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@elinlovesjjk
(Updated) intro
haiiii!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m elin! I love jujuitsu kaisen, my hero, gachiakuta, haikyuu, stranger things, and mazerunner!
I really like music: katseye, Tyler the creator, CHILDISH GAMBINO, laufy, weezer, MARINA, beabadoobee, and the Maria’s!
I also really like caseoh and the watcher!
everyone is unique!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How I feel after crying over a literal x reader fanfic
𑣲 softkuna struggles to braid his lover’s hair
“why is it you are knotting your hair in odd tangles, woman? you will be combing them out later before bed regardless.”
his gruff voice came from the doorway of your shared chambers, watching as you sat in front of the vanity, fingers skilfully threading through soft strands.
a smile grazed your lips at his question, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the mirror.
“to make it look pretty. and it keeps out of my face this way – less of a hassle.”
but your explanation didn’t seem to satisfy him, eyebrows still pulled into a furrow.
“why go through all that trouble when you could simply cut it shorter?” grumbling, he took a couple of steps towards where you sat, crimson eyes never leaving you.
“but i like my long hair, you do too, don’t you, ryomen?”
and although you knew very well how true that was, with the way his hands always occupied themselves in your silky tresses when you would be in his embrace before sleep, he merely huffed.
but apparently, the silly idea of human hairstyles hadn’t been what bothered him at the time.
no no, it was that you’d spend so much time on something he thought of as rather tedious, therefore deciding to take matters into his own, four, hands.
that’s how, you now found yourself sat on his lap, back to his chest and smiling from ear to ear at the gentle strokes and brushes of his fingers through your hair.
meanwhile, heavy sighs left sukuna’s lips every few seconds when yet another strand slipped from his fingers.
it was much harder than you had made it seem to be. seeing you do it every morning with such ease, even if it took you so long, made him think it was really just that uncomplicated.
but oh, how he was wrong.
not only had he taken far too long to understand where each of the three strands was supposed to go, but no matter how firmly he held them, they’d still constantly be slipping, almost mocking him for struggling with such an absurdly simple task.
and to think he’d at least have it a little easier, given he had four hands to do all of this.
“this is- how is it you do this so effortlessly? it makes no sense. the strands flee from my grip within seconds. even your hair knows it’s not supposed to go this way…”
he grumbled, ever so huffy and puffy.
to see a man like him, king of curses, sharpened by battle and triumphant with everything he set his mind to, struggle this much with something so easy, oh, it was hilarious.
it only made him feel irritated and all the more determined to get this right.
“you don’t have to keep going if it’s too much of a bother, ryomen. i can just do it myself.” you suggested with a gentle smile, hand reaching behind you to rest on one of his strong arms.
“no.”
was all he said, neither of you uttering another word as he redid the braid again and again and again until he was finally satisfied with how it looked, tying the ends of your hair together at last.
“it is done, your hair is… tangled.”
that made you turn your head back towards him, eyes meeting his before taking the braid into your hands and examining it.
it looked… beautiful. maybe even better than when you did it yourself. no, actually it was better, much better.
“it looks so pretty…” you said quietly, admiring the care he had put into it.
before he could huff and act all nonchalant about it though, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.
“thank you, ryo.”
it took him off guard, a pink hue tinging his face quicker than he’d like but equally as quick to bring a hand up to cover his face with.
“idiot woman…”
but oh, how glad he was you actually liked it and so relieved to not have messed anything up.
“i shall practice these foolish hair tangles in your place every morning so my wife’s weak body is not tired out by nonsensical tasks.”
“you’re going to do my hair for me every morning?”
“yes, as i have just said. you have ears to listen and a brain to think, do you not?” he huffed, secretly flustered from the joyful expression on your face. it was so stupidly adorable in his eyes.
“yeah yeah, i do.” and with a roll of your eyes you pressed another kiss to his other cheek.
“can’t wait for morning to come again.” you chuckled with excitement flashing in your eyes.
“mm, likewise.”
a/n: okay so i’ve been gone for a while, imsosorry ૮◞ ‸ ◟ ა but the 1k special is here yippieee
AWWW !!!
show off ~ g.suguru pt.3
fratboy!suguru x gojo's!ex!gf!reader
wc: 8k || art creds: @/aransmind || 18+ || MDNI
part 1 || part 2 || part 3
CW: angst, suggestive, mentions of sex, cheating, betrayal, toxic relationship, comfort, alcohol consumption)
summary! you’re gojo’s ex-girlfriend who’s left heartbroken after he leaks your private photos and gets his ass beat by his ex-best friend, geto. geto comforts you, and over the next few weeks, the two of you grow inseparable, sharing late nights, drunken kisses. you think you’ve finally found something safe until a drunk gojo crashes a party and exposes geto’s biggest secret... everything shatters as you storm out, realising the boy who saved you was lying too. will he be able to fix what satoru broke once again? can he make you his for good?
two days pass since that shit show of a party and you can barely recognise the girl you were a few weeks before.
you used to be so full of life, so magnetic, then your heart had been viciously gorged out and munted on the floor by not only one, but two men you'd given your soul to. didn't help that they were best friends once apon a time, shit, maybe this was some elaborate fucked up joke they'd conjured up between them.
your phone’s been on silent at the bottom of your hand bag for the past day, the screen cracked from how hard you slammed it onto your desk when the last message from suguru came in, probably some drawn out male manipulator bs you couldn't be bothered with, so you didn’t even open that one.
the rest you did, every long paragraph and voice note and apology, until your brain flooded with that burning ache and your eyes stung with tears. then you blocked him. you didn’t trust yourself not to cave in and let him sweet talk you into the palm of his clearly dishonest hand.
now you drag yourself to classes like a ghost version of who you were, with the hem of your shirt pulled down past your waist and your hair in whatever tie you found first, no cute cropped camis, no pretty hair clips, no makeup, no nice jewellery.
yuki and choso tried texting you, then calling, then showing up outside your lecture hall, but you slipped out the back before they could corner you. nanami sent a check in text but you left it on delivered.
every time you spot someone with long black hair from across the way, you catch yourself groaning in dissatisfaction.
you don’t cry again, though. you’re past that. you’re tired, so drained. stretched way too thin to be letting out such big, loud emotions.
you sit on your bed that night with your notebook open but no ink on the paper. your eyes feel raw. you rub at your face, let out this quiet sigh you didn’t mean to make, and collapse back onto your pillow.
your chest’s tight enough that you press your palm there, trying to steady yourself. you hate that you gave two different guys the chance to knock the shine off you, one after the other. you hate that you let yourself trust suguru, that you folded into him after the breakup, that you let him hold your hands while you cried about satoru, all while he knew. you hate that he knew.
you shut your eyes and try not to think about the party, but your brain replays it anyway, the audacity he had to try and get you to understand him.
you pull your blanket over your head and try to disappear.
you really hated men.
~
across town, in the room you once spent entire afternoons lounging in, suguru’s lying on his back in the dark, one arm over his eyes. his room’s usually freakishly neat, but now there’s clothes strewn on the floor, sheets twisted, two untouched water bottles on the nightstand. his phone lays screen down beside him, it’s been vibrating on and off since morning, but he hasn’t picked it up. he already knows it’s not you.
he hasn’t left his room much. choso told him to shower earlier, and he did, but only because he didn’t want to hear the disappointment in the guy’s voice again.
the bruises on his knuckles are much darker today, but he trys not to look at them.
he keeps replaying the night in his head, wishing he could cut out every scene except the part before it blew up. he misses your legs draped over his lap, your hands on his chest, your lips smiling just for him. you leaning in, whispering something that made him laugh in this soft, quiet way he only kept with you.
then he remembered your face... your pretty face looking at him afterward, washed in dread, like he’d torn your throat out of you with his bare hands.
he brings his forearm down, covering more of his face like it’ll drown out the memory, it really doesn’t.
after you stormed out, he lasted maybe... fifteen seconds? before he had a full on crash out.
gojo was still running his mouth spewing shit and lousy get backs, suguru didn’t hear the end of it before he grabbed him by the collar and smashed him into the floor. so many people screamed, someone tried to pull him off, but he kept swinging. something envious and disgusting had been building in him for months, all rushing out at once.
gojo was too drunk to hit back properly, and yeah, he could admit that was pretty fucked up of him to do, but he just couldn't help it.
choso stepped in before suguru did damage he couldn’t take back, dragged him out the door while he was still shouting at satoru.
he wishes he didn’t remember that part. he wishes he didn’t remember any of it.
he rolls onto his side, staring at the wall. he didn’t eat today. he didn’t sleep last night. he’s worn himself raw going in circles, every thought landing back on the same point, he hurt you. he did it himself. he can’t blame gojo for that part.
he keeps trying to figure out a way to fix it. messages, apologies, explanations. maybe flowers? maybe giving you space. maybe showing up anyway, but nothing feels right. nothing feels like it'll be enough to mend what he pummelled.
he presses his thumb against his temple, eyes squeezed shut. he thought he’d been doing the right thing by staying out of your relationship drama. he thought he was protecting you from more pain. he thought waiting until you were ready to leave gojo on your own terms was better than blowing your life up for you. he thought a lot of things that don’t matter now, because all you know is that he lied.
he drags in a slow breath, lets it out through his nose.
he whispers into the dark, almost like he hopes the walls will scoop it up and carry it to you somehow.
“i’m so sorry.”
the words disappear into the room, swallowed whole.
and he lies there staring at nothing, just wishing you’d answer your damn phone, wishing he hadn’t hesitated, wishing he hadn’t completely fucked the most grounding connection he'd ever felt with another human being.
wishing he could rewind those two seconds where you asked him if it was true, and he froze. if he could take back that silence, he would tear it out of time with his teeth.
instead he’s here, stuck in his own head, trying to think of a way to make it right, even if he knows he really can’t.
he reaches for his phone, unlocks it, scrolls through your blocked messages. the last one he sent before he stopped trying sits at the bottom.
i’ll do anything. just talk to me.
he closes his eyes.
you won’t, not yet, and maybe not ever.
but he’s still trying to figure out how to fix it. how to earn another chance with you, the girl of his dizzying day dreams.
two days in and he already knows he’d wait a year if you asked him to.
he just wishes you’d give him something. anything.
even if all you ever say from this point is goodbye.
~
football locker room’s are pretty much always thick with steam and the scent of detergent.
the floors damp from the team filing out a few minutes earlier, and satoru’s still planted on the bench in front of his open locker, shirt tossed somewhere behind him, hair stuck in strands to his bruised forehead. his bottom lip’s split from where suguru clocked him, and he keeps poking at it like he’s trying to see if it’ll hurt less the fifth or sixth, or seventh time. (😛)
but it doesn’t.
he winces, groans a soft curse, that's when choso snorts.
he’s leaning against the row of lockers opposite with a towel tucked around his hips, nanami stands beside him. he’s buttoning his shirt despite being fresh out of the shower, he’s still got droplets on his jaw, but he looks composed anyway. you couldn’t out stress that man if you tried.
both of them watch satoru pull his thumb across the cut lip again, and when he winces harder this time, they share a look. a look grown men give each other when someone's being a raging cunt but they haven't said anything yet.
choso’s the first to kick off, pushing off the locker with his heel.
“you know,” he says in a lazy voice, “you keep pokin it like that, it’s gonna heal all crooked. then you’ll lose the only thing carrying your whole face.”
satoru glares. “my face is perfect.”
nanami sighs. “bro, lock in.”
satoru groans, leans back against the metal locker behind him. “you two are real supportive. love that for me.”
“we’re not here to support you,” choso says. “we’re here to tell you you were being a cock.”
satoru rolls his eyes, brows lifting like he expected this but was still holding out hope they’d ignore it. “about the party?”
“about everything,” nanami replies.
choso sits down on the bench across from satoru, staring him down not letting him avoid this conversation anymore.
“you messed up,” choso says. “like… really fucking badly.”
satoru scoffs brushing his fingers through his hair. “i know i nagged him first. i know i shouldn’t have started shit in the middle of the party, but he just kept lookin at me like he-”
“bro,” choso cuts in. “that’s not the part we mean.”
satoru blinks.
nanami drawls closer. “she was finally rebuilding after what you did to her. she was leaning on geto because you’d left her in pieces. you might not like it, but that’s what happened.”
satoru looks away but nanami keeps going. “she trusted him. he was helping her. she was getting better. then you opened your mouth.”
“she deserved the truth,” satoru snaps.
“she deserved it months ago,” nanami says. “not just because you felt jealous and cornered.”
choso nods along. “you didn’t tell her to help. you told her because you couldn’t handle them gettin close.”
satoru rubs his forehead. his wrists ache from training, his ribs hurt from the scrimmage, and now his friends are peeling his skin back with no warning, can they fuck off?
“look,” he mutters, “i’m not sayin i handled it perfect. but i didn’t want him lookin like the good guy while i’m out here being the villain.”
“bro, you lowkey are the villain, he was just doing what you should’ve done.” choso pushes.
satoru’s silence is real loud.
nanami folds his sleeves, “you broke her trust first. suguru only helped her out of a hole that wasn’t betrayal. that was responsibility. then you resented him for stepping in.”
“and then,” choso adds, “you blew up whatever they had cooking up just to make sure he didn’t get the girl you had.”
satoru feels like hitting something.
choso watches him for a moment, then shakes his head. “you fucked it up three times. you cheated. you got jealous of the guy who took care of her. then you tried to turn her against him when you felt threatened.”
satoru trys to keep the same cocky expression he always wears when someone calls him out, but his eyes keep darting from side to side.
“threatened,” he repeats quietly. “you think i was threatened by him?”
nanami lifts a brow. “weren’t you?”
"tch."
choso leans back, hands dropping between his knees. “you act like you’re untouchable. like everyone’s supposed to roll with whatever you do just because you’re you. but you loved her, man. and you acted like she’d wait around for you forever.”
that one sinks in and satoru’s shoulders curl inward just a bit.
nanami softens his harsh tone. “you didn’t lose her because geto stepped in. you lost her because you pushed her away and assumed she’d keep crawling back.”
satoru swallows hard.
choso stands, grabbing his gym bag off the floor. “she wasn’t yours to keep hostage. and suguru didn’t steal her. she trusted him because he showed up.”
nanami nods. “consistently.”
satoru drags both hands over his face, exhaling slow. “i get it,” he says quietly. “you two think i’m the bad guy.”
“not the bad guy,” nanami says. “just a man who doesn’t understand why loyalty matters until it’s gone.”
satoru closes his eyes for a second. he looks tired, not from training but from hearing the thing he spent two days trying not to think about.
choso pulls his bag over his shoulder, heading toward the door. “figure your shit out, satoru. or don’t. but stop pretending you have it hard in this mess.”
nanami follows, pausing only long enough to add, “she cared for you. but caring isn’t enough to rebuild trust. you broke it. you have to live with that.”
the door swings shut behind them, leaving satoru alone on the bench.
he gives the floor that 1000 yard stare with a hand massaging his jaw.
his reflection stares back at him from the metal of the locker. messy hair. bruised mouth. really dark circles. a guy who’d spent so long pretending he was above everything that he didn’t notice how fast the ground was cracking under him.
deep down he knew it wasn’t just jealousy. it wasn’t just the fight, it was the gnawing fear sitting in him that suguru was everything he wasn’t. steady, patient, loyal. the kind of man someone could build their life around.
maybe he acted out because the thought of losing you, like, really losing you, scared him more than he was willing to admit.
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose.
“shit,” he mutters.
the truth was simple, he really was the biggest asshole in this fucked up situation.
now that he's really obsessing over it, he scoffs at how none of this was worth it. how fucking those girls really wasn't all that great, sex with you was better. so why did he do it? he had everything. the reputation, the love, the girl everyone else wanted, so why did he so carelessly toss it away?
he knew why, somewhere rooted deep in his brain he knows why. he hates himself, this was all just his subconscious self sabotaging himself, he feels like he doesn't deserve this high life, so he destroys it. plain and simple.
he really needed to get his shit in line.
~
you drag yourself up the stairs with the kind of limp focus that comes from four straight hours of forcing your brain to work in classes you barely payed attention to.
the apartment’s dead silent when you slip inside, lights off except for the soft glow spilling from the kitchen night bulb. you scuff your shoes off, already aiming yourself toward your room. you don’t want food. you don’t want water. you want your bed and nothing else.
your phone dings in your back pocket.
you consider ignoring it, but you cave and check, praying it’s not someone you know.
xx xxx xxx xxx: hey, i think this is yours. you left a notebook in design earlier. the prof handed it to me. you want it back?
you frown.
first of all, you weren’t even in design earlier. second, you’d lost that notebook ages ago. before the breakup with satoru, before suguru. before any of this current disaster.
you text back anyway.
y/n: yeah thats mine, where r u?
xx xxx xxx xxx: by the student dorms, i can meet you by the bench near the bike racks?
you groan quietly. of course. you were already halfway dead and now you’ve gotta haul yourself back out.
y/n: that's fine, On my way!
you toss your bag down, grab your hoodie, and head out before you can think too hard about how inconvenient this is.
you reach the spot, but no one’s there.
you glance around, annoyed. you’re two seconds from texting again when someone clears their throat behind you.
you turn.
and entire body locks up.
satoru?
standing there in a faded beta hoodie and sweats, one hand in his pocket, the other holding your notebook. your notebook. the pale purple one with cat stickers on the cover, the one you lost somewhere between crying on his floor and storming out weeks ago.
your breath jams for a second, but you force your shoulders back.
“what the fuck?”
he doesn’t smile, not even a twitch, he just lifts the notebook slightly.
“you left it in my room,” he mumbles. “last time you were over.”
your mouth opens, ready to slice into him for having the actual audacity to lure you out here under some fake number, like you’d willingly meet him otherwise. you’re so ready to give him every bit of disgust you’ve been carrying around for two straight weeks. you even inhale to get the first insult out-
but he cuts himself off with something you seriously don’t expect.
“i’m sorry.”
it smashes the space between you like a dropped 50kg weight.
his shoulders are slumped over, damn, that's something you've ever seen. he's not tall and comfortable and confident with his posture, he looks depleted. like someone poked holes in him and whatever cockiness held him together leaked out.
“i know i’ve been a dick,” he says. “i know i don’t get brownie points for saying it out loud. that’s not why i’m here.”
you cross your arms and spit out some salty sarcasm. “then...?”
he drags a hand through his hair, winces when he accidentally grazes the bruise suguru left.
“you didn’t deserve any of it,” he says. “none of the shit i put you through. and that’s on me. not you. and not suguru.”
the name stings but you stay silent, he takes that as permission to keep going.
“i messed it all up,” he says. “for no real reason. i had everything. you. the relationship. someone who actually gave a shit about me. and i still blew it like an idiot. i don’t even know why i thought i could juggle being that guy and still act like i wasn’t lucky you stayed as long as you did.”
you look away, staring at the pavement so you don’t have to stare at him. the night air brushes past your skin and you swear you can still feel old versions of you and him lingering in this part of campus.
“i’m not telling you this to win you back,” he adds, voice sad. “i know that’s dead. i know i killed it.”
you breathe out slowly through your nose. “good. at least you get that part.”
he lets out a dry laugh, almost self mocking. “yeah. trust me, i get it.”
you gesture toward the notebook. “so you dragged me out here just to say you’re sorry?”
“no,” he says. “i dragged you out here because of suguru.”
your expression freezes. everything in you switches from weary to alert.
he holds up a hand, gentle, like he’s trying not to set you off. “i know you hate him right now. i know you think he betrayed you.”
you want to slap him for even uttering his name.
“but he didn’t,” satoru says. “he really didn’t. he never wanted to hurt you. not once.”
you scoff. “you don’t get to speak for him.”
“i’m not,” he says. “i’m speaking for me. for what i did. because he’s been carrying the weight of my choices for years, and i let you think that was on him, but that’s on me too.”
you stare at him, unsure whether to scream or walk away. since when has this man ever been this sincere?
“he was there for you,” satoru says, eyes dropping. “in ways i should’ve been. he stepped in when i was too wrapped up in my own bullshit. that wasn’t... betrayal, or whatever. that was him trying to patch up shit i caused.”
you swallow. it stings to hear. it stings because somewhere in the back of your mind you know he’s right.
“i hated it,” he admits. “him being close to you. him knowing you like that. but not because he did anything wrong. because i knew he could give you what i didn’t.”
that catches you off guard.
“i took that out on both of you,” he says. “i messed with your head. i threw bombs at him. i poked at whatever you two had because i couldn’t stand the idea of you choosing someone better.”
you counter, “he kept a secret that wasn’t his to keep.”
“because i basically asked him to,” satoru says immediately. “i borderline blackmailed him, used our friendship as some loyalty leverage. i didn’t want you to look at me differently. i didn’t want you to see how weak i was. he wasn’t protecting himself, he was protecting me. stupid loyalty that i didn’t deserve.”
what the fuck...
“i’m not saying you have to forgive him,” he continues. “or me. especially not me. i just… didn’t want you to walk around thinking he wanted to hurt you. he didn’t. everything that fell apart between you two came from my shit, not his.”
you exhale through tight lips. “you really have no business telling me what to do with my anger.”
“i know,” he says. “i know that. it’s your call. all of it.”
he holds the notebook out.
you take it from him, the step back immediately.
“thanks,” you say flatly. “but don’t ever text me again. not from your number, not from a fake one, not ever.”
he nods once, gaze dropping to the ground. “yeah. alright.”
you stuff the notebook into your tote.
you turn to leave, but you only get a few steps before he speaks again, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“i really am sorry.”
you don’t look back.
but as you walk across the dim courtyard, notebook bumping against your hip, your thoughts shift like wet pages turning. you’re not ready to forgive. you’re not ready to heal. but something about what he said, the parts about suguru, lodges itself in your ribs.
you hate that it makes sense.
you hate that it softens the sharp edge of the anger you’ve been clinging to.
you hate that you suddenly have questions instead of conclusions.
you tighten your grip on the strap of your tote.
the night around you feels cold, still, thin. you keep walking, head down, hoodie pulled over your hair.
you’re not ready to admit it aloud.
but your perspective on everything just tilted.
god men were are so fucking confusing.
~
classes dragged on past sunset today, two days after your run in with gojo.
you leave your design building with your fingers curled tight around your bag strap, mind chewing on gojos words even though you’ve tried to shake them off since the second they left his mouth. it’s been two days and they still sit in your skull like grit. every time you try to focus on something else, your brain drags you right back to the part where he said suguru never meant to hurt you. where he said he manipulated things. where he said suguru was trying to fix the damage he caused.
it made you think about unblocking suguru wayyy more times than you’re willing to admit.
the walkway is empty at this hour. the sky’s in that deep navy state that comes after a long day.
you’re exhausted, brain fried, soul dragged across the same thought over and over, if he didn’t mean to hurt you, then what the hell were you two even doing?
you check your phone again out of habit even though no one can reach you from the number you blocked. you drop it back into your pocket and step off the curb, turning toward the path that cuts between the old lecture hall and the art building.
and then you hit something.
solid.
hard.
like a walking brick wall.
your bag slips halfway off your shoulder, your phone jolts upward in your pocket, and you lurch back with a low grunt, hand immediately flying to your forehead.
“ow-"
the word’s barely out when a voice cuts in, steadying your reeling brain.
“hey… easy there…”
what?
your head shoots up.
and there he is.
suguru geto stands in front of you in the dark ambiance, wearing a black sweater, backpack strung over his shoulder, hair tied half up. he looks drained, shadows under his eyes, posture slouched like he hasn’t slept in days.
but he’s still him.
still stupidly attractive in the way that pisses you off because it makes everything so much harder.
“it’s you...”
he swallows, shudders like seeing you fired off a blurred straight through his brain.
“sorry,” he says quietly. “i.. i didn’t see you.”
you step back, putting a little space between your bodies even though part of you wants the complete opposite.
“it’s fine,” you whisper, eyes darting anywhere except his. “i wasn’t paying attention...”
silence folds over both of you. he shifts his weight out of nervousness, you’ve never seen him like that. even four days ago at the party, even when everything fell apart, he was composed.
now he looks anything but.
“you uh... you heading home?” he asks softly, looking at you shyly.
“yeah,” you say.
he nods. the wind rustles the trees above, and your stomach sinks at the tension tightening around both of you.
he looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the start. his lips works for a second before he gives up trying to be smooth and just exhales through his nose defeated.
“y/n... look…” he strangles out, the pain in his voice almost makes you choke. “i know i’m the last person you want to run into.”
your fingers begin to tap against your thigh.
“yeah...,” you reply.
his eyes drop to the pavement, and his voice cracks the slightest bit when he answers.
“i’ve been hoping i would, though.”
he presses a hand to the back of his neck, fingers patting across tired skin. “shit, i've practiced what id say if i ever ran into you but... it's all fucked off out of my head..”
you almost want to laugh, caught off guard by the honesty.
he sighs deeply.
“i’m sorry,” the words fall out raw, “i was a real dick. i was jealous and insecure and i handled everything so wrong, y/n. i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve told you the second i found out he was cheating on you, i know that.”
your eyes feel hot. not now, please not now.
he continues, voice shaking even as he tries to keep it controlled.
“you didn’t deserve any of that. you didn’t deserve my silence and dishonesty. you didn't deserve to be left in the dark so i could avoid making you feel worse for my own selfish desires. that was me being a coward. i’m not proud of it.”
you don't respond but by now your head is turning fuzzy.
he laughs curtly. “you blocked me. and i get why. i don’t blame you at all. but not hearing from you… i didn’t expect it to fuck with me that bad.”
you look at him, and he stutters at the contact before talking again.
“i didn’t realise how much space you took up in my day until everything happened,” he says softly. “i kept checking my phone like an idiot, knowing nothing would come through. i kept rereading old texts like that would somehow fix the fact that i fucked everything up.”
your heart tore at the seems
he steps back, running a hand through his hair again, this time more stressed than the last.
“if you want me gone, i’ll go. if you want me out of your life, i’ll do it. i won’t show up again. i won’t bother you. i just... i needed to say sorry. i needed to say something. i needed… i don’t know. closure, i guess.”
your breath stutters for a second because closure is the last thing you hear in his voice. he looks like someone who’s been walking around with a hole in his chest.
“i don’t expect anything from you,” he goes on. “not forgiveness. not a second chance. i just… needed you to know i never wanted to hurt you. not once.”
you take a small step toward him without meaning to.
he notices. his expression falters, like he’s bracing himself for the final blow.
but you don’t give it.
instead, you reach out slowly, almost cautiously, and your hand touches his sleeve.
his breath stops.
before you can overthink it, your arms wrap around him gently. hell, not even you know what you were doing at this point.
he freezes like he truly didn’t believe you’d ever touch him again.
then, in the next second, he melts into you, hands gripping your back tightly. his face presses into your shoulder, he’s afraid of what might spill out if he lifts it.
his voice is muffled when he speaks into your hair.
“i missed you,” he whispers, something fragile woven through the words. “i missed you so much.”
your fingers clutch the fabric of his sweater, you stand there in the cold campus night, wrapped in each other, breathing the same air, holding weeks of tension between your arms. he holds you like he’s terrified you might run away.
and you hold him back like you finally understand just how deeply this has been sitting inside both of you.
after a long moment, his grip loosens just enough for him to pull back, eyes red at the corners, expression soft in a way you’ve never seen.
“can we talk this out?" he asks.
you smile and nod
“yeah,” you say quietly. “we can talk.”
.
long story short, not a lot of talking ended up happening.
as soon as you got in the door it's like something clicked in both of your pent up heads. you grabbed him by the collar of his sweater and pulled him into you, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.
he grabbed for your waist as he let out a soft sigh into the space in between your noses, tilting his head for more access to your mouth.
you barely make it to the couch before his hands slip to your hips, guiding you down. he drops onto the cushions, tugging you with him until you’re straddling his lap, knees braced on either side of him. the second you settle there, his fingers spread across your waist, holding you down onto his growing erection.
he devours your mouth, curling at your lips leaving them bruised, he was well rehearsed in the art of making girls feel special, all the others felt like a big lead up to making you feel good.
he exhales against your lips, then drags his mouth along the corner of your jaw, the tip of his nose skimming your cheek as he angles in closer.
“god, i missed you, y/n,” he almost whines, his voice growing warm against your hot skin. his arms wrap around you, palms pressing to your lower back to keep you pressed to him. “you have no idea what the last few days were like. i kept reaching for my phone. kept thinking maybe you’d unblock me. kept hoping i’d hear from you, even once.”
you shift slightly, settling more fully on him, hands threading into his hair. he lets out a sound in his throat, then tilts his face so he can kiss you again. its so messy but so perfect, the both of your felt like one fluid river kissing and sucking at each other.
“fuck, you drive me crazy,” he whispers against your ear making your neck tingle, “you’re the only girl who’s ever gotten in my head like this, you're seriously so fucking special” he grunts.
you press your forehead to his, breathing hard, and his thumb caresses the side of your waist as he kisses you again.
he leans back, pulling you with him, guiding you down until you’re both stretched out along the couch, still wrapped up in each other, still kissing like you’ve both been aching for this.
the first time you'd tried he told you to wait until your head was clear, now it was crystal, and the only thing on your mind was having him inside of you, making you feel whole.
"please suguru... i need you to fuck me."
he let out the most intense groan you'd ever heard a man make, he almost instantly ripped at your clothes, desperate to have you bare infront of him, a sight that had been plaguing each and every one of his fantasies since the day you let him hold you.
"i'll do you one better, baby."
and he did. he took you right there on your couch, slowly and gently like you'd never felt before. he whispered praise into your pretty little head with each inch, dumbing you down until you felt like a puddle of tears and mush by the time he'd fully pushed in.
"you're okay, sweetheart, shhh. it's okay." he'd whisper, you cried into his shoulder at his length, bigger and thicker than anything you'd ever taken.
"easy, baby. you can take it, i know you can. be a good girl for me, yeah? -fuuuck."
he moaned with each small thrust of his hips, you gripped his now bare bicep tightly leaving nail imprints, whining with each movement.
"sugu- suguru! i can't! it's too much!" you cried, only a few minutes in and he had you squirming all over his cock, begging for him to ease up. he only laughed in response, thrusting harder earning a pornographic moan ripping from your throat, the sound making his dick twitch.
"awe baby, just abit longer, you can handle it!" he moaned, taking you for himself harder with each pulse.
the consistent thrusting paired with the sweet words flooding out of his mouth was drawing you closer and closer until-
"fuck! i'm gonna- i'm gonna-"
you came undone all over his length, he whines at the small spasms and comes undone just as fast, moaning your name followed by, "i love you!"
you whisper it back, and he collapses against you.
.
the aftermath was nothing short of blessedly glorious. he stood immediately and grabbed a washcloth and water, pulling you into his arms and kissing you gently, wiping the residue away from your thighs.
"you did so good for me baby, so good." he whispered, cradling you in his arms and stroking your cheek.
"you were perfect, so perfect for me."
his words put you to sleep, you murmured his name before passing out, your breathing evening out against his chest.
all suguru could think was how fucking lucky he was to have you all to himself, in the most intimate way possible. you, and him.
.
you wake sometime past midnight tucked into the dip of your mattress, your eyes adjust, and you see him.
suguru is lying on his side, one arm banded around your waist, the other propped under his head as he watches you. his hair falls loose over his shoulder, a few strands brushing his cheek, and his eyes shine in the light slipping through your curtains. he’s been awake for a while, you can tell.
his lips tug into this tiny smile when he notices you looking back at him, not asleep anymore.
“hey,” he whispers.
your voice comes out soft and scratchy with sleep. “hey.”
you fold into his chest, tucking your face against the warm spot between his collarbone and his shoulder. his arm pulls around you, holding you there like he’s been waiting for you to wake up just so he could do exactly that.
“you passed out on the couch,” he smiles, brushing a thumb over the side of your hip. “thought you’d sleep better in here. so i carried you.”
your cheeks heat immediately and you press your face deeper into him to hide it. he laughs quietly and kisses your forehead.
“hmm…” he adds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “that was the most mind blowing sex i’ve ever had in my entire life.”
you snort in the softest way. “shut up…”
“i’m serious.” he nudges your cheek with his nose, smiling against your skin. “i don’t think i've ever felt that good.”
you yawn and groan a little, the sleepy nature of it drives suguru crazy, all he wants to do is take your face into his hands and kiss you to death, and he does. he squishes your cheeks and presses small kisses all over, your mouth, eyelids, nose, all the soft spots. you laugh and squirm in his arms.
he smiles back and pulls you into him letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. you lie there silently as he rubs your back.
you think bank and ponder what was said earlier in the heat of the moment.
“suguru..."
"yes, honey?"
"did you uhm... did you mean it…?”
he stills slightly. “mean what, baby?”
your fingers play with a loose strand of his hair. “what you said earlier.. that you loved me.”
his breath faults for just a second, but not in fear. in relief.
he cups your face, finger brushing beneath your eye. “of course i meant it. i’ve been in love with you since the beginning.”
your eyes are suddenly awake and darting across his beautiful face, all you can see is sincerity.
“y/n. i want you to be mine,” he says quietly. "be my girlfriend. i want you, baby. would you do me the pleasure?.”
your answer comes out before he even finishes the sentence.
“of course!”
his eyes soften so much you feel it in your heart. he leans in, kisses you slow and lovingly, his hand stays on your jaw as he pulls you closer, kissing you again, deeper this time, but still tender.
you fall asleep pushed against him, wrapped in his arms, his hand resting on your back, his breath warming the top of your head.
~
one week later, you’re back.
your hair’s done, your outfits are eating up again, your instagram is alive after going dead silent for days. you waltz through campus with a spark in your step that hasn’t been there since before the breakup.
and every time you stop for a second, every time you pause to talk or grab a drink or adjust your bag, the same thing stands out.
where satoru used to stand loudly and bright trying way too hard to take up space, suguru stands now.
he walks beside you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the strap of your bag or resting against your hip. he’s calmer than satoru ever was, less showy, and way more grounded. but somehow he draws more eyes than your ex ever managed to. its his sheer attractiveness and no need for love or attention.
the way you grab onto his arm, fingers holding his bulky muscles, tells the whole school everything it needs to know.
people stare.
whisper.
do double takes.
someone drops their coffee when they see the two of you walk into the design building together. another girl gasps so loudly her friend elbows her. someone else literally stops in the hallway and stares like they’re a mummy.
you disregard it and so does suguru, you're too happy to care.
back at his frat, things are slightly different.
he walks in about a day after you two went public and it's generally okay. he pulls the key from the door, sukuna and toji sit sprawled across the couch, a game paused on the screen, controllers left in their laps. they look up at him the moment he enters. toji looks at sukuna and they grin real entertained.
“look who finally showed up,” toji calls out.
sukuna lifts a brow, eyes dragging slowly from suguru’s shoes to his face. “so, finally locked it down. didn’t think you actually had that in you.”
suguru snorts and steps over a stray hoodie on the floor. “lay off,” he says, dapping them up one at a time, toji pulls him in for a quick, rough pat on the back that nearly knocks the air out of him, and sukuna taps his knuckles against suguru’s shoulder.
“seriously,” toji adds, leaning back deeper into the couch, “good for you. she’s top tier.”
sukuna nods. “yeah. don’t fuck it.”
suguru rolls his eyes and nods. “i won’t.”
the banter rolls on a little longer, then he stands and heads for the stairs, he's glad things aren't blowing up in his face.
he's about to jolt up the stairs when he brushes past a familiar tall body.
satoru is standing there, looking at him not with malice, but with a small sense of pride.
he tries to pass by, but satoru steps forward slightly.
“hey,” satoru says.
suguru pauses.
their eyes meet but there's no challenge. satoru looks almost relieved to see him, and suguru finds himself waiting, silently.
“look bro... i’m happy for you,” satoru murmurs. “for real. you two make a lotta sense.”
suguru stays silent, but his jaw doesn’t tighten. his shoulders don’t lift. he just watches satoru, trying to read the sincerity in his voice.
satoru goes on. “i screwed things up. with you, and especially with her. i know that. i’m not gonna make excuses.” he shrugs, a small one. “i’m sorry. for everything. the fights. the stupid decisions. for putting you in that spot. i never wanted to hurt either of you, not deep down, anyway.”
suguru exhales through his nose, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again. “i appreciate you saying it.”
satoru nods.
“what you did was fucked up,” suguru says quietly. “i’m not gonna pretend it didn’t really screw up my image of you, man.” he pauses long enough for the words to settle. “we won’t go back to how we were overnight, i'm not gonna be as tight with you.”
satoru nods again, his heart breaking slightly. “yeah. i get that.”
there’s a beat where neither of them know what comes next, until satoru sticks his hand out, palm open, offering a dap.
suguru looks at the hand for a second, then gives a small, warm smile that eases the tightness in his chest. he accepts the dap, their palms meeting in a short, steady grip.
“we’re good,” suguru says. “we're cool, okay.”
satoru’s lips fall into something close to a grateful smile. they let go, and the tension releases without any dramatic moment, just a simple step forward, something mended but not overwritten.
"cool is fine with me, bro."
suguru turns with a short laugh toward the stairs again, hands sliding into his pockets as he climbs.
he reaches his room, shuts the door behind him, and leans against it for a second.
satoru had said sorry, he'd finally got you to be his, life was really turning out for him.
his phone dings in his pocket. he takes it out, glancing at the screen.
your name lights it up.
he answers instantly, not even pretending to let it ring for a bit. your voice comes through in that playful tone you get when you’re already smiling.
