gryffindor!gojo now has come to the sensible conclusion that you despise him.
you roll your eyes whenever he jokes. you look away when he comes near you. you whisper something your friends that makes him laugh whenever he says something stupid in class. and had it been anyone else he wouldn’t mind. but for some reason, he minds when it’s you.
and despite the fact that he’s racked through his mind to think about why, he can’t come up with anything.
but he thinks he gets a little closer to cracking your cold exterior when on an equally cold day he finds you waiting outside the transfiguration room, shivering, waiting for some of your friends. when you see him walking nearer you grumble something under your breath.
“cold?” he asks with a tilt in his voice, his blue eyes gleaming as he stops in front of you. your shivering, arms wrapped around your body as your teeth chatter. you glare up at him in annoyance.
“i’m actually a bit warm,” you mutter sarcastically resting your shoulder on the wall as you look away from him.
he takes this time to admire your features. the slope of your nose and the flutter of your lashes. had you not hated his guts he might’ve found you cute.
“you fancy a trip to madame pomfrey?” gojo asks and you snort.
you’re only wearing a sweater, clearly not anticipating the halls to be so cold. gojo stares at you a little longer, and you feel a little bit of heat rise to your cheeks.
“i should pay you for how much you stare,” you murmur, “an hourly rate.”
gojo smiles a little bit. at least you’re talking a little more now.
he bags to unbutton his robe, his nimble fingers working fast as they unhook the buttons from their hooks. you watch in silence as he shrugs it off of his shoulders, holding it towards you.
you look at him in confusion, brows furrowed and lips drawn in perplexity.
“i’ve got enough layers,” gojo says with a shrug, forcing the cloak towards you, not liking how still you’re staying.
he can see the fight in your eyes the way you look from his outstretched arm to his face and then back to the cloak. he sees how much you want to give in, to just give up for once.
but you shake your head, looking away from him.
“i’d rather freeze to death,” you say, looking at the transfiguration door swing open as students came pouring out.
you don’t glance at him as you make your way to your friends, a genuine smile making its way on your face as you greet them.
and gojo stands there, with his cloak in his hands, in silence. and then the silence brews. the olive branches he’s extended for no reason going up in flames as his usual happy demeanor cracks and a scowl makes its way into his face,
gryffindor!gojo who’s confident but not daft. he gets a sense that you don’t particularly like him and that just can’t do.
he becomes observant of your behavior and your actions. you laugh freely when your with your friends, a smile in your face as you all joke around the table. you seem to get along with your potions partner, even if they’re a slytherin, and sometimes when he passes by the second story girl laboratories he hears you talking to myrtle, which is truly a saint activity.
but for some reason, he never gets any of this attention.
whenever he tries to talk to you during the defense against the dark arts lessons you loudly shush him and tell him to leave you alone. when he tries to gauge how much you enjoy quidditch you send him a glare. you never seem to smile when he’s around, that frown growing between your brows.
and it’s strange, really. gojo is used to people just being fine with him, better than fine actually. like for example, one night in the common rooms, he went up to you to ask something measly.
“did you understand a word of what snape was saying?” he asked with a teasing smile, something surely you could agree on.
you seems to be alone, working on an essay, being left by your friends as they went to sleep. when you saw him come near you, you had to control yourself from groaning.
“yes.” you mutter, continuing to work.
“merlin,” he said with an awkward chuckle, glad none of his friends were around to see the ever boisterous gojo satoru stammer, “you must have great-“”
“i’m trying to get this done by tonight,” you look up momentarily and he would have been able to reciprocate your hatred if only he didn’t find his throat getting dry whenever you looked at him, “please leave.”
so gojo leaves. and this seems to be a routine. but he knows that deep down it’s not just him pestering you that the issue. because sometimes, when he doesn’t mean to, he catches your stare from across the dining hall table. and he sees the way you were tediously picking his features apart, just as he does to you.
and he doesn’t miss the way you quickly avert your stare away. nor does he miss the way you bring your fold fingers to your cheeks to cool them down.
❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]
❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞
❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. reader has a vagina. slow burn. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.
❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.
❦ words ; 12.2k.
main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon
If there’s one thing you can say about your friendship with Sukuna, it’s that he’s a lot funnier than all the rumors surrounding him give him credit for.
That, and that you’ve gotten a lot better at checking your email.
Pulling into the parking lot nearest to the campus library, you put the car in park and turn to the passenger’s seat to grab your bag. When you turn back, a startlingly tall figure is trudging through the snow towards you, salmon hair poking out from his hood standing as a dead giveaway as to who it is.
Rolling down your window, you call out to him. “Sukuna?”
He jogs towards you at the sound of your voice, resting his forearms on the edge of your car where the window is lowered. A paper cup adorned in a local coffee shop logo in each of his hands grabs your attention as he dips his head into your car and, more importantly, right into your personal space. Your heart races at the close proximity, keeping your attention on the cups in his hands in an effort to keep your thoughts in order.
“Shit, it’s cold,” he grumbles. “I swear it was just fall.”
Don’t say it, don't say it, don't say it- “You could always light yourself on fire again.”
Sukuna’s face deadpans. “Play your games, brat. I’m more than happy to have your drink,” he sneers, ducking his head back out of his window and into the cold as he attempts to turn away.
“Wait wait wait!” You giggle, reaching out to tug him back into the window as you pull on his coat sleeve. He scowls at you, letting you pull him back into the heat of your car despite his grumpy demeanor.
“D’you want your drink or not?” He grumbles, holding one of the cups out a bit further.
Curiously, you take it from him, smiling as it warms your hands. Bringing the cup up to your lips, you cautiously take a sip, your tongue swiping your lips when you pull it back to look at it with a crease between your brow.
“How’d you know my exact order?” You ask, wracking your brain for if you had told him at some point.
“I’m just that good,” he smirks, taking a sip of his own drink that smells like the most caffeinated black coffee you’ve ever bore witness to.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Sukuna clearly isn’t about to let you in on his secret. With a soft sigh, you resign yourself to not knowing.
“Thanks, Kuna.”
He grunts in reply, taking another sip of his overpoweringly aromatic coffee.
“Are you gonna come study?” You query as you set your drink down in a cup holder to zip up your coat and pull your backpack up over your shoulder. Sukuna backs away from the door as you get out of your car and grab your drink.
