitive,” your head falls back on his shoulder, crying out as his teeth skim your neck, suckling on the flesh over your pulse point. “ngh!” you arch off his chest, his rough digits rubbing tight circles around your puffy clit, other hand groping your breast, pinching your nipple.
“yeah, I know…poor baby,” he mocks devilishly, kissing your neck sweetly, while the rest of his body is shoving you into another mind-numbing orgasm. vision hazy, jaw slack, and drool dripping down your chin. your moans pitch higher as he aggressively fucks himself into your tight pocket. “here we go—ngh, yeah fuck—“ his gravely tone right beside your ear has you clamping down in surprise, his body lurching forward, hugging you your waist back, shoving his entire length.
your vision goes white, gasp whiney as you completely fall apart. nails digging crescent moons along his bicep and forearm.
“s-shit,” sukuna pulses inside you, condom filling to the brim as he pulls out quickly, jaw tensing when he feels the condom slipping off his tip before he’s fully out. “stupid thing,” he mutters, catching it before it gets stuck in your pussy, tossing the rubber.
your head tilts, glossy lips brushing his.
neither of you could put into words how easily your bodies spoke to each other. mouths opening in sync, tongues pressing against the other. his arm held you close, humping his cock between your slick folds, jaw going slack against your mouth as another spurt of cum shoots out, hitting the mattress in front of you.
you kiss the corner of his lips, chest heaving against his strong arms. your hand sliding down to keep his cock pressed between your folds, your slick a drippy mess as he keeps bucking his hips, milking out a few more heavy spurts of cum.
the heat of your bodies wrap around you. sukuna leans back against his thighs letting your slump between his legs, hand cradling your face turning your cheek to meet his lips again. “that was good,” he husks, rubbing your sides, and kissing you again.
you hum, eyes lidded with bliss.
with another kiss, sukuna finally pulls away. a deep yawn escapes his chest, arms stretching over his head, rolling his shoulders back.
fuck, morning sex is refreshing. sukuna cracks his neck as he steps into the bathroom. unbothered leaving the door wide open and turning the shower on.
while you laid on his bed still basking in the post sex glow. you reached for your phone, rolling onto your back as you swiped through your notifications. your brows furrow at the time, it wasn’t as early as you assumed it was….usually his practice starts at six.
“hey, are you late?” you shout from the bed, hoping he can hear you over the shower.
“late? what time is it?” he shouts back.
you glance at your screen again, “eight twenty-two!”
there’s another beat of silence. did he not hear you? you carefully push up from the bed, first steps a bit unstable, before walking over to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, arm subtly covering your naked breasts as you poke your head in.
sukuna is rinsing the shampoo from his hair, water running down his muscular back, through the open glass wall, the sliding door broken and resting on the other side of the bathroom.
“I said it’s eight twenty-two,” you repeat, gaze swiping over him through the foggy glass.
“eight twenty-two?” he repeats, too distracted before he’s stepping back revealing his drenched form wiping the water from his face.
“yeah,” you nod, eyes swiping over his chiseled muscles. swallowing the lump as your eyes travel over his tattoos. “don’t you have practice at six?”
sukuna pushes his hair back soap running over his shoulders, reaching for the washcloth and squirting his body wash on it. “not today, we have a practice game, so it’s later in the mornin’ since the other team is comin’ to us,” he casually answers, rubbing the cloth against his huge arms.
in the month since you made this deal, it seemed that their were a few unspoken conditions you both set for yourselves. something you considered crossing the line. seperate from the rules you’ve both already laid out…this was just something you’d associate with…a couple.
and showering together was at the top of that list.
it was too intimate. especially when you’re blushing at the sight of him scrubbing the soapy loofah across his inked chest, traveling further south.
“oh..okay,” you steal one last glance before disappearing back to the comfort of his bed. it felt mistakenly comfortable, casually laying in his bed, stealing one of the shirts to cover up as you laid on your side scrolling through your phone. unbothered when he came waltzing out, drying himself off.
there was no need to comment on it. invested in texting shoko, while he slips on his boxers and throwing on his jersey, his steps heavy as his large form moves around the room, grabbing a couple things and stuffing his duffle.