“hey baby,” you say. “wanna come over?”
everything inside him melts. the noise of the frat, the tension of the last month, the conversation with satoru, all of it fades into something insignificant compared to the gravity of your lovely, sweet voice in his ear.
“yeah, tell me when you want me there, baby.”
you laugh under your breath, trying to mask how much you needed him. “right now.”
he smiles so hard, he was seriously turning into a no good sap when it came to you. embarrassing. he laughed before answering.
“i’m on my way, sweetheart."
he stands, grabs his keys from the nightstand, and gives one last look around his room.
as he makes his way back to your apartment, his head flicks through just how incredibly lucky he was to have you, finally, all to himself. not in a flashy way and not in a show off way. he just had you, and it made his heart full.
you want him. you chose him. and he’s never felt more content.
yay ily ily ily ily ily thank you for reading beautiful beauties 😛😛
- six !
okay six is MY FAVORITE FREAKING WRITER. this is genuinely the best piece of fanfiction I’ve ever read. like had me gasping and talking to myself. THIS IS WRITTEN BEAUTIFULLY!!!!
show off ~ g.suguru pt.2
fratboy!suguru x gojo's!ex!gf!reader
wc: 11.5k || art creds: @/aransmind || 18+ || MDNI
part 1 || part 2 || part 3
CW: angst, suggestive, mentions of sex, cheating, betrayal, toxic relationship, comfort, alcohol consumption)
summary! you’re gojo’s ex-girlfriend who’s left heartbroken after he leaks your private photos and gets his ass beat by his ex-best friend, geto. geto comforts you, and over the next few weeks, the two of you grow inseparable, sharing late nights, drunken kisses, and confessions. you think you’ve finally found something safe, real, until a raging drunk gojo crashes a party and exposes geto’s biggest secret... everything shatters as you storm out, realising the boy who saved you might’ve been lying too.
suguru inhales softly as he hesitantly knocks on your apartment door.
three dull thuds against the wood that make your heart drop into your stomach. you freeze on the couch, your breath stuttering in your chest.
it’s him. you know it’s him.
the text he sent sits open on your phone: i’m coming over. no punctuation, no hesitation. just a fact.
you haven’t moved since. the tears dried sticky on your cheeks, your eyes raw and burning. another knock comes, firmer this time. “... y/n?,” suguru’s voice carries through the door, low and steady. “please let me in, sweetheart. it’s me.”
you press your hand tighter over your mouth, muffling the tiny sound that tries to escape your throat. your whole body trembles, you know he wouldn’t hurt you, he never has, but what if he’s here because he’s seen it? because he knows what everyone else does now? maybe he’s just come to tell you he can’t look at you the same way.
that you disgust him.
you curl up tighter, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like it might protect you.
“i know you’re in there,” he says, a sigh threading through his words. there’s no irritation, just quiet worry. “please open the door.”
you can’t. your body won’t let you.
the silence stretches thin. you imagine him on the other side, probably pacing, running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s anxious. he’s always been patient, but there’s a crack in his tone when he speaks again, something real and pleading.
“i need to see you, okay?” his voice softens. “i can’t just leave you alone right now.”
the weight of his words hits something inside you, deep and hurting. your breath stops, a hiccup breaking past your fingers.
he hears it, you know he does.
“hey,” he says, gentler now. “you don’t have to say anything. just… please open up. i swear i’m not here to judge you or, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that. i just need to make sure you’re okay.”
you hesitate, staring at the doorknob through blurry eyes. your hand shakes as you reach for it, pausing right before you touch the metal. what if he looks at you differently? what if that softness he always has in his eyes is gone now?
but then you hear it again, his voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “you don’t deserve to be alone through this, love.”
and that’s what does it.
you twist the knob. the door creaks open an inch.
he’s standing there in the hallway, hair messy, knuckles red and split. he looks wrecked in a way that’s unfamiliar. breathing hard, jaw tight, eyes glinting with something between anger and heartbreak. his gaze lands on your face and softens instantly.
you look like you’ve been crying for hours, because you have. your cheeks are blotchy, your lashes clumped together, lips trembling. you can’t even look at him properly, your gaze darting to the floor.
he exhales, stepping closer. “oh, honey...”
his hand comes up slowly, like he’s afraid to startle you. “can i come in?”
you nod, barely.
he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. and before you can process what’s happening, his arms are around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest.
you melt.
the second his warmth hits you, the dam breaks again. your body shakes with another round of sobs, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. he smells like clean soap and faint smoke, and under it all, something that’s just him.
“shh,” he murmurs, lowering his head to your ear. “it’s okay, baby. i've got you.”
his hand rubs slow circles on your back, his voice a low hum against your hair. “you’re okay. you’re fine, i promise you.”
you can barely breathe through the tears, but you nod anyway, pressing your face harder into his chest.
you expected him to be angry, to demand explanations, to pull away. instead, he just holds you tighter, one big hand cradling the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
“you’re shaking,” he whispers. “hey, hey, it’s alright. you don’t have to say anything. i know.”
his shirt is damp from your tears. your hands are trembling against him, your breaths coming in ragged little bursts.
“suguru, i...” your voice breaks, small and wrecked. “aren't you grossed out, disappointed?”
he leans back just enough to look at you. his eyes search yours, and for a second, you swear you see his heart break a little.
“nothing you do could ever disappoint me, y/n,” he says simply. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you blink up at him softly.
he smooths a tear from your cheek with his thumb, voice barely above a whisper. “you hear me? nothing. he’s the one who crossed a line, not you.”
your throat closes up again, but the tears come slower this time.
he lifts you up before you can react, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. you let out a small sound of surprise, gripping his shirt, but he just hushes you softly.
“c’mere,” he says, carrying you over to the couch. he sits down first, then shifts until you’re curled up against him, tucked into the curve of his body.
it’s automatic, the way you push your face into his chest again, your legs draped over his lap. he holds you like you’re made of glass, something he’s scared to break.
his thumb rubs gentle strokes along your arm. “breathe with me, yeah?” he murmurs. “slow. in through your nose.” he exaggerates a deep inhale, waiting for you to follow. “good. now out.”
it takes a few minutes, but eventually, your breathing evens, your fingers stop trembling.
you feel his heartbeat under your cheek, steady and warm.
“gojo never deserved you,” he says after a while, voice low. “what he did was fucking disgusting.”
you flinch, but he squeezes your shoulder gently. “you don’t have to talk about it. i just.. i can’t believe it.” his jaw flexes as he exhales through his nose. “i was at home when i found out. toji told me, said yuki probably already told you. i just... i saw red.”
you glance up at him, eyes still glassy. “huh… what did you do?”
he hesitates for a second, looking away. “i confronted him.”
“confronted,” you echo softly. “or…”
he gives a little half-laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, okay. i might’ve done more than that.”
you blink at him, and for the first time all night, something like amusement bubbles up in your chest. “wait. you-" you wipe at your eyes, sniffling through a watery laugh. “you roughed him up?”
a faint blush colors his cheeks, and he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “he deserved it. smashed his phone, too.”
you actually laugh now, the sound small but real. “suguru, you can’t just hit people.”
“i can when it’s him,” he interrupts, voice gentle but firm. “he’s been treating you like shit for months. and then this?” he shakes his head, a sharp edge to his tone. “no. someone had to clock his shit.”
you giggle, then stare at him, your heart twisting. he’s sitting there with a split lip, a faint bruise already forming along his cheekbone, and somehow, he still looks beautiful. solid. like nothing could touch him except what’s happening to you.
“thank you,” you whisper. “for not, you know... judging me.”
his brows furrow. “judge you? sweetheart, why would i judge you?”
you shrug, staring down at your hands. “it's just... everyone’s gonna think i'm some nasty slut and i-”
“stop,” he says softly, tilting your chin up until your eyes meet his. “people can think whatever the hell they want. they don’t know you, y/n, i do. your friends do. they're who matter.”
there’s something about the way he says it that makes your chest flutter.
“you’re good, you know that?” he murmurs. “you’re kind. too forgiving sometimes, but that’s just who you are. and you didn’t deserve any of this shit.”
you blink fast, trying not to cry again. “you shouldn’t have to clean up his mess.”
“maybe not,” he says, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “but i really, really want to.”
you don’t even have words for that. the sincerity in his voice is so heavy it fills the whole room with a sense of love and connection like you'd never felt before.
you rest your head back on his chest, letting his heartbeat drown out the noise in your mind. his hand moves slowly through your hair, combing through the tangles with quiet patience.
the two of you fall silent for a while, the only sound is the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint creak of the couch when he shifts to pull you even closer.
“you’re not alone in this, okay?” he whispers. “not while i’m here.”
your fingers curl against his shirt, holding on a little tighter.
“i know, suguru. you're seriously the best thing ever. i mean that.”
he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “good,” he murmurs. “i want to be that person for you.”
your face gets hotter at the sudden contact, but you chalk it up to him trying to be friendly and grip his chest tighter with a sigh. the room is silent, your breath mingling as he stroked your back better.
the reality of satoru spreading around your photos is still fresh, but having such a steady man like suguru on your side made the sting feel more like a subtle prick. he didn't know how deeply rooted he now was in your head, and little did you know he felt the exact same way.
~
it’s been a week since shit hit the fan. since gojo’s face met suguru’s fist, since the whole frat fizzed with gossip that died almost as fast as it started. the world didn’t burn down like you thought it would, instead, it just… settled. the air softened.
gojo’s been keeping his head down. he doesn’t talk about the fight, doesn’t mention you, doesn’t even try to make jokes about it like he usually would. people still whisper sometimes, what happened? who threw the first punch? did gojo really do that?, but suguru makes sure it doesn’t go further. he gives them that look, the kind that makes them shut up mid sentence.
youve been breathing steady.
the first few days after that night were rough. crying until your chest ached, waking up and feeling that lump in your throat that wouldn’t go away. but suguru never left. every time your phone buzzed, it was him. every time you needed to talk, or not talk at all, he was there.
walking you to class in the mornings with a coffee in hand, waiting outside the lecture hall just to walk you back. when you went to parties, he was always there too, leaning against the wall near you, making sure nobody said anything out of line.
it didn’t feel forced either. he just… fit. naturally. like he’d always been meant to be the one orbiting around you, keeping you safe, laughing with you, being there.
you’d catch yourself looking at him sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention, when he was rolling his sleeves up, or typing on his phone, or zoning out during a movie night, and your stomach would twist, because he wasn’t just your friend anymore, not really. he was becoming your person, the one who felt like home.
by friday, the connection between you two has started to fray with something new. comfortable, but electric.
you’re laid out on your bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, when it buzzes with a text from him.
[suguru] 4:58p.m: there’s a party at naoyas tonight, come with me.
you grin a little at how direct he is. no question mark, no explanation. just assuming you’ll go because… well, you probably will. you type back: sure, wanna come over and get ready w me?
[suguru] 5:00p.m: of course
you smile at your screen, cheeks warm, and toss your phone onto the blanket beside you.
an hour later, there’s a knock at your door, two soft taps, his usual. you call out for him to come in, and the door creaks open as he steps through, tall and easy, carrying a small bag and a six-pack of cruisers dangling from his fingers.
“thought i’d bring some pregame drinks,” he says, kicking the door shut behind him. “figured you’d wanna start early.”
he’s wearing a simple black tee and gray sweats, hair tied half up, and it’s unfair how good he looks doing absolutely nothing.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, a grin spreading across your face. “you’re enabling me.”
“someone’s gotta,” he says, smirking as he hands you one of the bottles.
you take it, cracking it open, the faint fizz breaking the air. “you’re a really shitty influence.”
“maybe” he says, dropping onto the edge of your bed, “yet you still text me to come over every time you need to get ready.”
you laugh, sipping the drink. “yeah, well, maybe i just like your company.”
“hm,” he hums, taking a swig of his own. “yeah, i’m sure that’s it.”
you roll your eyes and grab your makeup bag, dragging it closer as you sit cross-legged beside him. the light from your vanity lamp paints both of you in a soft glow, the room humming quietly with your favorite playlist in the background.
“so,” you say, pulling out your concealer, “who’s showing up?”
he shrugs. “the usual. toji, nanami if yuki convinces him, maybe shoko. probably some new pledges trying too hard to impress everyone.”
“ew,” you say, grimacing. “freshman boys terrify me.”
he snorts. “yeah, facts. they all act like if speed and andrew tate fucked and had a kid.”
you burst out laughing mid-eyeliner stroke, nearly smudging it. “oh my god, stop. you’re gonna make me mess this up.”
“oh brother that wasn't even that funny,” he says, leaning back on his palms. his eyes flicker over you, watching you carefully blend and swipe and concentrate. there’s something sweet in his expression, affection so soft it looks like he's gazing at a cute cat.
“you’re staring,” you tease, catching him through the mirror.
he doesn’t even look away. “yeah, and?”
you freeze for half a second before shaking your head with a small laugh. “you're a weirdo creep freak.”
“you love it,” he says, smiling into his bottle.
you throw a makeup sponge at him, which he dodges easily, laughing.
“alright buddy, what about you? you gonna flirt your way through the night?”
“me? nah,” he says, glancing at you. “don’t really feel like it lately.”
you hum. “hm. someone caught your eye?”
“maybe,” he says quietly, looking down at his drink.
you don’t ask who. you don’t have to. the room feels suddenly heavy with something unspoken, and you focus on your mascara instead, pretending not to notice the way your heart starts thudding faster.
half an hour passes like that, just fun conversation and laughter between sips. you start gossiping about everyone you know.
“did you hear shiu’s up charging his shit by like, 70 percent?” you ask, laughing.
“yeah,” he groans. “he sold me 4 grams for $120, swear to god.”
“you’re kidding,” you gasp, laughing so hard you almost spill your drink.
“wish i was. who the fuck shows up to a party and makes people pay for weed, especially that much, holy shit.”
you laugh louder at that. “that’s, oh my god... that’s actually bad.”
“yeah, i don’t buy from him anymore. learned my lesson.”
the two of you keep talking, voices overlapping, trading stories, teasing, laughing until your cheeks ache. he’s sitting across from you now, both of you cross legged, knees almost touching. his hair’s fallen loose around his face, and there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you forget what you were saying in the middle of your sentence.
you glance at your phone and blink. “uh, suguru?”
“yeah?”
“the party started an hour ago.”
he looks up, then bursts out laughing. “you’re kidding.”
he looks at you, then at the untouched makeup bag still zipped up beside you, then at the empty bottles littering the nightstand. “we literally spent two hours talking.”
you laugh once more, the smile on sugurus face egging you on “wow, that's kinda embarrassing for us lowkey.”
he falls back onto your bed, laughing into his hands. “nah it's fine, i had more fun talking than going to some shitty party.”
“so real,” you agree, lying back beside him.
you guys stay quiet for a bit. you’re just breathing, staring at the ceiling, still giggling every few seconds. his shoulder brushes yours, and it feels electric.
you turn your head to look at him. he’s smiling at the ceiling, hair splayed out on your blanket, one arm tucked behind his head.
“maybe,” you say softly, “we just skip the party?”
his eyes slide to yours. “oh yeah?”
you shrug, trying to sound casual. “i mean, we’re already comfy. and tipsy.”
“true,” he says, lips curving into a small grin.
“plus,” you add, “we’ve got drinks here. and snacks. and less pain in the ass people.”
“you’re really selling it,” he says, sitting up to grab another cruiser. “so what, we make a night of it?”
you smile, nodding. “hm. stay over, okay?”
he pauses for a second. it’s subtle, but you see it, the flash of surprise in his eyes, the quick glance toward the floor like he’s thinking about what this means. he’s never stayed the night. never. he always leaves around midnight, gives you that kind smile and a see you tomorrow, and you always pretend it doesn’t sting a little when he goes.
but now, he just smiles back. slow, genuine, a little shy.
“yeah,” he says softly. “i’ll stay.”
you grin, feeling something flutter deep in your chest. “sweet.”
he watches you for a second, the faint light catching the gold in his eyes. the room feels heavier, quieter, like every breath matters.
“y’know,” he murmurs, “i think i like it better here anyway.”
“what, my room?” you tease.
“nah,” he says, voice low. “just like, with you, i guess.”
your face burns, and you can’t look at him for a second. “you’re so full of shit,” you say weakly, but you’re smiling.
“am i?”
you bite your lip, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “yeah, whatever.”
you both fall quiet again, the kind of silence that feels stiff but not uncomfortable. his fingers tap lightly on his bottle, yours play with your blanket, and you can feel his eyes on you even when you don’t meet them.
the party is long forgotten. your makeup half finished, your drink warm in your hand, but none of that matters. what matters is the way suguru’s looking at you right now, like you’re something fragile and beautiful and he’s terrified of breaking it.
and you feel the same way.
because somewhere between the laughter, the shared secrets, and the easiness of his presence, something in both of you changed.
you’re not sure when it happened, that night he held you on the couch, the morning he brought you coffee and didn’t say anything about the bags under your eyes. right now, with the room glowing faintly from your bedside lamp, the music still soft in the background, and suguru smiling like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
the cruisers are long gone by now. the bottles sit empty on your nightstand, catching the soft light from your lamp, and the air feels thick with laughter and drunken warmth. you’re both lying across your bed, well, suguru’s half sitting against the headboard, and you’re sprawled somewhere between his lap and his chest, giggling into the space where his shoulder meets his neck.
you can’t even remember what the joke was, just that whatever he said set you off so badly you almost choked on your drink. suguru’s grin hasn’t faded since, his cheeks a little flushed, his voice raspier than usual from laughing too much.
“you’re such a lightweight,” he teases, reaching over to steal the cruiser from your hand.
“am not,” you protest, trying to grab it back but missing by a mile.
“you literally just said-” he snickers, mimicking your voice, “-‘do you think naoyas secretly gay and that's why he hates women so much?’”
“that’s a valid question!” you whine, hitting his chest lightly.
“is it, though?”
“yeah,” you say, grinning up at him. “because now you’re thinking about it.”
he laughs again, a real one this time, the kind that makes his head fall back a little. you watch him for a second, dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. his smile reaches his eyes, and the sound fills your whole chest, warm and tight.
you end up shifting closer without even thinking about it, your head finding its place against his chest. his hand comes up automatically to rest on your back, tracing slow lines that make you shiver in a good way.
“you comfy?” he asks, voice low.
“mmhmm,” you hum, eyes fluttering closed.
“good.”
you stay like that for a while, talking about nothing and everything. professors, shitty dorm food, random gossip. it’s easy, comfortable, like you’ve known each other for years.
eventually you prop yourself up on your elbows so you’re leaning over him, the alcohol buzzing through you in lazy waves. he looks up at you, and the space between you feels way too small, like you can feel his breath against your skin.
“you’re so warm,” you mumble, a small smile tugging at your lips.
he huffs a laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “that’s probably the alcohol talking.”
“nah,” you say softly. “it’s you.”
his fingers pause for a second before he lets out a slow exhale. “you’re a flirt when you drink, y’know that?”
you grin. “yeah? how so?”
“you say things that fuck with my head.”
you blink, half teasing, half serious. “good.”
the silence that follows is tense, but not uncomfortable. just heavy.
you trace small shapes on his chest with your finger, barely thinking about it. circles, lines, nonsense patterns. the room feels as if it's closing in.
“he used to hate when i drank,” you say suddenly, voice quieter now.
his hand stills on your back. “gojo?”
you nod, looking down at where your finger’s drawing on his shirt. “yeah. said i got too clingy. said it made me ‘embarrassing.’”
suguru’s jaw ticks, just slightly.
you laugh weakly, but it’s not really funny. “guess i was too stupid to notice how bad it was getting.”
“hey,” suguru cuts in, voice firm but gentle. “don’t do that.”
you look up at him, blinking. “do what?”
“call yourself stupid,” he says, gaze steady. “you weren’t. he treated you like shit. that’s on him.”
you swallow, staring at him. “you’d never do that, huh?” you say after a beat, a quiet little question tucked between the words.
his eyes soften, but there’s a flicker of something else there too. guilt, maybe. something heavy.
“no,” he says quietly. “i wouldn’t.”
you smile, tipsy and sad all at once. “you’d be such a good boyfriend.”
he exhales, long and stuttered, and for a minute you think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. instead, he just looks at you. really looks at you.
it’s not just alcohol anymore, it’s everything that’s been building up between you for weeks, the looks, the touches, the late night talks, the way his voice always goes soft when he says your name.
you’re still hovering over him, your hands pressed lightly to his chest, and his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips like he’s fighting himself.
“you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he murmurs finally.
“why not?” you ask, voice low.
“because,” he says, the faintest smile ghosting over his mouth, “it makes me wanna do something i probably shouldn’t.”
your heart skips. “hmm? like what?”
he doesn’t answer, not with words anyway. instead, his hand slides up your back, fingers curling around the base of your neck, and before you can even process it, he’s pulling you down into a kiss.
it’s soft at first, testing, but when you don’t pull away, when you melt into it the kiss deepens.
his lips move against yours with a kind of hunger that makes your head spin. slow at first, then heavier, deeper. he tastes like sugar and alcohol and something that’s just him, warm and hot.
your hand finds the side of his face, the other gripping the fabric of his shirt as you shift, straddling his hips without even thinking about it. his breath catches against your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you. his hands settle firm on your waist, like he’s still trying to remember where the lines are.
you pull back just enough to look at him, your lips parted, eyes hazy. “suguru,” you whisper.
he looks up at you, his chest rising and falling fast, eyes dark. “yeah?”
“this feels…”
“wrong?” he offers quietly.
you hesitate. “no. maybe. i don’t know. it feels… good. but,”
he cuts you off with another kiss, one that leaves you breathless.
you’re both lost in it after that. everything smooshes together the soft sounds, the way your fingers tangle in his hair, the quiet little noises that escape you when he bites your lip gently.
his hands start to wander, skimming up your sides, tracing over your ribs, resting just beneath the hem of your shirt. the touch makes your stomach flutter, and you can feel the heat building between you, heavy and dizzying.
you grind down against him without meaning to, and his breath stutters, his hands tightening on your hips.
you both freeze for a second, staring at each other.
and then you move again, just slightly as you test the waters.
his eyes squeeze shut, a low moan escaping his throat, and for a while it feels like everything might just spiral.
your hand slips down his chest, slow and teasing, until your fingers brush over the waistband of his sweats. he groans softly when your palm presses against his length, but almost immediately his hand shoots out, catching your wrist.
“shit, baby, wait,” he says, voice rough.
you blink, confused, your breathing ragged. “hmm?”
he swallows hard, his grip still gentle but firm. “you’re drunk.”
“so are you,” you murmur, trying to move again, but he shakes his head.
“yeah, but i’m sober enough to know this isn’t the time.”
you frown, your voice small. “you... you don’t want me?”
his eyes widen. “what? no! god, that’s not it.”
“then what is it?”
he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “if i was gonna do anything like… that… with you, i’d want you sober. i want you to remember it. want you to actually want it. not just because of a few drinks.”
you blink at him, your chest tightening.
he hesitates before continuing, voice lower now. “and… there’s a part of me that feels like it wouldn’t be fair to you. you’ve been through so much, and i’ve been… there. too much, maybe. i don’t ever want you to feel like i took advantage of that, there is definitely a power imbalance here.”
you stare at him for a moment, the tension in your chest twisting into something softer. “suguru, i really want this,” you whisper. “i’m really into you.”
he smiles a little, brushing your hair out of your face. “i know, sweetheart. i want it too. more than i should.”
he leans up, pressing one last kiss to your lips. then he wraps his arms around you, pulling you down until your head’s tucked against his chest.
“but not tonight,” he murmurs against your hair. “the most i’m doing with you tonight is this.”
you stay still for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. then you nod against him, your voice muffled. “okay.”
he exhales, relaxing beneath you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
you lie there together in the quiet, both of you buzzing with too much emotion and not enough sense. your head’s still spinning from the kiss, but there’s a safety in his hold that steadies you.
“you’re too good to me,” you whisper after a while.
he hums softly. “nah. just trying to be better than he was.”
you smile, half asleep against him.
the room falls quiet except for the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear.
it’s messy, and complicated, and probably too soon, but in that moment, wrapped up in suguru’s arms, it feels like the first thing that’s been right in a long time.
you can feel his heartbeat under your ear, slow and steady, the kind of rhythm that makes you feel safe even when everything else in your life feels like chaos.
for a long moment, neither of you speak. it’s like both of you are afraid that if you say something, the whole fragile peace of the night will break. but then you tilt your head up, just slightly, your chin resting on his chest as you look at him.
“suguru?” you whisper.
his eyes flicker down to you, soft and a little tired, but still so full of warmth. “yeah?”
you bite your lip, debating if you should even say it. but the words come out anyway, clumsy and quiet. “i really like you.”
his hand stills against your back. his brows knit for a second, and you watch his lips part like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t right away. instead, he just stares at you for a few seconds, and you can see it, the way his entire chest loosens, the way his whole expression softens like something inside him finally exhales.
“i thought you might... but... are you 100 percent sure?” he asks, almost like he doesn’t believe it.
you nod, feeling your throat tighten. “yeah. i mean.. i know it’s messy, and fast, and it’s probably stupid, but i do. i like you a whole lot.”
a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. he looks almost shy for once, eyes darting away as he runs his hand through his hair.
“you’re sure this isn’t the alcohol talking?” he says softly, teasing just enough to ease the tension, but there’s a shake in his laugh that gives him away.
you grin faintly. “nuh uh. i liked you before the cruisers.”
that makes him laugh properly, his head falling back against the pillow. when he looks at you again, his gaze lingers longer, gentler.
“i like you too,” he admits quietly. “like… really like you.”
you blink, stunned for a second, and then your face breaks into the smallest smile. “yeah?”
“yeah.” he breathes out a small laugh, shaking his head. “you’re.. god, you’re everything, y’know that? you’ve been through hell and you’re still here, still you. i don’t even think you realize how amazing that is.”
your chest tightens, warmth spreading through you so fast it almost hurts. “you’re gonna make me cry again,” you mumble, half laughing.
he laughs too, but it’s quiet and fond, his thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. “please don’t. i’ve had enough of seeing you cry this week.”
“can’t promise anything,” you tease, voice soft. “you say nice things too often.”
he hums, smiling a little, and for a while, you just look at each other. his eyes are dark but kind, and even though the air between you is thick with exhaustion and leftover tension, it feels okay. like there’s finally space to breathe again.
then the silence changes. the both of you stop smiling, your thoughts starting to loop back to everything you’d been ignoring. gojo. the timing. the guilt. the mess this could turn into if anyone found out.
you can see it happen in his face. the sliver of hesitation, the shift in his gaze. and you know he sees it in yours too, because you both look away at the same time, eyes darting toward the ceiling like it might hold the answer.
“this is complicated, huh,” you whisper after a long pause.
“yeah,” he says, voice quiet. “too complicated.”
you play with the fabric of his shirt, your fingers tracing small lines that don’t mean anything. “feels good though.”
he looks down at you again, lips twitching into a faint, sad smile. “yeah. it does.”
for a second, you both fall silent again. there’s too much to say, about gojo, about what this means, about the guilt you both feel creeping in around the edges. but neither of you want to ruin the tiny bubble of calm that’s formed between you.
you both laugh quietly, the kind that comes out tired and genuine, and you shift until you’re lying closer, your forehead pressed against his chest. his arm tightens around you instinctively, pulling you in like he can’t help it.
“for the record,” he murmurs after a minute, “i've been crushing on your for abit now. like… dangerously so.”
you smile against his chest, your voice muffled. “oh yeah? go figure, me too.”
“this is kinda fucked,” he teases softly.
“and you love it,” you mumble back.
he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest under your ear. “yeah. i really do.”
you both go quiet again after that, the weight of what just happened still lingering, but softer now. the tension has turned into something warm and sleepy.
you feel his hand start tracing lazy patterns on your back again, and your eyelids grow heavy.
“we’ll figure it out,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you.
“we will,” you mumble, already halfway asleep. “just… not tonight.”
“not tonight,” he echoes, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
you sigh, content, sinking further into him until you can barely tell where you end and he begins. his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his warmth wrapping around you like a promise.
whatever comes tomorrow whatever mess waits for both of you? you’ll face it then. but for now, in the quiet glow of your room, it’s just you and suguru, the both of you tangled together, hearts beating a little too fast for comfort, whispering into the dark the truth you’ve both been trying to ignore: you really, really like each other.
~
the morning light spills lazily through your blinds, your head’s pounding a little, an ache that throbs behind your eyes, but the first thing you notice isn’t the hangover. it’s the weight underneath you.
you blink blearily, your vision adjusting, and when it clears, oh god. you’re lying on top of suguru.
he’s still asleep, one arm slung around your waist, his fingers resting against the small of your back. his chest rises and falls under you, slow and calm, and you can feel every breath against your skin. his hair’s messy as hell, a few strands falling into his face, and his lips are parted slightly, soft and pink. you can’t help staring. he looks so peaceful like this, so unfairly good looking it makes your stomach twist.
your mind flashes back to last night, the laughter, the kisses, the quiet confessions that slipped out between giggles. you’d both been drunk, but you remember it clear as day. the way he said he liked you. the way you said it back.
a small, stupid smile tugs at your lips. you melt a little against him, your cheek pressed to his chest. he’s warm, his skin soft under your fingertips as you trace faint lines over his shirt.
you tilt your head up, just enough to study his face again. even asleep, he looks too good. the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the dark stubble on his chin. he’s always been handsome, but right now, he’s something else entirely.
you breathe out a quiet laugh and, without really thinking, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips. just once. then again, a little slower.
his lips move under yours before he’s even awake.
then, suddenly, you feel it.
something firm pressing against your thigh.
you freeze. your brain takes a second to catch up, but when it does holy shit.
he’s hard. really hard.
you glance down and nearly choke on your own breath. there’s no mistaking what’s pushing against you. and the worst part? he’s massive.
you go still, heat flooding your face so fast it’s dizzying. your first instinct is to pull your leg away, to give him some space, but before you can fully move, his arm tightens around you, pulling you right back down into him.
you gasp, your palms braced on his chest.
his eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. when he realizes how close you are, how tangled together you both are, his expression flickers from confusion to embarrassment in seconds.
“shit,” he mutters, his voice low and rough from sleep. “sorry. i didn’t-”
“it’s fine,” you cut in quickly, your voice soft but rushed. “you’re fine.”
his brows lift slightly. “you sure?”
you nod, trying to look composed even though your heart’s doing backflips. “yeah. really. i’m just… happy you’re here. next to me.”
his expression softens at that, all the tension leaving his shoulders. he smiles sleepily, the kind that makes your chest feel light.
“yeah?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing slow circles over your hip. “so... you don’t regret last night?”
you shake your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. “not even a little.”
he exhales, almost like he’s relieved, and his hand slides up your back in a gentle stroke.
“i’m sorry if i upset you last night,” he says quietly after a moment, his voice low. “for stopping things. i just didn’t want to do anything you’d regret."
you bite your lip, your heart tugging at the sincerity in his tone.
“you didn’t upset me,” you tell him softly. “i’m actually really grateful you stopped. i do dumb stuff when i’m drunk. i would’ve felt awful if things went too far.”
his eyes search yours, dark and steady. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you smile a little. “you’re… kinda the only person who’s ever stopped me from doing stupid drunk shit.”
he chuckles quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “guess i’ll take that as a compliment.”
“you should.”
you both laugh softly, the sound quiet and comfortable. his hand lingers on your face for a moment too long, thumb grazing your cheek. the air feels warm between you again, the kind of quiet that buzzes with something unspoken.
after a pause, his voice drops lower. “can i ask you something?”
you nod. “yeah.”
“did you really mean what you said last night?” his eyes flick down, then back up at you. “about having feelings for me, i mean.”
your breath catches a little at how serious he sounds.
you nod almost instantly. “of course i meant it.”
he blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that quick of an answer. “you’re sure?”
you smile softly. “suguru, i like you. i liked you before last night. i just… didn’t realize how much until you were right there.”
he stares at you, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face.
“come here,” he murmurs.
you lean down as he meets you halfway, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, gentle kiss that feels different from the ones last night, softer, realer. you sigh against him, your hands resting against his chest as he deepens it just slightly.
when you pull back, you’re both smiling, your noses brushing.
“that’s all i needed to hear,” he whispers.
you rest your forehead against his. “good.”
he lets out a quiet laugh, pulling you back down until your cheek rests over his heart again. his hand stays tangled in your hair, the other resting low on your back.
you let yourself melt further into his chest as he strokes you back. every few minutes, you shift slightly, adjusting against him, and each time his arms tighten like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.
you don’t mind. not one bit.
after a few minutes, he speaks again, voice low and sleepy. “this feels really nice.”
“yeah,” you mumble, smiling into his shirt. “it does.”
“kinda wish we didn’t have to move all day.”
“then don’t.”
he chuckles quietly. “that's real tempting.”
you tilt your head up to look at him again. “you’re comfy, y’know.”
he smirks a little, eyes still half-lidded. “that’s a first. most people call me heavy.”
you grin. “noo! you’re perfect, just very muscular.”
that makes his ears go a little pink, and you swear your heart stutters just watching him.
he looks at you for a long second, then presses another kiss to your forehead, murmuring against your skin, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”
you laugh quietly, tracing your fingers over his chest again, his heartbeat steady beneath your touch.
and for the first time in what feels like forever, the morning doesn’t feel heavy or sad. it’s warm. light. easy.
the morning drags on like it’s trying to make up for how slow last night felt.
you tilt your head up and catch him staring at you, his dark hair falling into his eyes, the faintest smirk curving on his lips.
“you’re staring, again,” you mumble.
“yeah,” he says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “you’re cute when you’re sleepy.”
you roll your eyes but your face heats up anyway. “you’re such a sap.”
“and you like it.”
“…yeah.”
he laughs quietly, the sound rumbling against your chest, and it’s so soft that your heart twists in your ribs. there’s a tiny pause where he’s just watching you again, and then, in that gentle voice that always sounds like honey in the morning, he says, “you should come get coffee with me today.”
you blink. “coffee?”
“yeah,” he says, brushing his thumb across your jaw. “and pastries. there’s this french place a few blocks down. i’ve been wanting to take you.”
you pause, eyes wide. “you... wanna take me out?”
he smiles, lazy and sure. “yeah, like a real date.”
for a second, you don’t even know what to say. you’re so used to being the one who asks, the one who plans things, who overthinks. hearing him say it so casually, like it’s obvious he’d want to spend his day with you, makes your heart do this weird flip.
“a real date,” you repeat softly, trying to play it cool even though your grin’s impossible to hide. “wow. that’s… adorable.”
he laughs again, and it’s low and genuine. “you sound surprised.”
“i’m just.. no one’s really asked me before. not like that.”
his hand slides up your side until it rests under your chin, tilting your face toward him. “then i guess it’s about time someone did.”
you feel your face go hot, and he kisses your forehead, just a light press that somehow feels like more.
the two of you stay there for what feels like forever, wrapped in that half-sleepy warmth. it’s easy, natural, like breathing. every time you shift, his hand finds a new spot to rest your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, and each touch feels grounding.
eventually he sighs, eyes still closed. “alright,” he murmurs. “you should go get ready before i change my mind and keep you here all day.”
you laugh quietly and pull back a little, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “you’d never.”
“yeah, okay,” he admits with a grin. “but i do wanna see you all dressed up. so, go.”
you stretch, yawning as you get up. he sits up too, rubbing a hand through his hair. “i’m gonna clean up real quick. you take your time.”
“sure thing,” you hum, already smiling like an idiot as you dig through your closet.
half an hour later, when he walks back into your room, your heart skips. he’s changed into a black shirt that fits too well and hangs just right over his frame, hair still damp from washing.
“damn,” you say before you can stop yourself.
he grins. “you look pretty too, sweetheart.”
you roll your eyes again, but the way he says it makes your knees feel weirdly weak.
he grabs the keys from your desk and waves a hand. “c’mon. before the morning rush hits.”
the walk to the cafe is quiet but not awkward. the sun’s warm, the air smells faintly like summer and vanilla, and every few steps, suguru’s hand brushes yours. you glance up at him once, and he’s already looking at you, smirking like he caught you thinking about him.
“you really like to stare, huh?”
“only when it’s you,” you shoot back.
his grin widens. “flirting already?”
“maybe i’m just returning the energy.”
“fair enough.”
the cafe is tucked into a side street, one of those places that looks like it came straight out of a movie. the windows are open, music plays softly, and everything smells like sugar and espresso. you take one look at the glass counter filled with pastries and let out an actual gasp.
“oh my god.”
he laughs, pulling the door open for you. “i knew you’d like it.”
you step inside and immediately press your hands to the glass, scanning everything. “there’s too many options,” you groan. “how do i pick?”
“you don’t,” he says easily. “we’ll get a bunch and share.”
“that’s the cutest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
he snorts. “you’re easy to please.”
“and you’re a showoff,” you tease, bumping his shoulder.
you both end up with a tray full of croissants, fruit tarts, and little pastries you can’t even pronounce. suguru orders two coffees and pays before you can argue.