“Nah, gotta turn in a paper.”
“See you at lunch, then?” You tilt your head to get a better view of Sukuna towering over you.
He grimaces, a muscle in his jaw tensing. “Suppose so.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” you tease.
“Can’t say I’m lookin’ forward to getting torn apart by your friends.” He takes a sip of his coffee, tucking his other hand into his pocket to fiddle with his lighter, though he’s careful not to start a fire this time.
“I’ll talk to them. It won’t be that bad,” you promise, giving him your best reassuring smile.
Sukuna pauses to examine your expression, his gaze flickering between your eyes and down to your smile. He knows you well enough to spot the crack in your facade, the barely-there flash of doubt in your eyes that tells him that your friends won’t forgive him so easily, but he owes you regardless, so he doesn’t have much of a choice at the end of the day but to trust you.
And trust you, he does. He’s not sure what it is about your calming presence and sunny demeanor, but you seem to pull the best from him and even in the turmoil that his life has become, he finds himself seeking that familiar warmth.
It’s for that reason that he’ll bear whatever it is that your friends deem a necessary punishment for him, even if it irks him.
He hums in reply, glancing down at his watch as he sets the thought aside. “Gotta go. Later,” he says abruptly as he turns to leave in usual Sukuna fashion.
“See you later, thanks for the drink!”
He casts a glance over his shoulder at you with a smirk before throwing his hood up over his head and trudging off into the snow. You follow suit, pulling your hood up with a shiver as the wind whips around you, reminding you just what season it is. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you jog towards the library and barge through the doors with as much poise as you can muster given the cold you’ve just run from.
Shoko’s head lifts from her book as you approach the table where she and Kento are hunched over their textbooks while Haibara is typing away on his laptop. With a huff, you take a seat across from Shoko and beside Kento.
“I can’t believe it got this cold and snowy so quickly,” you whisper, shivering as you toss your coat over the back of the chair.
“Welcome to winter,” Shoko sighs, fiddling with a coffee cup that matches your own.
“Oh!” Haibara looks up from his laptop with a pleased expression. “Good, you did get your drink!”
With a tilt of your head, you hold the paper cup out in front of you, glancing around the table as you realize all three of them have matching cups to yours.
“Yeah, um, Sukuna brought it for me,” you smile, bringing the cup towards your chest as if the thought makes you starstruck. Maybe it does, just a bit.
“I ran into him at the cafe. He actually came up and said hi, would you believe that? I mean, he just wanted your order, but I thought it was pretty nice for him.” Haibara beams, leaning back in his chair with a bright smile that you share. Kento and Shoko exchange a less enthusiastic glance, privy to information Haibara doesn’t have on your former project partner.
“That explains how he got my order right,” you giggle to yourself, pleased when Haibara laughs along with you. Maybe it’ll be good to have him at your side for lunch today to break the tension between Sukuna and your friends. “Oh yeah, he’s gonna join us for lunch.”
With Haibara sitting at the table, Kento and Shoko keep their mouths shut, but their displeasure doesn’t need to be voiced based on the frowns you receive.
“Can we talk, actually?” Shoko speaks up, pushing herself up from the table.
Your heart drops, but you nod, gingerly following as she leads you into the hall outside the library. It’s dead quiet, even more so than the library itself which was filled with the sounds of paper turning and pens scratching. Now, the silence seems to close in on you as your closest friend turns to you with an exasperated sigh.
“Listen girl, you know I love you.”
“That’s just about the worst start to this I could have hoped for,” you joke with a nervous laugh in hopes of lightening the mood.
Shoko smiles. “I promise it’s not that bad. I’m just worried and I won’t sit by with Kento and watch while Sukuna breaks your heart. Once is a mistake, but twice?”
The guilty look on your face causes her to sigh again, but before you can give her a better explanation, she continues.
“You’re too forgiving for your own good sometimes and I know you didn’t want to mention the kids to Kento, but can you at least tell me what his excuse was? I just want to make sure he isn’t taking advantage of you.”
You chew on your lip, knowing your explanation won’t help Sukuna’s case. “Well, he hasn’t exactly told me, but-”
“He hasn’t told you?” She parrots with a raised brow, rubbing her temple.
“Wait, wait, just listen!” You plead, grabbing her shoulders. “He told me there was an emergency with the kids and he doesn’t want me involved in it. I told him this is his last chance and he’s trying, Sho.”
She grimaces, the gears turning in her mind as she weighs her opinions on him based only on what you’ve told her. “You better have meant it when you told him this is his last chance,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “I know he’s got a lot on his plate but that doesn’t give him any excuse to treat you like you’re disposable.”
“I won’t let him,” you promise. “And he won’t,” you assure her. He hasn’t gained the entirety of your trust back, but you can see that he’s putting in a notable effort to earn it and you want so badly to believe that the Sukuna you’re getting to know will stick around.
In all honesty, you think the begrudgingly kind and thoughtful version of him you’re getting to know is the real Sukuna, beneath the layers of grumpiness and stress and anger that go hand-in-hand with that warmth that he seldom shows around others. Hardened by a life that’s been nothing but tough on him, you’re privy to another side of him. One that has a good time teasing and making jokes, who enjoys music, movies, and video games and has a love for art. Sure, he’s still got an attitude and a penchant for being easily annoyed (and annoying), but behind all those walls is a person that anyone would be happy to spend time with.
He just needs a little bit of help and some rest to show that side of himself, help that he has a hard time accepting over his pride.
With a deep sigh, Shoko resigns to your beseeching. “You really like him, huh?”
Your cheeks warm, unable to hide the smile that finds its way to your lips, although you don’t respond. She has her answer in the form of your giddy smile as you shuffle from one foot to the other.
“I’ve never seen you like this before. The heart wants what it wants, I guess.”
“So you’ll give him a chance at lunch today?” You plead, squeezing her shoulders lightly.
She takes a moment to consider your words before dramatically rolling her eyes as she pulls you in for a hug. “One wrong move and I’m whooping his ass.”
“I won’t stop you, promise.”
She pulls back and begins heading back to the library. “He’s been helping you with History, right? Can we go over that? I’m so behind,” she whispers as she crosses into the library. The sound of pages turning and pencils scribbling is a relief in comparison to the silence of the empty reading week halls.
“Sounds good!”