“how long you stayin?” he asks, duffle strapped over his back as you sit up, eyes still on your phone replying.
“not long,” you glance up briefly, “can I shower then go? I’m gonna head back to campus and study,” you finish, standing up and texting shoko your eta, unfocused on the man a few feet away from you. you and shoko could probably crank out a few more lectures today and grab something to eat from the food carts outside the library. you also need to charge your laptop and ipad.
your mind starts to tangle once more, rubbing your cheek in thought as shoko quickly replies.
“hey.”
your head snaps up at the voice. sukuna’s jaw clenches, glancing between your gaze, “I said it’s fine.”
you’re momentarily frozen, awe-struck even, having him tower over you, his deep orbs boring into your own. “oh okay, thanks.”
he hums, thumb brushing your chin, tipping your head back. your cheeks flush, noting the way his eyes flick to your lips, heart beating faster as he casually leans down, kissing you softly.
it was brief. sweet. tongues touching, a quiet hum coming from your throat once he pulls away, brushing his thumb on your bottom lip, doey eyes blinking up at him. cute.
“I’ll see ya then.”
you try not to smile, even as it’s biting your cheeks, until he’s left the room. your palms press to your face, controlling the sudden heat that pumps under the flesh.
“go shower, idiot,” you mutter to yourself.
—
sukuna was many things. a frat boy, an ambitious junior double majoring in business and biochem, and a forward running on a full-ride scholarship in one of the best college soccer teams in the country.
all that sums up sukuna externally.
most people assume they know him right off the bat. especially with the tattoos that band his wrists, biceps, and face. assumptions and judgement is natural, especially if you’re a competitive athlete off and on the field.
however, what’s most frustrating, is when sukuna proves them right.
“I told you to calm the fuck down,” toji growls, grip tight on the captain’s jersey.
sukuna’s jaw locks, unable to rip his sharp glare from the opposing team’s captain.
“who the fuck is this ref? fucking elbowed my fucking eye and didn’t call a red card?!” sukuna tries to lunge at the man again, only to be aggressively held back by his coach.
“it’s practice match, cool off,” geto puts a hand on sukuna’s shoulder, immediately getting slapped away.
“I’m fine,” sukuna shoves everyone off him, jaw clenched as he walks back to his position on the field. they still had three minutes until halftime, and the voice call sukuna mistakenly decided to listen too before the match had left a permanent stain on his mindset.
toji steps back, arms crossed, veins bulging as the game continues.
sukuna’s plays sloppy and reckless. “pass! gojo’s open!” toji shouts, only to watch his captain completely disregard the entire teams shouting to dribble the ball across the field.
“ignoring my messages only further proves how childish you are, sukuna. i am trying desperately to be as civil as possible, however, this has continued long enough, the next time you’ll hear from me, will have big consequences.”
fuck! that fucking bitch! sukuna’s mind internally screams, replaying her voicemail over and over. the smug lit in her voice, the condescending tone she’s always spoken to him with. she better be grateful that toji is coming with him today or he sure as hell would have her buried somewhere for the way she’s acting, with everything that’s she’s done to him—to choso—to yuuji—to dad—
“shit!”
“seriously kuna!” gojo snaps. the ball suddenly swiped from sukuna’s feet, opposing team passing it further away from him, immediately igniting sukuna’s rage—
“calm down,” geto suddenly appears beside sukuna, arm firmly pressing into the captain’s chest, holding him back, and preventing him from charging at some random player.
“get off me,” sukuna grits, vision red.
geto firmly stands in front of the player, using his entire body weight to keep their captain from snapping over the edge, clearly something their used too, but never to his own teammates. “we have a minute left, it’s fine, it’s just a practice match—“
however, to the audience in the stands who have gathered to watch their school’s practice match, they watch as their captain inevitably loses his cool, and shoves his teammates to the ground, hard.