“you didn’t have to-"
“i wanted to,” he says, and there’s that same soft look again, the one that always makes your chest flutter.
you find a small table near the window, and he pulls your chair out before sitting across from you. you notice how his knees brush yours under the table, how he keeps leaning forward like he can’t stand being too far away.
he talks easily, like he always does, asking about your classes, your plans for the weekend, laughing at every dumb thing you say. the more you talk, the more you realize how good this feels normal, intimate, like you’ve known him your whole life.
but every now and then, while you’re telling a story or taking a sip of coffee, you catch him drifting. his eyes soften, but his mind’s somewhere else.
he’s thinking about it again. about gojo. about the thing he still hasn’t told you.
it eats at him quietly while you laugh about something small, the guilt scratching under his ribs. you’re sitting there with powdered sugar on your fingers, smiling at him like he’s your whole world, and it makes him feel like the worst kind of liar.
he opens his mouth once, ready to just say it to tell you that he knew about the cheating, that he didn’t say anything because he thought it wasn’t his place, but when he meets your eyes, something in him falters.
you look too happy. too cute.
he swallows, forcing a smile. “hey,” he says suddenly, changing the subject. “wanna take some photos? you look way too good not to.”
your head perks up immediately, excitement flashing across your face. “for real?”
“yeah,” he says, already reaching for his phone. “instagram worthy, right?”
“you know me too well.”
“i do my best.”
you pose playfully while he takes the photos, and he swears he’s never seen anyone look better. you’re laughing between shots, pretending to pout, leaning over the table to grab a bite of pastry, and he just keeps snapping, wanting to capture every second.
“lemme see,” you say, reaching for the phone when he lowers it.
he scrolls through the pictures, showing you a few, and you squeal. “oh my god, i love these. you’re, like, really good at this.”
“i have a good subject.”
“smooth.”
he grins, leaning back in his chair, watching as you save a few of the pictures for later. he doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until you glance up at him, cheeks pink, and smile back.
the date stretches long after that, more coffee, more laughing until your cheeks hurt, a few more soft moments where neither of you say anything because it’s enough just to sit there.
by the time the sun starts dipping, you’re walking home again, fingers brushing until suguru finally takes your hand properly. you don’t say anything. you just walk like that, your hands fitting together too perfectly.
when you reach your apartment door, he turns to face you.
“had fun?” he asks, his voice quiet.
you grin. “more than fun. best date i’ve ever been on, actually.”
he laughs softly. “that’s a low bar, huh?”
“shut up,” you giggle, swatting his arm.
he’s still smiling when he leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. it’s gentle at first, then deeper, warmer. you feel yourself melt into it instantly.
you move closer, hands on his chest, and he sighs against your mouth, pulling you in by the waist. for a second, you both forget about everything else.
when you start to kiss him harder, his hand finds your cheek, stopping you. “hey,” he murmurs against your lips, smiling softly. “not tonight.”
you pout, cheeks flushed. “you sure?”
he nods. “i wanna take this slow. i wanna take care of you, properly.”
the way he says it makes your stomach squeeze. no one has ever wanted to 'take thighs slow' with you. “okay,” you whisper. “i like that.”
he smiles, presses one last kiss to your forehead, and steps back. “goodnight, pretty girl.”
“goodnight, suguru.”
when you finally get inside, you collapse on your bed with a grin so wide it almost hurts. you scroll through your phone, looking at the pictures from earlier, and your heart swells. you pick one, the one of your hand across the table, fingers interlocked with his, and post it.
caption: best day.
you tag him, but hide it in the bottom corner, just subtle enough for it to be your soft launch. within minutes, the post blows up.
comments flood in:
yuki: um hello?? who’s that hand 👀
utahime: YOU’RE GLOWING???
nanami: real subtle.
you can’t stop smiling, biting your lip as you read them all.
~
you’re walking through campus the next morning, the air crisp and the sun way too bright for how little you slept. you’ve got a coffee clutched in one hand and your tote bag slung over your shoulder, earbuds in but not playing anything. it’s one of those days where you’re just coasting, brain still fuzzy from last night and all the thoughts about suguru that refuse to chill out.
you spot choso leaning against the wall near the social studies building, his usual all-black outfit making him stand out against the crowd of students in beige and denim. he gives you a little nod when you walk up, quiet as always.
“you look like you didn’t sleep,” he says, side eyeing your coffee.
you snort. “yeah, thanks for the observation.”
“rough night?”
“no,” you say quickly, then pause, biting your lip. “well… not rough. just… busy.”
he gives you this look like he knows exactly what that means.
“ah,” he hums, smirking faintly. “busy with suguru, huh?”
you nearly choke on your drink. “how? what? who told you that?”
choso shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “no one. i saw your instagram post. pretty sure everyone else did too.”
you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “oh my god, it was just a hand.”
“a hand wearing very recognizable rings,” he says dryly. “everyone knows suguru’s style. dude’s been wearing the same silver set since freshman year.”
you lower your hands and sigh. “so you’re saying people know.”
“i’m saying anyone with eyes knows.”
you grimace. “great. that’s exactly what i needed.”
he chuckles under his breath. “don’t stress it. people were already guessing after the party last week. you two weren’t exactly being subtle.”
you can’t help but smile a little. “yeah, well, i guess we’re not hiding it anymore.”
he glances at you, his tone turning casual again. “anyway, a couple of us are hitting a party tonight. you should come.”
you raise an eyebrow. “a party? you, willingly socializing?”
“yuki’s dragging me,” he says, shrugging. “figured i’d offer before she texts you herself. bring suguru if you want. the more, the merrier or whatever.”
you nod slowly, pretending to think about it, even though you already know you’ll say yes. “yeah, okay. sounds fun.”
“cool,” he says simply, pushing off the wall. “text me later. i’ll send you the address.”
“got it.”
he starts walking toward the building, then looks over his shoulder. “oh, and for real, the post was cute.”
you groan again, but you’re laughing this time.
.
that night, you’re standing in front of your mirror, fixing your makeup while suguru lounges on your bed, scrolling through his phone. he’s wearing a black button up, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back loosely, and the sight of him like that makes it a miracle you’re still focused enough to do your eyeliner.
“you sure you wanna go?” he asks, glancing up at you. “we could just stay in. order takeout, watch a movie.”
you smile at his reflection in the mirror. “tempting. but choso invited us. and yuki will probably text me fifteen times if i don’t show.”
“true,” he says, setting his phone down. “alright then. let’s go make an appearance.”
the drive to the party is smooth, the growl of the car and the quiet music filling the space between your conversations. the windows are down, wind brushing through your hair, and suguru’s hand rests on your thigh the entire time, thumb tracing little circles absentmindedly.
you’re halfway there when he says, almost too calmly, “haven’t talked to satoru since that night.”
you glance over at him, watching the way his jaw flexes.
“probably for the best,” you say softly. “he doesn’t deserve your energy. or mine.”
he nods, but you can tell there’s still something behind his eyes. “yeah. he’s been quiet. some of the boys asked about it. about us, too. i just told them to mind their business for now.”
you smile faintly. “that’s a good answer.”
“wasn’t exactly subtle, though,” he admits, smirking. “they’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“let them,” you say, leaning back in your seat. “i’m not hiding anything.”
he glances over at you then, smiling that small, proud smile of his. “good.”
.
the partys loud, the colored lights flash across the living room, and people are spilling out into the yard.
you can feel the shift in energy as you step inside with suguru, heads turning, eyes following, it’s not subtle at all. you and suguru together are the kind of thing that makes people talk.
he’s got his arm draped around your waist, hand resting comfortably on your hip, and for once it doesn’t feel like a claim. it feels easy, protective in the softest way.
someone you recognize from your communications class walks past and does a double take. “holy shit, y/n? and geto?”
“hey,” you say, grinning.
they laugh. “wow, he’s lucky.”
suguru doesn’t miss a beat. “i know,” he says smoothly, smirking down at you.
you elbow him in the side, but you’re laughing.
as the night goes on, you lose count of how many people greet you, how many double takes happen. suguru takes it in stride, cool as ever, never letting go of you.
eventually, you spot choso on the couch with yuki, who’s holding a red cup and grinning like she owns the place. you tug suguru’s hand and pull him over.
“hey,” yuki greets, eyes lighting up when she sees you two together. “finally! the campus power couple arrives.”
you laugh. “we’re not a couple.”
she rolls her eyes. “sure, and i’m the pope.”
choso smirks into his drink. “told you people were talking.”
you shoot him a look. “yeah, yeah.”
suguru sits down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch.
yuki leans forward, grinning. “for real though, you guys are cute. like, disgustingly cute. it’s yuck.”
you can’t help but blush a little. “thanks, i think?”
“you think?” she laughs. “girl, please. the way he looks at you, half the room’s jealous.”
you glance at suguru, who’s smirking into his drink like he heard every word. “you’re loving this, aren’t you?” you murmur.
“a little,” he admits, leaning closer. “you make me look really good.”
you nudge him but you’re smiling, cheeks hurting from how much you’ve laughed tonight.
it’s easy for a while, just the four of you talking, teasing, panic! at the disco flowing faintly in the background. suguru’s fingers trace slow patterns on your thigh while he listens, chiming in occasionally, perfectly relaxed...
then, the rooms while vibe switches up.
gojo walks in.
he’s wearing his usual too casual smirk and a shirt that probably costs more than your rent. there’s a blonde girl clinging to his arm, someone you’ve never seen before. she’s giggling too loud, the kind of laugh that sounds put on.
he’s trying too hard to look nonchalant.
he greets a few people, that same fake grin plastered on his face, but the second his eyes land on you and suguru, the mask cracks.
you’re curled up against his ex-best friend on the couch, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin. the two of you are laughing at something yuki said, oblivious to the rest of the room for a second too long.
still, you feel it, the weight of gojo’s gaze.
suguru notices it too, yet he doesn’t look away. instead, he leans in closer to you, murmuring something in your ear that makes you giggle, and his hand tightens on your thigh, firm and claiming.
it’s not for show, it’s for reassurance. but it works as both.
gojo’s jaw ticks, his smirk falling. he scoffs, saying something to the blonde, who glances at you before tugging him toward the kitchen.
suguru watches him go, a faint chuckle slipping out. “guess someone’s not taking it well.”
you shrug, sipping your drink. “he can choke.”
“agreed,” suguru says easily.
the music picks up again, the tension easing. choso and yuki exchange knowing looks, but they don’t say anything. instead, yuki raises her cup. “to moving on,” she says.
you clink your cup against hers. “to moving on.”
from there, everything smooshes into one the laughing, the music, the alcohol. suguru’s got you half in his lap now, your legs draped over his as he holds you close, one arm around your waist, the other resting low on your ass.
you’re talking about nothing and everything, tracing little shapes on his chest tattoos while he gives you fruitful responses.
people are watching, whispering, eating it up. the it-girl and the quiet, hot guy with tattoos and soft eyes, it’s the kind of visual that spreads fast on campus.
at one point, suguru leans in and kisses you, slow and unhurried. you taste like whatever fruity drink yuki mixed earlier, and his lips are warm against yours.
you pull back just enough to catch your breath, laughing softly. “people are staring.”
“let them,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your cheek.
you kiss him again, deeper this time, fingers curling in his shirt. his hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, completely lost in the moment.
the noise fades. it’s just the two of you, heat, breath, touch.
but somewhere, through the haze of music and laughter, you can feel the change again. the kind of tension that means something’s about to happen.
half the crowd’s too drunk to notice the growing tension, but the other half’s clocked it. the way suguru’s shoulders have gone stiff beside you, his gaze locked on something across the room.
you follow his line of sight, your stomach immediately dropping when you see gojo there, stumbling through the crowd like he owns it, a drink sloshing dangerously in his hand. his white hair’s a mess, his shirt’s half unbuttoned, and his smile, god, it’s not really a smile at all. it’s the sloppy, bitter kind that never means anything good.
“yuck,” you whisper, setting your cup down.
“yeah,” suguru mutters, voice low, eyes still on him. “he’s off his face.”
understatement of the year.
gojo’s weaving through people like a man on a mission, ignoring the calls of his friends who are clearly trying to rein him in. his steps are heavy, uncoordinated, but he still carries that same arrogance, like he’s untouchable even when he’s falling apart.
“suguru,” you say softly, shifting closer. “maybe we should just dip.”
“he’s gonna follow us if we do.”
and right on cue, gojo spots the two of you on the couch, tangled up like you belong there. his grin widens, something cruel behind it.
“well, well, well,” he slurs, stopping a few feet away. “look at this. the happy couple.”
the noise around you dips. not entirely silent, but enough for heads to turn. people start pulling out their phones, pretending not to record. the air is suffocating.
suguru doesn’t look up, but you can see the shift in his face, the way he’s grinding his teeth. “satoru,” he says evenly, “you should go sober up.”
“sober up?” gojo scoffs, nearly spilling his drink as he gestures wildly. “don’t talk to me like i’m the problem, man. you’re the fucking problem.”
you roll your eyes, trying to deescalate. “gojo, seriously. you’re wasted. just go sleep it off.”
“oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he sneers, his voice rising. “i’m not talking to you. not yet.”
you freeze at the venom in his tone.
he turns his attention back to suguru, staggering a bit as he points a finger at him. “you’re such a fake, bro. you act like you’re this calm, wise, better-than-everyone guy, but you’re a snake. you hear me? a fucking snake.”
“watch it,” suguru warns, voice low but steady.
“or what?” gojo snaps, taking another step forward. “you gonna hit me again? go ahead. in front of everyone this time. show them what a ‘good guy’ you are.”
the crowd murmurs. someone snickers. suguru’s still sitting, but you can feel the way tension’s coiling under his skin, ready to snap.
“satoru,” he says again, quieter this time. “walk away.”
“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” gojo says, his grin twisting. “you don’t get to tell me anything, because last time i checked, you’re the one who stabbed me in the back.”
you scoff, unable to help it. “stabbed you in the back? please. you’re the one who cheated, gojo. you deserve everything that’s happened to you.”
the words hit, sharp and clean. a few people around you murmur in agreement. gojo’s expression falters for half a second before the anger floods back in.
“oh, right,” he laughs bitterly. “here we go. the victim act. poor y/n, got cheated on by the evil gojo satoru.” he leans closer, eyes glassy but burning. “tell me, baby, did you cry about it to him? did you let him hold you, kiss you, fuck you, what’s the timeline again?”
“watch your fucking mouth,” suguru snaps, standing up so fast the couch creaks.
gojo laughs again, loud and mean. “aw, i hit a nerve? what, don’t like me calling her what she is?”
“gojo,” you hiss, voice shaking now. “stop.”
but he doesn’t.
“you really think anyone’s buying this ‘good guy’ act, huh?” he taunts, turning to suguru. “you’re not some knight in shining armor, bro. you’re just another guy trying to get his dick wet. and you—” he gestures at you, eyes narrowing. “you’re just easy enough to let it happen.”
the crowd collectively winces. you feel your throat tighten, heat creeping up your neck. suguru’s hands curl into fists.
“enough,” he says. it’s not loud, but it’s enough to silence the chatter.
“what, you gonna defend her?” gojo spits. “how cute. you always did like cleaning up my messes.”
and that’s when you finally snap.
“oh for fucks sake,” you shoot back, standing now, voice trembling but sharp. “yeah, he does clean up your messes. because he’s actually a decent guy, better than you ever were.”
the room goes still.
you don’t even realize what you’ve said until it’s already hanging there in the air between you all.
gojo’s smirk fades. the drunken haze doesn’t fully hide the flash of hurt, or anger, that passes through his expression. then it hardens into something nastier.
“better than me?” he echoes, voice cracking just slightly. “you sure about that?”
you glare at him. “positive.”
he takes a step closer, tone dropping low. “if he’s such a great guy, then tell me, did he ever mention that he knew? that he knew i was cheating on you?”
everything inside you stills.
“...what?” you whisper.
“hmm,” he says, voice laced with venom. “he knew. the whole time. sat there, smiled in your face, let you cry to him, and said nothing. then the second we broke up, he swooped in and played the hero.”
you turn to suguru, your stomach dropping to the floor. he looks stricken, frozen in place like he’s just been gut-punched.
“that’s not!” he starts, but the words die in his throat.
you step back. “is it true?”
he hesitates. that split second of silence tells you everything you need to know.
“you knew,” you whisper, voice breaking. “you knew, and you didn’t tell me?”
“y/n.."
“don’t,” you snap, eyes burning. “don’t you dare.”
gojo laughs, bitter and broken. “see? told you. the guy’s a dick.”
suguru turns on him, fury written all over his face. “you, shut the fuck up.”
“what, can’t handle the truth? you’ve been playing white knight while lying through your teeth.”
suguru steps forward, and for a second you’re sure he’s going to swing. you grab his wrist without even thinking, your voice trembling. “stop. just..stop.”
his eyes meet yours, and for the first time, you see panic there, but it’s too late.
you pull your hand back like his touch burns. “you lied to me.”
“i was trying to protect you,” he says quietly. “it wasn’t my place to tell you.”
you laugh, bitter. “protect me? from what? from the truth? you stood there and watched me beg you to tell me the truth, and you lied to my face. you’re just like him.”
the words hit harder than you mean them to, but you can’t stop.
“y/n, please-”
you shake your head, tears blurring your vision. “i can’t even look at you right now.”
you turn and start pushing through the crowd, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the way your name bounces around the room.
behind you, you hear suguru’s voice low, rough, desperate. “y/n, wait!"
but you don’t.
you storm out into the night, the cold air slapping against your face, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.
your chest feels tight, your stomach twisting. you don’t even know where you’re going, you just know you need to get away.
away from the noise.
away from the lies.
away from him.
inside, suguru’s left standing in the wreckage, the room thick with silence. gojo’s still there, smirking faintly, but there’s something hollow in it now.
suguru finally looks at him, eyes dark and full of restrained rage.
“you're such a fucking cunt,” he says, voice steady but dangerous.
gojo lifts his drink. “awe, you'll get over it.”
and for a second, suguru looks like he might actually kill him.
but then he exhales, slow and shaking, and walks away.
the crowd parts for him, whispering. no one says a word.
and outside, down the street, your phone buzzes in your hand with his name lighting up the screen. you look at it, trembling, and swipe it away without answering.
tonight, everything fell apart. and for the first time in weeks, you feel completely, utterly alone again.
eek it's out ml's !
HOLY SHIT IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER!!!!
show off ~ g.suguru pt.1
fratboy!suguru x gojo's!ex!gf!reader
wc: 19k || art creds: @/aransmind || 18+
part 1 || part 2 || part 3
summary! you're dating satoru gojo. the flashy golden boy of jujutsu university's most notorius frat, beta tau. your relationship definitely looked attractive, hell, you were both stunning. but the fact was, gojo was a lying, narcissistic, cheat... once you catch wind of his unloyalty, his best friend geto seems to be the only one who can truly help you dig yourself out of this never ending hole of self loathing and drama. all suguru wants to do is help, but as time passes he realises just how much he really cares about the girl he was never supposed to have.
CW: angst, suggestive, mentions of sex, cheating, betrayal, toxic relationship, comfort, alcohol consumption)
i'm a slave 4 u, by brittney spears. that's the kinda vibe you emitted absolutely anywhere you went.
with the kind of fashion you only saw in early 2000's teen magazines, your trashy yet expensive look captivated even the most reserved of people.
low-waisted denim skirts so micro the only thing saving you from a public indecency warning was the sheer patterned stockings you usually wore underneath, paired with pink wedged heels and some sort of fat studded bb belt.
your top half often left little to the imagination, sometimes a pink leopard print cami with lace detailing and rhinestones plastered along the bust, or a fitted vintage band shirt with bedazzled embroidery.
you were a bad bitch, you knew it, and everyone else did too, and that's exactly how you bagged one of the most notorious frat guys on campus, satoru gojo.
satoru was flashy in his own right, sure. not as bold and daring as you were with his looks, but his endless athletic achievements paired with his overwhelming charisma is what keeps him relevant in the student social hierarchy.
he's got that infuriatingly perfect college-boy-look down pat.
his usual attire consists of a tight white wife beater that clings to his bulk, usually with some bold black letters spelling something like 'white boy of the year' across the chest. jeans that hang low on his hips, big and baggy, showing just enough of his v-line to be realllly cocky about it. a chain that dangles from his neck like a prize (he gets very upset when people dare call it a 'necklace.' "yo, dude, it's a fucking chain! i spent 6k on this shit.") and his new buzz cut should make him look like every other frat fuck up, but somehow, he pulls it off, because of course he does.
so, it came as a surprise to absolutely no one when the two of you got together sometime last year at one of his frats christmas functions. 'beta taus winter wonderland!', which was really just an excuse for everyone to dress up in slutty santa costumes and get pissed off of christmas cocktails.
but behind the matching flashy smiles in public and the highlights dedicated to each other on instagram, things weren’t as picture-perfect as everyone thought.
you were the kind of girlfriend people envied. always cheering him on from the sidelines, showing up to every party dressed like a glamorous avril larvigne just as he liked, talking about him to absolutely everyone.
you laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny, played along with his ego, made excuses for the times he “forgot” plans because practice ran late, or his phone “died.” because that’s just what you did. you loved him, and you wanted to believe he loved you back the same way.
but the truth was, satoru liked the idea of you more than he liked you. you were his favorite accessory, the shiny proof that he could have it all. the trophies, the girls, the attention. and when you weren’t around, he was busy proving it to every hoe with a pluse, too.
people whispered about it, of course. sorority girls can’t keep secrets for shit.
rumours spread real fast, his hand on some random girl’s waist at a mixer, a quick hookup in a bathroom at some post-game afterparty, the way he disappeared for an hour and came back smelling like a different perfume. it was all there, in plain sight, but you were too caught up in the fantasy to see it.
and gojo made it so easy to stay blind. he’d pull you onto his lap, call you baby in that lazy voice that made your stomach flip, and you’d melt, every time.
he’d text you after ghosting for two days with something like missed you, angel, and you’d smile at your screen like he hadn’t just left your message on delivered while he was busy fucking someone else.
still, you kept showing up. because when he did pay attention, it felt like being chosen by the sun. you didn’t know yet that the same warmth that made you glow was also what was burning you alive.
~
it’s a thursday afternoon when you decide to give your boyfriend a call. campus feels weirdly quiet, and your apartment’s drenched in that lazy golden light that hits different right before sunset. you’re stretched out across your couch, bedazzled phone balanced against your cheek, scrolling through some random playlist while you wait for him to pick up.
he answers on the fourth ring, voice a little rough, like you woke him up.
“yo.”
you grin automatically, curling your toes into the couch cushions. “hey, baby,” you say, your voice all soft and sing song, the kind of tone that makes other people sound fake when they try it. it’s just how you talk to him, sweet and effortless, like you can’t help it.
“mm. hey,” he mutters, the sound of fabric shifting on his end.
“whatcha' doing?” you ask, smiling even though he can’t see it.
“nothing. just chillin’,” he says, voice lazy. you hear the creak of his mattress as he shifts.
you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “hmm, well, i just wanted to say hi! i miss you, like a bunch."
you felt him pause on the other end, like he was trying to figure out what to say in response. most people would return the statement, not gojo though.
“yeah?” he says, but it’s not really a question, more like he knows but doesn't really care.
you laugh softly. “yeah. you’ve been busy this week, huh?”
“practice. meetings. same shit,” he says, like it’s obvious. and maybe it is, but you still feel that tiny pinch in your chest.
it’s not like you haven’t heard the rumors, whispers about him being seen at the gym with some random girl, someone saying they saw him leaving a party early last weekend, but you shut it down every time. because this is gojo, your gojo. he wouldn’t do that. not to you.
“welllll,” you say, forcing brightness back into your voice, “i can’t wait to see you tomorrow night.”
“huh, what’s tomorrow night?”
“seriously?” you laugh. “the delta sigma thing? the one everyone’s been raving about all week? you promised you’d go with me, dummy”
“oh, right. for sure,” he says, remembering halfway through the sentence.
you roll onto your stomach, grinning into your pillow. “i already picked out my outfit,” you tell him, excited. “i'm thinking of going for an all black and pink kind of look.”
he chuckles under his breath. “yeah. wear that. or something even flashier. show off a little for me.”
you laugh, but there’s something in his tone, something detached like he’s more interested in how you look standing next to him than the fact that it’s you wearing it. still, you don’t notice.
“flashy?” you tease. “baby, i’m already flashy, it's not getting much better than this.”
“yeah, yeah,” he says, grinning. “just sayin, keep the whole look up, yeah?”
the way he says it makes you warm all over. it’s easy to imagine him smiling, that cocky, lazy grin that hooked you in the first place.
“you better be nice to me tomorrow,” you tell him playfully. “no disappearing for an hour like you did at the last party.”
“hey, that wasn’t my fault,” he says quickly, defensive but still smiling. “the guys needed help setting up the keg.”
“sure they did.” you’re laughing, but there’s that half-second where the air goes heavy. you change the subject before it lingers too long.
on his end, satoru leans back against the headboard, phone pressed to his ear, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. he’s almost-listening to you talk about your day, something about a quiz and your friend’s new haircut, but his minds off with the fairies, apparently.
he thinks about last night. about sitting on the porch steps outside beta tau with toji, beer bottles clinking at their feet, both of them slightly buzzed.
“bro, your girl?” toji had said, shaking his head, exhaling smoke. “she’s bad as hell. that whole y2k thing, or whatever the fuck? you lucked out, man. she’s like, unreal.”
gojo had just laughed, taking a drag off his cigarette. “yeah, she’s hot.”
“nah, not just hot,” toji had said. “like? people gawk when she walks in a room. you really bagged a baddie.”
and that had made something sharp twist in gojo’s chest. not affection, not love, just that gross satisfaction that came with owning something everyone else wanted. he liked when people stared. he liked when guys whispered about how crazy it was that he got you. because if people wanted what he had, it meant he was winning.
and satoru gojo loved winning.
he hadn’t really thought about the way you look for him in crowded rooms, or how you always wait for him to notice you, or how you laugh just a bit too hard at his dumb jokes. all he thinks about is how good you look on his arm.
and now, sitting there with his phone to his ear, he’s smirking again, remembering toji’s words.
“toru? did you hear me?”
your voice snaps him back.
“huh?”
“i said, do you think the pink top or the black one’s better?” you repeat, a little laugh in your voice.
“uh, the pink,” he says easily. “definitely the pink.”
you hum, satisfied. “okay. pink it is.”
there’s a soft silence after that, the kind that comes when you’re just happy to be hearing someone breathe on the other end of the line.
he’s half there, half somewhere else. scrolling through his phone with his free hand, liking posts, checking messages.
the door to his room swings open without warning.
and that's when he walks in.
“yo, you got a lighter?”
it’s geto, gojos best friend since kindergarten standing in the doorway with a joint tucked behind his ear, hair loose around his shoulders, wearing that same lazy smirk that makes girls fall for him even when he’s not trying.
gojo glances up, mildly annoyed. “bro, knock next time.”
“didn’t know you were busy,” geto says, stepping halfway into the room. his eyes flick to the phone against gojo’s ear, and he raises a brow. “oh, shit, sorry. you on the phone with y/n?”
before you can even register what’s happening, there’s a sharp click.
call ended.
you stare at your screen, confusion creasing your forehead. he didn’t say goodbye. didn’t even let you finish your sentence.
you call again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
'he does this every time...'
in his room, gojo tosses his phone onto the bed like it’s nothing. “yeah, i was,” he says, stretching. “what do you need a lighter for?”
“what do you think,” geto mutters, pointing to the thing behind his ear. he walks over to gojo’s desk and grabs the one sitting there. “you’re an ass, by the way. she sounded happy to talk to you.”
gojo smirks, leaning back on his hands. “yeah, she’s cute.”
“cute?” geto echoes, eyes narrowing a little.
“yeah. she likes that kinda shit. talking, catching up. whatever.”
geto hums, sliding the lighter into his pocket. “you ever think maybe she deserves more than 'whatever'?”
gojo doesn’t answer. he just grins, cocky as ever, like the question doesn’t touch him.
and somewhere, back in your apartment, you’re still staring at your phone, wondering if he'd call back or just leave it like he'd usually do.
~
the back porch behind the frat always smells like charcoal and iron, but geto doesn’t mind. the wooden steps creak when he sits, the lighter gojo gave him igniting in his hand, flame catching the tip of the joint between his lips. the first inhale is bitter as it drags down his throat. he exhales slow, watching the smoke curl into the humid air.
he thinks about gojo. about you.
the lighter glints in the fading sunlight, and he turns it over in his palm. it’s cheap, plastic, bright blue with a little chip in the side from when gojo dropped it during a post game smoke session.
gojo. the guy who’s been there since he can remember, since the first time they got blacked out at a rush event and woke up on the lawn. his best friend, his brother, his ride-or-die. geto’s lost count of how many times gojos defended him, even when he didn’t deserve it.
and that’s the thing, satoru's always been loyal to him. for all his chaos, his arrogance, his bullshit, he’s never once let geto down. if someone talked shit, gojo had his back. if he needed a place to crash, gojo’s door was open. loyalty like that meant something.
but that loyalty doesn’t stretch to you.
geto flicks the ash off the end of his joint, jaw tightening as the memory comes back, the first time he saw it.
he hadn’t meant to walk in, he really needs to work on knocking. it was months ago, on a random friday. he’d gone upstairs to grab his charger from gojo’s room, he pushed the door open without thinking, mid-sentence, calling out, “yo, you got my-”
and then froze.
gojo was there, shirt halfway off, jeans around his hips, some random girl pressed tight against his desk. her laugh was breathy, desperate, his hands all over her bare body. the sound of it was so loud in that tiny room that geto couldn’t even think.
his stomach dropped.
he knew. he knew you were dating him. he’d just seen you two together that morning, your hand in gojo’s, your smile wide and easy. you’d brought coffee for both of them, balancing the tray like it was nothing, grinning at geto as you handed him his. “extra shot, right?” you’d said, remembering.
and now here was gojo, fucking someone else like it meant absolutely nothing.
geto backed out before they even saw him, shutting the door fast, heart pounding like he’d done something wrong. he didn’t say a word.
he didn’t tell you.
he wanted to. god, he wanted to. he’d thought about it for days, sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling through your instagram stories, watching the way you posted about gojo like he was your entire reason for living. he thought about the way you laughed when you were around, how you made everyone in the frat feel seen, even the guys who barely talked. how you’d show up to their games with snacks, how you’d pick up after the parties even when you didn’t have to.
you were so good. too good.
and he couldn’t do it. couldn’t be the one to tell you. because that’d mean turning on gojo, and no matter how much he despised it, he couldn’t lose that loyalty.
so he kept quiet. bared it like a secret that rotted in the back of his throat. every time he saw you sit in gojo’s lap, every time you smiled up at him, it twisted deeper.
he pulls another drag, smoke slipping between his lips as he leans back against the porch railing. the sky’s dim now, that blue grey stretch before night falls, and the house behind him creaks with life.
“you deserve better,” he mutters under his breath, but no one’s there to hear it.
his joint’s burning low, ember flaring near his fingers. he taps it out, sets it down beside him.
his mind drifts back to you again. your laugh, your little mannerisms, the way you tilt your head when you’re teasing someone. you’re the kind of beautiful that sneaks up on people, the kind that isn’t just about how you look, but how you are. he sees you for your true beauty, past the bling and the glitzy glamour.
geto sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and stares out at the dark yard, the faint hum of crickets filling the quiet.
he wishes he didn’t care.
but he does.
he always has.
~
you step out of the uber infront of delta sigma and heads turn. it’s not even very subtle. you’ve barely touched the curb and people are already staring, their gazes following the click of your heels as you walk toward the entrance.
you’re wearing a little black and pink fit, tight miniskirt, lace trimmed pink top that clings in all the right places, and a glittery belt that glints under the porch lights. your hair’s perfect, lips glossed, skin shining just enough to catch the light.
you’re smiling, that sweet, easy, confident smile that’s earned you your reputation on campus. the one that makes everyone, girls, guys, doesn’t matter, want to be near you.
“y/n! you look so hot, babe ” someone calls out near the door. you laugh, wave, hug a couple girls from your classes. they gush about your outfit, compliment your hair, pull you into photos with big smiles.
people are packed together like sardines inside, you’re weaving through them, hand clutching your little purse, saying hi to every familiar face you see with that kind voice.
“y/n, you look so sexy!” maki shouts over the music, her arm looping around your shoulder.
you grin, spinning once so she can see the full look. “i'm gonna kiss you on the mouth, maki.”
“girl, i wish, leave your man for me right now! i swear to god,” she laughs.
you roll your eyes playfully, though your cheeks heat up anyway. “stoppp.”
and that’s when you feel him.
hands slip around your waist, big and heavy, the scent of dior suavage (did i make him more hateable w this chat?) instantly recognizable. you turn, and there’s gojo, standing right behind you, his perfect teeth on wide display. his buzz cut glints under the flashing lights, white tee tight against his chest, chain swinging when he moves.
“look at you, baby,” he says, voice dripping with something that sounds half possessive, half proud. “you look unreal.”
you laugh, leaning back into him. “unreal, huh?”
“yeah,” he says, his lips brushing your ear. “priceless.”
you blink at that. it’s such a strange word, no one’s ever called you that before. pretty, hot, gorgeous, sure. but priceless? it doesn’t sound romantic coming from him. it sounds like something someone says about something they own.
still, you laugh it off, because that’s what you do. “you’re so dramatic.”
he smirks, grabbing your hand. “come on, baby. let’s give people something to stare at.”
and you let him pull you into the center of the room, where the music’s loudest and the lights hit just right.
people part for him. for you.
the crowd closes around as you start to dance, your arms winding around his neck, his hands sliding low on your hips. his smile is that same smug one he wears at every party, like he’s soaking in the attention, like every look thrown your way feeds something in him.
and maybe you should notice how his eyes aren’t really on you. they’re on the people around you, on how they’re watching, how they’re whispering. but you don’t. you’re too lost in the rhythm, in the way the night feels electric, in the illusion that you’re the only two people here.
across the room, geto sits on a couch, half a drink in his hand, half a frown on his face.
he’s dressed in black, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely at the back of his neck. his eyes track the two of you without meaning to.
you and gojo.
he hates that he’s watching. hates it even more that he can’t not.
gojo looks like he’s in his element, flashing that perfect grin, body moving so smoothly as he grinds on you. everyone’s eyes are on you, the golden couple, and yet all the man can think about is how fake it feels. how hollow.
his chest tightens when gojo spins you, when you laugh, when you look at him like he’s the center of your universe. geto knows that look. he’s seen it a hundred times before. you wear it every time gojo’s around, like you can’t believe he picked you, like you’d do anything to keep him all to yourself sweet self.
and he knows what gojo does when you’re not looking.
he takes another sip of his drink, gross.
his eyes flick away for a second, but when they come back, he notices it. that shift in gojo’s expression.
it’s small, easy to miss, but geto’s known him too long. he sees the way gojo’s grin changes, the way his gaze drifts past you.
and then he spots her.
a girl standing across the room, back against the wall, wearing a white crop top and cotton skirt. she’s got that look in her eye, that hungry, unashamed 'fuck me' look, staring right at him.
geto feels his stomach plummet.
he already knows what’s gonna happen.
meanwhile, you’re still laughing, still dancing, hands brushing his chest as the crowd presses in closer. and then, out of nowhere, he leans down, mouth near your ear.
“hey, i gotta go check on yuji real quick,” he says, tone casual, like it’s nothing.
you blink, still moving to the music. “what? now?”
“yeah, just for a sec,” he says, already pulling back. “be right back, baby, promise.”
before you can question it, he’s gone. slipping through the crowd, out of sight.
you stand there for a second, confused, then shake your head. whatever. maybe he really did go help yuji. you grab maki and nobara, your friends already dancing nearby, and start moving with them instead. laughter bubbles out of you again, and soon, you forget.
or at least, you try to.
outside, gojo’s already following the girl in the white top. she glances back once, smirking, and he grins, falling into step behind her.
they slip through the kitchen, down the hallway, to the basement door.
geto sees it all from the couch.
for a second, hes frozen, that same sick feeling crawling through him. he wants to pretend he didn’t see. to just look away, like he always does.
but something in him snaps. maybe it’s the way you looked tonight, all bright and happy and trusting. maybe it’s the way gojo didn’t even hesitate.
whatever it is, he’s not doing this again. not tonight.
he sets his drink down, pushes off the couch, and heads for the basement.
the hallway’s narrow, the noise from the party fading with each step he takes down the stairs. he can already hear them talking. low voices, laughter, the sound of movement.
when he hits the bottom, he sees them. he sees the same girl with satoru as the day he'd first caught him cheating.
gojo’s got one hand against the wall, the other resting low on her waist, his body close to hers. she’s giggling, tilting her head up, her lips barely an inch from his.
and then geto’s moving before he even thinks.
he grabs gojo by the arm and pulls him back, hard enough to break them apart.
“what the fuck, man?” gojo snaps, half laughing, half pissed off.
geto ignores him. his tone’s calm, but his voice carries that edge only gojo would recognize. “you should head upstairs,” he says to the girl, not looking at her. “party’s that way.”
she blinks, startled, then nods and hurries up the stairs without a word.
the door shuts behind her.
it’s just the two of them now, the dim basement light flickering over the concrete walls.
gojo straightens up, running a hand through his hair, smirking like this is some big joke. “what, you jealous or something?”
geto doesn’t answer.
his jaw’s tight, eyes dark, that nauseous mix of anger and disappointment burning low in his chest.
the basement light flickers again, catching the sharp edges of gojo’s grin. it’s the same one he uses when he’s caught doing something he knows he shouldn’t. his shirt’s wrinkled from the way the girl had been holding onto him, his chain glinting faintly under the single bulb.
geto’s standing across from him, arms crossed, brows drawn tight. the smoke from upstairs barely drifts down here, but the air still feels heavy. like the walls themselves know what just went down.