–
With a shiver, you brush the snow from your jacket as you make your way into the lunch hall, unzipping it as you’re met with warm air. There’s a few more students around than there has been the last few days, likely the result of the power going out in some of the dorms from the whispers you’d been hearing.
Making your way to your usual table, you pull out some leftovers from a couple of nights ago and make your way to the microwave.
When you return to your seat, the table has gained an air of awkwardness that you suppose you were expecting, and Sukuna is seated to the right of your chair. Haibara seems to be doing what he can to mediate the table and Shoko’s half-hearted replies are better than nothing, at the very least. Kento seems less than pleased, but he’s entertaining Haibara if nothing else.
“Hey!” You beam at Sukuna. His gaze flickers up to you and he nods in reply. The rest of the table seems to relax at your arrival, but the tension remains palpable. Tough crowd.
Taking a seat beside Sukuna, you turn to him as Shoko and Haibara talk about something they watched the night before, entertaining Kento with the drama of it all. “How did turning in your paper go?” You ask the tattooed man who’s leaning against his knuckles, propped up by his elbow on the table.
He yawns before he replies. “Fine. Should get a good grade,” he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I’m glad,” you smile, taking a bite of your lunch. “Did you bring anything to eat?”
“Yeah, leftovers from last night.” With a grunt, he leans down to his bag as though it took a nominal amount of effort, pulling a container from his bag. Setting the container down, he sighs heavily.
With a sympathetic smile, you lower your voice. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face as he glances around the table to make sure no one’s listening. “Cho’s been having nightmares and it’s catchin’ up with me.”
“Aww,” you pout. “Poor kid.”
“He’ll be alright,” Sukuna assures you, or at least you think he’s assuring you. “They both will.”
You purse your lips, examining the distance in his sunken eyes. You may be sitting beside him, but there’s a strange feeling that you’re watching him from outside, as though there’s a barrier of glass between you. Before you can question him any further, he changes the subject.
“How’s studying for History goin’?” He casts a glance at Shoko, just long enough to catch her eye and invite her into the conversation. It’s small, but it is a noticeable effort from Sukuna to include her.
“We were just going through it, actually. I feel way better about that final already,” you smile, eyes bright as you exchange a glance with Shoko.
Her cautious gaze softens and she nods in agreement. “Yeah. Thanks for the help.”
“Mm.” Sukuna hums, turning towards you with a smirk. “So if I ask about the Berlin Blockade-”
“Oh no,” you groan.
“- you can tell me how many air corridors the Soviets granted for cargo and trades and where they were granted to?”
Sukuna’s pretty sure he sees your eyes glaze over in dread and confusion from just one question, as though your confidence has fizzled out. He chuckles, amused.
“One question at a time. D’ya remember how many air corridors there were?”
You sigh. “This isn’t what I was hoping for when I invited you for lunch,” you grumble as you pull your history textbook out. “Three. There were three.”
“Good. Where were they granted to?”
“Um…” you take a deep breath, wracking your brain for information. “Frankfurt.”
“Mhm.”
“Hamburg.”
“Good.”
You chew on your lip, peering over at him with a blank stare that tells him you haven’t the faintest clue.
“Open your textbook,” he instructs.
You flip to the chapter about the Cold War, searching for information about the Berlin Blockade. Your eyes scan the pages and eventually come across all three locations. “Bückeberg.”
“Good. Who was the foreign minister at the time?”
The look you shoot Sukuna is too cute. You look completely and utterly lost, immediately searching your textbook. “Vyacheslav Molotov,” you reply after a moment, pointing at a black and gray photo of a man.
“Yes,” Sukuna agrees, reaching for your hand. His fingers are rough and calloused when he wraps them around yours, moving your hand an inch to the left to a different photo. “But you pointed at Stalin.”
“O- oh.” You tear your gaze from his much larger hand wrapped around yours to the two photos, using every shred of willpower you can muster to commit the photos to memory. Whether it’s because you’re burnt out on studying, or because the size of Sukuna’s hand is sending your mind reeling to places you’re not willing to admit aloud, your heart is pounding and you can only pray Sukuna’s fingers aren’t low enough on your wrist to feel your pulse. “My bad,” you barely manage to whisper.
Sukuna pulls his hand back, laying it next to yours on the table. “You were close,” he shrugs, not thinking much of it.
With a sharp intake of breath to clear your head, you pull your notebook aside and write down the answers you missed. “I should know this by now,” you mutter more to yourself than anyone else. Barely audibly, you tack on, “we’ve studied so much.”
Sukuna arches a brow, thoughtfully looking down at you. “It’s not a big deal. You actually know the history itself well, you’re just bad with names, dates, and faces.”
With pursed lips, you give him your attention, considering his words for a moment.
“What’s the reason for the Berlin Blockade?” He quizzes.
“To weaken Germany,” you reply without a moment’s thought.
He smirks, nudging your shoulder and keeping in close proximity with you. “See, you’re fine. That’s why I’ve been quizzin’ you on the more important shit.”
“I guess you’re right. Won’t there be a lot of names on the test though?”
“Nah. It’s like a seventy-thirty split,” he shrugs.
“Thirty’s a lot,” you mumble, your face falling at the thought of getting a seventy, and that’s only if you get a perfect score across every other question.
“Seventy is a lot,” he corrects, a playful smirk slathered across his lips. “Or are you a princess about your grades?” He teases as his lips turn up into a grin.
You force a smile, entertaining his teasing. “I know you’re right, but-” you pause, looking up into those striking crimson irises. He’s so close to you and regards you with so much mirth that your breath unintentionally hitches in your throat. “- um,” you continue shakily, “I could lose my scholarship if my grades aren’t good enough.”
Sukuna’s eyes briefly widen. “You’re on a scholarship?”
“Yeah, I need higher than a seventy on this final.”
He lets out a long breath through his nose. “Alright then, princess. We’ll aim higher.”
Did your mouth just go dry from one word? God are you really in that deep?
“Thanks, Kuna.” You nudge him back, earning you another entirely too handsome grin.
“Mm.” His grin falters at the nickname, but he forces down his disdain for it.
You’re so caught up in your conversation with Sukuna, that you don’t see Haibara kick Kento and Shoko from under the table and direct their attention to your interactions with Sukuna. Even stoic Kento who was beyond pissed with Sukuna can’t deny that the sight could weaken even the hardest resolve against the man.