“woah!” gasps echo through the small crowd. eyes wide as they watch the other tackle the captain to the ground, immediate fight breaking out.
unbeknownst to sukuna, a few feet away at the stands, is shoko waving you down. your lips part, glancing at the commotion on the field, making your way over to your friend. now freshly showered and wearing your jeans from yesterday, and one of sukuna’s random graphic tee’s tucked into your bra from the back.
“what’s going on?” you drop your bag beside you, taking a seat next to shoko eyes trying to make out the huddle of men on the field shoving and pulling at each other.
shoko is chewing on a pocky stick, offering you one, “don’t know, but sukuna and suguru are fighting.”
your brows pinch, “whaaa?” your eyes whip back to the field, and low and behold, sukuna is being dragged away by toji and the assistant coach, while gojo and another teammate hold geto back. “woah, do they always fight in games?”
shoko shrugs, biting into another stick, relaxing on the stands, “don’t know, don’t care. was just killing time watching them, and I’m enjoying the free entertainment.”
you snort, relaxing beside your friend, yawn coming out as you take another stick from the packet. “true,” you get comfortable, unbothered by the mess on the field since the fight has died down.
a break is good. you and shoko can watch a practice match for another forty-five minutes before you kill yourselves in the library again. your chest straining at the thought of the upcoming exams this week. two weeks left of classes and then straight to finals week. you were gonna be sick.
unfortunately, shoko seems to have the same mindset, and decides the best way to spend this halftime, was to discuss your study schedules for the next two weeks.
neither of you paying attention when the game resumes afterwards, oblivious to the many mistakes and fights that break out amoung the home team. that’s until a certain call is made.
“number eighteen off the field!”
you and shoko simultaneously look back at the field, iPads and calendars discarded to see everyone on the field holding their breaths. your eyes zero in on number eighteen, sukuna.
“oh they’re switching him out?” you mutter in question, watching closely as sukuna storms towards, who you’re guessing to be, coach toji. you’ve never seen him in person, how could you? you’ve never been to any of their games or practices before. you’ve only ever heard stories about the grueling coach, working the boys till they’re limp on the floor.
you’re momentarily surprised when sukuna stands in front of the man, standing a few inches higher than the captain. “woah,” you mumble to yourself, unable to make out the heated conversation from the stands, but sukuna looked close to snapping the man’s neck. “did something happen at the beginning of the game?”
shoko shrugs, also invested in the commotion, especially when people start whispering when they start hearing the shouting coming from their captain. “I’ve only ever seen them play a couple times, but something’s definitely going on with him.”
your brows scrunch, “he was fine this morning.”
“huh?” shoko whips to look at you, eyes wide.
you meet her gaze with your own surprised one, “what?”
“you were together this morning?”
you rub your chin casually, “yeah, we slept together last night.”
shoko eyes grow wider, “wasn’t he ignoring you for like a week?”
oh…you forgot to tell her. “not ignoring me…he was just busy. but he came over to go over the lab the other day, and yeah. then I saw him again last night because he asked.”
shoko gives you a pointed look.
“what?”
she shrugs, not reassuring, but also not pushing. so you reserve to looking back at the field, and with your luck, you meet his eyes as he’s storming off the field.
his sharp glare pierces you, face scrunching in mild surprise.
“sukuna!” gojo shouts after him, ultimately being held back by the coach.
“let em go, he needs to calm down,” toji pulls the athlete back, clapping his hands to get them back on the field, letting his captain storm off.
neither you or shoko fully delve into what happens afterwards.
your legs push down, standing up and leaving your bag with shoko. “I’m gonna see if he’s okay, and say hi before we leave.”
“why?”
you shrug casually, “i think it’s rude if i just fuck him then show up to his match randomly without saying hi.”
shoko gives you a look that you brush off. following after the frat boy.
it wasn’t difficult to spot him. considering he stormed off without any of his belongings, he didn’t get pretty far. instead pacing back n forth, phone pressed to his ear near the road, fists tightly clenched around the hem of his jersey, wiping the sweat from his chin.
you can hear the shouting before you reach him. clearly not taking the opportunity to cool off, and instead popping another muscle with how tightly he’s clenching his jaw.
“don’t you fucking dare get five hundred feet of that fucking house!”
the spring breeze brushes in front of you, pushing you from the man, but unable to listen, you draw closer.