“you wanna explain that?” geto finally says, voice low.
gojo snorts, leaning back against the wall. “explain what?”
geto stares at him, disbelief cutting through his calm. “don’t do that. you know what.”
gojo lifts one shoulder, that lazy shrug that’s somehow more infuriating than words. “bro, it’s a party. chill out.”
“you were about to cheat on her,” geto says flatly.
“about to,” gojo echoes, smirking. “key words.”
geto’s hands tighten where they hang at his sides. “you’ve already done it before. don’t act like this is new.”
gojo’s grin falters, just for a second, but he hides it quick. “you spying on me now, man?”
“no,” geto says quietly. “i just happen to walk in on you every time you forget other people exist.”
gojo laughs once, short and sharp. “damn. you really came down here to give me a lecture? i thought you were gonna join the fun.”
“this isn’t funny, satoru.”
the use of his first name makes him pause. geto only calls him that when he’s serious.
geto steps forward a bit, the dim light catching the frustration written all over his face. “she’s upstairs right now,” he says, voice firm. “smiling at everyone, probably talking about how much she missed you. and you’re down here about to nail some hoe who doesn't even know you properly.”
gojo just exhales, head tipping back. “you’re acting like a female suguru, holy fuck.”
“am i?” geto says. “all i'm doing is trying to knock some sense into you, you treat y/n like she's some pretty trophy you can show off then chuck aside once you're done parading it around.”
“oh fuck off, she likes the attention,” gojo shoots back, straightening up. “you’ve seen her. she eats that shit up. all those eyes on her? she fucking lives for it.”
“no,” geto says, shaking his head. “she lives for you. she wants you to look at her, and you don’t. not unless someone else is watching.”
gojo’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing just a little. “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
“no,” geto says simply. “i just know you. and i know deep down you're not such an insufferable cunt, so what's going on?”
that lands harder than geto expects. he sees it, the switch in gojo’s eyes, the subtle glance away, the rift in his composure.
gojo runs a hand over his buzz cut, letting out a dry laugh. “fuckin' hell, so what, you want me to break up with her? would that make you feel better?”
“what would make me feel better is you not acting like a complete dick,” geto says. “you don’t even see her, man. she’s good to you. she’s good to everyone. and you treat her like shes just some slut you fuck on the side. she's your fucking girlfriend, satoru.”
gojo scoffs, but it’s weaker now. "look, man. i get you're that guy, the philosophical kinda fucker who thinks he's morally superior to everyone who doesn't think like him, and you're my best friend. but seriously, just fuck off. you don't get me, you don't get my relationship, so either go tell her yourself that i'm screwing other bitches, or get the fuck outta my face."
geto almost slams the white haired boys head against the wall behind him, but he resists. his words feel heavy and disgusting floating freely in the atmosphere like he hadn't just said the scummiest thing imaginable. suguru takes a deep, long breathe before stepping away from satoru.
gojo’s expression flickers again. maybe guilt, maybe just annoyance. “you all done?”
“just shut up, satoru,” suguru scoffs, walking off and back up the basement stairs.
his chest feels tight, like he’s holding too many things that don’t belong to him. rage, guilt, things he wishes he could just bottle up and smash.
he decides to leave, pushing past drunk students as the static noise fades to dim pulse of muffle.
he tries not to think about you, but it’s impossible. every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face, your pretty smile, the way you'd looked so okay, how you were oblivious to the fact that your beloved boyfriend was sneaking off to go cheat on you.
he hates that he cares this much.
his thoughts are running too fast, tripping over each other, when he exits the sorority in hopes of walking back to the frat, he freezes.
because you’re there.
standing by the sidewalk, heels dangling from your hand, hair a little messy from dancing. the streetlight catches the glitter on your top, painting your skin gold. you look up, surprised to see him, that familiar kind smile adorning your lips.
“suguru?”
he blinks, caught off guard. the world had to be playing some sort of sick joke on him.
oh for fucks sake.
"whatcha doing out here? party's just started!" he's stepping closer to hear you properly and you beam, looking up at him through long lashes with that easygoing look, although he can spot slivers of sadness in your gaze.
"i could be asking you the same thing..." he replies. you were the last person he'd thought he'd see after having the biggest fight ever with his best friend, especially since you were the indirect cause.
"well, satoru just sorta disappeared, so i assumed he got sick of the party and left. and i don't wanna be at a function crawling with guys without my man there, that feels... unloyal, y'know?"
sugurus heart twisted, if merely being around guys felt unloyal to you, then you were in for a big surprise for when you found out about satoru... whenever that would be.
"i'm sure he doesn't mind if he just left you here, y/n."
he watched as a melancholy look washed over your pretty features, a shy, forced smile spreading across your lips. "he was probably just drunk, too tired to know he just left me... yeah, that's gotta be it." you say looking into the distance and a far away street lamp.
god, the excuses you made for that man, it drove him crazy. he felt your pain in the detached way your eyes shifted, in the way your fingers cupped your forearms like a stress reliever, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out, anything to try and comfort you.
"hey, y/n."
"hmm?"
"you know... gojo, he..."
... he cuts himself off.
"it's nothing. just, you know if you ever need someone to talk to, i'm here. yeah? complete confidentiality, i won't relay anything to gojo."
you turn to look at him again, your expression softer as a real smile breaks out, you playfully push his much bigger arm and reply.
"god, you big sap. you're the only one of gojos friends i actually like, y'know that? so weird but so nice."
he chuckles lightly, you didn't acknowledge his statement, didn't thank him or anything, but he knew you took it under your belt. yet, before he could mourn the loss of his offer, he felt you grab the sleeve of his top from beside him. he looked down at you only to be met with that same suddenly solemn look from earlier.
"hey... if i asked you something, you'd answer honestly, yeah?"
"of course."
...
"do you know if gojo's cheating on me?"
...
the words slam into his monk looking face like a mace. could gojo's shitty actions possibly cause him anymore grief tonight?
he had about two seconds to think before a reply became too long of a pause to be credible, so he blurted out the first thing he could.
"i-if i knew anything, i'd tell you, y/n. and i don't, so i can't say indefinitely, but i haven't seen anything."
yeah, way to go suguru, you lying prick.
he shook his head and watched as your expression turned from bracing for impact to a giddy half smile.
"i knew it wasn't true. you're his best friend, so if he was cheating i'm sure you'd know, and you're a good, morally sound guy, so of course you'd tell me if he was! thanks so much geto, i feel much better now that i've heard you say that."
fuck.
you flash him that sweet, relieved little smile before stepping off the curb, heels swinging from your hand as you start down the street. the soft click of your jewelry fades with every step you take, and suguru’s still standing there like someone’s glued his feet to the pavement.
“i should get going,” you call, glancing back over your shoulder. the streetlight hits your face just right, makes your grin all shiny and heartbreakingly sincere. “thanks again, suguru. and hey!” you gesture vaguely, “i won’t forget that offer, okay? the one about lending me an ear. i might just take you up on that sometime.”
he forces a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching up into something that vaguely resembles a smile. “yeah,” he says, voice rough. “for sure.”
you wave once and turn back around, your hair bouncing with each step as you disappear into the night.
he watches until you’re just a blur under the next pool of yellow light. when you’re finally out of sight, he exhales hard and drags a hand down his face. the night air’s cool, but he feels warm all over.
'i haven’t seen anything.
you’re a good, morally sound guy, so of course you’d tell me.'
he laughs under his breath, “yeah, real morally sound,” he mutters.
you looked so damn happy to hear it, too. he can still see the relief in your eyes, the way your shoulders had finally relaxed, how you’d looked at him like he was trustworthy, like he was the kind of person who deserved to be trusted.
and he’d lied through his teeth.
seriously, fuck you gojo.
~
a few weeks slide by like nothing happened. campus fluctuates with mid-semester gossip, beta tau’s throwing ragers like clockwork, and you, ever the it-girl, keep showing up, smiling, dazzling, dressing like every day’s your own personal runway.
your instagram’s practically a moodboard now: pink rhinestones, matching accessories, captions that read effortless but cool enough to keep people thinking about your wits. the comments flood in.
@maki_zen: please fuck me n/n i love u
@yukikiki: RAHHH IM GONNA EAT YOU UP
@shoko_: gojo’s the luckiest mf alive.
you like that one best.
and things with him? they’re… good. or at least, they look good.
it’s a late thursday night when he shoots you a text,
[satoru❤️] 8:30pm: on my way. stock up on chocolate
you grin when you read it, excitement bubbling in your chest. you’ve been planning this little movie night all week. it was an apology to you for ditching you at that last party. you made a list of his favorite snacks, even bought a new blanket because the last one “didn’t fit the vibe,” according to him.
you’re dressed in a soft pink nightgown, satin and lacy in all the right places, hair loose around your shoulders. the apartment smells like popcorn and yummy candles.
when his knock comes, you nearly trip over your own feet running to the door in excitement.
satoru's leaning against the frame when you open it, effortless charisma and half smirks. tight black tee, sweats hanging low showing off his calvins, buzzcut gleaming under the hallway light. he looks good, of course he does, he always does.
“hey, baby,” he drawls, eyes dragging over you in one slow rake.
“damn. that’s what you’re wearing for me?”
you blush, laughing softly as you step aside to let him in. “we’re just watching a movie, satoru.”
“sure,” he hums, shutting the door behind him. his arms loop around your waist before you can take another step. “but now i don’t really wanna watch a movie.”
you roll your eyes, trying to hide your grin. “awe, but baby-"
he cuts you off with a kiss that's soft at first, then gets hungrier.
you try to protest again between kisses, mumbling something about popcorn and netflix, but his hands are already slipping lower, his touch familiar and easy.
“c’mon,” he murmurs against your neck. “you really wanna waste time on some rom-com?”
you shudder for a sec as you thought about the blankets you’d folded, the movie you’d queued up, but he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world he needs. that charming, boyish grin of his melts every little piece of resistance you’d built.
so you let him kiss you again. let him lead you to the couch, your planned movie night dissolving into the same thing it always does.
and later, when you’re lying there bare, the tv still dark, you glance at the untouched snacks on the coffee table and feel a small pang of loss. but then gojo’s arm tightens around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder, and you tell yourself it’s fine. this is what girlfriends do, right? keep their boyfriends happy.
you breathe out slow and decide not to think about it.
the next few days go by easy enough. you post a mirror selfie that gets over a thousand likes in an hour which makes you feel good. gojo comments a flame emoji and a “mine” under it, and everyone eats it up. it makes you smile, even if part of you wonders when or if he’ll call you today.
rumors float around, like they always do. whispers in bathroom stalls, side-eyes at parties. you’ve heard them all before, something about satoru flirting too far, about girls leaving his room too early in the morning, but you’ve gotten good at tuning them out. you know him. he wouldn’t. he couldn’t.
yet, it seems even guys are on the gojo hate bandwagon, you’re on your way to class when it happens.
the fashion building’s your favorite spot on campus by far, tall glass walls, echoey hallways, that faint smell of fabric dye and perfume. you’re dressed cute, obviously. low-rise jeans, some vintage cami that probably cost as much as some girls rent, platform boots. your tote bag’s covered in rhinestone pins and a little bunny keychain. your airpods are in, playlist on, head high.
outside, a group of guys are hanging around the steps, half talking, half checking out whoever walks past. you recognize some of them—naoya zenin from sigma chi, nanami from gojos frat, and shiu who’s always tagging along somewhere trying to sell.
you catch the tail end of their conversation as you pass, your name slipping through between laughs.
“shit, she’s really hot,” one of them says, sounds like naoya.
“hmm,” nanami’s voice, lower, steadier. “but i do feel bad for her.”
“yeah, poor girl doesn’t know her boyfriend’s a scumbag,” shiu adds, tone casual, almost pitying.
your steps falter. just slightly. but it’s enough.
you keep walking, pretending your music’s too loud to hear them, but the words dig in anyway, echoing like a bad song stuck in your head.
you laugh softly to yourself, shaking it off. they couldn’t be talking about you, right? there’s tons of girls with boyfriends in frats.
still, the second you glance down at your phone and see gojo’s contact name pop up with a text that just says,
[satoru❤️] 9:30am: party tonight at kappa. wear something hot.
your head churns.
before you could type out a flirty response, you felt your body shudder as you ran straight into what felt like a big wall.
you don’t even have time to register what’s in front of you before your phone nearly slips out of your hand and your forehead slams into something solid. your airpods go flying, and the words party tonight. wear something hot. vanish from your screen as you stumble backward with a wince.
“shit-” you hiss under your breath, rubbing your forehead.
“hey, easy there.”
the voice is deep, rough, and familiar.
you blink up through your hair and there he is, suguru geto, looking exactly like someone you really didn’t need to see after that little run-in with your thoughts.
“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you blurt out, stepping back as your heart kicks up. “i wasn’t looking where i was going.”
his mouth pulls into a small, kind smile, the type that makes him look like he’s never once been mad at anyone. “you’re fine, seriously,” he says. “but, uh-” his gaze drops to your forehead, “you kinda hit me pretty hard. you all good?”
you wave your hand like it’s nothing, though your head throbs. “yeah, yeah, i’m good. you’re like… built like a brick wall though, so maybe check your ribs.”
that gets a quiet laugh out of him. “nah, i’m fine.”
you go to step around him, but his hand hovers near your elbow, “come on,” he says, nodding toward the little campus café a few steps away. “at least sit for a second. there’s caffeine and ice packs in there.”
you tilt your head. “suguru, i’m fine. you don’t need to fuss over me.”
“yeah, well,” he shrugs, “js' let me, i feel bad.”
you don't protest, just let him guide you through the doors as the smell of espresso and baked bread hits your head. the barista knows him by name, which doesn’t surprise you. he orders two coffees, pays before you can even reach for your card, and leads you to a small corner table by the window.
you sit across from him, still a little dazed, your phone forgotten in your bag. your head’s stopped hurting as much, but you can’t help thinking it’s kind of… lovely. the way he’s being gentle with you. the way he keeps glancing at you like he’s making sure you’re still breathing.
“so,” you say finally, breaking the quiet, “do you usually make a habit of saving clumsy girls from their own lack of coordination, or am i special?”
that earns another soft laugh from him. “guess you’re special,” he says, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “but seriously, you good? no headache or nothin'?”
you nod, taking a sip of your drink. it’s just the way you like it. of course it is. “promise.”
he leans back in his chair, exhaling slow. “good. would’ve felt bad if i gave you a concussion or something.”
you laugh faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “so where were you headed before i body-checked you?”
“js' the library,” he says, with a small grin. “midterms are coming up, remember? figured i should actually act like a student for once.”
“ugh, responsible,” you tease. “and here i was, walking to my classes with my head in my phone, how weird and incel of me.”
“mm, dangerous habit,” he says, smirking. “could’ve run into someone worse than me.”
you laugh, but there’s something tight behind it. maybe he catches it, because his expression softens a little.
he studies your features for a long while, how your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, how you keep fiddling with your straw like you’re trying to distract yourself.
“hey,” he says gently, “what’s wrong?”
you freeze.
he leans forward a bit, elbows on the table. “you just look kinda off. did something happen?”
for a second, you consider brushing it off, saying you’re just tired, that it’s been a long week, but then you remember the thing he’d told you outside that night. you can talk to me.it echoed in your mind.
so you sigh. “can i… take you up on that offer again? the one about lending an ear?”
his brows lift slightly, but he nods without hesitation. “yeah. for sure”
you take a deep breath. “it’s just… lately, i’ve been hearing stuff. shitty rumors.”
“mm, about satoru, or?”
you hesitate, then let it out. “yeah, about satoru.”
suguru’s chest twitches with pain.
you look down at your coffee, tracing your finger around the rim. “people have been really laying it on thick with the cheating thing. i ignored it at first, because, you know, people talk, and with everything you said at the party i thought i was good. but it’s been constant lately, and then today, i overheard these guys from another frat saying how they ‘feel bad for me’ and that my boyfriend’s a scumbag.” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “like, what the hell does that even mean?”
suguru states at you empathetically as you pour your sweet heart out.
you glance up, searching his face. “i don’t know what to think anymore. he’s been weird lately. distant. not mean, not totally, just… distracted, i guess.”
you much around with the lid of your drink again. “and maybe i’m just overthinking it, but—”
“you’re not,” he says quietly. then catches himself, clears his throat. “i mean… you’re not crazy for feeling like that.”
you smile faintly, almost shy. “thanks. i just… i don’t know. i love him, you know? but lately it feels like he’s slipping away. and if he really is cheating… i just don’t get it. i try so hard to make him happy. but maybe that’s the problem.”
suguru looks at you deeper, every word digging down into his chest. he wishes he could tell you. wishes he could just say it, yeah, he’s cheating, he’s an idiot, he doesn’t deserve you. but his throat locks up.
you’re sitting there looking so sweet, so open, and he’s already lied to you once. telling you now would blow everything up, your relationship, his friendship, your trust.
so instead, he takes a slow sip of coffee and chooses his words carefully.
“look,” he says finally, “if satoru’s really doing that, he’s an idiot. plain and simple. you don’t deserve that. you’re… you’re the kind of person people should want to hold on to, not hurt.”
you blink, then smile softly. “that’s… really nice of you to say.”
he shrugs, forcing a small smile. “just telling the truth.”
you study him for a second, your gaze softer now. “you always know what to say, huh?”
he huffs a quiet laugh. “not really. i just… i don’t like seeing good people feel shit.”
and there it is again, good people. it hits him harder than it should.
because as much as he wants to believe he’s one, he can’t stop thinking about that night, about the way he’d lied straight to your face. about the way you’d smiled after, like you’d finally been able to breathe again.
and now here you are, sipping coffee across from him, still sweet, still warm, still so damn kind to him despite everything.
“thanks for listening,” you say softly. “i know it’s not really your issue.”
“hey,” he says, shaking his head, “don’t say that. it’s fine. you can talk to me anytime.”
you grin, a little brighter now. “hey watch it, i can talk a lot if you're not careful.”
he chuckles. “i’ll risk it for you.”
you both sit there for a moment, the sounds of the café filling the silence as you replay that last sentence.
just for me? when has satoru ever been this deep with me? try never..
then you glance at your phone and sigh. “i should probably get going. class is in ten.”
he nods. “i’ll walk you.”
“you don’t have to,"
“yeah, i know, but i will.”
you roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. you walk side by side down the path, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. and each time it does, you feel your face heating up slightly bit by bit.
“you really didn’t have to buy me coffee,” you say, glancing at him. “you’re too nice.”
“don’t tell people that,” he says, smirking a little. “ruins my rep.”
you giggle and watch his smirk fall into a real, genuine smile making your tummy flip.
when you reach the building, you stop and turn to him. “thanks a bunch, suguru. really. for the coffee and, you know… everything.”
he shrugs, hands in his pockets. “anytime, y/n.”
you smile, then head up the steps, the hem of your skirt catching the sunlight. he watches you go until you disappear through the doors, that same restless ache blooming in his chest again.
he’s not sure if it’s guilt or something worse.
probably both.
as he turns to leave, his phone buzzes in his pocket. a message from gojo to the frats gc.
[satoru] 10:00am: yo. party at kappa tonight
he stares at the screen for a moment before shoving the phone back into his jeans.
for the first time, he doesn’t want to go.
~
kappa is filthy with grime and sweat, it’s the kind of shit you’ve gotten used to, sticky floors, red cups everywhere, and way too many people wearing sunglasses inside.
you’re tucked neatly beside satoru, drink in hand, watching sukuna and toji face off at the beer pong table like it’s some kind of olympic event, talking about some nerdy girl in sukuna's chemistry class. the crowd’s yelling, the table’s lined with half-filled cups, and toji’s got that smug grin on his face that screams i’ve done this before.
“fifty bucks says sukuna sinks it,” you tease, nudging satoru with your elbow.
he grins down at you, that cocky curve to his mouth. “you’re on, baby. my boy toji never misses.”
“your boy toji’s literally cross-eyed right now.”
he laughs, tossing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, making a big spectacle of it, the scent of tequila clinging to him. “then it’s a fair fight.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. it’s been a while since the two of you just hung out like this, no tension, no weird vibes just drinks, noise, and the feeling that, for once, things are okay.
around you, your little social circle glitters. shoko’s perched on the counter, chatting with utahime; yuji's in the corner trying not to get beer spilled on him; nobara’s already screaming at someone about rules. everything feels electric.
you sip your drink again, sugary and pink, and your eyes wander through the crowd, until you spot suguru.
he’s cutting through the main room, hands in his pockets, black hoodie zipped over a band tee. casual, smooth, very him. he looks up just as he passes, and before you can think twice, you’re calling out-
“suguru!”
he stops mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. you wave, all polite and cheerful, like it’s the most regular thing in the world.
his mouth etches into that kind smile, the one that barely lifts one side of his lips. he gives a little wave back, then heads toward the couch where choso’s already rolling a blunt for the both of them. he'd always been popular, but you'd figured out he was very much a couch surfer like choso at parties.
you turn back around, still smiling faintly, until you feel that stare.
you blink and find satoru watching you, his drink paused halfway to his mouth.
“what?” you ask, laughing and confused.
he doesn’t answer straight away. his sunglasses are pushed up on his head, his pale eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“you two close or something?” he asks finally, voice too casual to actually be casual.
“huh?” you tilt your head. “me and suguru?”
he nods, expression unreadable.
you laugh nervously. “uh, i mean, he’s your best friend, satoru. of course we know each other.”
“yeah,” he says slowly, gaze still locked on you. “but you don’t usually… wave.”
“you’re seriously mad i waved?” you say, eyebrows raising.
he leans back against the wall, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying not to say something worse. “not mad,” he says, though it sounds like a lie. “just… interesting.”
you blink at him. “interesting?”
he looks away, swirling what’s left of his drink, voice low. “nothing. forget it.”
but the tension’s already creeping in, sharp and sudden.
you take a step closer, fingers brushing his arm. “satoru, seriously, what’s wrong?”
he glances down at you, that perfect smile sliding back into place like armor. “nothing, baby. relax. just have fun.”
you want to believe him, but the way his gaze runs across the room toward where suguru’s sitting says otherwise.
you open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it, grin stretching a little too wide. a fight was something he didn't need for his perfect looking image, although all he wanted to do was scream at you for even looking at another man.
“you look good tonight,” he says, hand slipping around your waist again. “real good.”
it’s smooth, meant to distract you, and honestly, it works. you melt a little under his touch, though the knot in your stomach doesn’t quite loosen.
he presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring, “don’t worry about it, yeah? just stick with me tonight.”
you nod, trying to shake the weird feeling off.
still, when he turns back toward the game and starts cheering for toji again, you can’t help glancing toward the couch where suguru’s sitting quietly, smoke curling around him, eyes flicking up just once.
and when your gazes meet across the chaos, you swear for a second that he looks almost… concerned.
"yes! i win!" sukuna's voice echos. you gaze up at satoru expectantly, yet all you see is that furrow of his brow that says he's unhappy with how things are playing out. not because he just lost the bet, but because his favourite toy was behaving badly, and that's something satoru never takes lightly.
in satoru’s head, it started the second you say suguru’s name, in his head it’s the worst kind of betrayal.
it sinks under his skin like poison, eating away at his conscience more and more with every breathe.
you’re his girl. his thing. his to show off, his to brag about. everyone in this room knows it. so when you call out to his best friend, his best friend, while standing right beside him, smiling like that, it hits a nerve he didn’t even know he had.
his eye twitches the laugh he gives right after isn’t real. it’s just there to cover the sound of his blood boiling.
and in his head, he’s already decided how he’s gonna fix this.
you wave at his friend, he cheats on you. simple shit.
you disrespect him in public, he’ll disrespect you in private.
you don’t have to find out. you don’t need to. it’s about balance, he tells himself. you’re sweet, but naïve. a lesson like this keeps you in check in his sick twisted head.
while you get pulled into a new conversation with yuki, laughing at something dumb, satoru slips away. quiet, smooth. no one even notices.
he reached the top floor, the air polluted, darker. a few rooms cracked open, people hooking up, music muffled through the walls. he found her leaning against the doorframe. a black-haired girl in a tiny red top and a skirt that left little to the imagination. she looked bored until she saw him.
he gave her that grin, the one that always worked.
“hey,” he said, voice low. “you from around here?”
fifteen minutes later, the door’s locked, her lipstick’s on his neck, and the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
downstairs, an hour ticks by.
you’re still in the main room, the noise around you swelling and dipping as people move between the kitchen and the living area. yuki’s perched beside you on the couch, talking about some disastrous hookup story, shoko’s sorta-listening while she sips at her beer. suguru and choso are nearby, sat across the other couch, their conversation low and lazy under the music.
you’re laughing again, even if your chest feels a little tight. satoru’s been gone for a bit, but you tell yourself he’s just chatting with the guys or helping someone out. he does that sometimes. disappears, then comes back like nothing happened.
you’re trying not to overthink it.
but then the air changes.
you don’t take notice, not until yuki gazes up mid-sentence and her voice flattens. then you hear the shift in the room’s tone, that strange oddness that means someone’s about to start some shit.
a group of girls you don’t recognize waltz toward your little circle. five of them, dressed like they belong here but don’t quite fit in. one of them’s clutching her phone a tad too tightly.
they make a beeline straight for you.
you blink, smiling automatically, because that’s what you do. “hey! you girls are looking hot.”
the one in front, tall, dark hair, hesitates. the others look at each other, their guarded expressions from a few seconds ago melting into guilt.
“uh, thanks... actually…” the dark haired one starts, voice shaking a bit. “you’re, uh, y/n, right?”
you nod, smiling brighter. “yeah, that’s me.”
suguru looks up from his seat then, attention sharpening. he knows that voice...
the girl takes a step closer, and that’s when it hits him. the hair, the way she holds herself, shit. it’s her. the same girl from satoru’s room. the same one from the basement at the last party. what the hell was she doing here now?
his stomach sinks.
you, meanwhile, just smile at her, kind as ever. “what’s up?”
her lip trembles. she glances at her friends, then back at you.
“i… i need to tell you something!"
you tilt your head, still polite. “sure?”
“it’s about satoru.”
the name alone makes your chest tighten, but you nod slowly. “uhhh, okay.”
she swallows hard, and for a second, it looks like she might back out. but then she meets your eyes and forces the words out.
“he’s been... y/n, he's been cheating on you.”
the world goes very still.
you blink once, twice. you think you misheard her.
“huh?”
“he’s been seeing other girls,” she says quickly, words tumbling over themselves. “i didn’t know he was with you when we first, when we first got together, i swear. but after that, he said you two were, like, casual off and on, so i!"
you hold up a hand, shaking your head. “no. no, no, no. wait.”
you can feel shoko’s hand slide to your shoulder, steady but firm. yuki’s gripping your other hand tight.
“are you sure you’ve got the right guy?” you ask, voice trembling but still soft. “satoru gojo? tall, white hair, talks too much?”
she nods miserably.
your throat goes dry. “uhm... gosh.. how long?”
“a few months.”
suguru’s stomach twists, because yeah. that tracks. he remembers each time. each stupid, shameful time he turned a blind eye.
but you don’t know that. you’re still processing, blinking like the air’s been knocked out of you.
“look,” the girl says, voice cracking. “i’m sorry. i really am. i wouldn’t have come up to you like this if it wasn’t true, i just, i couldn’t not tell you. it’s not fair to you.”
your hands are shaking. you want to believe her, but it’s satoru. your satoru.
“i…” your voice catches. “i want to believe you..” you stop. inhale. exhale. “you should always believe women,” you murmur. “but this… it’s a lot.”
the girl’s eyes well up, and then she pulls out her phone. “i thought you’d say that,” she whispers. “so i brought proof.”
she turns the screen toward you.
and there it is.
a photo of her and satoru. his hand on her waist, his mouth on hers. his stupid chain glinting under bad lighting. his eyes closed like he’s never been more relaxed in his life.
for a second, your heart stops. maybe it's ai..?
then it shatters.
you choke out a sob slash choke as shoko and yuki both grab you, pulling you into them before you can fall apart completely. your drink hits the floor, the plastic cup rolling under the couch.
suguru’s on his feet without even realising it. choso too, his expression unreadable.
the girl’s still standing there, tears starting to fall now. she looks like she wants to sink into the ground and disappear.
choso’s the first to speak, his voice cool but firm. “you should go,” he says to her. “you and your friends. now.”
she nods quickly, mumbling another apology before hurrying off, her group trailing behind her.
you’re still clinging to shoko, your breath shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks one by one.
suguru’s standing a few feet away, hands clenched so tight his knuckles are white. he wants to punch a wall. he wants to punch satoru, he wants to tell you that he knew. that he’s sorry. that he should’ve said something weeks ago.
but he can’t.
instead, he steps closer, crouching a little to meet your eye level. “hey,” he says quietly, trying to sound steady. “breathe, okay? just… breathe.”
you look up at him, eyes red, voice breaking. “she had proof, suguru. she had proof.”
he nods, slow and careful. “i know. i know.”
“why would he do that?” you whisper. “what did i do wrong?”
“nothing,” yuki cuts in firmly, squeezing your hand. “you did nothing wrong, babe.”
“he’s just a trashy little peice of shit,” shoko adds flatly.
you let out a weak laugh that turns into another sob. “god, i look so silly.”
suguru shakes his head immediately. “you don’t. you’re not stupid.”
but you can’t stop the spiral. it’s written all over your face. the betrayal, the heartbreak, the disbelief.
“i loved him,” you say softly, more to yourself than anyone else. “i really loved him.”
and suguru’s chest aches, because he knows. he’s seen it. he’s seen how much of yourself you gave to that relationship, how gentle you were even when satoru didn’t deserve it.
he swallows hard, forcing the words out. “then he’s the one who’s an idiot, not you.”
you blink up at him, tear-streaked, searching for something in his face. something true.
he gives you a small nod, voice quiet but sure. “if he’s out there screwing around, that’s on him. not you. you’re… you’re kind, y/n. you care too much. and guys like him-” he stops, choosing his words carefully. “they take advantage of that.”
your lip trembles. “but i thought he loved me.”
“he probably does,” yuki says bitterly. “in that self-absorbed frat boy way where love means ‘mine until i’m bored.’”
that earns her a tiny, broken laugh from you, which is better than silence.
but then it hits you again the image of that photo. you wipe at your face quickly, anger bubbling under the heartbreak.
“i’m so pissed off,” you whisper, voice raw. “like, so pissed off. he thinks he can just do that? cheat and smile at me like nothing’s wrong?”
shoko squeezes your shoulder tighter. “then don’t cry for him. he’s not worth it.”
you nod weakly, but another tear slips down anyway.
suguru watches, jaw tight, guilt gnawing at him like it’s alive. he should’ve told you. he should’ve told you. instead, he let it get this far.
and now here you are, shattered in front of him, still trying to defend yourself against pain you never deserved.
you take a shaky breath, pressing your palms to your eyes. “i’m gonna kill him.”
no one doubts you mean it.
the tension breaks just slightly when choso mutters, “get in line,” earning a few soft, shaky laughs from the group.
but suguru doesn’t laugh. he just stares toward the stairs where satoru disappeared earlier, a muscle in his neck twitching.
because he knows what’s up there. and if he walks in on it again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back this time.
meanwhile, you sit between shoko and yuki, trying to catch your breath, fury starting to outweigh the heartbreak.
your mascara’s smudged, your hands are trembling, but your eyes, your eyes are clear now. sharp.
you’re done pretending everything’s fine.
and upstairs, satoru gojo is making his way down with no idea of how the night’s about to end very, very badly for him.
the first thing satoru thinks as he comes down the stairs is that he’s a legend.
he’s still buttoning his jeans, grin wide and lazy, a little lipstick smudge on his jaw that he doesn’t even bother to wipe off. he feels good. accomplished, even. the black-haired girl’s number is saved in his phone under some random emoji, and he’s still riding the buzz of her giggle when she said you’re so much better than she probably deserves.
it’s petty. but it’s also exactly what he wanted.
you had disrespected him, so he got even. balance restored. he can already imagine coming back down, slipping beside you, acting like nothing happened. you’d smile up at him, maybe kiss him, and he’d just laugh to himself. you’d never know.
he adjusts his shirt as he steps off the last stair, scanning the crowd for that familiar glint of your hair, that laugh he swears he could pick out of a thousand others.
and then he sees you.
you’re standing near the middle of the room, surrounded by people, shoko, yuki, choso, suguru hovering close. but there’s something off. your posture’s stiff, your eyes are red, your hands clenched at your sides. the second your gaze locks on him, it’s like time stops.
the music fades.
the chatter dulls.
and before he can even process what’s happening-
crack.
your palm connects with his cheek so hard the sound echoes through the whole house. the slap rings out sharp enough that even the dj, inumaki, reaches over and kills the track.
silence.
satoru just stands there, head turned, cheek flaming, mouth hanging open.
everyone’s watching. the entire kappa house is dead quiet.
“you.” your voice shakes, high with adrenaline and heartbreak. "you disgusting mutt!”
his head snaps back to you, eyes wide. “what the hell?-”
“don’t-” you cut him off, stepping closer, anger radiating off you like heat. “don’t you dare act like you didn’t just screw some random girl upstairs while i was sitting here defending your sorry ass!”
the crowd lets out a collective gasp, the kind that ripples through the room like a wave.
satoru’s stomach drops.
he blinks fast, mouth opening and closing, but the words don’t come.
you keep going, voice breaking but strong. “how could you? seriously, how could you look me in the eyes every day, tell me you love me, and then sneak off to fuck someone else in the same house as me?”
he glances around, everyone’s staring. even his own frat brothers look uneasy, whispering among themselves.
“y/n,” he starts, tone shaky but low, “babe, calm down, let’s just-”
“don’t call me that!” you yell, and it echoes through the space. “you think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it because you’re hot shit, huh? because everyone thinks you’re funny and charming and perfect? you’re nothing. you’re a selfish, useless, disgusting person!”
you’re trembling now, tears streaking down your face, but your voice doesn’t falter.
“you're such a dick,” you whisper, shaking your head. “you made me think i wasn’t enough, when the whole time you were the one who wasn’t even trying.”
satoru’s throat closes. his brain’s scrambling for damage control. this isn’t supposed to happen. not here. not in front of everyone.
he reaches out like he might touch your arm, but you jerk back instantly. “don’t fucking touch me,” you spit.
a few people murmur, some nodding, others whispering to each other. the whole room’s feeding off the chaos.
he forces a smile, trying to sound calm, trying to make it look like you’re the crazy one. “you’re making a scene, sweetheart. let’s just-”
“a scene?” you laugh, the sound sharp and cracked. “you’re worried about a scene? you embarrassed me in front of everyone who matters to you, and now you’re embarrassed for yourself? god, you’re pathetic!”
his facade cracks a little, and something bitter rises in his chest. “watch your mouth.”
“no,” you snap, voice climbing again. “you watch yours! you lied to me! you made me feel insane for trusting my gut, and the whole time you were out there-”
you stop, breath hitching, then hiss, “go to hell, satoru.”
he flinches, his ego unraveling by the second. the murmuring gets louder. he can hear someone mutter “jesus christ” from somewhere in the back.
“y/n, listen, you don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“don’t gaslight me again,” you bite out. “some girl showed me a photo of you sucking face.”
that makes him freeze. his blood runs cold.
fuck.
you really do know.
and just like that, something ugly flickers across his face. cornered pride. humiliation curdling into spite.
“you know what?” he snaps suddenly, voice raised. “fine. you wanna do this here? let’s do it here.”
the crowd shifts.
he steps forward, smirking even though his voice shakes. “you act like i’m the only bad guy here. like you’re some innocent little angel who doesn't drive me insane every fucking day with your fake-sweet bullshit.”
your brows knit together, disbelief washing over you. “excuse me?”
“yeah,” he laughs bitterly. “you’re always so goddamn perfect. smiling, being nice to everyone, acting like you’re above it all. it’s exhausting.”
people start whispering louder now. the tension’s suffocating.
“you think i wanted to date someone who can’t even be real for five minutes?” he sneers. “you were just… different, that’s all. you had that little aesthetic thing going on, and it made you look special. but you’re not. you’re just another boring girl who thinks she’s better than everyone. i did you a favour dating your needy ass.”
the words hang heavy in the air. even the walls seem to recoil.
and then someone, probably maki, loud and pissed shouts from the crowd, “you’re such a fucking loser, gojo!”
another voice, choso maybe: “yeah, cheating pussy!”
the laughter from the crowd that follows isn’t kind, it’s mocking.
satoru’s face goes red as his teeth squeeze. “shut the fuck up,” he mutters, but the people have already turned on him.
you’re shaking, silent tears streaming down your cheeks now. you step closer, fists clenched, voice trembling but sharp as glass.
“you used me,” you say quietly, each word hitting harder than the last. “you made me feel small just so you could feel big.”
“oh, don’t be dramatic,” he spits. “you knew what this was.”
that’s the last straw.
you raise your hand again, trembling with rage, but before it can connect, strong hands grab your wrists from behind and pull you back.