–
“I don’t WANNA!”
You lower your fist from Sukuna’s door the following night, pausing at the chaos from within his apartment. The anger and frustration just beyond the door is practically bursting out into the hall and you’re sure the moment it opens, it’ll metaphorically slap you in the face. Taking in a sharp breath, you raise your hand again.
“I won’t ask again,” comes Sukuna’s raised voice, straining to keep his anger down.
… And now you can hear sobbing.
You softly tap your knuckles against the door, half expecting to need to wait for someone to let you in but Sukuna swings the door open immediately. It slams shut behind you once you’ve cleared the entryway and the scene inside is equally as ugly as it sounds.
Choso is nowhere to be seen, Yuji is in tears and Sukuna is about to blow a gasket.
Oh boy.
“What’s- um-” You pause, debating whether you should even ask. “- Going on?” You question mousily.
“Go on brat, what’s going on?” Sukuna hisses, his chest rising and falling as fury courses through his veins.
Yuji’s too busy sobbing to reply, shaking his head adamantly as he wipes at his face, snot running down his chin.
“Fucking christ,” Sukuna mutters, exasperated. He runs a hand through his pink hair, turning on his heel away from the scene in an effort to keep calm. Whatever patience he’d had for this had run dry during their walk home from school and with the mess his life had become, he was already worn extremely thin.
As Yuji continues to bawl and Sukuna leans over the kitchen counter gathering himself, you decide to step in.
You make your way across the living room to Yuji, kneeling down in front of him. “Hey, sweetheart.” Your voice is gentle and you offer a sympathetic smile. “Everything’s alright, don’t cry,” you soothe as you reach out and gently rub the sides of his arms. “Do you want a hug?”
Yuji nods adamantly, hiccuping through the tears as he reaches out for you. You pull him in for a tight hug, rubbing his back reassuringly. Sure to keep your voice soft and gentle, you give him a moment before speaking up.
“What happened, Yu?”
“K-Kuna’s-” sniffle. “- he’s m-making me get a-” Yuji’s voice breaks as the tears set in again. “A-” hiccup. “- needleeeeee.” He sobs into your shoulder, burying his face into your neck. You let out a breath at the realization that it’s just an argument that’s been blown completely out of proportion. Life was so much easier when the hardest thing you had to endure was vaccinations.
“I’m sorry honey,” you coo, continuing to rub his back. You let him sob into your shoulder before pulling back to look at him. At the sight of your face, so gentle and calm, he starts to sniffle more and less tears flow down his cheeks. “There you go,” you smile, noticing now that there’s a very crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
Yuji wipes his face on his arm, his breath coming in short gasps as he slowly calms down.
“Can I see that?” You ask, holding your hand out.
“No,” he whines, holding it behind his back.
“Alright,” you smile again, deciding it’s best to reason with him.
You cast a glance back to Sukuna. His palms are splayed on the counter as he leans his weight over the surface, staring down at it. All of his muscles are tense as his back rises and falls steadily with each breath he uses to calm his own anger. They really are two sides of the same coin.
“Is your school doing vaccinations?”
Yuji nods.
“Is that your permission form?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you lying?”
He hesitates before nodding. You have to stifle a laugh at his completely shameless lie, your smile lopsided.
“Can we talk it through?” You ask, sitting cross-legged before Yuji.
He blinks a few times as he considers your question before plopping himself down on the floor in front of you. He glances down at the way you’re seated, following suit and setting his permission form juuust out of reach. Sneaky kid.
“Are you scared of needles?”
Yuji’s silent, thinking for a moment before he decidedly nods.
“Okay, that’s normal. Are you afraid it’ll hurt?” You query, tilting your head at him.
“It will,” he replies with an edge of certainty, sniffling.
“Maybe for a moment, but do you know what the needle’s for?”
“Um-” he wipes under his eyes, his face scrunching up in deep thought. “- no.”
“It’s so that you don’t get sick. Do you remember being sick the other week, sweetheart?”
“... yeah.” He continues to sniffle and wipe at his face, looking up at you between each movement as he waits for you to continue.
“Well, there’s sicknesses that are a lot worse than that, and your brother doesn’t want you to get them,” you explain, glancing back at the sound of Sukuna shuffling. He pushes himself up from the counter, listening as intently as Yuji is as he makes his way a short distance behind you. His disgruntled expression trains on the sight of you sitting alongside his little brother, but he’s silent. “Don’t you think it’s worth it to get poked for a moment and not get one of those sicknesses?”
Yuji’s gaze flickers between you and his older brother towering over both of you as he thinks about it. You give him all the time he needs, even as Sukuna’s foot begins tapping impatiently. He’s an adult, he can wait. “I guess,” Yuji finally agrees, averting his gaze.
“Do you think you can be brave for me and get a needle, then?” You ask, your gentle smile remaining in place the whole time.
It takes a moment, but Yuji nods.
“Can I have that paper, Yu?”
He gingerly reaches behind him and passes you the crumpled paper. Tilting your head up to Sukuna, you pass it up to him. He walks over to the table, signs it, and returns it to Yuji.
“You better give this to your teacher,” he growls as he hands it back to Yuji. The little boy frowns, staring down at the ground in shame as he sniffles. Tears threaten his eyes again and you sigh.
“Sukuna, please,” your tone is soft with him as well, pleading for understanding between the two.
A muscle in his jaw tightens as his frustrated gaze zeros in on you, but he second-guesses whatever snappy words are about to spill from his lips, choosing instead to keep his mouth shut. His lips press into a thin line, furiously glaring at you and Yuji.
“Can you promise your brother, sweetheart?”
He’s still quietly sniffling as he nods, unable to look either of you in the eye. You let out a soft sigh, rubbing at the crease between your brows. At least they’d come to some kind of peace, even if Sukuna is audibly huffing behind you while Yuji sniffles.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you offer a hand to Yuji, who takes it and lets you drag (yes, drag) him back up to his feet, quietly fiddling with the hem of his Sonic the Hedgehog shirt.
With a glance at Sukuna, clad in a plain white V-neck and sweatpants, you catch a glimpse of his tattoos and an idea pops into your mind. “You know, Yuji, your brother is super brave.”