“you can’t wait two fucking hours?” his back faces you, heaving and wound up, and now you’re starting to regret coming. you assumed he’d be pissed, considering he got kicked off the field, but normal people cool off, get a glass of water. hell, you’re naive head really thought he’d want some company, even if it was just a short hello from you. but hearing him shout on the phone, remembering the information he told you the other day…
the call abruptly ends, time slowing to a unnerving pace, swallowing thickly once he turns around. your face going pale.
red irises lidded with rage meet yours. you can see the way his body tenses, teeth gritting, before opening his big mouth.
“what the fuck.”
the edges tone immediately had you cringing. the absolute annoyance that laced his voice the moment he saw you, and you really felt like an idiot now.
the words die off your tongue, heart beating quicker, and the only thing you could do was laugh. “sorry,” you cringe even more, stepping back to leave. “just wanted to say hi, before uh…leaving,” you point over your shoulder awkwardly.
his eyes rack over you. expression blank, with the exception of his knitted brows, and unwavering glare.
it’s moments like these that make you realize how much of a stranger this man is. you couldn’t decipher a thing about him. sex really is just sex. even if your heart is beating a bit quicker, unsure what else to say, especially when his eyes rip away from you the second his phone buzzes.
“don’t go.” his words cut, halting your retreating form.
your lips part momentarily, glancing back at him as he types on his phone, tongue poking his cheek. “um…I have to go study.”
“you came here first,” his tone is sharp, defensive.
“well, yeah…to say hi,” you wet your lip awkwardly annoyed. “obviously that was a mistake,” and with full transparency, you meant no offense, it was the truth. who follows a hungry tiger into the woods and expects a friendly chat?
“what? because I’m on the phone?” he snaps, still typing, barely sparing you a glance.
you feel your own phone buzz in your pocket, knowing full well shoko was texting. “it’s fine, you can have your space.”
“seriously?”
your head tilts with a clip, lately his words have been hitting a nerve that you seriously can’t seem to shake. “seriously what? space? I’m giving you space, is that a problem?”
“did i say i needed space?” he snaps aggressively. your jaw locks, face scrunching in annoyance. he’s really one to rub it in.
“no,” you tsk.
sukuna’s tongue presses on his molars, muscles tensing, attention back to his phone. “you came to say hi, give me a fucking second. your jaw tenses, blood boiling at the demanding tone, all for him to finish texting and grasp your jaw in surprise. your eyes swim with confusion, glancing between his lidded gaze. “was I mean?”
god, he’s so annoying! your stomach churns, averting your gaze. “it’s whatever. I’m gonna go now.” — his grip doesn’t loosen, instead holding your waist with his other hand keeping you still.
your muscles tense, mind swimming to the last time he held you like this.
it was not pleasant realizing after making this deal, and having sex for the better half of this semester….that sukuna has a temper.
“just—“ his words break off. thumb brushing the bare skin of your hip, palm locked on your jaw, eyes distant with other thoughts, none of which having to do with you, but also…his pupils concentrate on your guarded expression, hand gentle, but still holding his wrist. “i missed a week of classes.” his grip slowly loosens, keeping you in your place with his words now, surprisingly. “are y’ gonna be studying all week?” you nod, sukuna cocks his head at the buzzing phone. “do you wanna study together?”
you clear your throat, nodding again, “yeah, sure,” you wet your lips, “just text me.”
sukuna nods, tensing when you pull out your phone, shoko’s messages filling your notifications. sukuna manages to catch the time, gut twisting uncomfortably, vision hazy.
“oh—“ the soft gasp slips your lips, frame going rigid.
his soft breath tickles your neck, face tucked in your nape, kissing your warm skin. his palm presses into the curve of your back, hugging you close to his chest, unable to move. this man is beyond confusing.
cautiously, your fingers brush his nape, swallowing the lump in your throat before speaking.
“i know it’s not my place,” you hesitate, scratching the roots of his hair similar to the way you do after having sex. “like you’ve said before…but uh your step mom…” sukuna stills, lips ghosting over your skin, waiting to hear what you have to say— “um hopefully things work out.”