“hey, hey, enough,” suguru’s voice cuts through the noise, calm but firm.
you twist in his hold, sobbing, your voice cracking. “he deserves it! he deserves worse!”
suguru pulls you tighter against his chest, murmuring something soft, trying to steady your breathing. his arm’s around your shoulders, solid and warm, and for a second, it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
satoru stares at the two of you, at you shaking in suguru’s arms, mascara streaked down your face, and something in him snaps.
he scoffs, fake and bitter. “of course,” he says, tone dripping venom. “of course you run to him.”
suguru’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t move. “leave, satoru.”
“fuck you,” satoru mutters, voice breaking, and it’s hard to tell if it’s anger or humiliation that’s making it shake. “you all think you’re so righteous.”
he glances around, but there’s no one left on his side. even his frat brothers have turned away, shaking their heads.
the silence stretches.
then he laughs dry and pathetic and turns toward the door. “whatever. have fun with your fucking pity party.”
he walks out, the crowd parting like the sea around him. no one says goodbye. no one even looks at him.
the door slams shut behind him.
and you break.
your legs buckle, the sob that rips from your chest is quiet but hold weight. suguru catches you easily, holding you tighter, whispering something you can’t even process. yuki’s there too, stroking your hair, whispering, “it’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” over and over, like maybe if she says it enough, it’ll start to feel true.
but it doesn’t.
your heart feels like it’s been ripped out, stomped on, and left somewhere on that sticky frat house floor.
suguru tilts your chin up gently, eyes soft, voice low. “hey, breathe. you’re safe. he’s gone.”
you nod, hiccupping, trying to pull yourself together, but the tears keep coming.
you can still feel satoru’s words digging into you like splinters, every insult, every cruel twist of his voice replaying in your head.
the crowd starts to move again, quiet and careful, giving you space. the music comes back on, low this time, nothing like before.
and there you are, standing in the middle of it all, heart cracked wide open, shaking in suguru’s arms while the rest of the world keeps spinning.
"it's okay, it's okay. he's gone." geto whispered.
it’s messy. it’s loud. it’s humiliating.
but more than anything, it’s over.
and that’s what finally makes the tears stop, even if it's just for a moment, realising there’s nothing left to save.
"i... i want to leave..."
yuki nods, and suguru takes it upon himself to softly guide you outside the chaos. you’re holding yourself, arms crossed tight over your chest like you’re trying to keep all the shattered pieces in one place. your makeup’s smudged, your eyes are red, and your voice hasn’t worked properly since the words 'he’s gone' left suguru’s mouth.
he’s standing beside you now, one hand hovering awkwardly near your shoulder, like he wants to help but isn’t sure if touching you will make it worse.
“hey,” he says softly. “you shouldn’t be out at night all alone. i’ll walk you home, yeah?”
you nod once, not trusting your voice.
the two of you start down the street, the sounds of laughter and chatter from the party fading behind you. your heels clink against the pavement almost slow and uneven. suguru matches your pace easily, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
suguru stays silent as he lets you set the tone and pace. you stay quiet too, the only sound being the occasional sniffle you try to hide.
after a few minutes, he clears his throat. “i’m really sorry,” he says quietly.
through wet lashes you peer up at his dark eyes.
“for… everything,” he adds. “for him. for how he treated you. it’s not fair, y/n. you didn’t deserve any of that.”
your lip trembles. “you don’t have to apologise for him,” you mumble, voice hoarse. “it’s not your fault.”
he shakes his head. “he’s my best friend. i should’ve..” he stops himself. “i should’ve made sure he never did that to you.”
you look down at the sidewalk, blinking fast. “you couldn’t have stopped him. he doesn’t listen to anyone, you didn't know...”
right, i 'didn't know'...
suguru’s quiet for a second before saying, “maybe not. but i could’ve tried talking some sense into him about the way he treated you.”
the night is crisp, blowing winds rough against your bare arms. you shiver, and without thinking, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. it’s warm, and it smells so much like him.
you murmur a quiet thanks through a shy sob.
you walk a few more blocks like that, with him silent and steady beside you, you trying not to cry again but failing anyway.
“i hate him. now that i think about it, all satoru would do is tell me how to act, tell me how to dress,” you say suddenly, voice small.
suguru blinks at you.
“even when we were just going to a gas station or grabbing food,” you continue. “he’d tell me to put on makeup, wear something tight. said he liked it when people stared at me.” your throat tightens. “i thought it was sweet at first. i thought he was proud to be with me.”
“and now?” suguru asks softly, trying to push down the guilt blooming in his own stomach.
you laugh bitterly. “now i realise he just liked the attention. that snake. i was… decoration. something shiny he could show off.”
suguru thinks about your words, letting them rattle around his cluttered mind.
you sniff, eyes glossy again. “he’d tell me he liked that i was confident, but then he’d make these comments that made me second guess everything i wore. said stuff like, ‘don’t wear that skirt, it makes you look easy.’ but then he’d tell me to wear low tops for parties. it never made sense.”
suguru shudders. “sounds like he didn’t know what he wanted.”
“no,” you whisper. “he did. he just wanted to control me, i guess.”
you stop walking for a moment, wrapping his jacket tighter around yourself. your voice wavers. “i’d plan these little things for us, you know? movie nights, beach days, whatever. and every time, he’d find a way to change it. he’d show up late, or say he was too tired, or..” you pause, swallowing hard. “..or he’d just pull me into bed instead. i thought that was love. that maybe that was just his way of being close.”
suguru’s hands tighten in his pockets. “that’s not love, y/n.”
you let out a shaky breath. “i know. i just didn’t want to admit it.”
the quiet stretches again, heavy but not uncomfortable. the sound of the city fills it, cars in the distance, the hum of streetlights, a couple laughing somewhere far off.
you finally speak again, barely above a whisper. “why are you being so nice to me? you’re supposed to be his best friend, y'know...”
he stops walking then, turning to look at you fully. his expression’s unreadable for a second, something between shame and understanding.
“cause' i care about you,” he says simply. “you don’t deserve to be treated like that. not by him, not by anyone.”
you blink up at him, eyes glassy and tired.
he exhales slowly, looking away. “maybe it’s not my place, but… i’ve seen the way you treat people, y/n. you’re really kind. you show up for everyone without hesitation. i don’t get how anyone could look at that and still think you’re something to throw away.”
you bite your lip, tears threatening again.
he keeps going, voice low, almost to himself. “satoru’s always been like that. wanting everything shiny and new, never satisfied when he finally gets it. but you? you made him look stable for a while. like maybe he wasn’t just some reckless frat guy trying to prove something.”
you glance up at him, confused. “and you still stayed friends with him?”
he hesitates.
you don’t push, but he answers anyway, voice heavy. “because loyalty’s a hard thing to let go of. even when it hurts.”
you can tell there’s more he’s not saying. something deeper behind his eyes. but you don’t have the energy to press it.
instead, you take another step closer to him, brushing your arm lightly against his. “you’re a good person, suguru.”
he laughs softly under his breath. “not really.”
“yeah, you are,” you insist. “you didn’t have to walk me home.”
“felt like the right thing to do.”
“still,” you murmur. “thank you.”
his chest tightens. “you don’t have to thank me, y/n.”
“i do,” you say, a small, broken smile tugging at your lips. “no one’s been this nice to me in a while.”
nice... right...
you reach up to wipe your face, but your hands are shaking, and suguru catches your wrist gently, using his sleeve to dab away the tears instead. the gesture’s small, quiet, but it makes your breath hitch.
“i'm sorry,” he says softly. “now you’re crying again.”
“i can’t stop,” you whisper. “it’s so stupid. i shouldn’t still care.”
“it’s not stupid,” he tells you. “you loved him.”
you shake your head. “i thought i did. now i just feel like an idiot.”
“you’re not an idiot,” he says, voice firm this time. “you gave him everything he wanted. he just didn’t know what to do with it.”
you don’t respond right away. the sound of your footsteps fills the silence again as you both turn onto your street. the night feels colder now, quieter, and you can see the faint glow of your apartment building at the end of the block.
“he made me feel so small,” you admit softly. “like i had to earn every bit of affection he gave me. if i was too quiet, he’d say i was boring. if i was too loud, he’d say i was embarrassing him. i spent months trying to be perfect, and it still wasn’t enough.”
suguru’s heart twists. he wants to tell you that it’s not your fault, that you were already enough, but the words stick in his throat. what gave him the right when he'd let satoru string you along and not tell you earlier.
so instead, he just says, “i hate that he made you feel like that.”
you let out a shaky laugh. “hmm.”
you reach the front of your apartment building, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. the warm light from the hallway spills onto the pavement, catching on the tear tracks still drying on your cheeks.
you stand there for a moment, staring at the door, your keys clutched loosely in your hand.
then you look at him with his dark hair, his steady eyes, the way he’s just standing there waiting, not expecting anything from you.
“suguru..."
"yes?"
"i don’t want to be alone tonight,”
he freezes.
“you don’t have to,” he says carefully. “i can stay until you’re settled. make sure you’re okay.”
you shake your head. “no, i mean… could you just stay. for a while... please?.”
his breath catches, but he nods slowly. “yeah, no problem.”
you turn and unlock the door, holding it open for him.
the hallway inside is dim, soft yellow light bouncing off the walls. your shoes click softly on the floor as you step in, and suguru follows, closing the door gently behind him.
you look back at him once more, eyes tired but grateful.
“thank you,” you whisper.
he gives a small, almost sad smile. “yeah,” he says, voice low. “of course.”
the door clicks shut behind you both, and suguru’s hit with the faint scent of vanilla and something fruity, cherry maybe? or strawberry gloss. your apartment’s dimly lit, washed in that warm pinkish hue that makes everything look dreamy.
his eyes drift over the place before he can stop himself. there’s a fuzzy pink rug on the floor, a lava lamp on the side table bubbling lazily, and a framed legally blonde poster above the couch. the coffee table’s covered in random magazines, discarded makeup, and a couple of empty iced coffee cups. it’s chaos, but in a way that somehow feels fine like every misplaced trinket belongs exactly where it is.
you move through it like you’re part of the decor still in your slightly rumpled party outfit, eyes heavy with exhaustion, your necklace glinting faintly under the low light. you kick your shoes off by the door, muttering something about how you can’t feel your toes.
suguru stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room, unsure if he should sit or offer to help. the place feels too personal, too you. even the faint glittery throw on the couch matches the clips still holding your hair in place.
“cute place,” he says finally, his voice rough but genuine.
you look over your shoulder with a tired smile. “yeah? satoru used to make fun of it. said it looked like barbie’s mental breakdown.”
suguru laughs softly, but it fades quick. “well… i think it suits you.”
you hum at that, not sure if you should thank him or ignore the way it makes your stomach flip a little. instead, you flop down on the couch with a sigh that sounds like it’s been sitting in your chest for years.
suguru hesitates before following, sitting down at the opposite end of the couch, a respectable distance away.
you start pulling at your jewellery one by one, your earrings first, then your rings, then the dainty chain around your neck. each little clink against the coffee table sounds too loud in the quiet. suguru watches silently, fingers fiddling with the loose thread on his sleeve.
“i’m sorry shoko or yuki didn’t come with us,” he says after a moment, trying to fill the space. “you’d probably feel a bit more comfortable with them around.
you turn your head to look at him. the light catches in your lashes, glinting faintly against the tear tracks still staining your cheeks. “no,” you say softly. “i feel the most comfortable right now.
his throat tightens, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.
you lean back against the couch, exhaling like you’ve finally run out of strength. the silence sits between you again, heavy but not suffocating. he watches your chest rise and fall, slow and uneven.
then suddenly, it breaks.
you start to cry again. quiet at first, just shaky breaths that turn into choked sobs. you try to hide it behind your hands, but the sound slips out anyway, sounding shy and heavy.
“hey, hey..” suguru panics immediately, standing up and moving closer. “y/n, it’s okay, it’s alright.”
you shake your head, mumbling something incoherent through tears.
he sits beside you now, close enough that his leg brushes yours. he hesitates for half a second before wrapping an arm around you, pulling you gently against his chest. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “just... just let it out.”
you do. god, you really do. your whole body shakes as you sob into him, your hands clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you together. he holds you tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, whispering small things he’s not sure even make sense-
“you’re okay,”
“you didn’t deserve that,”
“just breathe.”
it goes on for a while. long enough for his shirt to be damp and yoir hands to cramp up from gripping his chest so tight, when you finally start to quiet down, he lets out a slow breath.
“you should take a shower, pretty,” he says gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “get rid of tonight. wash it all off.”
you sniffle, nodding weakly. “yeah… yeah, okay.”
he helps you up carefully, steadying you when your knees wobble. you disappear down the short hallway, the bathroom door clicking softly behind you.
the sound of running water fills the silence.
suguru sinks back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. the weight in his chest doesn’t lift it only grows heavier.
he stares at your half-empty coffee cup on the table, at the glittery bracelets you’d tossed carelessly beside it, and feels the guilt crawling up his throat again.
you’d trusted him tonight, looked at him like he was good, like he was safe. and all he could think about was how he’d lied to you, not once, but over and over.
'you’re a good, morally sound guy, so of course you’d tell me if he was.''
he almost laughs at that. if only you knew how far from the truth that was.
he presses his palms to his face, sighing hard. he shouldn’t be here. every rational part of his brain is screaming it. he’s sitting in his best friend’s ex’s apartment, not even an hour after the breakup, and he can already picture what people would think. what satoru would think.
but then he remembers the way you’d looked outside the party, shaking, mascara smudged, barely able to hold yourself up, and that guilt shifts. maybe this isn’t wrong. maybe it’s just… necessary.
“you’re just helping,” he mutters to himself. “she needs someone. that’s all.”
still, he can’t shake the way his stomach twists when he thinks of satoru. the memories of all those times he’d seen him sneaking around, whispering to girls behind your back, pretending like it meant nothing. he should’ve told you. he should’ve said something.
instead, he sits here, surrounded by your scent and your things, trying to pretend he’s not part of the reason you’re broken right now.
the shower turns off, and a few moments later, he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps down the hall.
when you appear again, he almost chokes on his own saliva.
you’re in a loose pair of pink pajama shorts and an oversized white tee with a faded juicy couture logo on it. your hair’s damp, framing your face in soft waves, and your skin’s bare with no glitter, no makeup, no fancy clothes. just you.
“sorry,” you mumble, tugging at your shirt. “couldn’t find anything cuter.”
he blinks, trying to gather himself. “nah,” he says quickly. “you look… really nice.”
you smile faintly at that, walking over to the couch and sitting down, closer this time, he can feel the warmth radiating off you and your shower gel floating into his nose.
“feeling better?” he asks, voice low.
you nod, rubbing your eyes. “a bit.” you pause, then sigh. “i’m sorry for taking up your night like this. you probably had better things to do.”
“nah,” he says again, shaking his head. “it’s the least i could do.”
you look at him, eyes tired but soft. “you keep saying that. like you owe me something.”
he shrugs. “maybe i do.”
you let out a small, humorless laugh, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “god, i feel so pathetic right now.”
“you’re not pathetic,” he says immediately.
you glance at him, skeptical. “i’m literally crying over a guy who cheated on me in front of the whole school.”
“and?” he counters. “you cared about him. that doesn’t make you pathetic. it makes you real and human.”
you sniffle, looking down. “you sound like a therapist.”
he smiles faintly. “nah. i just read a lot of sad people’s stories in philosophy.”
that gets a small laugh out of you, and the sound makes something in his chest loosen.
you go quiet again, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “suguru?”
“yeah?”
you hesitate, voice going small. “suguru, i...” you shyly dip your head, fiddling with your fingers as the silence drags.
suguru notices your sudden nervous tone, smiling kindly, and then, “what is it, y/n?” he asks softly; like he knows you're trying your hardest to get something out and just need that little push of reassurance.
you shift slightly, turning to face him. your eyes are watery again, but softer this time pleading almost. “do you think we could stay together... like, here, on the couch. just for tonight?”
the words hang in the air like smoke.
"hmm, you want me to hold you, or?"
his breath catches, his mind stuttering over a dozen thoughts how wrong this is, how right it feels, how badly you look like you need it.
“please,” you add, voice trembling. “i just… i don’t want to be alone right now.”
he swallows hard, nodding slowly. “yeah,” he says quietly. “of course.”
you move closer, tucking yourself against his side. his arm wraps around you automatically, pulling you in until your head rests against his chest. your hair’s still a little damp, cool against his skin.
you don't know why you feel so suddenly safe with suguru, but it's a kind of comfort you never felt with satoru. maybe it was the way he didn't tell you you looked 'plain' when you stepped out in your most basic pyjamas, or maybe it was the way being close to him soothed the aching in your chest, even if it was just for a moment.
you sigh, melting into him, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “thank you,” you whisper.
he hums softly in response, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.
he tells himself it’s just comfort. that it’s just what anyone would do. but when you shift a little closer, your fingers brushing against his ribs, he feels something deep in him start to ache.
he tightens his hands around your shoulders, his eyes are fixed on the faint glow of your lava lamp. the pink light flickers across the room, and for a second, it feels like the world outside just doesn’t exist. it's just the two of you curled up amount the pain and betrayal you'd felt just an hour ago.
he doesn’t know how long you stay like that. maybe minutes. maybe hours. but when your breathing finally evens out, he looks down at you, eyes soft and heavy as they fall shut.
and quietly, to no one but himself, he whispers, “i promise, i’ll take care of you.”
even if it kills him.
~
by monday, the whole campus feels eerie. off-balance. like someone shook a snow globe too hard and now all the glitter’s floating everywhere but no one knows where it’ll land.
suguru notices it heavy in the halls, the whispers, the pointed stares, the gruelling tension.
people shudder whenever satoru’s around, like everyone’s just waiting for him to blow the fuck up again. and he does, way more often than not.
the frat house is a complete mess of guys who used to worship the ground gojo walked on who now shuffle away when he storms through the living room, muttering under their breath but never loud enough for him to hear.
nanami’s the only one who actually meets his eyes, and that ends with satoru sneering something under his breath like, “stop looking at me like i’m the bad guy, you tight-ass.” then he’s slamming a door somewhere, smashing over an empty beer can on the floor with his fooot, and everyone pretends not to wince. grown ass men terrified of a baby throwing a tantrum.
yet, somehow, the girls aren’t any better. the sororities are at war accusing each other of knowing, of covering for him, of sleeping with him despite knowing he had a girlfriend, and not just any girlfriend, y/n, you.
there’s talk about suspension, expulsion, even someone getting kicked from their house entirely. one group chat leaks and it’s pure chaos: screenshots, crying emojis, people saying “how could you do that to her?” and “she’s literally the sweetest person on campus.”
you.
that’s what everyone calls you now. the poor girl gojo broke, and while everyone else moves through the drama like it’s fuel, suguru just watches it burn. he sees the fallout every day. the looks, the whispers, the pity people throw your way.
he hears your name murmured down hallways, paired with words that make his jaw tighten.
gojo, though? he’s different. he's faking a smile acting like he’s untouched, like he’s not the one who started this whole shitshow. at parties, he’s loud and obnoxious, saying stuff like “nah, she was crazy anyway,” to anyone who’ll listen. he’s telling guys how you looked in bed, how you begged, twisting private moments into something filthy for laughs.
every time suguru hears about it, it makes his stomach violently cramp with rage and disgust. he hadn't properly talked to gojo for a long time, he doubts he ever will he's so fed up with his shit.
you’ve gone quiet online. deleted every picture with satoru, unfollowed him, blocked his asshole friends, except suguru. he notices that one day when he’s scrolling and your name pops up in his followers list. it makes his chest ache in a way he can’t quite describe, whether it be pride or guilt he just can't name it.
you’ve been texting him a lot lately. small things at firs, checking in, asking how classes were, random memes to make yourself seem okay. then it turned into late-night messages.
“can you come over?” or “are you busy?”
the first few times, he’d hesitated out of the fear of coming off like he was trying to lay a claim on you, now, it’s habit.
he tells himself this is what you need. you're a broken girl and he's a stable man who wants nothing more than to see that pretty smile back on your cute little face. so he does everything in his power to keep you giddy. he buys you icecream when the nights get too sweaty from crying, brings you on drives to try and calm your head.
he feels a deep sense of protection towards you, like you're a good thing that he needs to look after and take care of. he knows deep down his feelings are morphing dangerously fast into something far more complicated, but he can't acknowledge it. not yet, at least. you'd only just broken up with your boyfriend. you were stressed and confused, surely the times you'd stared at him too long or brushed up against him too tight were purely accidental and he was thinking too far into it...
the nights fuse together as they become frequent: you curled up beside him, red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, trying to act like you’re not still hurting. he listens, always listens, even when you start apologizing for “being annoying.” he always says the same thing- "you’re not. i want to be here. and i mean it.”
you believe him. you have to. he’s the only one who’s made you feel safe since everything fell apart, the only person you can see yourself opening up to, and you do.
and still, suguru can tell the hurt’s deep. deeper than you let anyone see.
now, it’s thursday night.
you’ve just finished crying. not one of the big, broken down sobs this time, just a quiet release that leaves your chest feeling hollow. you’re wrapped in your soft pink blanket, curled up on the couch with puffy eyes and a half-finished mug of hot chocolate beside you.
suguru left a few hours ago, he'd been over to check on you, sitting next to you, scrolling through his phone, keeping the mood light while he tapped about his dreams in psychology and wanting a deeper understanding into human religion.
you’ve been okay tonight really engaging and contributing to his interests and conversation, laughing at some stupid tiktok he showed you, even teasing him a little. he feels a small swell of pride seeing you smile again, even just for a second.
but, you know what they say about good things. you're sitting alone on your couch when your phone buzzes.
you groan softly, reaching for it. it was either choso texting you asking if you were doing okay, or some stupid meme about chain smoking from shoko. you flip it over and open your messages app.
[yuki] 8:30pm: girl.
[yuki] 8:31pm: i’m so sorry... last night gojo was drunk as hell and showing some of the guys photos of you. explicit ones. i thought you should know before you hear it from someone else.
for a second, the world halts on its axis. you feel bile start to bubble up in your stomach as your head spins.
.
it’s loud, packed, and reeks of beer and sweat. gojo’s got a red solo cup in his hand and that same smug grin plastered on his face. he’s leaning against the wall, surrounded by toji and sukuna, both of them half-drunk and talking shit.
he’s sloppy drunk, eyes glazed, laughing too loud.
“nah, she was too much, man,” he slurs, waving his phone lazily. “always on my ass about something.”
toji smirks. “the princess complex, huh?”
gojo snorts. “please. she couldn’t even handle me.”
“bet she was fun though,” sukuna grins, leaning in.
gojo’s grin stretches wider, meaner. “fun doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
he scrolls through his phone, thumb flicking through photos until he lands on one.
he shouldn’t. somewhere in the back of his fogged up brain, he knows that. but then he turns the screen around anyway.
“see for yourself.”
toji lets out a low whistle. “damn.”
sukuna laughs. “holy shit, she looks good. you really let that go?”
“yeah, well,” gojo says, smirking as he locks his phone again. “couldn’t deal with all the drama. girl got way too clingy.”
they laugh. he laughs. like it’s nothing, like you weren’t a person.
.
your breath is coming out in shallow gasps now.
“no,” you whisper, shaking your head. “no, no, no. he wouldn’t do that. he wouldn’t...”
but he would. he would and you know he would.
you feel the entire world being to crash and burn, the type of anxiety attack that only comes from deep personal feelings being up rooted and ripped apart in front of your face.
you drop your phone. it slips from your hand and hits the carpet, the faint sound barely registers over the ringing in your ears. your vision blurs, and for a split second you forget how to breathe. you just sit there, staring blankly at nothing, fingers twitching against your blanket. it feels like your entire chest is caving in, like someone’s pushing down hard on your sternum. the tears come fast and ugly, hot streaks sliding down your cheeks before you can even try to stop them.
he did it. he actually fucking did it.
the thought loops over and over until it stops sounding like words. you press your shaking hands against your mouth, trying to smother the noise leaving your throat. how could he?
you feel dirty. ruined. like something sacred’s been ripped away from you and paraded around for laughs. the image burns behind your eyelids, the thought of gojo’s phone, your face on that screen, that photo, the one you trusted him with. toji and sukuna staring at it. talking about it. laughing about it. your stomach twists so violently you nearly gag.
you curl in on yourself, blanket dragging up to your chin. you can’t stop shaking. it’s not just anger? it’s terror. the kind that eats through you, that leaves your pulse screaming in your throat.
everyone’s going to know. they’re all going to see.
that’s what your brain keeps whispering, taunting, cruel. they’re going to post it. they’re going to send it around. they’re going to think you wanted this. they’re going to think you’re desperate.
you know how campus works... rumors spread like wildfire. one whisper, one screenshot, and you’ll be done for. the girls in your classes will start talking, the guys will start staring, and no one will look at you the same way again.
you can already hear it. the laughter. the pity. the disgust.
“did you see that picture?”
“oh my god, i can’t believe she sent that to him.”
“she always seemed like that type.”
you curl tighter, pressing your forehead to your knees. it’s humiliating. unbearable. you can’t even breathe without feeling like your chest might cave in.
and then another thought hits you,,sharp and cold and worse than anything else.
suguru.
your whole body goes rigid.
what if he finds out?
the thought is so awful, so horrifying, you physically flinch.
what if he’s already seen it? what if gojo showed him too? what if that’s why he’s been so quiet today?
no, no, no, he wouldn’t. he’s not like that. he’s not. but still, the thought crawls up your spine, vicious and convincing. he’s his best friend. of course he’d know. maybe he’s just been pretending not to. maybe he’s been pitying you this whole time.
your throat tightens until it hurts to swallow. what if he looks at you differently now? what if he stops coming over? stops answering your texts?
you can’t lose him. not him.
you squeeze your eyes shut, rocking slightly. he’s been your anchor through everything, steady, calm, kind in a way that doesn’t feel performative. he’s the only one who hasn’t made you feel small. every time you talk to him, the world gets a little quieter, like he’s grounding you just by being there.
and if he stops, if he pulls away because he thinks you’re some disgusting slut who sent naked pictures to a frat guy, then what do you have left?
nothing.
your body trembles with another wave of sobs. you grab your phone again, your fingers slippery with tears. the screen lights up with yuki’s message, that same awful text, and you can’t even bear to look at it. you toss it onto the coffee table, chest heaving.
your thoughts spiral. what if everyone’s already talking? what if suguru hears it from someone else before you can even explain? would he still look at you the same way? would he still bring you ice cream and tell you you’re strong and that you didn’t deserve any of this?
you hate that it matters so much. but it does. he matters. he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.
you try to stand, but your knees buckle halfway. the room tilts, spinning around you in a haze of pink and dim light. you grab the edge of the couch to steady yourself, dragging in ragged breaths that don’t seem to fill your lungs.
you think about calling him. you think about hearing his voice, reassuring, but then you picture his face when he hears what gojo’s done. the look of disappointment, disgust maybe. you can’t handle that. you’d rather he never knows.
but he will. he always does. he’s gojo’s best friend. he’ll hear it. he’ll see it.
you press your hands over your face and sob harder, whispering apologies to no one. you don’t even know who you’re saying them to, yourself, maybe. suguru, definitely.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”
you’re not sure how long you stay like that. minutes blur into what could be hours. the only sound in the room is your uneven breathing and the occasional buzz of your phone lighting up again. you can’t bring yourself to look. you already know what it says.
you keep picturing suguru with his soft voice, his steady hands, the way he always sits close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him but never too close. you picture him smiling gently, saying you deserve better, and then that image twists cruelly in your mind, him looking at you with disgust, shaking his head, pulling away.
you can’t lose that.
your heart’s pounding so fast it hurts. you grab your phone again with trembling fingers and open your messages with him. your last text was from earlier that evening him telling you to try and get some rest, that you’d had a rough week. you almost smile at it before another sob escapes your throat.
you type and erase three different messages.
“can you come over?” delete.
“i need you.” delete.
“he showed them.” delete. delete. delete.
you don’t want him to know. maybe you should just stay away from him, avoid him until this all blows over? he's probably already seen. being the kind of guy he is, he's probably made up his mind about you being a nasty slut who lets her partners photograph her and parade her around like a dime.
your heart shatters at the thought, and for the second time that day, tears fall down your poor face. you don't think you could handle seeing the look in his face if he did feel that way. so, you weren't going to. you weren't going to see suguru geto, not until you were sure all of this shit had blown over...
meanwhile, sugurus stuck back at his infuriating frat.
he's leaning against the counter in the kitchen, trying to keep his cool while toji goes off about his latest gym pr. his jaw’s tight, his fingers drumming against a red solo cup that’s been empty for fifteen minutes. he’s not even listening. he can’t. the whole frat’s been grating on his nerves lately, gojo especially. every time he’s around, suguru feels that vein in his temple twitch.
it’s like gojo’s existence has become a test of his patience. earlier that day, he’d tried walking past him on his way out, headed to your place, because that’s where his brain automatically goes when everything else gets too loud, and gojo just had to open his mouth.
“off to fuck my leftovers?” he’d said with that infuriating grin, leaning against the wall like he owned the place.
suguru had just rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and kept walking. it wasn’t worth it. nothing about that man was worth it anymore. not his fake charm, not his empty arrogance, and definitely not his mouth.
but now, back in the kitchen, he’s realizing maybe he should’ve hit him then and there. because when toji, mid-sentence about deadlifts, offhandedly says, “yeah, last night was wild. gojo was wasted, showing me and sukuna those pics of his ex,” suguru freezes
he turns slowly, the plastic cup in his hand crumpling with how tight he’s gripping it.
“the fuck?” his voice comes out too calm.
toji raises an eyebrow. “oh, yeah. said he was showing off. i told him he was being an asshole after, but, y’know, he was too far gone. yuki saw too, i think she told your girl about it.”
your girl. that phrase almost makes him laugh. almost.
his blood runs hot. he can feel it in the way his pulse pounds behind his eyes, in the way his knuckles itch. his brain is already ten steps ahead, painting pictures of you alone in your apartment, the phone buzzing in your hand, your face breaking as you read the message. he knows exactly what you’re doing right now. folding in on yourself, crying until you can’t breathe, hating yourself for something that isn’t your fault.
gojo had crossed every line imaginable before, but this? this was a new kind of low.
suguru doesn’t even remember putting the cup down. one moment he’s in the kitchen, the next he’s storming toward the common room, boots heavy on the sticky floor. the music’s too loud, bass rattling the walls, the kind of frat anthem that’s been on repeat for hours. but all he can hear is his own heartbeat.
and then he sees him.
satoru fucking gojo, sprawled across the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world, phone in hand, laughing with sukuna and jogo. he’s grinning wide, blue eyes glinting with that same arrogance suguru’s grown to hate, and suguru knows. he just knows.
his pace doesn’t slow.
he reaches the couch, rips the phone right out of gojo’s hand.
“the fuck?” gojo starts, but then suguru sees the screen.
it’s you. wearing barely anything, tracing a pattern on gojos chest. it's private, it's intimate, and it's something no one else should’ve ever seen. and gojo’s been sitting here, showing it off like it’s a fucking party trick.
the phone snaps in half in his left hand before suguru even realizes what he’s doing. plastic and glass splinter across the floor, the sound sharp and final.
“what the fuck is your issue, suguru?” gojo snarls, jumping up.
“my issue?” suguru’s voice comes out low, dangerous. “you’re my fucking issue.”
the whole room starts to quiet down, heads turning. sukuna looks between them with a lazy smirk, like he’s about to get front-row seats to a show. jogo whistles low. the tension is thick enough to choke on.
“you think you can just, what? play moral police now?” gojo laughs, stepping closer, chest puffed. “you’ve been riding my ass ever since that night. she’s not your girl, geto. stay out of it.”
suguru grabs him by the collar before he can say another word.
“you showed her photos to people, satoru. you humiliated her. again. she trusted you, and you threw her to the wolves.”
gojo’s smirk flattens into a scowl. “oh for fucks sake, it’s not that deep-”
the punch lands before he finishes the sentence. a sharp, clean right hook that cracks across his jaw, loud enough that the room collectively gasps. gojo stumbles back, clutching his face, eyes wide with shock.
“you done?” suguru growls.
but gojo’s ego can’t take it. it never can. he lunges forward, slamming into suguru’s chest, and the two of them crash into the table behind them, beer spilling everywhere. the crowd laughs, half the frat yelling for them to stop, the other half cheering like it’s the best entertainment they’ve had all semester.
suguru’s hands are already in gojo’s shirt again, shoving him back against the wall.
“you’re fucking disgusting,” he spits, voice low and venomous.
gojo wipes the blood from his lip and laughs. “oh, spare me the lecture, man. you think you’re some saint? you’ve been drooling over her since day one.”
that’s enough to make suguru’s jaw clench. “don’t talk about her like that.”
“oh, come on,” gojo grins, a sick glint in his eye. “all these nights you ‘checked in’ on her? you’re no better than me. you just wanna fuck y/n too.”
the second punch is harder. gojo’s head snaps to the side, a spray of blood catching the light. he tries to swing back, but suguru blocks it easily, driving his shoulder into gojo’s chest and pinning him down.
the house is chaos now, guys shouting, someone yelling to “let them fight it out,” glass crunching under shoes. toji’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, muttering something like, “bout damn time someone shut him up.”
“you're a fuckin pussy,” suguru hisses, voice cracking through the noise. “keep her name outta your dirty fucking mouth.”
gojo laughs again, bitter and breathless. “you're a weird cunt suguru, going after my ex straight after we break up? she’ll never look at you the way she looked at me.”
suguru’s grip tightens, and for a second, he thinks he might actually kill him. his whole body shakes with rage, with disgust, with something that feels dangerously close to heartbreak.
“don't give a fuck,” he says through gritted teeth. “at least i don’t fuck her around for fun.”
gojo shoves him back, finally breaking free. they circle each other now, both breathing hard. gojo’s face is smeared with blood, his hair a mess, but he still smirks like he’s untouchable.
“you’re a clown,” he spits. “acting like you’re some hero. you don’t even know her.”
“i know her well ebough,” suguru bites back. “enough to see you being careless with your cheating is the best thing you couldn't done for her."
the words hang heavy in the air. it’s not just anger anymore. it’s grief. regret. love, maybe, in some twisted, painful way.
gojo lunges again, and this time they both go down, hitting the floor hard. fists fly raw, ugly, uncoordinated. suguru gets another hit in, a solid one to gojo’s ribs that knocks the wind out of him. gojo manages to catch him across the cheek, but suguru barely feels it.
it’s all noise and adrenaline until someone finally pulls them apart. nanami, of all people, has his arms hooked under suguru’s shoulders, dragging him back, while toji grabs gojo and shoves him against the opposite wall.
“enough,” nanami grunts.
suguru’s chest heaves, sweat dripping down his temple. he’s glaring at gojo, who’s wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“you’re done,” suguru says, voice low and final. “you’re fucking done.”
gojo scoffs, but there’s no real bite left in it. the room’s gone quiet again, the weight of what just happened sinking in. even his own frat brothers are staring at him with something close to disgust.
“you think you did shit?” he snaps weakly.
“no,” suguru says, straightening. “i know i did you fucking psycho.”
he turns to leave, the crowd parting for him like they’re scared to even breathe too loud. his knuckles ache, his face throbs, but he doesn’t care. he doesn’t even look back. he’s already thinking about you. how broken you must look right now, how he needs to get to you before the rumors do.
behind him, someone mutters, “finally,” and another voice chimes in, “about damn time someone beat the shit outta that asshole.”
suguru doesn’t smile, doesn’t react. he just keeps walking, out the door, into the cool night air that burns against his split lip. he pulls his phone from his pocket, ignoring the blood smudge on the screen, and scrolls to your name.
he hesitates only for a second before typing:
“you home?”
his thumb hovers. then he adds, “i’m coming over.”
and he sends it.
I could write a paragraph on how this is the fanfic of the year. best thing I’ve ever read.
No-strings!Sukuna x reader
You knew exactly who he was… and stayed
This is for my bb @sugusplaything just this once event ♥︎
Tw: MDNI, 18+
Loving Ryomen Sukuna is a bit like willingly walking into a burning building and being surprised when you get third degree burns.
You knew the fire was there. You saw the flames. You smelled the smoke. And your dumb ass walked in anyway because the warmth felt nice.
Sukuna Ryomen: A selfish bastard, commitment phobe, serial heartbreaker, occasional decent friend, and…for the past six months… the man whose bed you crawled into like a pathetic little moth drawn to an extremely hot, emotionally unavailable flame.
Friends with benefits.
Six months. That's how long you'd been doing this little dance with him. Six months of watching him leave your bed to go to someone else’s and telling yourself it was fine because you agreed to this.
No strings. No feelings.
The problem? You forgot to tell your heart about the arrangement.
Your phone buzzed at 11:47 PM. You already knew who it was
Sukuna: you up?
And there it was. The modern equivalent of a booty call smoke signal. Your thumb hovered over the screen while your dignity staged a small protest somewhere in the back of your skull.
Don't do it, the last remaining brain cell screamed. Have some self respect.
You typed back: maybe
See? Growth. That was practically playing hard to get.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sukuna: that a yes or a no?
You: depends. what's in it for me?
Sukuna: me.