The little boy’s head tilts in a silent question, just as Sukuna is looking at you with arms crossed over his chest. You take a step towards the older of the two brothers, avoiding his gaze to conceal your racing heart. Gingerly, you reach for his wrist and tug lightly on it. His lip twitches in a frown as he stays soundly in place, relenting finally when you tilt your head.
Fuck, it’s cute when you do that.
He lets you pull his wrist down towards Yuji, his expression unchanging as you point out his tattoos. “Your brother got thousands of needles for his tattoos, did you know that?” Your thumb rubs circles into Sukuna’s skin and he wonders if you know you’re doing it at all, his full attention trained on the action. Whether consciously or not, you seem to be trying to soothe him, and the fact that it’s working only further complicates the feelings bubbling in Sukuna’s chest.
Yuji peers up nervously with reddened eyes and puffy cheeks at his older brother. “Really?” He rasps quietly, his voice strained from crying.
“That’s right,” you grin. “Can you be brave like your brother?”
Yuji reaches out and presses a finger to Sukuna’s wrist, as if feeling for raised skin, only to find it’s smooth. “Like Kuna,” he nods in agreement, showing you the saddest smile you’ve ever seen through his tear-stained face.
“Like Kuna,” you agree, rustling the little boy’s salmon hair. He smiles more happily now, running off with his permission slip to slide it into his backpack.
Sukuna lets out a long breath as you drop his wrist. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“Need to cry it out in my arms, too?” You tease with a grin.
“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Even as he rolls his eyes at you, you catch the short exhale of breath from his nose reminiscent of a laugh.
“The offer stands,” you shrug cheekily, heading over to the table to set your bag down. You pull your history textbook out, alongside your notebook and some cue cards you prepared after submitting your paper last night. You skimmed through your textbook to put together cue cards with names, dates, and locations and their relations to historic events after Sukuna had pointed out that you seem to have the rest of the subject down.
Setting everything across the table, you peer over your shoulder at Sukuna’s distant gaze. You’ve seen this expression on him before, a forlorn glaze over his eyes as though he’s not present, completely lost in thought.
“Are you okay?”
Sukuna blinks twice, coming back to the present. A knot forms between his brows, as though he’s offended you might suggest he isn’t. “‘M fine.”
He’s lying, but you have no right to the truth, so you accept it with a nod.
No longer distracted, he runs a hand through his spiked hair, pushing a few loose strands back off of his forehead. His attention returns fully to you, though with a glance down at your white blouse, he wrinkles his nose.
“What?” You ask, looking down only to find yourself mirroring his expression. “Oh.”
Your blouse is a downright mess of snot and tears and while the tears will dry… well the same can’t be said for the snot. You frown, heading to the sink to wet a washcloth.
“Don’t bother,” Sukuna grumbles, striding into a room down the hall that you assume is his. He re-emerges a moment later with the first shirt he could find that doesn’t have the sleeves cut off. You reach out for the material as he tosses it to you.
“Thanks,” you smile, a faint heat rising to your cheeks at the prospect of wearing his shirt. Ducking away quickly to the washroom, you pull your blouse over your head and replace it with the black T-shirt, looking down at the material flowing over your body and thighs. You can’t help but giggle at the sight while Sukuna’s scent invades your senses, a comforting smokey and woodsy smell that makes you dizzy.
Straightening the shirt over your body, you nod to yourself in the mirror before re-emerging into the main living space. You can make out Sukuna’s form leaning over the balcony railing with no jacket on, even in the freezing weather. He catches a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye, taking a long final drag from his cigarette before he stubs it out in an ashtray and steps back inside.
“I think it’s a little big on me,” you giggle in reference to the shirt, cheeks remaining warm as you gingerly link your hands behind your back, rocking forward and back on your heel.
The tattooed man’s eyes trail the length of your body, the red of his irises disappearing as he does so. You cross your arms over yourself, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his sharp gaze.
He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, well. I’m six foot eleven, and you’re fuckin’ short.” He averts his gaze, willing his dick not to react right now. He’s already well aware of his attraction to you, and he’s sure that if he just found the time to get laid he could bury that feeling. What’s more important is that he considers you to be someone genuinely important in his life, regardless of the fact that he can’t give you a label. He’s not about to jeopardize whatever he has with you because of how hot you are and how much his dick is well aware of it.
He’s seen the looks you give him, too. Every hitch of your breath, every nervous glance away from him. He knows there’s a mutual attraction between you, but it’s one that no matter how much his sex drive seems to disagree, he knows he can’t pursue. There’s more to your connection than sex, and one night isn’t worth the effort he’s put into fixing things with you.
He can’t put a name to that connection, but he values it regardless.
“Type… O Negative?” You interrupt Sukuna’s thoughts, reading the bold green logo on the shirt as your eyes trace the heart monitor logo in matching green beneath the text. Most of the band shirts he wears have logos with the most bizarre font they’re nearly unreadable, so you can’t help but wonder if this is even a band at all. Meeting his gaze again, you tilt your head.
Sukuna’s cock twitches in his sweats. Shit, he should have worn jeans. He coughs into his elbow, leaning back against the table in an effort to hide his growing need. “They’re a band.”
“Oh, cool!” You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.
Getting up suddenly, Sukuna mutters something about needing to get ready for work and saunters off, leaving you standing by the table alone. You shrug it off, attempting to roll up the sleeves of the shirt and tuck it into the waistband of your leggings as best as you can in the hopes of making yourself look less like you’re in pajamas. Once you’re satisfied with the best look you think you can pull off, you take a seat at the table and begin putting together your cue cards.
Throwing yourself into your studies, you begin going through your cue cards in silence until Sukuna returns a short while later. The locks over his forehead are damp and he’s in a clean set of navy coveralls when he sits at the table beside you.
“What leaders made an effort to end the Cold War?” He quizzes, leaning over the table without so much as a glance at your cue cards.
“Reagan!”
“And?”
“Um- Gorbachev…?”
“Atta girl,” Sukuna smirks, giving your shoulder a light shove as your eyes light up, cheeks noticeably warm.
“Thank god I’m getting somewhere with all this studying,” you chuckle to yourself, straightening your cue cards. “I’m so burnt out on schoolwork,” you sigh, dropping the cards to the table.
“Why not take a break then?” Sukuna asks through a yawn.
“I can’t,” you frown, offering no further explanation. His brow arches questioningly. “I still need your help.”