“it will,” he clips.
you inhale sharply, you really have a big mouth don’t you? “g-good.”
inevitably killing the mood, unbeknown to you, sukuna pulls away, fingers running through his pink locks pushing his sweaty bangs back noticing the crowd beginning to file out of the field behind you. “games over.”
you glance back, spotting shoko walking over with your bag.
“cool…” you clear your throat, forcing a smile, “okay, I’ll see you later, then,” you do your best to kill the awkwardness you’re definitely feeling, before waving him off.
sukuna silently watches you walk away, lidded gaze trailing over your exposed back, down to your ass. he’s a sexual person, but he still finds himself locking his jaw, and looking away. there was too many things going on and the only way it comes out is either with rage or lust.
both bite him in the ass in the end, all he’s doing is postponing your inevitable departure.
wouldn’t be anything new. but he’s gone a pretty decent amount of time without scaring you. everything’s just messing with his head now. he’s not in the right space to control his reactions, if he’s ever been able to control them, which he hasn’t felt confident about for a few years now—
“let’s go,” the sharp voice cuts through his thoughts. duffle bag hitting his chest as toji walks past him. “and you’re apologizing to the team tomorrow.”
sukuna licks his teeth, opting for silence as he follows his coach.
the drive up was anything but silent. toji had his close friend — with just as many shady connections as him — shiu, on speaker.
“like I said, the most I could find were her old addresses, there was about three years where it looks like she was completely out of the country, it’ll take me more time to track exactly what she was doing overseas,” he goes on. “but as for here.”
sukuna’s swiping through his phone, looking at the material shiu could find, “is this it?”
shiu exhales through the mic, “you guys barely gave me a week. do what i told ya’ before. the lawsuit she had filed against her two years ago is enough leverage until i find more, besides she went through a lot of work hiding that shit.”
“the woman’s a fucking weasel, she’ll fuck off with the right threat,” toji adds, turning at another exit. “get back to me when y’find more, thanks.”
sukuna was the least bit confessed though. knee bouncing erratically, palms clammy, “she’s made alotta fuckin’ threats.”
“so we’re doin’ it back,” toji glances briefly at the kid he’s known for well over decade. “key is to act like you have the upper hand. poker face.”
sukuna rubs his jaw, elbow pressed to the window sill. “poker face,” he repeats under his breath, eyes shutting as he controls his breathing the closer they near.
after today it should be over for awhile.
that’s the plan.
he’ll handle the shit when he doesn’t have classes, exams, practice, or the frat. everything will be handled over the summer — they just need to acare her off for three weeks—four if they’re lucky.
“let me do the talking,” toji parks.
sukuna nods, movements slow as he exits the car, grip tightening around the passenger door slamming it shut. blood pumps viciously in his ears. chest hot, clothes sticky.
“kuna. breathe,” toji’s voice is distant, his touch searing as it presses into the athletes shoulder.
all for the lump in his throat to come crawling back up, buckling forward. sukuna sputters, throwing up his protein shake and granola bar as toji lurches back.
“fuck,” sukuna coughs, spitting a few chunks still in his mouth.
toji pats his back, “you’re fine.”
sukuna coughs, acidic taste in his mouth as he stands, wiping his face with his shoulder. toji makes no comment about his bloodshot eyes, or how flushed he looks, instead, he takes the lead, neck cracking as he storms up the steps to the small house, BOUGHT sign still planted on the grass.
it’ll be fine.
the booming knock almost cracks the door with toji’s strength. sukuna’s stomach churning at the wait. heart beating quicker, sweat trickling down his back, sun beating down.
“fucking bitch,” he grits under his teeth, fist clenching.
“ryo, I’ll be right back! you did amazing!”
a seventeen year old sukuna slouches back on the benches, deadpanning. sukuna still remembers the sympathetic smile his dad gave him. ruffling his hair affectionately like he’s still twelve.
“take this, grab some food with your friends, I’ll pick you up right after,” his father hands him a fifty dollar bill.
the crowd from the final soccer game of the season leaving the stands, sukuna’s friends waiting a few feet away for him.
nothing changes.