God, the audacity of this man. But It worked. It always fucking worked. Because you were a clown, and this was your circus.
Twenty minutes later, you were in his apartment, and his mouth was on your neck, and his hands were everywhere, and for a few blissful hours, you could pretend this meant something. That the way he held you after…meant something. That when he murmured "stay" against your hair, he meant it the way you wanted him to.
You'd known Sukuna since forever. Since you were eight years old and he was the mean kid who pulled your hair on the playground. Since you were fourteen and he showed up at your door at midnight because his dad was drunk again and he had nowhere else to go. Since you were seventeen and he held your hand at your father’s funeral without saying a word because he knew you didn't need words.
He was your person. Your best friend. The one constant in your life.
And then, six months ago, shit happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you… both of you drunk on cheap wine. Maybe it was how he said "I've always wondered" before he kissed you
"This doesn't have to change anything," you'd whispered after, your forehead pressed against his.
"No feelings," he agreed.
"No strings."
Famous last words.
The first time you saw him with someone else, you told yourself it was fine. Expected, even. That was the deal, right? He could do whatever…. whoever…. he wanted. You had no claim to him. No right to the jealousy that clawed at your throat when you watched her laugh at something he said.
You went home and cried in the shower for forty five minutes, then texted him like nothing was wrong.
The second time, you learned to swallow it faster. Shove it down into that little box where you kept all the feelings you weren't supposed to have.
The third time. The fourth. The fifth….
You got good at it. You could watch him flirt with someone at a party and still end up in his bed two hours later, because you were built different. Damaged different, but who's keeping score? Pathetic, really. Truly embarrassing behavior for a grown woman.
March 15th.
Your birthday.
You woke up to seventeen texts from various friends and family, a call from your mom that went to voicemail, and radio silence from the one person who'd never missed it.
Sukuna had remembered your birthday since you were nine years old. The year his mom was sick and his family had no money, he'd stolen flowers from the neighbor's garden and presented them to you with dirt still clinging to the roots. "They're not dead yet," he'd said, like that was the selling point.
You'd kept them until they were.
But today? Nothing. Not a text, not a call, not even a stupid meme with the crying cat that he always sent because he knew it made you laugh.
He's busy, you told yourself. He'll remember later.
You checked your phone at least eight thousand times throughout the day. Totally normal. Just a girl, standing in front of her phone, waiting for a man who promised her nothing to give her something.
By 7 PM, you'd graduated from "he's busy" to "maybe his phone died" to "maybe he's dead in a ditch somewhere and I should call hospitals."
9 PM, you were on Instagram.
And you saw his story, time stamped thirty minutes ago. Sukuna at some fancy restaurant with fairy lights and candles, and across from him sat a girl with perfect hair and pretty eyes,
He was on a date.
Something in your chest cracked. Like ice under pressure, spiderwebbing outward until the whole surface was compromised. You stared at that story for longer than you'd ever admit. Watched it loop three times. Four. Let the image burn itself into your retinas.
And then, finally, something clicked.
You were hurting yourself.
Every time you answered his late night texts. Every time you convinced yourself that maybe this time he'd look at you different. Every time you swallowed your feelings . You were doing this to yourself.
He wasn't the villain here. He'd been honest from the start. No strings. He'd kept his end of the deal.
You were the one who broke the rules.
You crawled into your bed, and let yourself cry. Ugly crying that leaves you dehydrated and blotchy
~~~
You're packing when he finally texts. Not packing packing. Just... putting things in boxes. His hoodie that had somehow came to your closet. Little pieces of him scattered around your apartment like landmines.
For one stupid, hopeful second, your heart leapt. Maybe he remembered. Maybe this was him texting to apologize, to explain…
Sukuna: come over
Translation: I’m horny, come over and spread your legs.
Ah, the late night classic. The mating call of the emotionally unavailable fuckboy. Your fingers itch to respond.., muscle memory at this point… but you don't.
When have you become this person? This pathetic, desperate girl who waits by her phone for scraps of attention from a man who can’t even remember her birthday?
You stare at the message until your screen goes dark, then you go back to shoving his things into the box
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at your door.
Of course. Because god forbid Sukuna not get what he wants.
You consider ignoring it. But then he knocks again, harder, and calls out: "I know you're in there. Your light's on."
Oh ffs
You yank the door open. Sukuna's standing there in that leather jacket you've always secretly loved, hair pushed back
"Didn't answer my text," he says, inviting himself in.
"I was busy."
What are you doing?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like you were the confusing one here.
“Cleaning."
Sukuna pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, and God, you hate how your heart still stutters. How your body still remembers every place his hands have been.
"You're being weird," he sys, reaching for the box. "What's…” He stops and stares at the contents. "Why is my shit in here?"
"Because it's yours." You yank the box away. "Take it.”
Sukuna stares at you. That look he gets when he's trying to figure out an angle. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong.” you say, starting to feel numb. You are so tired you can barely feel anything at all.
He steps closer. That gravity pulling you in, same as always. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and your treacherous body leans into it
"Can I stay," he murmurs. The voice that's gotten you into bed more times than you can count.
And for one pathetic second, you almost say yes.
Then you remember… The candles. The other girl's hand in his.
You pull back. "Not tonight."
He looks confused because Sukuna doesn't hear "no" very often. "Why?"
You look up at him, his eyes are fixed on you, waiting for your response. "I'm tired. Just…. go home, Sukuna."
He doesn't move. "Did I do something?"
"No. You didn't do anything."
That's the problem. You didn't do a single fucking thing.
"Then what…”
"It's my birthday." The words fall out flat and exhausted.
Silence.
You watch it hit him. The slow widening of his eyes. Confusion, then realisation, then guilt showing on his face before he smothers it
"Shit," he breathes. "Fuck, I….."
"Don't." You hold up a hand. "Don't do the thing where you apologize and I pretend it's fine and we fuck and nothing changes. I can't…. " Your voice cracks. Goddamn it. "I can't keep doing this."
Sukuna's face has gone still. You've never seen him look like this before.
"You were my best friend," tears stream down your face "For fifteen years. And now I'm just... what? Just someone you fuck when you're bored?"
Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.
“We agreed no feelings.” He finally says. And there it is. The rejection you’ve been expecting, wrapped up in his typical Sukuna way.
A laugh rips out of you. You are crying and laughing at the same time. You wipe your eyes roughly with the back of your hand. Your face is probably a mess… puffy eyes, snotty nose
"You're right," you whisper. You feel like throwing up. Youre so exhausted but the only thing you can think of is how you needed to get out and away from Sukuna “I think we should stop”
You expect him to argue. To charm his way out of it like he always does.
"Okay," he says finally.
Okay. Just like that.
You weren't expecting it to hurt this much.
He leaves.
You sit on your bed and cry until you can't breathe, then cry some more.
Happy fucking birthday to you.
~~~
What you don't see is Sukuna in his car, parked outside your building for two hours, staring at his steering wheel.
What you don't see is him pulling up fifteen years of photos on his phone. You at eight, cake on your face. You at sixteen, asleep in his passenger seat. You at twenty, laughing so hard you spilled champagne all over your clothes.
What you don't see is the moment he realizes the hollow feeling he's been ignoring for months isn't boredom, isn't restlessness, isn't anything fixable by another nameless girl in another forgettable bar.
It's you.
It's always been you.
A/n : your reblogs and comments are appreciated
Sweet as the Harvest ┅ 𝖥𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋! 𝖲𝗎𝗄𝗎𝗇𝖺 𝖱𝗒𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 & 𝖶𝗂𝖿𝖾! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.
﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚
one: ✶ two: ✶
NOTE: 😈 the winner of the pole is here at last. I do admit I kinda already did have this idea fleshed out but I was torn between a few things so I made the pole lol. But this one ended up winning anyways so I’m happy. She’s maybe kinda long, at 3.4k words.
The afternoon settles over the farm.
Everything feels slow during these hours. It gives you time to breathe.
The fields stretch wide and warm, rows of crops swaying gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering softly against each other. The air smells like earth and sun and something faintly sweet from the wildflowers that have started growing where they shouldn’t.
Where you planted them.
You crouch near the edge of one of the rows, fingers brushing over the tops of the plants as you check them. You don’t need to but it gives you something to do while Sukuna works. Something that makes you feel part of it all.
Not far off, Sukuna is exactly where you expect him to be.
He moves like he belongs here more than anywhere else in the world. He’s steady, and grounded. He’s in tune with the land in a way that feels as natural as the earth itself.
His sleeves are rolled up, exposing thick muscle and skin marked with his tattoos, old scars and newer bruises alike. The sun catches along his shoulders, highlighting every sharp line of him, every movement.
He hasn’t said much in the last hour. He usually doesn’t. Too engrossed in his work.
The quiet between you isn’t empty, it’s comfortable and familiar.
Still, he glances at you every so often.
Just quick looks—checking where you are, what you’re doing, making sure you haven’t wandered too far.
It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand, brushing dirt from your hands. Your gaze drifts upward, following the line of the hills beyond the fields.
That’s when you see it. The first signs of a storm.
Large clouds. Dark ones.
They’re rolling in slowly, heavy and low, swallowing up the soft blue sky inch by inch. You can feel the breeze shift as it passes over your exposed skin, it’s not as warm now, carrying a sharper edge that makes the hairs on your arms lift slightly.
You’ve always hated storms, even as a little girl. This feeling doesn’t feel dangerous yet.
Behind you, his voice cuts through the quiet.
“Don’t go too far hun.”
You turn, spotting him already looking your way. He’s stilled in his work, posture subtly tense, red eyes flicking once toward the sky before settling back on you. His nose scrunching up, making him look adorable.
You tilt your head, a little amused. “I’m not that far Kuna,” you call back.
His expression doesn’t change much. “Don’t be stubborn, stay where I can see you.”
There’s no bite to it. Just that same low, steady tone he always uses when he’s already decided something.
You huff softly under your breath, but there’s no real annoyance in it. He’s so protective sometimes.
“I will,” you reply, lighter this time as you continue to frolic across his hard work.
He watches you for another second, like he’s deciding whether that answer is good enough, before finally turning back to his work.
The wind moves through the fields again, a little stronger now, tugging at your clothes, rustling louder through the crops.
You step a little farther down the row anyway.
Just a little won’t hurt, and the budding flowers are too pretty to ignore.
—
The breeze is starting to pick up, sure—but it’s not unusual. The sky darkens a shade more, but slowly enough that it doesn’t feel urgent. You keep moving, trailing your fingers along the plants, occasionally plucking at a few flowers or bending down to inspect something that catches your eye.
Time stretches in that quiet way it does on the farm.
Until the air starts to change rapidly.
It grows heavier—thicker somehow, like it’s pressing in around you. The warmth fades, replaced by something cooler. The shift starts to make your chest feel tight without you fully understanding why.
You straighten, glancing back toward where you last saw your husband.
He’s a bit farther than you thought.
The barn sits off to the side, closer, but still not close enough to feel immediate.
Another gust of wind sweeps through, stronger this time. It pushes against you, tugging your hair loose, making the crops bend and sway more aggressively.
You frown slightly.
“…Okay, maybe I did go a little far.”
You turn, starting back the way you came.
CRACK.
The sound splits through the air so suddenly, so violently, that your whole body jolts.
Thunder. A fear of yours, and it’s right overhead.
Your breath get stuck in your throat.
For a second, everything feels too loud—the wind, your heartbeat, the ringing echo of that sound still vibrating in your chest.
You freeze where you stand.
Another rumble follows, lower this time but no less heavy, rolling through the sky like something alive.
Your fingers curl slightly at the sides of your dress.
You hate storms.
You swallow, trying to shake it off.
“It’s just thunder,” you murmur to yourself, quieter than you expected. “About time to get over this childhood fear.”
The wind howls again. And then—
CRACK.
It sounded so much closer this time. Your composure slips.
“Sukuna!” His name leaves you before you can stop it.
You say his name loud enough that he hears it, wherever he is.
And somewhere across the field he’s already moving.
—
He hears you.
Your voice doesn’t have to be loud for it to reach him. The second his name leaves your mouth, something in him reacts.
He’s already moving before the thunder finishes echoing.
Tools drop where he stood. Left behind without a second thought.
The distance between you suddenly feels too large, and too open. It makes him feel uncomfortable, he told you not to go far. He leaves himself no time to think before he starts to close the distance fast.
Sukuna’s boots hit the ground hard. There’s nothing hesitant in the way he moves, you need him.
Another flash of lightning cuts across the sky, illuminating him for a split second. His broad shoulders, and his glare is obvious. If anyone else saw him like this, they’d probably call the cops.
You wouldn’t though. Currently you’d sigh in relief at the sight of your husband.
Then the lingering unease from the storm catches up with you, tightening your chest just enough that you don’t move from where you stand.
By the time he reaches you, his breathing is steady but there’s tension in the set of his jaw, in the way his shoulders are just a little too rigid.
His hands find you immediately.
One settles firmly at your waist, the other gripping your upper arm. Not rough, he was never rough with you, outside certain activities. It was a steady hold.
He continues to wrap his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to his warmth. You respond by nuzzling your face into him.
“Why’d you wander off this far?” Worry buried under his words.
“I didn’t—” you start, but the excuse feels weak even to you. “I didn’t think it would get bad that fast.”
His eyes flick briefly to the sky again, then back to you.
“Y’know you can’t handle storms, you should’ve stayed closer to me.”
Another roll of thunder follows. But with Sukuna here, all you could focus on was him.
“And I did tell you to stay where I could see you.”
This time there's some sense of teasing in his words.
You swallow, gaze dropping for a second.
“I know…”
The wind pulls at both of you, stronger now, whipping through the field with a sharp, restless energy.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then his hold on you becomes tighter and his other arm wraps around your shoulders.
—
The next crack of thunder is louder.
So loud that it splits through the air so suddenly that your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your fingers curling into his linen shirt, stepping into him without thinking.
Then you hear him exhale.
His grip loosens where it needs to, adjusts where it matters. The hand on your arm slides upward, gentler now, while the one at your waist pulls you fully against him.
“Sweetheart…”
God. You love the way he says the multitude of pet names he has for you. He sounds so in love, and it makes you melt.
He’ll never use this tone with anyone else.
“I’ve got you, not gonna let no storm make my wife feel shitty.”
His words are simple, almost crude—but they settle into you so nicely.
His arm wraps around your back now, broad hand spreading between your shoulders, pressing you in close. The other comes up to cradle the back of your head, guiding you carefully until your face rests against his chest.
You can hear him. All of him. His heartbeat sounds strong and even. Clearly unshaken by the storm.
Another rumble rolls across the sky, but it feels. farther now. Duller even. Like it can’t quite reach you through him.
Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt.
He shifts again, it’s subtle but deliberate, he’s shielding you more fully, his body angling just enough to block the wind from hitting you directly.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs, almost like he’s reminding himself as much as you.
Your cheek presses closer against him.
“I know,” you say softly. “It’s just…”
Another flash and another low rumble.
“…loud.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
His hand at the back of your head moves slightly, stroking your slightly knotted hair with his usual affection.
—
The first drop hits your shoulder. It’s cold.
You barely register it before another follows, then another, scattered at first.
Sukuna notices immediately.
His head tilts slightly, eyes flicking upward as the rain begins to fall in uneven taps against the ground.
“…We’re not staying out here. You’re gonna get sick.”
There’s no hesitance in his words.
And before you could say that he could get sick too, his hand shifts from your back to your wrist, guiding you to move. You take a step with him automatically, still half tucked against his side.
And then the rain comes down all at once.
Heavy and relentless.
It soaks through your cotton clothes in seconds, cold water clinging to your skin, weighing everything down. The ground beneath your feet turns slick, softening with each step.
You stumble slightly.
He catches you instantly, steadying your frame. A quiet click of his tongue.
“…Careful hun.”
Before you can insist you’re fine, his arm slides around you again.
Your feet barely have time to adjust before you’re pulled closer against him, one of his arms anchored securely around your waist, keeping you off-balance in the safest way possible.
“Sukuna—” you start, a little breathless.
“Walk or I carry you.”
You almost laugh and argue but another crack of thunder rolls overhead, and your grip tightens on him instead.
“…Carry me. Please,” you admit, quieter.
He doesn’t respond.
One arm shifts fully under you, lifting you like it’s nothing, your weight settling against him as naturally as breathing. The other braces you securely, hand firm at your side.
The rain lashes against both of you now, soaking his pink hair, some strands start to run down his face, the rain is darkening his clothes. The rest of his tattoos are now visible underneath the soaked white buttoned shirt.
It makes him look harsher somehow.
But the way he holds you? Drastically different. He’s so careful.
You tuck into him without thinking, one hand gripping his shirt, the other curling lightly against his shoulder as he moves. His steps are steady despite the mud, deliberate even as the storm fights against him.
The barn comes into view through the rain, the dark wood was familiar, and solid.
Safe.
He reaches it quickly, pushing the door open with his shoulder hard enough that it slams against the inside wall.
The second you’re through the threshold, the sound changes.
Rain turns from something that hits you to something that surrounds you, it’s loud against the metal roof, making a symphony of clanks and clinks.
He doesn’t set you down right away. Not until he’s a few steps inside. Not until the door swings partially shut behind you, blocking the worst of the wind and rain.
Only then does he lower you carefully, on a hay bale, hands lingering at your waist just a second longer than necessary, making sure you’re steady.
—
The barn is dim, and the only things inside are a handful of farm equipment and stacks of hay bales.
Whatever light was still present filters in through small gaps in the wood, thin beams cutting through the darker space. Dust and hay shift softly in the air, the scent is familiar to you.
Outside, the storm rages on.
Inside is dry and safe but your body hasn’t quite caught up yet.
Your hands are still curled slightly on your damp lap, your breathing just a little uneven, the echo of thunder lingering somewhere in your chest. Damp fabric clings to your skin, cool now that you’re out of the rain.
You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until he steps closer again.
“S’cold I know,” he mutters, more to himself than you.
His hands come up without hesitation.
Rough and familiar palms, warm despite the rain, settling against your face.
You inhale softly at the contact. Your own hands reach up to hold them from the outside, making the difference in size clear.
He tilts your head just slightly, his gaze steady on yours, sharp predatory eyes scanning your expression like he’s checking for something deeper than what you’re showing.
“You alright?”
You nod automatically, wanting to lean into his palm more. “I’m fine.”
His thumb brushes just under your cheek, catching a drop of water you hadn’t noticed.
“…You’re shaking.”
You hadn’t noticed that either. “Only a little,” you admit.
He has that same steady focus look in his eyes, Like now that he’s found the problem, he’s already figuring out how to fix it.
“It’s just thunder,” he says after a moment. “Ain’t gonna touch you in here.”
You let out a small breath, tension easing just slightly. “I know,” you say softly. “It’s just...”
It’s hard to find the words.
His gaze still softens. “I know.”
His hands don’t drop right away.
They linger at your face for a second longer—thumb brushing once more, slower this time—before one slides down, settling at the back of your neck.
He pulls you forward again, just enough that you end up close, your shoulder brushing his chest.
Then closer.
Until you’re fully against him and he’s fully in between your legs.
His arm wraps around your waist automatically, broad hand spreading there like it belongs, pressing you in, not tightly, just enough to remind you he’s there.
You don’t resist and you lean into him instead.
Your cheek rests against his chest again, damp fabric and all, but the warmth underneath it is what matters.
The storm outside sounds quieter. Or maybe it just doesn’t reach you anymore.
—
It takes a while before either of you notices.
The pounding against the barn roof fades into something lighter. The sharp cracks of thunder grow distant, replaced by a low murmur that drifts farther and farther away.
You’re the first to speak
“I think it’s going away.”
Your voice is soft against his chest, barely louder than the rain itself.
Sukuna hums low in acknowledgment, his hand still resting warm and steady at your back. He tilts his head slightly to listen.
After a moment, his grip loosens just enough for him to glance toward the barn doors.
“It’s passing.”
You pull back slightly, looking up at him. Damp hair clings to your face, your clothes still heavy from the rain, but the tightness in your chest has eased.
“Can we go back home?” you ask.
His eyes flick over you. Then he nods.
“Stay close this time.”
Of course.
He pushes the barn door open, the outside air was cool and fresh now, rain falling in a softer, steady rhythm. The ground is still slick, mud clinging to your shoes, but at least the storm has lost its bite.
This time, he doesn’t carry you. But his hand finds yours immediately.
He doesn’t let go the entire walk back.
—
The door shuts behind you with a dull thud.
And you’re instantly surrounded by a cozy warmth.
It wraps around you, chasing away the chill that settled into your bones. The fire from the cold early morning still burns low in the hearth, filling the room with a soft glow and that familiar, comforting heat.
You exhale without realizing you were holding it.
“…It’s warm.”
“Yeah,” he replies simply, already moving.
You barely have time to take two steps inside before his hand is back on you.
“C’mon.”
“Sukuna?” you blink, a little startled as he guides—no, pulls—you toward the stairs.
“You’re soaked.”
“I was just going to—”
“None of that.”
You don’t argue. Trying to fight a small smile from creeping up onto your face.
Not when his grip tightens slightly, not when there’s that familiar urgency in the way he moves. You’re half-laughing, half-protesting as he leads you upstairs, your damp footsteps soft against the wood.
“You’re not even wet anymore,” you tease lightly. “You could at least let me sit by the fire first—”
“You can warm up properly here,” he cuts in.
He’s extra adorable when he’s so concerned.
—
The bathroom door shuts behind you.
He doesn’t waste time.
Already moving, turning the taps, and adjusting the temperature. Steam begins to rise slowly, curling into the air as the tub fills.
You watch him from the stool near the door for a moment.
It was strange, this large man with his large hands, moving so carefully.
“…You don’t have to fuss this much, I’m not made of sugar,” you murmur, softer now.
He doesn’t look at you.
“Come sit.”
You blink.
“…What?”
He glances back at you briefly, expression unchanged, but his hand reaches for you again, guiding you toward the edge of the tub.
“You’ll get cold just sitting over there.”
He leaves you no room to argue.
So you sit on the edge of the marble tub.
Water continues to fill the tub, warm and steady, steam thickening the air. The sound is soothing, almost enough to lull you into a drowsy state.
Then he steps closer. His hands move to the hem of your damp clothes.
“…You’ll get sick if you stay like this,” he mutters, quieter now.
Carefully, he helps you out of your soaked layers, his movements are gentle. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing careless.
Once you’re free of the damp fabric, he sets it aside without thought.
Then, without much ceremony, he pulls his own shirt off, it’s heavy, rain-soaked, and clinging to his tanned skin. It’s then followed by the rest.
Despite being in similar situations, heated situations, you avert your eyes, a slow blush was starting to form.
Before you implode, the bath is ready by then.
He tests the water with his hand first.
“Alright.”
He helps you in first.
The warmth hits instantly, seeping into your skin, chasing away the last of the cold. You sink slightly, letting out a soft breath as your muscles finally relax.
“That feels nice,” you admit.
A moment later, the water shifts again as he steps in behind you.
The tub feels smaller with him there, his bulky body filling the space, but instead of overwhelming, it feels safe.
He settles carefully, one arm coming around you almost automatically, pulling you back against his chest.
You fit there easily. Like you always do.
For a while, neither of you says anything.
Just the quiet sound of water, the faint crackle of the fire downstairs, and the steady rhythm of his breathing behind you.
Your fingers drift absentmindedly over his arm, tracing along familiar lines, over scars you’ve memorized, over muscle still warm beneath your touch.
He exhales softly. Not pulling away.
“…Better?” he asks after a moment, voice low near your ear.
You nod, leaning back into him fully now.
“Much better.”
His hold tightens just slightly, his right arm resting on the edge of the tub, while his left hand shamelessly gropes your breasts.
It’s slow and he occasionally gives your nipples a flick. Earning him a quiet moan from you, and occasionally a breathy, “Kuna…”
He plans to keep you there for a while, and who are you to fight back.
Taglist: @cookispark @sukunasl-ttywh0re @ssrist @shazzer29 @angieunknown @veras-fanfic-reblogs
AWWWW
⟢JESTER GOJO X TO BE MARRIED PRINCESS READER ᯓ
wc: 2k || art creds: @/_3aem || based off those tiktoks w the crying knight & wedded princess🥀 || angst
summary! jester!gojo has spent his entire life being madly in love with you, the princess he lived to serve. he'd grown up with you, making you laugh and fall more deeply in love with him with each passing year. only now, he has to watch as his princess is given away to another man, all because he wasn't born of pedigree. (for my angst loving babies, i live for you.)
the first time you'd heard satoru's jester bells ring for you, they were small and bright, stitched into the hem of a fool’s coat.
he had been much younger then, jingling them around as he trained in the art of humour.
he tumbled into the great hall of your castle with a wide, devilish grin, tripped on purpose, and made you laugh so hard the governess scolded both of you for being too loud. then, much later, when the room cleared out of all the important men and women, he bowed his jester hat too low and whispered that, "i would trip a thousand a time more if it meant hearing that sound, m'lady."
even as a child, your face blushed a fair pink when he'd say such foolish things.
"you're quite the glutton for trouble, jester."
"does it bother the princess?" he'd smile.
"i suppose not." you'd laugh, your voice a few octaves higher than it was now, years later when you'd both grown up, not of age just yet, but old enough to be left in the care of the jester.
he grows much taller, the golden bells that adorn the peaks of his hat and collar start to fade. you grow too, hair braided with pearls now instead of silk ribbon, lessons traded for councils and ledgers.
yet, the incredibly close bond you'd shared since childhood was ever the more stronger as time passed. he still finds you behind the tapestries when court grows dull and filled with too many deep commanding voices, spilling the embarrassing stories he'd heard jesting for the big figures in the room. with each tale you'd try to muffle your laugh, and each time he'd pull your hand down.
"ts' my job to make you smile, m'dam. please, don't hide such a pretty thing." you'd smile as he kissed the back of your knuckles.
even now, you still sneak him sugared figs and bits of stolen wine. you'd sometimes pull him out into the courtyard to share with him your lunch.
you'd talk for hours, sometimes. hours and hours about the ins and out of everything you could think of, from the way your father would nit pick each and every thing about you, to your plans to sneak off with him one day.
"you do dream big, m'lady." he'd say, a solemn smile on his fair face.
"am i not allowed to dream for a life with you?" you'd ask, lightheartedly.
"oh, but of course, anyone can dream. but you know, in your case, that's all they'll ever be.. dreams." he wasn't smiling anymore.
now, you're both at that age. the age where the kingdom decides you're ready for such unfathomable, adult things.
the day the betrothal is announced, the court applauds both you and the soon to be king.
you were supposed to be with your prince the night your engagement was announced, but instead, you'd been off to find satoru who wasn't standing suit by your bedroom door like he'd usually be.
you spot him in the narrow passage by the kitchens, his pretty face scrubbed clean of his jest paint.
“you didn’t come see me,” you say quietly.
“i'd known not if i was allowed,” he answers, turning to face you.
“since when has that stopped you?"
he looks at you with this look. a sad look. a sad look no jester should ever wear.
“since now, m'lady."
the silence and sheer chill of the walls crept into your heart, you hated it.
“say something foolish,” you demand. "please, brighten my ever decaying mood."
he smiles, but it's only small, and very, very tired. “i'm afraid i’m fresh out.”
after that, time spent together slips away from both of you.
fittings. lessons. letters sealed with wax you do not recognise. the prince is kind in that weird way strangers are kind to passer byers. he'd quiz about your favourite cliches, and you'd drone out whatever answer you thought he'd like to hear most.
satoru never bothered with cliches, he'd tell you of things far more relevant.
at night, you sit in your chambers and listen for his bells that never come.
gojo still finds you, only when he can. once, in the armory, dust motes drifting through thin light.
“you’re avoiding me,” you accuse. "stop it at once." you say, staring up at him with a pouty look.
he leans against a rack of old spears. “i’m only practicing.”
“for?"
“for when i must watch you leave, i can't make a scene.”
you cross your arms. “you’re terrible at that.”
“i know.”
another time, in the chapel after midnight, candles burned down to their wicks as you sat together in the pews.
“say it,” you whisper.
“say what.”
“whatever it is you keep swallowing down.”
he exhales through his nose. “i'm afraid it is but against the law, m'lady.”
“i am the princess, i am above such law.”
"you can be such a brat." he teased as he slips closer. not touching you, though, never touching anymore.
“i love you,” he says, finally, there's no joke to soften it up.
your chest goes rigid. “but you can’t.”
he nods. “oh do i know...”
you want to scream, to fight and say this isn't want you signed up for, but all you can muster up is a soft, "and i have loved you for many years, as well."
you both go quiet, because what can a princess with no real standing in this and a mere jester do in such a situation..
the night before the wedding, you find him beneath the eastern tower stairs, just like always. you'd just received a letter via your maid, informing you that the castle would be sending away your jester in order to "keep the future queen's mind on her duty."
you were in shambles.
“they’re sending you away,” you almost yell.
“yes, after tomorrow,” he replies. “seems cleaner.”
“cleaner? for who.” you spit.
he smiles. “everyone else.”
you step closer. “please, satoru. nevermind them.. stay.”
he laughs, soft. “don’t ask me to be so cruel, m'lady.”
“you’re a jester,” you say. “that’s your job.”
“hm, not to you.”
you want to stab your stomach with a dagger, this was all eating you up from the inside and you were losing more and more of yourself with each passing day.
“will you at least watch?” you ask, on the brink of tears.
he brings a hand up to wipe at your eyelid, a gesture he'd done so many times before, but he had to stay true to his, and the kings vow. letting you go was the best he could do for you.
“yes,” he says at last. “i’ll watch.”
the day comes and harsh stone presses cool through the soles of your shoes.
the weight of white, expensive silk rests delicately upon your shoulders, it's uncomfortable and heavy in a way armor must feel to knights who had sworn to wear it. your jewelled crown sits perfectly on your styled hair.
satoru stands just beyond the archway of the venue, dressed not in bells or paint but in plain linen, as close to invisible as a soulful man like him can manage. when he turns to see you, his eyes soften so sweetly his breath leaves his chest in a long deep sigh.
his eyes trace you over without an ounce of shame, it's as if he's attempting to learn your figure by heart in the few breaths he has left in his aching lungs. you look like something out of the old tapestries you'd used to hide behind, adorned in gold threads and beautiful silks, far too holy for the long life you have lived together in empty rooms and forgotten castle corners.
“look at you...” he says unsteadily. “aren't you a breathtaking spectacle.”
you try to laugh, like you always did at his silly little comments, but today you find the sound he loved so much to hear just wouldn't come..
before you can say his name, before you can break down and tell him you don't want this, before the call comes from inside the chapel to advance, he steps forward and drops to one knee on the stone.
“satoru,” you whisper, oh so frightened.
“please, m'lady. let me,” he murmurs.
he takes your hand. his fingers close around yours with a foreign strength that guts you. he presses his lips to your knuckles slowly, for the final time. this is the last honest thing he is allowed to do.
“i’m sorry,” he says into your skin. “i am so very sorry i wasn’t born a prince, o-or a governor. i’m sorry i couldn't be of better blood to of been worthy of your love. i learned how to make you laugh instead of how to keep you.”
your eyes get stingy. “please, don’t.”
he looks up at you then, eyes shining, face bare of all pretense. “i would have made you smile forever,” he says softly. “if they’d of let me, my princess.”
you brush your thumb along his cheek without thinking, catching the wet there. one tear slips free despite everything he is doing to hold himself together.
“i wish my dreams were to come true.” you tell him.
"i wish i'd of made them come true, my love. that's on me."
a voice calls your title from inside the chapel.
satoru squeezes your hand once more, like he is trying to pass something to you through your delicate skin.
“you look stunning,” he says, clearing his throat looking down. “such a sight.”
you want to stay, god, you want to fall to your knees with him, forget crowns and alliances and every rule that has ever touched you. but of course, instead, you let your hand slip from his desperate handling.
when you turn away, you do not look back. you cannot.
the doors open and light pours in through magnificent stained glass, coloring the aisle in reds and blues meant for saints and martyrs.
only, you couldn't appreciate the sight with your vision so blurred from tears. the deep, harmonic music rises and falls with each crescendo, slow and ceremonial. it doesn't give you any sort of feeling of joy or peace, no. it feels eerie and like your life was all a lead up to this gut wrenching loss. the loss of your jester.
at the back of the chapel, satoru watches you walk toward another man, a man lucky enough to be born worthy of you. he remembers the courtyard stones under bare feet, your laughter screeching too loud for court.
he imagines what it would have been like to reach for you where you stood now, to lift you into his arms and run far away, to make a spectacle worthy of the stories they tell children. he imagines the guards. the blood. the way you would look at him when it was over.
he stays where he is.
as you're about to hit the podium, you look back.
just once.
your eyes land on him like they always have.
... he is crying.
a single tear slips down his face, catching the multicoloured light before it falls.
...
the after celebration blurs into a pageant of duty. cups raised in the air, laughter spills from approving mouths. the prince stands closer to your ear and says something meant to make you smile. you do, but it's passable. nothing of the smile satoru could bring from you.
.
in the crowd, a jester bows one last time.
no one notices when he slips out through the side gate. no one calls his name. the road waits, indifferent and open.
years later, people will tell stories.
they will say the princess was beloved. they will say the marriage brought peace. they will say the jester left to chase brighter courts, richer crowds.
no one will say that once, in a quiet castle, a fool loved a princess with everything he had and asked for nothing in return.
but sometimes, when the wind moves just right through the corridors of your new home, a faint sound carries with it. not bells, but something softer. a laugh remembered. a presence felt but never named.
and in that moment, solemn and aching in its own way, you wonder if somewhere on a long road, a man in worn shoes still keeps a space for you, so carefully protected and untouched, like a relic of a beautiful life that almost was.
oh wow i also cried writing this i promise you 💔
© 2025 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarise in any way on ANY platforms.
SIXX STOP IM CRYING!!! YOU CANT DO THIS TO MEEE!!!
I still don't know my purpose on this planet but I do love reading fanfiction.
real
ever wondered what valentines day dates the jjk men/women would take shy!reader on? then look no further! below is a collection of beautifully curated work by a plethora of talented authors. || mdni
in which, they see you sitting in class and decide to finally ask you out.
chemistry class with FRATBOY!SUKUNA. he's had his eye on you ever since taking chemistry as a subject. he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out on a star gazing date for valentines, and you accept! (fluff ) ! by: @sixxels
film class with FRATBOY!TOJI. toji's been crushing on you for a while, you had such a deep appreciation for film and he really admired your outlook on things. he approaches you in class and asks if you'd be down to go watch one of his favourite movies together! (fluff, smut) by: @strawb3rryhachi
biology class with BESTFRIEND!GETO. he woo's you in bio with his effortless charm, asking if you'll humor him with a date on valentines day. you, of course, say yes, and the two of you have a sweet dorm room dinner together. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @fricks
psychology class with NERD!CHOSO. choso, the hot nerd in your class, awkwardly asks his project partner if you'll accompany him on a date on valentines day. you accept, and he takes you out to a bookstore to get a better understanding of what makes you tick! (fluff) by: @cassideezlife
accounting class with NERD!NANAMI. nanami can't resist the cute nerdy girl in his finance class, and with valentines day coming up soon? now is a better time than ever to ask you out on a date. he takes you to the aquarium where he tells you about all the fish and you slowly come out of your little shell. (fluff) by: @whispers-of-aurora
philosophy class with MENTOR!HIGURUMA. he's around your age, and totally into you. he'd always been attracted to the shyer girls, and your intellect mixed with your self preservation intrigued him to no end. with valentines day around the corner, he asks you out and takes you to a bistro! (fluff) by: @stellarixe
graphic design class with ATHLETE GOJO. for valentine's day, satoru decided that he should stop being a loser and ask to be your valentine. you, the shy girl from his class that he has a crush on. well, safe to say he did a good job! (fluff) by: @carienations
art class with SKATERBOY!INO ino's a little bit on an outsider on campus. so, he's a little nervous to ask such a sweet girl out in fear of seeming too forward or weird. but, valentines day is a good a time as any to try your luck, so the boy asks you out to the skate park. you agree, and it turns out the both of you had been secretly crushing on each other for ages! (fluff) by: @kixxtie
literature class with POPULAR!SHOKO. shoko had a thing for sweet things like you, so she suggests you come with her to a party that's happening on valentines to get to know you better. at said party, she finds you passed out on the balcony sofa and decides to cuddle up with you! (fluff) by: @snorlexi
music class with FRATBOY!GOJO. he'd been your childhood friend years ago. after growing distant and falling into the fratty lifestyle, gojo decides to bite the bullet and rekindle the flame that had been there all along, taking you on a date to your childhood treehouse on valentine's day. (angst to fluff) by: @rainlina
biology class with FRIENDSTOLOVERS!MEGUMI. there was always an unspoken kind of love between you and megumi, one he'd decided needed adressing with valentines day approaching. after all, he couldn't let you get snatched up by anyone else. he takes you out on a nice date and makes you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. (fluff) by: @kaekuna
history class with NERD!GOJO. you and him are one in the same, so it's safe to say you were both tremendously nervous when gojo decides to finally ask you out on valentines day. the awkward boy suggests you come over to his place to watch a movie and eat some pizza, you happily agree. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @dollhousesinner
all works to be posted on the 13th of february AEST, right in time for valentine's day!
ac: sukuna: @/679sora, fratjo, geto, nanami, toji: @/thatsallitcheif, higuruma: @/ilameys, shoko: @/_3aem, ino: @/einruji, megumi: @/zuyvancesar, nerdjo: @/nekozuu_
I could cry…
(ALSO THE FREAKING SHOKO ONE ISNT WORKING WTF)
COCKY!NERD!GOJO and his crush on SHY!READER
⋆˙⟡ cocky!nerd!gojo's convinced he's better than everyone. except, of course, the shy!girl in his physics class of which he has a raging crush on ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 || wc: 2.5k || ac: @/to00fu @/itadakaymasu || some 18+ hcs!
cocky!nerd!gojo who has the air knocked from his lungs the second you walk into his physics on the first day of term. he watches completely awe struck as you walk up and take the only empty seat left, next to him. the rest of the lecture turns to nothing but a dull buzz in the back of his mind as he spends the remainder of it trying his best not to gawk at the pretty girl beside him.
and you were pretty, so much so that cocky!nerd!gojo thinks you might be the most attractive girl he'd ever seen. with your perfectly curated style and that shy demeanor, you'd sucked him into your orbit with absolutely no effort at all.
cocky!nerd!gojo had been yapping his friends ears off ever since the first day of physics, and they were seriously getting sick of it.