His eyes flicker between yours, before dropping to your cue cards. “No ya don’t. You know the material and you’ve got cue cards for the shit you don’t remember. You’re set.”
You follow his gaze to the colorful cards with your handwriting scrawled over them in black ink. “You think so?”
“‘Course. You’re smarter than I am.”
The burly man leans forward over the table on his palm, yawning as silence sets in while you glance over your study materials. It doesn’t take long before you realize he’s in a trance, staring blankly straight ahead with a familiar distant expression.
Frowning, you have to resist the urge to reach out and pull him towards you. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent so much time with his brothers, but something about the idea of pulling him into a comforting hug feels right.
As though your body is actively working against you, your hand instinctively reaches for him. Sukuna’s gaze reflexively locks onto your hand that rests on his bicep, rubbing his tensed arm. A muscle works in his jaw as his irises flit up to you, something unreadable gleaming in his intense stare.
At the realization that you did reach out after all, you hesitantly pull back, somewhat surprised he didn’t smack your hand away in irritation. “Sorry, I…” But you have no excuse, so you trail off, awaiting his reaction.
Sukuna makes a show out of rolling his eyes, using his free hand to pull your hand back down to his bicep before leaning forward over the table and resting his chin over his elbow. He yawns again, his muscles slowly relaxing beneath your hand. You smile softly as Sukuna accepts your comfort, accepts you, and simply enjoy the comfortable silence while you use your spare hand to go through your cue cards.
His eyes are heavy as he stares blankly out the window opposite the table, the lull of sleep threatening to pull him under. As much as Sukuna hates to admit it, there’s little more tempting as of late than simply sleeping through his problems, and his mind goes blank as he eventually gives in to the temptation.
Sukuna’s breathing steadies beneath your hand, and you count your blessings that you’ve watched the kids during this shift before and you know that he has twenty minutes before he needs to leave. It might be the first time you’ve seen Sukuna completely relaxed, his jaw slack and shoulders loose. Pink strands of hair fall over his forehead, his lips only slightly parted as he breathes softly.
You gently rub circles into his arm, smiling softly at just how comfortable he’s grown with you. It touches you to see him able to simply be around you in such a way. Although you’d be lying to say you don’t want more than what you have with him, you’re grateful you have anything at all given his icy disposition. You’ve come a long way from the one-word answers and constant frustration.
Even if it’s always under the guise of an equivalent exchange, you’re glad he allows you to help him. Ever since you’ve been watching his little brothers more, he doesn’t seem as tired all the time (not that this particular moment proves that point), and you’re seeing more and more glimpses of the side of him most don’t get to see.
Your heart does a flip as his muscles twitch in his sleep beneath your fingers. He’s always trusted you on a relatively surface-level given that he lets you watch his brothers, but falling asleep under your touch is a surprising level of intimacy and reliance.
It’s a shame that twenty minutes passes so fast as you squeeze his arm in an effort to wake him.
“Stop,” he grumbles, swatting your hand away. Well, the peace can’t last forever you suppose. You give him another shake, which he certainly doesn’t appreciate. “What’d I just fuckin’ say?”
“You have work soon, Sukuna,” you giggle, giving him another shove. He cracks an eye open, his brow pulled down in a grumpy frown. He lifts his head slowly, squinting groggily at you with the imprint of the fabric of his coveralls on his cheek. You have to suppress another giggle at the disheveled glower being thrown at you.
“Fuck me,” he grumbles, rolling his shoulders before he pushes himself up from the table. He pushes his hair from his forehead and saunters around the apartment as he gathers what he needs before throwing on his coat.
“Oh, hey, where’s Choso?” You query as Sukuna fiddles with his keys.
He shrugs. “In his room, probably. He doesn’t like when Yuji cries.”
That makes sense from what you know of the middle sibling.
“Oh. He has homework due, can you make sure he does it?” Sukuna asks as he opens the front door. You nod. “I owe you one.”
Never a thank you with Sukuna, always him owing you.
“See you later, Kuna!”
The door shuts behind him and you let out a sigh, going to check on the two young boys. You knock on the door that’s slightly ajar, poking your head into their room when Yuji tells you to come in. There’s a mess of colored threads, strings, and beads strewn over a desk that they’re both crowded around, while Choso’s homework is buried beneath the mess of craft supplies.
Yuji hops off the chair and opens the door wider for you. Grinning, you let him tug you over to their table. Standing behind them both, you peer at what looks like a pile of (attempted) bead lizards with feet that don’t quite make sense.
“How are you both doing?” You figure after the tension when you walked into the apartment, they could probably use the opportunity to do a mental check-in with you. It’s not like Sukuna would be up for it, so you may as well try with his brothers.
“I’m sorry,” Yuji says as he fiddles with thread, not looking up from the very important lopsided lizard in his tiny hands. His tongue pokes out from the side of his mouth as he focuses on his craft.
“I know Yu, Kuna just has a lot going on right now. It’s okay,” you rub his back gently before turning your attention to his brother, “Choso?”
The dark-haired brother chews on his lip as he slides beads onto a thread. “I’m okay. I don’t like when they fight.” Deep in thought, his movements pause before he pulls two threads tight to keep the beads from falling off and sets a purple lizard head on the desk. “Um- I found this.”
He shoves some stray threads aside and hands you a familiar corner of paper addressed to his older brother adorned with a law firm logo. “I saw this,” you tell Choso, rounding the table to his side in an attempt to keep his brother from being involved. It’s not like he’s old enough to understand either way. “Do you know anything about it?”
He shakes his head.
“Me either,” you tell him. “If your brother wants to tell me, then he will. I’m sure everything’s okay,” you reassure despite not being so sure yourself. Sukuna is strong-willed, smart, and beyond capable. Most could never manage what he’s pulling off, but a lawsuit is another issue entirely. Sukuna’s got a mouth on him and a penchant for fighting if the rumors are true, so you can only imagine what trouble he’s gotten himself into.
Choso picks his lizard back up, sliding three purple beads onto one side of the string. “Okay.” He threads the other side back through the beads and pulls the string tight to keep them in place. “I trust you.”
You smile, ruffling his hair. “Do you need help with the feet?” You ask with a glance at the lizards with lopsided and mismatched feet.
“Please!”
“Yes!”
You can worry about Choso’s homework in a bit. For now, you think both kids could use some time relaxing and doing some crafts as you pull up a chair.