“yeah whatever, have fun,” sukuna spits, standing with his bag, brushing past his father and rejecting the fifty in his palm. “I’ll find my way home after, so don’t bother.”
sukuna catches his friends, not bothering to steal one final glance at his father.
maybe if he’d known that was the last thing he’d ever say to him, he would’ve acted differently.
the door clicks open.
a/n: that took awhile but thanks for being patient! there was definitely more plot in this! next chapter will be more heated!! I’ll be overseas again for another week, leaving tomorrow, so the next chapter may or may not come out at the end of the month, I will release a part before the next chapter though!
also…I gave up on the taglist it’s too much work, but u can turn notifications on ao3 I think!
♡ — 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: The wife of the richest man in town, Ryomen Sukuna, has gone missing, and detective Gojo is on the case. Detective Gojo also doesn’t particularly like your husband.
♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: Entrepreneur! Sukuna x reader x Detective! Gojo || mentions of death/murder, kidnapping, corrupt justice system, brief mention of sex, everyone just loves you, honestly!
♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.8K
This week, Satoru Gojo’s coworkers purchased him a store-bought cake with congratulatory, yellow squiggles placed on it by an underpaid baker who certainly didn’t give a damn that the best detective in the city was celebrating his seventh year at the job.
Call him crazy.
Perhaps, he was, as no sane person could do what he does for a living. Still, the last near decade taught him that chatting with a corpse — not literally, though before his career turned him into a cold man who could no longer feel his heart beating, he did like to say a few parting words — was far easier than talking to families. To friends of a victim. To suspects.
Why?
Because he had to deal with idiots like your husband, Ryomen Sukuna.
No, Ryomen Sukuna was no idiot. That was the problem.
The entrepreneur sat in an uncomfortable chair, arm slung across the table, pretending to be oblivious to the accusatory eyes watching him through the one-way mirror.
“You’d be surprised how many men report their own wives as missing, knowing they’re the ones who killed ‘em,” Satoru took a sip of his warm coffee packed to the brim with cream and sugar. “They think it makes them look more innocent. My favorite part of it all is when they call 911, put on an Oscar-worthy performance, and think they got away with it scot-free. Then, bam, we find the murder weapon in their backyard, a neighbor reports seeing them leave their house with a big bag at 3 A.M., you get the idea.”
“I don’t know, Satoru. He seems pretty shaken up.” The woman beside him twirled a strand of her brown hair.
Satoru eyed her as she did so — an act of pure bad nerves on her part. He knew it.
It was rather odd for her to be here right now. She knew it.
After all, her thing was dealing with the dead bodies, and right now, there wasn’t one.
Truth be told, he liked Shoko as a person. It was bittersweet and somewhat fun to grab a beer with her after a long, devastating day at work, but he couldn’t help but associate her presence with failure.
Because, here she was, standing by his side, watching Ryomen Sukuna as if your cold, dead body was already in her possession, waiting to be picked apart by her tools and investigative eyes.
It was as if she, and everyone else in this goddamn building, had already written you off. Satoru did too, in many ways. It couldn’t be helped. He had seen the ending of this story too many times, and rarely was it a happy one.
But still, until that man sitting in that plain room confessed, or investigators alerted him to a deceased Jane Doe floating in a river or buried in the woods, he’d appreciate it if someone, anyone, including himself, would believe that he’d find you alive and well.
That was his idea of success.
Or, at least, it used to be, back when he was a newbie with big dreams and a shit ton of hope. Now, success meant justice. Letting victims rest in peace. Not finding them alive.
Satoru took another sip of his coffee, the sugar unpleasantly clashing against his teeth, but he didn’t care.
“Sukuna’s smart. Everyone in town knows he’s up to no good. Men that rich usually aren’t.” Satoru dropped his voice to a whisper, low enough to be drowned out by the sound of printers, ringing phones, and shuffling feet. “He’s the sorta guy who always has law enforcement on his side because he pays them triple what the city does.”
“Kill someone and not spend a day in jail.”
“You get the picture.”