"my god... i'm telling you, suguru, sweetest thing i've ever seen. she walked in and my heart started throbbing." "more like your dick." the fed up man sighed.
but it wasn't like that. usually, chatting up and swooning women was light work for satoru. his intelligence made getting girls for a messy night he wouldn't remember the next day all too easy. but with you? sex hadn't even crossed his mind until suguru had mentioned it.
cocky!nerd!gojo who starts arriving early to physics even though he usually strolls in late everywhere else. he sits in the exact chair beside yours and pretends it's just a coincidence when you show up. when you look doubtful before sitting there he casually slides his bag off the seat and smiles.
“oh. you can sit here if you want.”
cocky!nerd!gojo had decided you were now the single most interesting person in the world despite not really talking to you yet. and still, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to act right in front of you. he completely misses everything the lecturer says the next time he has physics. not because the content was hard, (nothing in that class was hard for him.) but because halfway through you'd accidentally bumped his shoulder with your hand, and he couldn't stop replaying the horribly embarrassing way he'd replied when you apologised.
"oh, frick. m' sorry..." you'd mumbled softy. "it's worries."
what the fuck?! he was supposed to say 'it's okay' or, 'no worries.' but it came out as that. never in his life had he wanted to jump off the roof of a building as badly as he did now. he covered his mouth with his hand and sat there staring wide eyed at the floor for the rest of the class.
cocky!nerd!gojo who conveniently starts answering every question in class the moment he hears your pen stop writing. the professor asks an especially difficult question that no one can guess, and as soon as satoru sees your head lift from your paper, he proudly barks out the answer. after being congratulated for being correct, he always glances sideways at you waiting to see if you'll look impressed.
cocky!nerd!gojo who loudly argues with the professor about some complicated concept one day just so you will look at him longer than two seconds. the rest of the class thinks he is showing off again, and he is. but when you glance over with wide eyes and whisper,
“wait… you understood that?” he completely forgets the big flashy point he was making and just awkwardly nods.
cocky!nerd!gojo who finally gathers enough courage to talk to you and immediately fumbles the bag.
“so uh... the derivative there is wrong.” he points at your page then panics because he just criticised you. “not wrong wrong. just… y'know... mathematically improvable?”
you blink up at him with those sweet, confused eyes and he curses under his breath for even trying to be normal about you.
"could you show me how to do it?" you'd asked softly, and cocky!nerd!gojo melts.
cocky!nerd!gojo, with literally anyone else (socially important or not) couldn't give a shit about being nice. he'd make off handed comments about the content being dead easy, laugh at people who got stuck up on questions he flew through, but now that you'd ask him for some help, he was stuttering out a "sure," and leaning over your desk to teach you.
cocky!nerd!gojo who tries to flirt by helping you with homework, but it turns it into a full on physics spiel because he was getting the nervous rambles. you ask one small question and he dives into a ten minute explanation of something you kind of already knew using the back of your notebook as a whiteboard. halfway through he realises you are just watching him talk, smiling a little, and he suddenly loses his train of thought.
cocky!nerd!gojo who notices you struggling with one concept and literally spends all night rewriting the explanation in the simplest way possible. the next day he's tired, but sliding the revision paper he'd made up toward you all the same.
“i was bored.” he says all nonchalant, although his heart starts racing when he see's the shy look of appreciation span across your face.
cocky!nerd!gojo who gets weirdly territorial the first time another guy in your physics tutorial leans over your desk to “help.” the dude’s explanation is wrong anyway, so satoru slides into the seat beside you and corrects the equation without even looking at the paper properly. he explains it twice as fast as necessary just to prove he can. then he glances at the other guy and rolls his eyes.
“next time just ask me, sweetheart. saves you the misinformation.”
cocky!nerd!gojo's never really felt this way about a girl before. he's slept with women here and there, but they couldn't occupy even his daytime thoughts. you, however? occupied his every thought.
no matter how guilty he feels, cocky!nerd!gojo can't stop the late-night fantasies that creep into his head when he's all alone in his apartment. it's always the shy girls, at least that's what they said. his brain would cook up the nastiest of thoughts... what it would be like to push you into the supply closet in the hallway and take you right there, if you'd keep that same shy expression even as he's pumping you full of his thick cock. he'd pathetically fucked his fist countless times to the thought of your pretty whines, what your body would look liked pinned beneath him as he splits you open, what those eyes would look like rolled back into your skull...
cocky!nerd!gojo decides he's had enough, that he can't keep acting like such a virgin loser around you. so, as you're leaving class one day, he catches you as you're about to head to the library, the one he never visits because he knows everything the textbooks want to tell him anyways. regardless, he hits you with the,
"oh, you're headed to the library? me too, can i walk with you?"
cocky!nerd!gojo who now walks with you everyday under the excuse of, 'we take the same course, might as well study together.' he's gotten a little more comfortable around you, he's not so much of a dork after the few library visits where he'd sit there and either stare at you fondly or tutor you free of charge.
"newtonian mechanics? i can help with that. m' real good with the maths, y'know." he'd brag smugly, watching your face to see if you'll praise him. "thanks a bunch, satoru. you're so smart, i could really use the help." you'd reply with a small smile, and any air of arrogance disappears from his face as he almost chokes on his spit. "y-yeah... no worries." at least he didn't say 'it's worries' this time, that was an improvement.
cocky!nerd!gojo who gets far cockier the more comfortable you become around him. he starts leaning over your chair when you study so his arm rests across the back of it, caging you in without making it too obvious. when you glance up at him he tilts his head with that full-of-it grin.
“focus on the problem, angel.”
meanwhile he is absolutely not focused on the problem.
cocky!nerd!gojo and you begin planning out study sessions, (satoru would prefer to call them dates, but there was no way he had the balls to refer to them as such.) he'd meet you every few days in the library, tucked away in a corner booth where the light was a little dim. this time, you'd shown up in a cute vintage sweater that hugged your body just right, and two cups of coffee. he leaned back into the booth cushions as you sat opposite him, pretending to be indifferent when really, he was mentally jumping up and down at the fact you'd even thought to buy him something. his exact order, too. although he'd make sure you'd never use your money on him ever again, that was his job now.
cocky!nerd!gojo returned the favour by bringing you pastries the next time you'd planned to meet up. he arrives a few minutes late with two hot chocolates and a paper bag, sliding the contents towards you gently.
"for the other day." he yawns, "i know you like those ones." he says pointing to the bag. he says it flippantly, but his heart is racing as your eyes light up when you pull the treat free.
he wasn't expecting it, but before he could sit down, you've stood up, and you've hugged him.
he fully drops his hot chocolate.
"ah! are you okay?" you fussed, giving him that adorably concerned look.
cocky!nerd!gojo becomes more infatuated with you after that then he'd thought ever imaginable. sure, he had to quickly clean up the mess then excuse himself to deal with his raging hard on in the bathroom, but overall? the feeling of your arms around him has to be the most bliss he'd ever felt.
cocky!nerd!gojo who absolutely refuses to let anyone else tutor you once he realises half the class is suddenly very eager to “study together.” he laughs it off in front of everyone, leaning back in his chair.
“sorry, slots are full.” someone asks what that means and he nods toward you without shame. “exclusive contract. she’s my study partner.”
cocky!nerd!gojo who nearly dies the first time you fall asleep on his shoulder in the library during one of your study sessions. you had told him you were fine even though your eyes kept slipping shut. ten minutes later your head tips and falls on him. he sits there completely still for almost half an hour in fear of waking you.
cocky!nerd!gojo starts actually flirting with you. he starts sitting on your side of the booth in the library and initiating small touches. sometimes he'll brush a stray strand of hair from your face and others he'll play footsies with you under the table. very high school level stuff, but if your flustered face was anything to go by he'd say it was working. he'd even managed to secure your number after telling you he needed it incase he ever needed to cancel, (a very unlikely variable, he would never.) a privilege he'd started abusing.
gojo [10:35pm]: heyy, are you up?
gojo [10:35pm]: wanna see a picture of my cat tuna 🙏🏻?
you [10:37pm]: hiii yes i'm here! and sure 🙂↕️
gojo [10:37pm]:
you [10:38pm]: AWWWWW WHAT A BABY HE'S SO CUTE 🥹
gojo [10:38pm]: almost as cute as you
you [10:38pm]: youre flirting with me?
gojo [10:39pm]: only if you like it sweetheart
you [10:39pm]: i do
gojo [10:40pm]: oh?
cocky!nerd!gojo takes that as his sign to up the ante. now, he stares shamelessly at you in class, winking when you catch him. he steals your books and draws dumb doodles of you two in the corners, he carries your bags anywhere you go, and he takes every chance he possibly can to talk to you.
"you look real pretty today, love. i—" "—satoru, quiet!" the lecturer interrupts, ruining his totally suave moment.
but cocky!nerd!gojo doesn't stop at that, oh no. he starts slipping his hand into yours whenever you're walking to the library, he begins hugging you softly and kissing your forehead before you leave, and even then you're lucky to have the walk back to your dorm to yourself. he's always tagging along with a hand low on your back.
"y'know, i could use a flat mate." he'd casually throw out there, "saves you walking home in the dark all the time." and when you'd bite and tell him you can barley afford dorm life, he hits you with the, "you could always pay me in other ways."
the way you stopped walking slightly and bowed your head in embarrassment really did something to him.
cocky!nerd!gojo sits in utter astonishment one day after class after you'd asked him a question. a simple one, but still capable of taking away his ability to think straight.
"hey, satoru?" "hm?" "we're close, right?" "the closest." "can i call you toru? like... a nickname?"
oh my god, yes you fucking can.
cocky!nerd!gojo cracks one night when you offer him to come inside after he'd walked you home. he nods softly, clearing his throat, trying to calm himself down. he'd been to plenty of girls' places, why was this one making him all giddy and nervous? he takes in your dorm, and wow, you've really made it your own. it smells like you, it looks like you, every little detail and trinket radiates you. he wants to cry, never in his life has he been so overwhelmed with the need to touch absolutely everything.
it gets worse when cocky!nerd!gojo sits down on your bed, and you plop right down next to him, barley a centimetre apart. he has to breathe, calm down, try hard not to get hard and potentially ruin this absolutely ethereal moment. he's doing in for four out for three when you interrupt his little breathing exercise.
"toru?" he clears his throat and chokes out a, "yes, love?" "can i ask a question?" "anything." "i hope this isn't weird but. uhm... what exactly are we?"
that was something he definitely wasn't expecting.
"what do you wanna be, hm?" he tries to fake an air of carelessness but fails when you look up at him through those pretty lashes. "i mean.. we hang out all the time, you walk me everywhere, kiss my head, help me study... m' not sure that's just a friend thing..."
cocky!nerd!gojo smiles in appreciation of your honesty, then plucks up the courage to hold you face and tilt your head towards him.
"i want us to be more than just friends. so, so much more." "yeah?" "yeah." he searches your eyes before bringing your face closer. "would you wanna go out with me? like, properly. i've sorta had a thing for you for ages now." he admits through a bashful smile. "what, like be your girlfriend?" you ask, satoru can feel your cheeks heating beneath his fingers. "yes, y/n. i want to be yours."
cocky!nerd!gojo is ecstatic when you whisper a small, okay, toru, and pulls your lips in for a slow, well awaited kiss.
cocky!nerd!gojo, after a good three months of plotting, had finally, finally made the shy girl in his physics class his, and he'd never take the role of being your boyfriend for granted.
"so, about moving in..." "we've been dating for a week?"
what was he if not over presumptuous, even to you sometimes.
a/n: not proofreaddd. i love and hate nerdjo
chemically bonded ~ r.sukuna
wc: 17k || art creds: @/winterrbluess @/su2kuna || 18+
frat!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
A/N lowk this fic is much more toned down compared to what i usually post but fuck it we ball it's cute
summary ! sukuna doesn't give a shit about chemistry, that is until the big red 8% on his last test threatens to get him kicked out of his frat. desperate, he turns to the only person who can save him: you, the adorable, shy girl who aces every quiz. you agree to help, but only if he helps you get the attention of your hallway crush, his best friend, toji. what starts as a deal between you slowly turns into a spiral of love and jealousy. (18+, fluff, slight toji x reader (?), no angst for once omg go me)
the big red number stares back at him from the top of the paper like a brand burned into his pride. 8%.
sukuna exhales through his nose, the sound rough, annoyed. the paper crumples in his hand before he tosses it onto the desk. he leans back in his chair, the metal legs creaking under his weight as his jaw works.
normally, he wouldn’t give a damn about a grade. it’s not like chemistry was ever something he cared about. but this time, it’s different. one more fail and he’s out. the frat has rules, grades too low and you’re done. and he knows exactly what’ll happen if that happens.
tojis smug laugh. satoru’s endless teasing. the guys calling him “brain-dead” for weeks. no more parties. no more sorority hoes. no more lazy afternoons drinking on the porch with his friends.
he runs a hand down his face, dragging his fingers over the faint scar under his eye and the sharp tatted lines on his cut face. he can’t let that happen.
at the front of the room, their professor is rambling about averages and assessment weightings, something about the next major project. sukuna tunes back in when he hears the words “sixty percent” and “partner work.” that catches his attention.
the next gruelling assessment is a two-month long research investigation worth sixty percent of their final grade.
he was on the verge of strangling himself to death or jumping out of the top story window when he realised.
that’s it.
that’s his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.
sukuna’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell they’re doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.
but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.
you.
the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.
you’re sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.
you’ve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.
still, he’s noticed you before. everyone has. it’s hard not to. you’re the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because you’re trying to be, but because you’re so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.
and right now, you look like salvation.
he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.
"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"
"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.
“you’re like, a chem genius, right?” his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.
you blink up at him, hesitant. “oh, um… i guess? why?”
“i need a partner, like, real bad,” he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. “i'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i can’t afford to fail again.”
you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, he’s intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.
he looks nothing like someone who’d ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that he’s doing it now makes your mind reel.
“i- look, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,” you manage softly. “why pick me?”
he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. “because you actually know what you’re doing. and i’m not looking to get stuck with some idiot who’ll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."
you hesitate, glancing away. you’ve never really talked to him before. actually, you’ve barely even noticed him beyond the times you’ve seen him walking across campus with toji. that’s usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukuna’s shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.
it’s strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.
you fidget with your pen. “that's fine, sure. but… if we’re partners, wed have to split the workload.”
"yeah,” he says. “i can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.”
it’s almost funny. he’s trying to sound casual, but something about the way he’s watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like he’s actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.
maybe it’s because you’re cute. or maybe it’s because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.
you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. “yeah, okay. i’ll help you out.”
his mouth tilts in a grin that’s half smug, half genuine relief. “good. 'preciate it, babe.”
you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesn’t see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.
he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like he’s been sitting there all semester.
the professor’s voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.
a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mind’s racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, can’t stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.
he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadn’t expected to find himself curious about you. you’re so… different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldn’t even be in his orbit.
and yet here you are.
when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.
“hey… sukuna?”
he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. “yeah?”
you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. “i’ll help you pass. but… can you help me out with something too?”
his brow arches. “hmm. depends what it is.”
you take a quiet breath. “it’s about your friend. uh.. toji.”
that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. “what about him?”
you look down at your notebook, like it’s safer than looking at him. “i just… i think he’s really attractive. and he looks nice. i know it’s kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.”
for a second, sukuna just stares at you.
out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it.
you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girls’ names after he sleeps with them.
he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’re serious?”
you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.
he studies you for a long moment. you’re fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. “you don’t have to if it’s weird, i just thought… you two are close, so maybe…”
sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you it’s a bad idea. that toji doesn’t deserve someone like you. that you’d get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he tilts his head and says, “yeah, fine. i’ll help you out.”
your head snaps up, eyes wide. “huh? really?”
“yeah. but only because you’re saving my ass with this project,” he says, smirking a little. “guess we’ll call it even.”
you smile, small, bright, genuine, and something tightens in his chest.
you're so cute.
“thank you,” you say quietly.
he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “don’t mention it, honey.”
and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.
he tells himself it’s just a deal. a trade. nothing more.
but as you disappear out the door, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he realises.
~
music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someone’s yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.
the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.
sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but it’s a familiar kind of chaos. toji’s across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.
“hell yeah,” toji shouts, hands raised. “that’s another win for me, baby!”
someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of night, beer, bets, and easy company. sukuna’s used to it, the routine almost comforting.
he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the music’s pounding through the walls, but the corner they’re in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.
toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. “you’re slipping, man,” he says, smirking at sukuna. “used to be able to hold your own in beer pong.”
“fuck up,” sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “that last shot was rigged.”
“rigged?” toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. “you’re just rusty.”
sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his head’s buzzing, not from the alcohol, just from thoughts, mostly the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way you’d fidget with your pen when you were nervous.
he doesn’t even realize he’s been quiet until toji elbows him. “yo, what’s got you zoning out?”
sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. “you ever heard of someone named y/n?”
toji raises a brow, blinking like he didn’t catch that over the noise. “who?”
“y/n,” sukuna repeats.
toji shakes his head, lips quirking. “nah. that some new chick you’re banging?”
sukuna sputters, choking on air. “what? no. i’m not-” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.
toji’s smirk widens. “come on, man. don’t get shy on me. you’re stuttering like some freshman.”
“shut up,” sukuna mutters, glaring at him. “it’s not like that.”
“then what’s it like?”
he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. there’s no way to explain it without sounding weird. he’s not even sure why he’s bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now he’s gotta start somewhere.
“she’s just… in my chem class,” he finally says. “smart as hell. the kind that actually knows what she’s doing, y’know?”
toji snorts. “so, a nerd.”
“yeah,” sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like it’s an insult. “but, like… cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.”
toji’s grin widens. “bro. you’re seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?”
“it’s not a crush,” sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. “she’s just..” he stops, running a hand through his hair. “she’s helping me with chem, okay? and i told her i’d help her with something too.”
“what, she want free alcs?” toji laughs.
“no.” sukuna exhales through his nose. “she wants you.”
that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if he misheard. “me?”
“yeah.”
“as in… she wants to, what, date me?”
“basically.”
toji’s silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. “you’re kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?” he grins, tapping his chest. “guess she’s got good taste.”
sukuna grits his teeth. “don’t be an ass about it.”
“what? i’m not being an ass,” toji says, still smirking. “just saying, that’s not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, y’know?”
“yeah, i know,” sukuna mutters. “that’s kinda the problem.”
“problem?”
sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. “look, she’s… she’s sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says ‘sorry’ even when someone bumps into her first. you’d break her in half.”
toji shrugs, unbothered. “then maybe she shouldn’t be into me.”
“she doesn’t even know you,” sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. “she just saw you around. thinks you’re… i don’t know. hot and nice.”
“ha,” toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. “then she’s definitely got the wrong idea.”
sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.
he tries again, his tone careful. “i just figured maybe you could give her a chance. she’s not like the other girls you mess with. she’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “different. the kind you’d actually like if you gave her five minutes.”
toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. “you trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? what’s in it for you?”
sukuna’s jaw tightens. “nothing. i told her i’d help her out, that’s all.”
toji grins, eyes glinting. “you sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.”
sukuna’s silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. “i don’t.”
“right. and i’m the pope.” toji laughs, leaning back. “are you high? tellin’ me about how cute and shy she is… just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.”
sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. “i wish i was fucking high. jesus, you’re impossible.”
the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. “come on, man. stop thinking so hard. let’s go get wasted.”
sukuna waves him off. “nah, i’m good. go ahead.”
toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.
this was going to be a nightmare.
.
the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.
you’re already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.
“morning,” you say softly.
“hey,” he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.
the teacher doesn’t waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.
“should we…?”
“yeah, library,” he says before you can finish. “less noise.”
you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.
the walk’s quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. there’s something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.
when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. it’s quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.
you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. “um, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?”
he nods, pulling out his phone. “yeah. what's ya' number?”
you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.
you open your instagram to show him, but he’s already found it. your account’s small. cozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.
then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.
you blink, then smile politely. “ours are… really different.”
he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. just a little.”
he doesn’t tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.
you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.
he listens. or tries to. mostly, he’s just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.
after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. “did you… talk to toji?”
he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last night. the laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.
“yeah,” he says after a moment, forcing a smile. “i did.”
your eyes widen, curious. “what’d he say?”
he hesitates. you’re looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he can’t bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that he’d said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.
so he lies.
“he seemed interested,” sukuna says smoothly. “asked who you were. said you sounded cute.”
you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. “really?”
“yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “told him you were smart, nice. he said that’s rare.”
your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.
“that’s… really nice of you, sukuna,” you say softly. “thanks.”
he shrugs, forcing a grin. “told you i’d help.”
but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he can’t look away. he doesn’t know what’s worse, the way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of him’s starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.
because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.
~
the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.
no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someone’s tv from another room.
it’s strange. unsettling, almost. he’s gotten used to the constant noise, the never ending roar of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.
he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.
it’s weird? he’s been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.
but somehow, you, sitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationship, manage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.
his room’s dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.
he doesn’t even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.
just checking something, he tells himself.
his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.
your profile opens instantly.
the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bio, something simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.
he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.
you’re holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppy’s paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, you’re holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.
he stares at it for longer than he should.
it’s just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little details, the way your fingers hold gently under the puppy’s paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.
he catches himself wondering stupid things.
was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friend’s. or some random one you met at a cafe.
was the coffee yours? it looks like something you’d order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.
where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?
he doesn’t know. and that bothers him more than it should.
his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.
great. now you’re going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.
he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.
“what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters.
he’s never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girl’s profile like he’s studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesn’t ask those questions. he doesn’t want to ask those questions.
but he can’t stop himself.
he scrolls again, back up to your most recent post, another candid shot, you’re wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.
you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.
his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.
you’re really fucking pretty.
he’d always known that. he’d noticed, sure, he’s not blind. the first day you’d agreed to work with him, he’d thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes it’s more than that.
you’re beautiful.
and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.
because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.
he still owes you. he still promised you something.
toji.
the thought of his friend’s name makes him exhale hard through his nose.
he can already picture it. if he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe you’d smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe you’d fall for him harder than you already have.
and that image, that thought? makes sukuna’s jaw clench.
he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.
“get a grip,” he mutters, rolling onto his side.
but it’s no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.
~
two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.
you’ve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukuna’s noticed small things. how you seem to relax around him more, how you’ve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.
and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.
you’re already there when he walks in.
same table. same corner near the back.
but this time, something’s different.
you’re standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, you’re holding two cups of coffee.
“hey,” you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.
he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. “hey,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.
you hold out one of the cups toward him. “i, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?”
for a second, he just stares.
it’s stupid. it’s a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.
“yeah,” he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. “yeah, that’s right.”
“i wasn’t sure how you take it,” you admit with a small laugh. “you seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.”
he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. “you got that right.”
“lucky guess.”
you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.
“thanks,” he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. “for the coffee.”
you smile, soft and genuine. “you’ve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.”
he wants to tell you that you’ve got it backwards, that you’re the one keeping him afloat, not the other way around, but he bites his tongue.
instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.
“you didn’t have to, y'know.”
“i wanted to,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.
and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.
you wanted to.
he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. “alright, so. what’s the plan for today?”
you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of him’s distracted.
it’s the way you’re talking now, louder, lighter. you’re not tripping over your words anymore. you’re not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.
and fuck if that doesn’t make something twist in his chest.
as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. he’s the one who changes the subject first.
“so,” he says, leaning back slightly. “what’s with you and coffee? every time i see you, you’ve got one.”
you look up from your laptop, blinking. “i just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.”
“the one with the green sign?”
“yeah, that one.”
“figured.”
you laugh quietly. “you go there too?”
“sometimes,” he says. “after workouts. they’ve got good espresso.”
you tilt your head. “you work out every morning?”
“almost,” he says, smirking faintly. “gotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.”
“oh, right,” you tease, eyes glinting a little. “wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”
he blinks, caught off guard. “fans?”
“your instagram,” you say, trying not to laugh. “you’ve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.”
he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “don’t remind me.”
“why?”
“because half of them don’t even go to this school,” he says, grinning a little. “they just… show up.”
you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.
after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random things. your classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (“that’s my friend’s puppy,” you explain. “he’s named mochi.”).
sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than he’s ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.
you tell him about your hobbies, your part tme job at the campus bookstore, how you’re saving up for a trip after graduation.
he listens. really listens.
and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.
when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.
“same time next week?” you ask, glancing up.
“yeah,” he says. “same spot.”
you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.
and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.
he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.
but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingers and how, somehow, that’s become his favorite part of the day.
~
the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.
toji’s already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.
“yo, you down to hit the gym?”
sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. “for sure.”
mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isn’t an option. not when you’ve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.
the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.
“bro, did you see the game last night?” toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.
“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “you owe me twenty.”
toji groans. “bullshit. that last call was garbage.”
“still counts.”
they go back and forth for a while typical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. toji’s loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mind’s somewhere else.
they’re cutting across the main quad when he spots you.
you’re walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.
you’re wearing something simple. a cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cup, but somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.
you don’t see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.
for a second, it’s like the rest of the campus fades away.
then he remembers who’s walking beside him.
toji’s still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukuna’s jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. you’re just his lab partner.
except he’s not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. he’s supposed to be thinking about the deal.
the one with toji.
his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.
“hey,” he says suddenly. “you remember that girl i was talking about the other night?”
toji glances over, raising a brow. “the chem one?”
“yeah. that’s her.”
he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.
toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. you’re still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.
sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.
“no way,” toji says, eyes widening. “that’s her?”
“yeah,” sukuna mutters.
“holy shit.” toji’s grin spreads, sharp and impressed. “you didn’t tell me she was that cute.”
sukuna doesn’t respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like it’s digging deeper under his skin.
“seriously, bro,” toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. “you made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but she’s, damn. she’s adorable.”
sukuna’s stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because that’s what’s expected. “yeah, she’s not bad.”
“not bad?” toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?”
“nah,” sukuna says quickly. “just didn’t think you’d be into that type.”
“what type?”
“the smart, quiet type,” he says, voice flat. “thought you liked girls who could ‘keep up,’ remember?”
toji scoffs. “yeah, well, she’s too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time you’re studying with her. see what she’s like up close.”
sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “yeah, sure. whatever.”
inside, he’s cringing so hard he feels sick.
they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focus on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing but his thoughts won’t shut up. toji’s words keep echoing. she’s adorable. she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me?
this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.
so why does it feel so wrong?
~
the next study session comes faster than he expects.
the day’s overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. you’re already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.
you look up when you hear his voice.
“hey,” he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.
your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.
“hi,” you say, already starting to greet him.
then your voice falters.
because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.
your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. he’s impossible to ignore, dark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.
sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.
“this is toji,” sukuna says, trying to sound casual. “he wanted to tag along today.”
“hey,” toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. “nice to meet you, y/n.”
you nod, cheeks pink. “h-hi.”
it’s awkward from the start. painfully so.
sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but toji’s already jumping in with his own questions, none of them relevant.
“so,” toji leans forward, elbows on the table. “you’re really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?”
you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. “i… guess so?”
“yeah, i could never,” he says, shaking his head. “i barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.”
you nod politely, but the look on your face says it all, you have no idea what to say.
sukuna grits his teeth.
toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.
it’s brutal.
every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna can’t stop. he knows he should’ve expected this. this was always how toji was but now that it’s happening in front of you, he can’t stand it.
you’re sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how he’s filling the space that’s always felt quiet and easy with you.
after what feels like forever, toji’s phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.
“gotta head out,” he says, smirking. “good luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe i’ll swing by next time, yeah?”
before you can respond, he gives you a wink.
you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.
he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.
the second he’s out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.
“fuck,” he mutters. “sorry about that.”
your eyes widen a little. “oh, um, it’s fine.”
“no, seriously,” he says, glancing at you. “i should’ve told you i was bringing him.”
you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. “it’s okay. i was just… nervous, i guess.”
he tilts his head. “why?”
you look down at your notes. “he’s just… kind of intense. i didn’t expect that.”
“yeah,” he says quietly. “he’s like that.”
the silence that follows isn’t awkward, though. it’s calm. steady.
you’re visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.
you don’t mention toji again.
and he doesn’t either.
for the rest of the session, it’s just the two of you again. back to the easy rhythm he didn’t realize he’d missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.
when it’s time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you don’t want the moment to end.
“see you next week?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “next week.”
you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.
he should feel relieved, he did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.
but instead, he just feels like he’s made a mistake.
because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isn’t how toji couldn’t shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.
it’s how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.
he doesn’t know what to call it. doesn’t want to.
but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.
the next time you two meet, he’s showing up alone, keeping you to himself.
~
music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.
banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.
it’s a mixer. one of those invite only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the “right” house. and sukuna’s frat, their house, was always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.
he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.
toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.
“about time, man,” toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. “thought you’d bailed.”
“nah,” sukuna mutters. “just took my time.”
“yeah, well, tonight’s supposed to be wild. let’s make the most of it.”
they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.
a few girls call out sukuna’s name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin he’s perfected, the one that says he’s not interested, but he might be later.
it’s all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. it’s all muscle memory.
but tonight, something feels off.
maybe it’s the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe it’s the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.
maybe it’s because all he can think about is you.
they end up in the kitchen, where the music’s still loud but not deafening. beer pong’s already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.
toji grabs a ball and grins. “let’s go. loser does a shot.”
sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. “you’re on.”
they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. toji’s competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiar, the weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.
after two rounds, they’re tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching don’t seem to care who’s winning they’re too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.
and then they descend.
a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.
“you guys are, like, scary good at this,” she says, voice high and flirty.
“practice,” sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.
her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. “bet you’re real good at other things too.”
normally, this is the part where he’d lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goes, shots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.
but tonight, it doesn’t land.
he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.
how you’d never lean on someone like this. how you’d never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.
his jaw tightens.
toji’s already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someone’s waist. he looks like he’s having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.
the brunette keeps talking something about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekend but her words fade into static.
god, he can’t stop thinking about you.
he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.
then he thinks about how you’d react if you saw this.
if you saw toji right now, grinning, drunk, hands everywhere.
you’d look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows you’d feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.
and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.
you’d be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.
because toji’s the one you wanted. and toji’s right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.
it makes his stomach twist.
the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.
he stiffens.
she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.
“you good?” she asks, pouting a little.
“yeah,” he mutters. “just need a smoke.”
he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.
the air’s cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.
"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."
he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.
inside, the party’s still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears toji’s voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.
sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.
why’s he even thinking about you like this?
you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. that’s all it was supposed to be.
but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how you’d brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought he’d like it. how careful you’d been, shy but trying.
and now he’s here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.
he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.
you’d be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. you’d look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like you’re genuinely happy to see him.
the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.
he can’t let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary eyed and dead from a night he didn’t even enjoy.
he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.
“what the fuck am i doing?”
he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.
that used to feel like home.
now it just feels loud.
he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.
this isn’t him. at least, it’s not the version of him you’ve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one you’ve somehow turned him into without even knowing.
he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.
you’d probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.
but here he is.
he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.
he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.
“yo,” toji calls over. “where the hell’d you go?”
“m' heading out,” sukuna says. “got shit to do tomorrow.”
toji raises a brow. “it’s friday, man.”
“yeah. i know.”
“whatever,” toji laughs. “your loss.”
sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.
the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.
he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.
his mind won’t stop racing.
he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you don’t notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when it’s just the two of you in that corner of the library.
you’d laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.
but it’s not just that anymore.
he doesn’t want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.
he wants you to think he’s better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.
he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.
when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly empty—most of the guys are still at the mixer. it’s quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.
he stares at the handle for a second before going in.
the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his desk’s still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
he should sleep. he should forget tonight.
but all he can see is you.
your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.
the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.
and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like just another day. it feels like something he’s waiting for.
~
the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.
pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyone’s still passed out.
bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.
but not sukuna.
he’s awake.
he’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest that’s been there since last night.
he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat house, sticky floors, someone’s shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpet, and shakes his head.
he’s not sticking around for the aftermath.
there’s something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.
he smiles a little at that.
when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.
“yo,” one of them croaks. “where the hell are you going? it’s like… eight?”
“got plans,” sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.
“plans?” another mumbles, half-asleep. “with who?”
“no one,” sukuna says quickly. “don’t worry about it.”
he’s already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is toj or anyone, really catching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.
the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everything’s washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.
he starts walking.
there’s a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like he’s got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself it’s just because he didn’t drink last night. he’s clear-headed. alert. that’s all.
but he knows it’s a lie.
the café comes into view just down the block. it’s the one you always go to, the one with the green sign. he remembers the first time he saw you there, hunched over your laptop with a coffee that had already gone cold, scribbling in your notebook like the world might end if you looked up.
the memory makes his chest feel weird.
he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering once, faky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.
“one of those,” he says, pointing.
the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.
he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.
but then he remembers.
you’ll already have one right now, you always do.
“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “js' the pastry.”
he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
he feels ridiculous. it’s a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like he’s carrying a confession.
when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.
you’re there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one you’ve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffee’s beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. you’re biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.
and god, you’re cute.
it slaps him all over again.
the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater you’re wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. you’re not trying to be anything. you’re just there, focused, quiet, real.
he stands there for a second, just watching.
then he remembers himself and walks over.
“g'morning,” he says.
you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. “oh, hi! you’re early.”
“yeah,” he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. “didn't wanna sleep in today.”
you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “fair.”
he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.
he holds it out to you. “for you. figured you might want breakfast.”
you blink, startled. “wait, really?”
“yeah. it’s from that cafe you like.”
your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way he’s starting to adore. “you... remembered that?”
“guess so.”
you take the bag from him carefully, like it’s something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.
“oh my god,” you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. “this is my favorite one.”
he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.
“you didn’t have to! really, that’s so sweet of you.”
“it’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. “just figured you might be hungry.” he softens.
you look down, still smiling. “thank you.”
and it hits him, how long it’s been since a girl said that to him and meant it.
you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but he’s not really listening. he’s watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.
he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.
you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like it’s become a routine.
and then, without warning, you bring up toji.
you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. “so, um... toji.”
he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. “hmm?”
“he’s… very…” you trail off, searching for the word. “loud.”
he snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”
“and, um, big. like, physically. and personality-wise. very… confident.”
he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. sorry about that. he’s… a lot. again, i didn’t mean to unleash him on you like that.” he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.
“no, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “he’s just… different than i expected.”
“different how?”
you hesitate, chewing your lip. “i guess i thought he’d be more like you.”
the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.
“like me, huh?” he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. “what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”
you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. “i just meant- you’re, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...”
he grins. "nice, huh?"
you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."
he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."
you giggled in response, letting him continue.
“so you like my type better?”
“that’s not what i said,” you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.
“didn’t have to.”
you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.
“you’re bullying me,” you say, your voice small.
“maybe.”
you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.
then, quieter, he asks, “so… you still interested in him? toji, i mean.”
you freeze.
“i.. uh.” your voice falters. “i guess so? i... i don’t know.”
“you don’t sound sure.”
“he’s just, not what i thought he’d be. i thought he’d be a little calmer.”
“he’s not really the type to surprise you in a good way,” sukuna says.
you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. “yeah. maybe not.”
the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.
you’re too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesn’t treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person you’re hung up on is his best friend.
he sighs, rubbing his jaw.
you look up, curious. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he says, forcing a smile. “just tired.”
you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. it’s peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.
when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.
“we got a lot done,” you say, smiling.
“yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember a thing you just studied.
you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.
“thank you,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “for breakfast. and for helping me.”
for a second, he forgets how to breathe.
you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.
then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused.
“see you tomorrow?”
“yeah!” he says quickly, way too excited. “d-definitely.”
you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.
he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot you’d been standing, until he realises his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.
he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.
the moment he’s in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.
he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.
every step feels heavy with restraint.
because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.
he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.
“get it together,” he mutters.
he tries to think about anything else the assignment, the game tomorrow, the half finished paper on his desk but his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.
by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeat’s finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.
he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.
the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.
he’s in trouble.
he knows it.
because he can’t stop smiling.
~
the gym in the frat house isn’t much. it’s a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.
the guys call it a “home gym,” but it’s really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.
he’s halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.
he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.
but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to blush.
it’s infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.
he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.
he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.
you and toji.
you and that stupid, innocent crush you’d confessed to him like it was nothing.