–
Sukuna drags a hand down his face as he enters his apartment to the sound of two kids who are still very awake. Excited screams fill the apartment, alongside your saccharine voice that he can only assume is attempting to corral the kids based on your stern tone.
Dropping his keys on the table at the door, he kicks his boots to the side and shrugs his coat off, ready for a shower and dead silence alone in his room more than anything. He trudges tiredly towards the washroom, his lips twitching into a frown as Yuji goes bolting past him, followed closely by Choso.
“Go to bed, brats!” He hisses, his voice gruff with irritation as he makes his way to the washroom.
You barely manage to see the door closing behind your friend as you trail after the two boys, who’ve been balls of energy all night since Choso finished his homework. It’s sweet, of course, but your burnt out mind wasn’t prepared for them to have this much energy when you agreed to watch them.
As both boys turn and come barreling past you, you barely manage to catch Yuji and hoist him up into your arms, effectively stopping their game of tag.
“Nooooooooo!!” Yuji cries out between excited giggles. Choso skids to a halt in front of you with a disappointed frown.
“Come on, kiddos. You have school tomorrow, it’s bedtime.”
You’re met with a chorus of whines and sighs as you carry Yuji to their room. Choso trails close behind, pouting as you instruct them to get ready for bed. You help Yuji with pulling his hoodie over his head and choosing a pair of pajamas before giving them time to finish getting ready.
Yuji bursts from the door in a fit of giggles, running towards the cracked door of Sukuna’s room. “Yuji, come on it’s bedti-” you call after him as you follow him through the cracked door, eyes widening at the sight of Sukuna shirtless, his hair damp and hanging over his forehead. He must have finished his shower while you were trying to get his brothers to calm down. He shoots both of you an irritated snarl, his lip curled in frustration. “Sorry!” You squeak out, corralling Yuji out the door before Sukuna can bark out an order to get out of his room.
Your heart pounds, mind distant as you manage to get both kids into bed and read them Green Eggs and Ham. Once they’ve settled and you’re certain they’ll get some rest, you’re able to leave their room with a sigh, heading back to the main living space of the apartment, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to have made his way out of his room yet.
He doesn’t seem to be in the greatest mood and you consider taking your leave without a word, but figure that’s probably more rude than simply knocking on his door. Deciding to do exactly that, you make your way over to his bedroom and lightly tap his door with your knuckles.
“Come in.”
You push the door open, standing stiffly just within the frame. His room is decorated fairly dark with blacks, grays, and reds, only the dim light of a single lamp illuminating the room enough to be seen. There’s a desk pushed to one end of the room covered in workout gear, books, and various art supplies and a pile of clothes tossed over the desk chair, while his wardrobe off to the right is covered in hygiene supplies with only a single photo that you can’t make out in the relative dark. The light from his bedside lamp hardly illuminates the posters and art on his walls, which seem to be a variety of band posters, horror film posters, and his own art. There’s a drafting table opposite his wardrobe absolutely plastered in art supplies as well, with charcoal smeared over the wood.
“You just gonna stand there lookin’ like a fish outta water?” Sukuna asks from where he’s leaning against the headboard of his bed in the center of the room. His nose is buried in his laptop, the dull glow lighting up his features. Crimson irises gleam like deep drops of blood as you round the room, taking a look around as you realize he is genuinely inviting you in. As you step towards his wardrobe, your eyes train on the photo that you can now make out in the dim light.
There’s an older man with hair that matches Yuji and Sukuna’s standing to one side of the photo. Toddler Yuji is sound asleep with his head on the man’s shoulder, with Choso in the center in a graduation cap. You assume it must be an elementary school graduation or something of the sort. Sukuna stands much taller than everyone else in the photo at the back with a mild expression. He’s noticeably taller, with no facial tattoos although you can faintly make out his neck tattoos.
In the corner of the image, there’s a piece missing, and you can see that at one point there was a woman in the side of the photo, her dress visible behind Choso. Her face has been cut out of the photo and you can’t make out a single feature aside from the end of her hair. It looks fairly similar to Choso’s, long and dark. You figure this must be their parents, and Sukuna isn’t fond of his mother.
“He was a lot better with them.” You glance back at Sukuna as he shuts his laptop, setting it on his bedside table. It’s then that you realize he’s still shirtless, your gaze falling way too obviously down to his sculpted abdomen. He looks like a goddamn sculpture by Michaelangelo himself, made by a god in his craft. The peaks and valleys of his abs could make even the strongest person’s mouth water and you would be lying if you said it wasn’t a great effort to tear your gaze from his abs. Now’s not the time. Swallowing hard, you find his eyes.
Sukuna would usually smirk, finding amusement in your inability to keep your eyes on his face, but the can of worms he’s just opened isn’t one he approaches lightly. He’s willingly offering up a piece of his vulnerability to you, leaving the ball in your court.
“That’s your dad?” You ask, turning to look at the photo again.
“Mhm. He put in a lotta when their mom left to work in another country.”
“Their mom? You’re half-brothers, then?” You carefully approach the bed, taking a seat gingerly at the side.
“Yeah. Our dad sure knew how to pick ‘em.” There’s a story there for sure, but he’s already moving on before you can pry. “He knew how to handle the brats. They were happy.”
You slide further onto the bed, leaning against the headboard beside him. “They’re happy with you too, Sukuna.”
His eyes slowly slide down from the ceiling to meet your gaze. He contemplates your words for a moment, a forlorn sigh parting his lips. “It ain’t the same.”
You shuffle to face him, sitting cross-legged as you will your eyes to stay on his face. “Sukuna, you’re good with them. You care and you’re trying, that’s what matters.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Good with them, my ass.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You saw what happened earlier. Choso was afraid of me n’ Yuji was cryin’.” He drags his hand down his face. “Shit’s a disaster here. I’m never even home to look after ‘em.”
You blink as he airs his grievances with the world, with himself. “You’re joking, right?”
Sukuna’s head lolls dramatically towards you, face tense with frustration. “Do I look like I am, princess?”
A shiver runs up your spine but you keep your eyes (and mind) straight on his face. “Seriously, you are good with them. You’re allowed to be frustrated, just like Yuji’s allowed to be afraid. He’s a kid, he’s gonna make a big deal out of little things.” You offer a sympathetic smile. “And Choso’s not afraid of you. He’s worried about you.”