“But,” Kento Nanami suddenly appeared with a closed folder in his hands, adjusting his blazer as he joined Shoko and Satoru in both their conversation, and their observation of Ryomen. “More often than not, when Ryomen gets accused of something, it’s always because someone was messing with his wife. A man being a pervert, for example.”
“Rumor has it he murdered that man.” Shoko lowered her head, mumbling, “Well deserved.”
“Give me a break, you two think he’s innocent? Come on. He commits crimes like it’s no one’s business and the worst thing on his record is a speeding ticket. He’s protective of his wife, sure, but if he’s so protective that he kills or hurts people who bother her, and, from what I heard, always has cameras around or bodyguards surrounding her, how in the hell is she missing right now? Do you know?” Satoru looked at Shoko, then at Kento. “Do you, detective?”
“I see your point.” Kento’s eyes were gazing over with a sadness Satoru wasn’t familiar with.
“You okay?” He asked.
“I knew his wife. She was . . .” Kento paused, realizing that he, too, already assumed the worst. He looked down at a smiling, printed photograph of you, paper clipped to the outside of the folder in his hand, a folder holding the details of your case. A folder he, technically, wasn’t allowed to have. “She is a very sweet woman. I hope she’s alright.”
“Old flame of yours?” Satoru’s words seemed teasing, but they weren’t, in truth. He spoke out of genuine curiosity.
“Let’s just say I know her well enough that, despite my level of expertise, I cannot be involved in the case due to a conflict of interest. She’s just a sweet woman.”
“So sweet she’d marry a guy like Ryomen Sukuna?”
“Yes,” Kento adjusted his tie, all before he started to walk away. “Because he isn’t the kind of man who’d murder his wife.”
—
Satoru stepped into the observation room with a fellow detective tagging along behind him and shutting the door.
“Good evening. I’m detective Gojo, this is detective Geto. We-”
“You’re done watchin’ me from behind that glass?” Sukuna tapped his finger against the table, smiling sadly, shaking his head. “There’s a buncha cops in this building, but how many are out there, looking for my wife?”
“We’re doing everything we can, sir,” Satoru took a seat alongside Suguru, rolling up the white sleeves of his button-up shirt. “But we have to ask you a couple of questions. Is that alright with you?”
He gave a small nod.
“I know you’ve been asked this plenty of times already, but I’m the one in charge of your case now, so I’d like to hear it with my own ears. When’d you last see your wife?” Watching him with his sharp blue eyes, Satoru waited and listened, listened and waited for any sign of guilt. A lie. Anything.
And Suguru, who mainly served as a second pair of eyes and ears, cleared his throat and did the same.
“Last night. It was just a normal day. I went to work, she went grocery shopping, uh, I came home, we had dinner, sex, showered, went to bed, and she was gone when I woke up. She doesn’t go jogging in the mornings or anything like that. When I wake up, she’s always right beside me.”
No alibi, Satoru thought. Her last known whereabouts without having to take his word for it were the grocery store. We checked all of their fridges, and everything she bought did make it home, so that only makes this guy look more guilty.
“You claimed that whoever took your wife was smart enough to take out your security cameras.”
“Yeah.”
“You also have bodyguards or security stationed at your mansions at all times, including the one you stayed in last night with your wife.”
“Yeah, what’s your point?”
“There was also no sign of forced entry,” Satoru leaned forward, piercing Sukuna with his intense gaze. “No signs of any struggle, either. Those kinda circumstances lead us to believe that your wife knew her attacker. I gotta say, you also seem fairly certain that your wife was kidnapped.”
“If she was home one minute and not the next, what the hell else could’ve happened, idiot? She didn’t run away. That woman loves me. And I know she’s not dead. She better not be dead.” Sukuna clenched his jaw. “Listen to me, I have a lot of enemies, alright? You don’t do what I do and expect everyone to be your friend. You heard about me. I own businesses. I own that club down the street, the bar you like to go to when you get off work, the resort you wish you could afford to stay at. That means I have a lotta employees, and they don’t always like it when you promote someone over them, cut their hours, you get what I mean?”