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he can’t keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.
he can’t sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.
toji doesn’t even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.
that thought alone makes his blood boil.
you’re too good for that. too damn good.
he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. toji’s face flashes in his mind—the obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.
the memory makes his jaw clench.
toji doesn’t deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.
his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.
finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.
he’s done.
done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.
without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to toji’s room.
the door’s half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesn’t bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.
toji’s sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. there’s a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.
“yo,” he says, grinning. “you look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?”
sukuna doesn’t answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.
“y/n has a boyfriend,” he blurts. “so you can forget the whole crush on you thing.”
toji blinks, confused. “uhm?”
“what,” sukuna says, crossing his arms. “shes got a guy.”
toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “who’s y/n again?”
the silence that follows is deafening.
sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.
“are you actually deadass right now?”
toji shrugs. “bro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.”
that’s it.
sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesn’t even bother explaining. it’s not worth it.
“don't worry, man,” he snaps, spinning on his heel.
he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.
by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“who’s y/n again?”
the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.
he can’t believe it. he can’t believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.
it’s not even about the deal anymore. it’s about you.
because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.
he likes you.
really, really likes you.
and it’s not just because you’re pretty, though god, you are. it’s because you’re kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like he’s worth something more than the reputation that follows him.
he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s there now, and it’s not going away.
.
the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but they’ve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.
you’re more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. you’ve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, he’s having a spaz out.
and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like he’s handed you the world.
you’ve started talking about more than the project. now, it’s everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".
sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.
he lives for these moments.
sometimes, when you’re sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. it’s barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.
you’ve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.
he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, he’s crashing out so hard.
one afternoon, it’s raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like he’s never seen one before.
“it’s not that weird,” you say, smiling. “i thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.”
he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. “thanks,” he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.
you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. it’s become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.
he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.
you always look like you might invite him, too.
but neither of you ever says it.
instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.
and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one that’s half longing and half fear.
he knows he’s in wayyy too deep.
but he can't stop.
you’ve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when he’s being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.
you’re different with him now. freer. you trust him.
and that makes everything both better and worse.
because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this on, th e deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.
it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. it’s like neither of you really care about it anymore.
and maybe that’s the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.
one evening, when the sun’s setting, you’re sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. you’re smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.
you stop mid way through your sentence, blinking. “what?”
he shakes his head quickly. “nothing.”
“you’re staring,” you say, cheeks pink.
“you’re imagining things, honey."
you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.
he smiles too, but there’s something behind it something he doesn’t let you see.
because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.
he’s seriously can't do this shit any longer.
he doesn’t want to help you get to toji anymore.
he doesn’t want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.
he wants you. all of you.
the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks he’s learned by heart.
he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of you, every version of that soft, sweet girl who’s been slowly unraveling in front of him.
and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, he’d never be able to take it back.
so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.
when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.
“thanks again,” you say softly.
he nods. “anytime.”
you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.
he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.
then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.
he’s ruined. completely.
and for once in his life, he doesn’t even mind.
~
the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like time’s been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacher’s voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.
“alright, everyone, just a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure you’ve got everything finalized. i’ll be checking submissions on friday.”
the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.
you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. he’s already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.
he gives you this crooked half-smile, something between fond and nervous, and you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.
it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm you’ve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? it’s been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?
he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. “guess we’re almost done, huh?”
you try to sound light. “yeah… crazy how fast it went.”
but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.
he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. “we should probably go over everything one more time. make sure it’s perfect.”
you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. “mhm, library after class?”
“yeah,” he says. “one last session.”
one last. the words make your stomach twist.
.
sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hair’s a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.
you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. it’s almost done, just small edits, formatting, double-checking citations, but the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and it’s impossible to think about chemistry when he’s right there.
he’s quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like he’s about to say something but decides against it.
the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you can’t stand it anymore.
“so…” you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.
he looks up instantly, like he’s been waiting for you to speak. “yeah?”
you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. “never mind. it’s nothing.”
he frowns slightly. “come on. what is it?”
you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “seriously, it’s nothing. just focus.”
he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. “fine. but you’re acting weird.”
you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. “i could say the same about you.”
that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.
you both go quiet again, typing half heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.
you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you can’t stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like it’s about to give out.
you glance up. he’s staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell he’s holding something back too.
finally, you both move at the same time.
“i have to tell you something,” you say, right as he says, “there’s something i should tell you.”
you both stop, eyes locking.
you laugh softly. “you first.”
he shakes his head. “nuh uh, you first.”
“no way,” you say, smiling now despite the nerves. “you looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.”
“ladies first,” he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “fine,” you breathe.
he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.
you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. “okay. so, um… this is kind of embarrassing, but.."
you stop, take a breath, try again. “it's about toji.”
his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. “yeah,” he says slowly. “what about him?”
you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. “i don’t really… feel that way anymore. about him.”
his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. “ts' that so?”
you nod, cheeks warm. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasn’t it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised he’s… kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.”
he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but it’s quiet, almost nervous. “yeah, that sounds like him.”
you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. “the truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didn’t know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.” you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. “but he’s not you. not even remotely close.”
his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.
“i don’t know,” you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. “i kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but… the whole time, i was really just wishing he’d be more like you, sukuna.”
you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. “and then i realised maybe i don’t want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.”
the silence that follows feels endless.
he’s staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.
you bite your lip, instantly flustered. “that sounded so stupid, didn’t it?”
he shakes his head quickly. “no. no, not at all.”
he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. it’s the biggest breath of relief you’ve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound that’s half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.
“holy shit,” he murmurs, still smiling. “you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”
you blink. “uhm, what?”
he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. “that’s what i was gonna tell you. i’ve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because i’ve been trying so hard not to say it.”
you stare at him, your heart pounding. “say what?”
he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. “that i like you. like, really like you. i’ve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and it’s been killing me trying to act normal.”
you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. “you’re deadass?”
he nods. “one hundred percent.”
“but… the deal,” you say quietly. “you were supposed to help me with toji.”
“yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “i kinda… just didn’t.”
you tilt your head. “uhhm, what?”
he laughs again, nervously this time. “i told him you had a boyfriend.”
your eyes widen. “you did?"
he winces. “yeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.”
you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “you told him i had a boyfriend?”
“yep.” he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. “guess that’s me sabotaging the deal.”
you drop your hand, still smiling. “that’s so stupid.”
“i know.”
“but…” you pause, your smile turning softer. “it’s kind of sweet.”
he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you’re not mad?”
“mad?” you repeat, shaking your head. “no. that’s… exactly what i wanted, actually.”
he blinks. “really?”
you nod, heart in your throat. “yeah. i didn’t want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”
he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “so what now?”
you smile. “i don’t know. maybe we just… stop pretending.”
he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. “i can do that.”
for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.
finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. “for the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.”
you laugh softly. “no chance.”
“good,” he says, and the way he looks at you soft, sure, a little possessive, makes your pulse race.
you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both leaning across the table, closer than you’ve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.
neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.
the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything you’ve both been holding back.
~
the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.
the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.
for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.
ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.
you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.
~
the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.
you can tell he’s thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.
friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.
“alright, everyone,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “i’ve marked your projects. you’ll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know you’re all impatient,” her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, “i’ll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.”
a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.
after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. you’re clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still aren’t visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.
“nothing yet?” he asks.
“no,” you sigh. “probably another hour.”
he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “want to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?”
you blink. “awe, my favourite. sure!”
“of course,” he says, smirking lightly. “how good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.”
you laugh, cheeks warming. “what a man. how about we meet there at five?”
“five it is.” he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. “see you then, partner.”
the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. it’s early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.
you spot him immediately sitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like it’s second nature.
“hey,” he says as you approach.
“hey,” you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.
he gestures toward the counter. “i already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, and...” he grins, “...a pastry, because apparently you can’t sit in this place without one.”
you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “you know me too well, we needa' hang out less.”
“noo,” he teases, leaning back. “i'm just an observer.”
the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.
his eyes widen. “holy shit,” he mutters.
you look up sharply. “what?”
he turns the screen toward you. there it is, your names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.
98%.
you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.
“oh my-” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “ninety-eight?”
he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “holy shit- holy shit! can’t believe it,” he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. “i actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.”
you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “i told you you’d do fine!”
he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. it’s a full, tight hug, so warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.
“thank you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. “thank you so much for helping me. i would’ve completely fucking tanked without you.”
you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. “you’re welcome,” you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. “you did so good, really.”
when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where he’d held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.
“sorry,” he says, half-smiling. “got a little carried away.”
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “it was… nice.”
his grin widens at that.
you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole world’s slowed down just for the two of you.
“so,” he says eventually, voice softer now, “ninety-eight percent. that's so peak."
“yeah, we did that,” you reply, smiling. “you’ll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.”
“you too,” he says. “you carried me, you're actually so clutch.”
“you helped too,” you insist. “you actually tried, sukuna. that’s what mattered.”
he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah, but even if i hadn’t passed…” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i don’t think i’d be too upset.”
you tilt your head, smiling faintly. “no?”
“nah.” he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “because i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.”
your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. “you’re just saying that.”
“i’m not,” he says firmly. “you made studying actually fun. no one’s ever done that shit before.”
you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.
“well,” you say softly, “i liked spending time with you too.”
your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.
you stare into his eyes, and there’s a question there, unspoken but clear.
he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. “so… what now?”
you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. “i don’t know. i guess we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s done.”
his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. “good,” he says. “because i was kinda hoping you’d say that.”
he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.
“actually,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, “there’s something i wanted to ask.”
you tilt your head. “hmm? and what’s that?”
he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “i know this is probably cheesy as hell, but… i’d really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.”
the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.
“you mean… like, a date date?” you ask, teasing just a little.
he laughs under his breath. “yeah. a date date.”
you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “i’d love that.”
his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.
he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. “good,” he says. “i was worried you’d say no.”
you shake your head, still smiling. “never.”
the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like he’s memorising the moment, the coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
and as he sits across from you, grinning like he can’t quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be something worth waiting for.
~
months slide by, slow but lovely. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.
now, you’re his. officially his. and he’s yours.
the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about who’s out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.
you pause in the doorway, clutching sukuna’s hand like it’s an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.
“don’t stress it baby,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “they’ll love you.”
and they do.
weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.
satoru’s the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, “holy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?”
“shut up,” sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. “this one’s permanent.”
that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, he’s smiling,not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.
“hey,” you mumble under your breath, “it smells so bad in here, ryo.”
he chuckles quietly. “you’ll get used to it.”
before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. “well, if it isn’t the little chem genius.”
you blink. “you… remember me?”
“of course,” toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. “heard you saved this idiot’s academic career.”
“hey,” sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. “i wasn’t that bad.”
“you had an eight percent, bro.”
the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. it’s strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm you’re used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.
by the end of the night, you’re sitting between sukuna’s legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesn’t feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.
satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, she’s a keeper. sukuna just smirks.
later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“told you they’d love you,” he whispers.
“yeah, you were right,” you murmur, smiling softly. “they’re so nice.”
“you’re even nicer,” he says, his voice barely audible. “that’s why they love ya'.”
and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.
after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. he’s surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadily, proof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.
and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.
he brings you to tiny cafes you’ve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesn’t care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.
sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.
he tells you things he’s never told anyone else—about his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.
“you made me start giving a shit,” he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. “about school, about the future. about being a better guy.”
you glance up at him, smiling faintly. “you're the bestest guy, kuna.”
he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and he’d still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.
word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people don’t really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared… dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.
but the thing is, neither of you care.
you’ve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. you’ve heard the murmurs, 'how long do you think it’ll last, she’s too good for him, he’ll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.
"don't listen to those clowns."
because you know him now. the real him.
the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when it’s too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when he’s exhausted.
the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, “none of it’s fun without you anyway.”
you see it in the way he’s changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.
he doesn’t flirt with girls anymore. he doesn’t even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.
and it’s not just the big things that show it. it’s the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way he’ll pull you closer when you’re out together, even if it’s just to rest his big hand on your hip.
he doesn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, it’s there.
you’re his world now, and everyone can see it.
his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of you. a throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.
he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. it’s a candid, one of those moments you didn’t even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears it’s his favorite picture in the world.
“you look so fucking cute, and happy,” he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.
“i am happy,” you reply softly.
“better be,” he says. “that’s all i ever want for you, y/n.”
some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims it’s because it’s quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know it’s just because he sleeps better when you’re beside him.
you cook together sometimes, though “cook” might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like he’s on master chef. you can’t stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.
“hey, we’re improvin',” he says.
“barely,” you reply, giggling.
he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, “yeah, but you’re still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.”
there are still parties, of course, he’s still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but it’s much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.
he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesn’t need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.
and when it gets late, when the music’s too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, he’ll lean down and whisper, “wanna get out of here?”
you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.
people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.
you didn’t tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.
and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.
months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.
“remember when we first started that project?” you ask one day, laughing softly. “you barely knew what a periodic table was.”
“hey,” he says, pretending to be offended. “i knew what it was. i just didn’t give a shit.”
“hmm, and now you’re pulling straight a’s.”
he grins. “guess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..”
you bump his shoulder lightly. “awe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.”
he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.
“you know something?” he says quietly.
“hmm?”
“i still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.”
you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. “yeah?”
“hell yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. “because it led me to you.”
the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and it’s just him. just you.
when he kisses you, it’s slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire that’s been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.
you remember that moment so clearly now, and you can’t help but think how far you’ve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.
and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.
you’ve both found exactly where you’re meant to be, with each other.
chemically bonded headcanons <— here!
fanfic of the year. BEST THING IVE EVER READ. MY FAVORITE SUKUNA FIC EVER.
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ older bf!gojo sleeps on the couch after an argument :: tags. hurt & comfort. fluff. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s) :: ac. thatsallitchief
satoru shifts on the couch and yawns inaudibly. he’s tired after an exhausting day at work and only now has the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.
though, he can’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he is in fact home, but it doesn’t feel like it.
not when you are missing.
you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight—just a little squabble between lovers.
satoru didn’t rush after you when you decided to walk away mid argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.
he figured that you need some time alone, which is why he decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.
satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. thus with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.
it’s suddenly dead silent in the apartment that’s usually filled with your chatter. your boyfriend truly wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep.
but, you need space. and he isn’t going to disturb your peace.
satoru drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths are steady and his thoughts are surprisingly calm. he nearly drifts off to sleep, but the creaking of a door jolts him right back up.
careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.
satoru moves his arm to the side. his blue eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe—one which he can recognise everywhere.
it’s you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you linger in the same spot for a few seconds without saying a word.
“hey, baby,” satoru breaks the silence. his voice is as soft as it can be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration heard in it. even if he has all the reasons to be upset.
it all comes back to you; you remember just how childish you had acted earlier. you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand.
the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.
in contrast to your childish behaviour, satoru had stayed calm throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you nor did he blame you for anything.
you feel bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.
you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you are about to do.
you know you have to apologise for your behaviour, but what you need first is his comfort. his validation. so, you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket he’s using.
your arms wrap around your boyfriend’s torso and you hug him tightly, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.
satoru’s eyes widen slightly at the sudden show of affection, however he doesn’t complain. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.
“my little baby,” he coos teasingly, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything is fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me—thank you.”
again. that tender tone satoru uses only with and for you.
the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop them.
“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body js enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace.
satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depends on it.
no words are exchanged between two of you for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out, which you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes are watery and a bit red.
the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you’re so adorable and precious to him. even when you look like a mess—a pretty mess.
“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanna apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i’m really sorry, ‘toru.”
satoru nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”
you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that is all the reassurance you need to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still feel bad and the guilt of your immature actions seems to linger in the back of your mind.
you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat—hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lies on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.
“sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be a pain in the ass to deal with,” you mumble with a pout.
satoru grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours—even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.
the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “keheh, i’d be lying if i said that you tryin’ to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”
satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that finger of yours in his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating had been quite endearing.
it’s not like he is invalidating your feelings with that comment—he’s genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it isn’t like it didn’t work.
“whatever,” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response.
you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.
you also don’t seem to be the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is also beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.
it’s obvious that no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.
⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—𝐸𝒱𝐸𝑅𝐿𝒪𝒩𝒢࿐ ࿔*
✧˖° EPISODE 02 ࿐ ࿔*
‧₊˚ ꒰ 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆!𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
‧₊˚ ꒰ in todays episode. You wanted to prove you could keep up. Choso learns exactly how wrong you were. What'll happen when you find out that maybe you actually couldn't keep up with him?
✧˖° previous episode ✧˖° next episode ࿐ ࿔*
✧˖° cw: college au :: mentions of drugs and drinking :: choso is freaked out :: suggestive content :: parties :: use of weed :: good girl/bad boy trope :: reader is cross faded :: fluff? :: angst?
a/n: guess who threatened to write again? me❤️🩹 ik its been a while since i updated this but dw guys it’s still in continuation. i hope yall enjoy this episode, happy reading!
The world tilts. The music thumping through the house suddenly feels farther away, like it’s underwater. Choso’s lips are still close to yours when he pulls back, a sly smirk on his face as smoke curls around him. His eyes linger on your face, dark and heavy-lidded.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Just as you go to take another hit, he chuckles. You pause, raising a brow at him.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing into your waist. “First time smoking and you’re already trying to keep up with me?”
Your head spins, the effects of the smoke finally hitting as you nod. “Maybe. Why? Are you scared that I can?” you tease.
“Tch. You most definitely can’t keep up. I bet a little angel like you can barely even stomach alcohol,” he says.
Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly determined by the challenge. “Fine,” you say. “Let’s test that, then.”
Choso raises a brow before turning to the counter. He grabs two red Solo cups and hands you one. "You sure you wanna play games?” he murmurs.
You roll your eyes, take the cup, and swish the liquid around. “What’s in these?”
He shrugs, taking a slow swig of his. “Just beer. There are shots too,” he adds, a smirk curling on his lips, “if you can handle it.”
“I can.”
You bring the cup to your lips. His eyes never leave yours as you tilt your head back and chug it down. It burns—sharp and bitter—and you fight the urge to make a face as the liquid slides down your throat.
He notices anyway.
The way your face scrunches into a tight grimace. The slight watering of your eyes. The hesitation you try to hide. He knew you were inexperienced—but this?
You set the cup down with a soft thud. “That was disgusting,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your head spins a little more now, the alcohol settling in quickly. You’ve drunk before—but never like this. Never in a place this loud, this crowded… this overwhelming.
And never with someone like him watching you so closely.
Up close, you notice things you hadn’t before.
The faint shadows beneath his eyes—dark, heavy, like sleep is something he rarely allows himself. The subtle red lining them, likely from smoke and exhaustion. His gaze is lidded, almost lazy, but there’s something sharp underneath it.
Something that doesn’t miss anything.
His thumb presses to your waist again, grounding you. "Still think you can keep up?" he murmurs, voice quieter now.
You nod.
"I know I can."
At that, he lets out a deep chuckle. "Angel, you're literally high off second-hand smoke and drunk off half a cup of beer," he teases. "I don't think you can."
He rubs slow circles on your waist, studying your face. You were deep in thought. You knew this would be a losing game, after all, you don't drink or smoke. This is his scene. His fortitude. Not yours. Trying to beat him at his own game is almost a hundred percent guaranteed loss. But something about this moment—how close he is, his hands on your waist, the intoxicating smell of weed and beer surrounding him, and the way his presence makes the party seem so much less overwhelming, makes you want to continue this silly game.
And you did—or well, you tried to.
Until you ended up on a couch somewhere, straddling his lap, cold night air prickling your skin, not even remembering how you got there. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, lazily playing with his hair as you slump forward, resting your chin on his shoulder. He's holding a blunt in one hand, bringing it to his lips, and taking a long inhale of it. His other hand is on your thigh, thumb rubbing lazy circles.
He squeezes your thigh gently and nudges you with his shoulder. You lift your head, blinking at him, expression dazed. Your eyes are hazy, unfocused—his are too, but there's something more grounded in them. More controlled.
He can't help but chuckle, giving your thigh a firm squeeze and sliding his hand up from your thigh to your waist. His hand eventually settles on your jaw, pressing his thumb to your swollen lips.
"Still trying to prove something?" he murmurs, steadying you with his other hand when you sway slightly.
You frown, trying to focus your eyes. "I can," you slur out.
He takes another drag of the blunt between his fingers. He exhales slowly, the smoke drifting between you.
You hesitate for half a second. Then lean in, breathing it in with a long inhale.
“Careful,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop you. He tilts his head back, releasing the rest of the smoke up into the air, and letting his head lie on the backrest of the couch.
His hand slides back down to your waist, squeezing lightly as you sink against him, your head resting on his chest.
His breath hitches just slightly.
His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand coming up to your head. His fingers move through your hair, slower now, more deliberate than before.
You close your eyes, pressing further into him. “I’m tired,” you mumble. Your words come out soft, slurred. Your breathing shifts—uneven, shallow. The room still spins, your vision hazy and unfocused. The noise of the party feels far away now, like it’s happening somewhere else entirely.
At this point… you just want to go home.
But you can’t.
You can barely think straight—hell, you can barely stand.
Choso goes still beneath you.
For the first time that night, he doesn’t have anything to say.
His hand pauses in your hair as he lifts his head, eyes focusing on you, really focusing now. His pupils are blown, but there’s a sharpness behind them, something alert.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
You don’t respond. Your arms loosen around his neck.
His jaw tightens.
“Damn it,” he mutters, flicking the blunt off to the side.
One hand steadies at your waist while the other brushes your hair back from your face, his thumb lingering briefly against your cheek. He exhales slowly, glancing around like he’s already thinking three steps ahead.
“Tch… shouldn’t have let you keep going,” he says under his breath.
You hum softly against his chest, barely conscious now.
He sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek once more.
“Let’s go, angel.”
Carefully, he shifts you, easing you off his lap and onto the couch for just a second.
“Mmm… where are we going?” you mumble.
“My room,” he replies. Then he leans down, sliding one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you with surprising ease. “Hold on.”
You barely register it, arms slipping around his neck as you instinctively pull closer. He adjusts his grip immediately, holding you a little tighter as he starts walking.
"Hold on," he says, quieter this time as he carries you inside the house.
For as many people as there were at that party, he didn’t expect everyone to turn and look.
But they do.
Music still blares, people still move—but there’s a noticeable shift. Heads turn. Conversations pause. Eyes follow him as he walks through the house with you in his arms. His frat brothers stare, some amused, some surprised. One of them stumbles over, a crooked grin on his face.
“Hey, man,” he slurs, patting Choso’s shoulder. “What’re you gonna do with the lightweight?”
Choso doesn’t stop walking.
Doesn’t even look at him.
“Move,” he says flatly.
The guy laughs like it’s a joke, stepping in front of him anyway. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re cutting the night short—”
Choso’s grip tightens slightly around you. “Move,” he repeats, voice lower this time.
The guy pauses, grin faltering just a bit before he lifts his hands in surrender, stepping out of the way. “Alright, alright… damn.”
Choso walks past without another word.
You shift faintly in his arms, your head pressing further into his chest. He glances down at you briefly, his expression tightening for just a second before smoothing out again.
The noise downstairs fades as he heads up the stairs, each step steady despite the chaos still buzzing through the house. When he reaches the hallway, it’s quieter. Dimmer. Away from everything.
He exhales slowly.
“Almost there,” he mutters, more to you than himself.
He heads toward his room at the end of the hallway, looking down at you and frowning every few steps.
"Is it even appropriate for me to take her to my room when she's like this?" he thought to himself.
He shakes his head. Of course, it was appropriate; you didn't have any option other than calling a cab, which would've been dangerous. But yet, he can't help feeling guilty for having to take you upstairs in the first place. It could've been avoided if he had just said no to your challenge, knowing you were a lightweight.
He nudges the door open with his foot, a soft creak breaking the quiet.
He carries you inside, long strides taking him to the bed before he carefully lowers you onto it.
You barely stir. Your eyes stay closed, lips parted slightly as you breathe unevenly, still caught somewhere between sleep and awareness.
Choso stands there for a second just looking at you. Then he exhales, crouching down, gently slipping off your shoes, and setting them aside. The small, careful movements feel out of place compared to the chaos downstairs. He moves to his mini-fridge, grabs a bottle of water, then reaches to his nightstand, pulling out a couple of pills.
When he comes back, he hesitates for half a second.
“Hey,” he says, softer now.
No response.
He sighs, setting the water and pills on the nightstand instead.
“Figured.”
He runs a hand through his hair, glancing away before looking back at you again. Then he reaches for the blanket, pulling it over you and adjusting it so you’re actually covered. His hand lingers for a second on your shoulder.
There’s a pause.
He straightens, taking a step back.
But then stops.
His gaze flicks back to you.
“I’ll stay,” he says quietly, more to himself than anything. He grabs a chair, dragging it closer to the bed before sitting down. He leans back in the chair, eyes still on you long after he should’ve looked away.
“You’re gonna hate tomorrow,” he mutters.
a/n: what do we think of protective and caring choso?
—comment to be added to taglist ໒‧₊˚
ა TAGLIST ა
@mmelancholiaas, @pinkkookiedough, @jupiterlvr, @donteveneorryboutthatbro, @megumiswife1, @ironheartsnympho, @rencakesss, @volcanicnomadlocket, @2kewlfryu, @chosoluvv, @sugerfilled, @blinkbunni, @ane5e, @fushihearts, @stqrdvstmp4, @somestrangeangelsposts
©megumisrighttoe. no plagiarism or ai training permitted. dividers: @/cursed-carmine, @/dollywons, @/uzmacchiato
caught myself giggling n blushing…
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—𝐸𝒱𝐸𝑅𝐿𝒪𝒩𝒢࿐ ࿔*
✧˖° EPISODE 01 ࿐ ࿔*
‧₊˚ ꒰ 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆!𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
‧₊˚ ꒰ in todays episode. You’ve never been one to enjoy the party scene but one day, you find yourself flopped on your bed while your roommates beg you to go out to a frat party that’s said to be hosted by a certain campus hottie.
✧˖° next episode ࿐ ࿔*
✧˖° cw: college au :: mentions of drugs and drinking :: choso is freaked out :: suggestive content :: parties :: use of weed :: good girl/bad boy trope
Inspired by Everlong–The Foo Fighters
a/n: i hope yall like this. i havent rlly seen that many plug choso fics so i decided to take matters into my own hands
"I don't like parties," you groan, running a hand down your face.
You're sprawled out on your bed, your friends standing around it, towering over you. The dorm room suddenly seems much smaller with all the extra people in it. They stare at you in disbelief for a moment before one of them speaks.
"Y/N, we just told you that Choso—the Choso Kamo—is hosting the party," she exclaims. "Do you know what that means?!"
You grab a pillow and put it over your face. "Ugh, you guys are so annoying. I don't care who that is, nor what it means, Shoko," you say, voice muffled as you speak into the pillow.
You've never been one to enjoy parties, especially not frat parties hosted by the school's biggest man-whores who have their names in everyone's mouth. You aren't even sure why your friends make such a big deal about him. The only thing you know is that he's the plug—like the plug. The one that gives you weed so strong that one hit will leave you high for days, though you were never into that, and these are just stories you've heard.
Shoko glances at Utahime, who's now staring at you with her mouth agape. Utahime shakes her head and grabs your shoulders, propping you up and shaking you with a stern look. "Listen," she grumbles. "You're going to this party."
You shake your head. "You guys are ridiculous."
Shoko laughs humorlessly, turning to rummage through your drawers, and Utahime joins her shortly after. "Come on, you know you want to go, so why put up the act?"
You flop back down with a sigh. "Maybe I am a little curious, but as I've said many times before, I don't do well at parties. The music, the crowd, the sweat, the drunk-ness, it all irritates me," you say, staring up at the ceiling while Shoko and Utahime continue to rummage through your drawer.
"You'll be fine," Utahime mumbles, pulling out a black mini skirt. "Oh, this is cute."
You sit up, eyeing the skirt. You didn't even recall owning a piece of clothing so revealing, especially not a mini skirt.
Shoko nods in agreement and holds up a sequined leopard-print cami top. "Oh, this is sexy."
You roll your eyes and frown. "Are you guys really going to force me out?"
They nod, already heading toward your closet to find shoes. They search for a minute or two, silently arguing with each other about what shoes you should wear.
"Here," Shoko says, tossing a pair of black high-heeled boots to your bedside. "Get dressed quickly. Party starts at 10."
You stare at the boots for a minute before getting up with a sigh. "Fine," you mutter.
You check your phone and see the time.
9:23 P.M
Great, you barely have time to get ready.
"I'm going to take a quick shower," you say, grabbing your towel and the clothes the girls took out for you.
"Okay, don't take too long!" Shoko says, clapping her hands together before turning to Utahime. "I can't believe we actually got her to go."
Choso Kamo wasn't just one of the most popular plugs at school—he was the most popular. And he wasn't just the plug; he was also the frat president, known for throwing the most memorable parties you could imagine.
He's standing in the backyard, smoking a stuffed-to-the-brim blunt while talking to one of the other frat members.
"Man," Geto mutters, staring at the blunt. "Are you even going to make it through the night?"
Choso smirks and takes a long drag, tilting his head up and exhaling the smoke out into the dark sky. "You seem to underestimate me, Geto. Have you forgotten? The plug's gotta try his own stuff before passing it around," he pauses to take another hit. "Gotta make sure it isn't laced."
Geto runs his hand through his hair, chuckling incredulously. "Only you would say that."
"Yeah, whatever. Let's head inside, it's lame out here."
You walk up to the house, tugging your unbearably short skirt down. "I want to go home already," you mumble, and Shoko and Utahime just giggle.
"You'll be fine," they say.
The music hits you before you even step inside, bass thumping through the walls, rattling your ribs as people spill out onto the porch. The air smells like alcohol and something smoky.
The three of you step inside, instantly engulfed by the crowd. Sticky bodies bump into you from every direction as people shove past, and the music is somehow even louder inside. The regret already starts to form in your chest.
You glance at Shoko and Utahime, who have already found their place in the crowd, dancing with two guys.
You tap Shoko. "I'ma get a drink," you say loudly. She nods.
You make your way through the crowd, pushing past people, and occasionally stumbling over the discarded items on the floor. The kitchen is a lot emptier and quieter than the rest of the house. "Ugh, this is why I don't party," you mumble to yourself as you pick up a red solo cup.
"Don't party?"
A deep voice speaks from behind you.
"Babe, you just haven't been to one of my parties before."
You freeze, grip on the cup tightening slightly. You turn around slowly, the smoke circling the air around you, with a tall figure leaning against the counter. Long dark hair frames his face, and a blunt rests between his fingers like it's a second nature.
Oh.
This must be Choso.
Choso watches you for a moment before lifting the blunt to his lips again. Smoke fills his lungs, and he leans a little closer.
"Ever tried it?" he asks.
You shake your head.
His mouth curves slightly. Then he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting toward you. It curls around your face before you even realize you're breathing it in. You inhale instinctively and immediately cough. Choso laughs under his breath.
"Here," he says and hands you the blunt.
You glance up at him, unsure, fingers fidgeting. "I—I don’t know how," you mumble, yet you grab it anyway.
He places a cool hand on your shoulder, letting it linger a moment before sliding down your arm, knuckles grazing your skin. When he reaches your wrist, he gently guides the hand holding the blunt to your lips.
You stand frozen, chest tight, heart racing. His black hair falls just so over his forehead, and those red, glazed eyes don’t leave yours.
"Open."
You don’t have time to think. The blunt touches your lips, and you instinctively part them.
He smirks, low and satisfied. “Good,” he murmurs.
His free hand lifts to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, resting on the back of your neck, while the other keeps the blunt at your lips.
“I’ll guide you, okay?”
You nod, lips still parted, the blunt barely in between them.
“Y/N!” Shoko slurs, stumbling toward you.
Choso steps back instantly, releasing you and straightening. He runs a hand through his hair, bringing the blunt back to his lips with a long drag, winking at you when you glance at him.
Shoko clings to you, resting her head on your shoulder. “What were you up to?”
“Oh. I—uh,” you stammer, glancing at Choso, who subtly presses a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. “Nothing. I was just getting a drink.”
Shoko sways slightly, laughing. “Y/N, don’t be silly! You don’t drink.”
Choso chuckles under his breath, watching you. You exhale in defeat. “I meant a non-alcoholic one, Shoko,” you deadpan, holding her steady.
“Oh God, Shoko, come here!” Utahime growls, appearing suddenly and pulling Shoko away. She brushes stray strands of hair from Shoko’s face and then looks at you. Her gaze flicks down to your waist, Choso’s hand rests there, hovering just slightly.
You didn’t even feel it.
You catch her gaze, and she winks.
"Well, I have to take this one home," she says. "You gonna be okay?"
You nod. "Yeah, I'll be fine."
She nods, a sly smirk playing on her lips as she looks at Shoko to hide it. She puts her arm around her shoulder and guides her away. "Have fun!" she teases.
You shake your head with a giggle.
Choso fully rests his hand on your waist now, tugging you closer. He leans down, enough for his breath to brush your cheek. The blunt resting between his lips as he speaks.
"So," he says, voice low. "Where were we?"
You grab the blunt from his lips and put it on yours, taking a deep inhale of it. He watches you intently, shocked by the sudden movement.
Your lungs burn slightly, the fumes penetrating your airways, and the urge to cough is unfathomable. He notices how your face flushes.
"Burns, doesn't it?" he mutters, his gaze flicking between your eyes.
You nod softly.
His hold on your waist tightens fractionally as he leans closer. You tilt your head, gaze flicking between his lips and his eyes.
"Breathe out,” he murmurs.
And you do, hesitant at first, and the warm tendrils drift out of your lungs.
"Why?"
“So I can breathe you in,” he whispers, leaning just enough to part his lips over yours and inhale the smoke through his mouth.
a/n: i might make this a series. i rlly like this concept. lmk what u guys think in the comments!
update— I made it a series. yay!
—comment to be added to taglist ໒‧₊˚
for my pookie dookie bear @mmelancholiaas❤️🩹
©megumisrighttoe. no plagiarism or ai training permitted. dividers: @/cursed-carmine, @/dollywons, @/uzmacchiato
this is so good
BOYGROUP HOT DEBUT!
check out the hottest plate on jujutsu entertainment’s plate! kpop boygroup, CURSED. wanna now more about it’s members? keep reading! highly recommend to click on all of the links attached.
jujutsu kaisen kpop au
☰ ⌕ CURSED ⟳ ⌫
members preview…
01. KENTO NANAMI (나나미 켄토)
25 years old , lead... [soon to be revealed]
Kento joined Jujutsu labels on 2018, auditioned with a cover of rainisim by rain and got into the company instantly. He was the first option for the group’s visual, but then there was decided to keep him as the xxxxxx and a lead xxxxxxxx. he is a member of the hyung line and the xxxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
02. Z’ENIN TOJI (제닌 토지)
24 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Toji joined Jujutsu labels in 2023, was found by some of the higher ups in an under xxxxxx group from hongdae. he used to upload some of his songs on soundcloud and was quite known on the south korean xxxxx scene before becoming an idol. He is a member of the hyung line and the ??? line. [soon to be revealed]
03. SATORU GOJO (고조 사토루)
23 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Satoru was the first member to join JJe , at the age of 17. Hybe (BigHit then) had his eyes on him while he was still a trainee at SM, he almost debuted with BTS. He is a member of the hyung line, the xxxxxx line and the xxxxx line of the group. [soon to be revealed]
04. SUGURU GETO (스구루 게토)
23 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Suguru joined the company in 2023. He was the first member to be decided by the company to be in the group, yet the last to finally deciding to accept the project. He was discovered by a talent hunter in a coffee shop. The company tricked him into thinking a pretty girl had asked for his number, and then SMTown called him to do a singing audition. He was a model and wasn’t sure about the idol life, that’s why he was the last one to decide to join the group. He is a member the hyung line, the xxxxx line and the xxxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
05. RYOMEN SUKUNA (료멘 스쿠나)
23 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Sukuna was also discovered by JJe in an undergeound group. He was the second member to be secured to be in the group, after Suguru. He is the last member of the hyung line, member of the xxxxx line and xxxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
06. CHOSO KAMO (카모 초소)
22 years old, lead.. [soon to be revealed]
Choso was the last to join the company, yet was decided to be in the group the moment his audition tape was seen. He is the first member of the maknae line and also a member of the xxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
07. FUSHIGURO MEGUMI (후시구로 메구미)
21 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Megumi entered the company a few months after Gojo did. He was sort of a mentor to him since the age difference they have and all the time they used to spend together. He is a member of the maknae line and the xxxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
08. ITADORI YUJI (이타도리 유지)
20 years old, main… [soon to be revealed]
Yuji entered JJ labels at the age of 15 years old, focusing on his xxxx practices. He was part of a xxxxx group oneof the higher ups found and quickyly they got in touch with him to get him to train. He is the last member of the maknae line, a member of the xxxxx line and the xxxxx line. [soon to be revealed]
a/n
WHAT THE HELLYYYY im so happy how this idea turned out omg keep tuned for updates!!!!!
check out the girls!! | masterlist
hyung line!!!! (Part 2 of ts)
yes yes tell me more