“You believe one of your employees might have taken your wife,” Satoru said, rather as a statement than a question.
“That, or some broke guy who’s gonna try to get me to pay millions to get her back.”
Sukuna balled his trembling hand into a fist, his eyes bloodshot, both from misery and bloodlust. “I know you, Satoru. I know just about everybody. You’re the guy who’s good at finding people once they’re dead, never alive. But you'd better find her alive. Stop treating me like a suspect, and find her alive. You know what? I don’t give a damn if you think I did it. I really don’t. I’m not stupid, I know how this shit looks, yeah? And you can put an innocent man behind bars if it’ll help you sleep at night, but you just better find her. I swear to god, you better . . . you better find her. Do you understand me?”
Satoru didn’t respond immediately. Though the observation room was rather cold, the shiver that shot up Suguru Geto’s spine wasn’t related to chills, but rather, the tension in the room that was so thick, he could have sliced it with one of Shoko’s medical tools.
“We’ll do everything we can to find your wife,” Suguru smiled politely.
—
Following a few more unsatisfying questions, the interrogation ended with Satoru’s coworkers crowding him at the door. But the tall man refused to look anyone in the eye.
“Well?” Shoko asked.
Kento didn’t speak, but his tired face told Satoru that he too was waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Satoru scratched the side of his white head of hair, his eyes darting up to a big screen a short distance away. There, most of his coworkers were gathered, watching what appeared to be a news channel discussing the details of your case.
Shots of Sukuna’s mansion were shown, along with people, both concerned, nosy civilians huddled together for warmth, and reporters from other news stations with their cameras and microphones ready, all of them, gathered outside of the place you were last seen.
He knew then that this case would blow up. It would become national news in just a few days. Perhaps, international.
He looked at the blonde reporter going on and on about you, the missing woman, and then, your beautiful face appeared. It was the same, smiling photograph that Kento had.
Satoru locked eyes with you just as Shoko tapped his arm.
“Satoru? I’m waiting to hear what you think.”
Without glancing away from your breathtaking picture upon the screen, from your eyes which seemed so full of life as they stared into his, Satoru’s heart skipped a beat, and he mumbled, “I think he’s guilty.”
Hi! What did you think? I’m considering turning this into a series! Lmk if you wanna be tagged!
I didn't expect Dopamine to get much attention at ALL so thank you all! Here is a preview for the next chapter (it will be a bit though!!)
Sukuna is dabbing a little washcloth on your brow, you're shaky and overheated from punching that bag.
Imagining Gojo’s face.
"Feel better?" He asks, chuckling a little and handing you a water.
"Actually yes," you look up into those ruby eyes that hold so much in them, lost for a moment.
Sure, Gojo cheats, but are you any better if you do it back?
Yet when Sukuna’s sooty pink lashes lower, and his hands gently fix one of your bobby pins up, you catch his wrist. He pauses, teeth glinting with his little grin.
"Practicing self defense against big ass pink haired men who touch your hair?"
You know he's joking, but you step closer, breath catching when you inhale his scent. Not that obnoxious cologne Satoru wears, it's real and male and musky.
It shoots straight to your core.
Sukuna exhales, letting you put his hand on your cheek, so big and tall over you, shadows casting across the boxing ring. "I don't want to get you involved in my mess, Sukuna."
"Maybe I don't mind a mess," you sigh, looking at his plump lips, his tattooed hand tugging you closer by the waist. "Messes are my specialty. Wanna know why?"
You swallow nervously, trembling in front of him, sweat making you shiver just a bit as the AC kicks on overhead. "Why?"
"Because, I'm damaged too, I just hide it better than you," you shut your eyes for a moment.
"I've only kissed once," he blinks a bit, frowning. "So maybe I'll suck at this."
"What now-" That's when you - Mrs. Gojo - tiptoe and kiss Ryomen Sukuna on his lips.
And that's when he drags you against him and presses your back on the ropes around the boxing ring, moaning. Hard body, hot and heavy, a thigh pressing where you've never been touched, making you whine out.
For the first time maybe ever, you feel so wanted, the way he devours you like he's waited forever. And then. You're lost in it.