“Worried about what?” Sukuna’s face scrunches in confusion. “The fuck is a twelve-year-old doin’ worrying about me?”
You giggle at his brutish expression, diffusing his frustration. He blows a breath out through his lips, running a hand through his hair that’s gradually drying as you speak. The silence that envelops the both of you is calm, the lamp providing an air of warmth as you work through Sukuna’s worries. The soft orange glow of the bulb illuminates his features in such a handsome manner that it’s hard to sit next to him without stray thoughts.
“Choso may only be twelve, but he’s smart. He knows something’s off. We both do.”
His eyes shoot up, his stare intensifying. “Nothing’s off,” he growls sternly, as if trying to convince himself.
“So Yuji gets his lying habits from you, huh?” You tease, keeping your voice soft as you prod at his thigh.
“I’m not lying, fuck off with that,” he grouses, swatting your hand away. You quietly giggle to yourself again, paying no mind to his pointed stare.
“Was your dad this stubborn too?”
You’re not shocked that Sukuna’s response to your teasing is to roll his eyes, but he still entertains a response. “No. He was a teacher, he had the patience of a god.”
“That’s right, he was a history teacher, wasn’t he?”
“Mm.”
“Was he an artist too?”
“No. That’s all me.”
You slide up the bed, inching somewhat closer to him again as you lean back against the headrest, looking around the room at the art above his drafting table. “You’re a great artist, Kuna.”
He hums, following your gaze to the wall where he’s plastered anatomy practice and art of faceless figures. He doesn’t get much time to work on any art these days, but given the opportunity, he would certainly do it more.
His gaze drifts to your face, so calm and inquisitive in spite of his frosty and rough edges. You hardly seem bothered by anything he throws your way, accepting his relative rudeness in stride and he’s not sure he deserves that kindness. No, he knows he doesn’t. Still, sitting here with you, bathed in the soft light of his lamp, he finds himself seeking the comfort of your voice, so soft and understanding as you offer him genuine advice and listen to his gripes without belittling him.
You come from a world so obviously different from his, yet you never seem to see him as anything less than what he is. Hell, you see him as something more than he sees in himself, as much as he hates to admit it. Maybe that’s why he finds himself drawn to you. Maybe that’s why your absence caused him so much trouble.
In truth, he’s not so sure anymore.
There’s a lot he’s not so sure about anymore.
He basks in the silence, sighing deeply as he slumps further back against the headboard. “I think they might be better off in the hands of someone else.”
Your eyes widen, your head whipping over to stare at him. “What? You don’t seriously think that.”
“Do I sound like I’m making a fuckin’ joke?” He huffs, his jaw tense.
“Sukuna, you’re literally their hero. They look up to you more than you could ever imagine.”
He blanches, all signs of irritation dropped as his brow twitches and lips part. The expression on his face is unreadable, a mix of emotions that aren’t familiar on his chiselled features. With a sharp intake of breath, he shuts his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.
“Kuna?”
“Gimme a moment, fuck.” His voice is muffled through his hands, remaining frozen as he lets out a long sigh. When he drops his hands from his face, he stares down at his lap with that same distant and solemn expression from earlier. You let the silence be at his request, giving him a chance to work through his jumbled thoughts.
Breathing in through his nose, he lets out a breath through pursed lips, his hand reaching for your leg as he squeezes the plush of your thigh. His jaw clenches as he clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing able to ground him and keep him from the thoughts that have been causing him to go through three times his usual dose of nicotine.
And fuck, he cannot afford to keep going through cigarettes at that rate.
Your mind is doing circles at the feeling of his touch on your leg of all places, the heat of his skin warming your leggings.
Blinking, you tilt your head to get a better view of him. “Where’s this all coming from anyway? What happened to the cocky asshole I met a couple of months ago?”
That seems to bring him back as he scowls at you, deflecting your question. “Really runnin’ your mouth for someone whose dinner came from my fridge.”
“Hey! I consider that payment for watching your brothers. Besides, my cooking is great. You should be happy I made you leftovers,” you pout.
He smirks, playfully squeezing your thigh and sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. You swallow to keep yourself from having a noticeable reaction, keeping your attention on a non-descript area of the wall. “Who’s the cocky one now, princess?”
Even with his hand heavy on your thigh, his teasing is so normal that it almost makes you forget that the heat between your legs is begging for friction that you can’t chase because he would feel your thighs clench.
“What can I say? My cooking’s that good.”
“Your cooking ends up on my fucking floor most of the time.”
“The bread crumbs were one time, Sukuna,” you whine, playfully shaking your head.
“From you, maybe. Choso tried to copy your mac and cheese and even convinced my dumb ass he knew how to do it.” Sukuna scoffs, tilting his head towards you. The warmth of his breath fans your neck as he leans in. “D’you know what happened?” He asks, his voice lowered enough to make your heart flutter.
You wince. “Bread crumbs on the floor.”
“Bread crumbs on the fuckin’ floor.”
You bring a hand up to your face, giggling. To your surprise, Sukuna’s chest jolts in a single sputtered laugh, until he’s actually chuckling along with you. Not a smug laugh, not making fun of something, your laughter is contagious and his is genuine.
Comfortable silence finds you, simply enjoying one another’s company. The dull light in his lamp flickers, pulling both of your attention to the bulb on its last legs. Your eyes trail the length of his silhouette, admiring the way his tattoos frame his face. The dark contrast of the solid ink makes the crimson of his irises pop, giving his already sharp features a more deadly appearance.
Everything about him seems to signify a lethal edge; between the way he carries himself, shutting the world out and fending only for himself and his brothers, and his inclination towards frustration. Yet, every so often, you see another side to him, a side where the edges are softer and he seems more himself.
That’s not to say those rougher edges aren’t still there, but the calmer side of him rounds him out and makes his snark more endearing.
Sukuna’s the first to turn back from the lamp, gaze flickering between your eyes. His chest rises and falls, the quiet sounds of his breath punctuating the otherwise silent room.
Sukuna can hear your breath hitch when you realize he’s staring, using the opportunity to squeeze your thigh. It pulls a strangled gasp from deep in your chest and your eyes widen. He can’t help himself, the way your body reacts to him is like a narcotic, and he can’t help but want more.
There’s never been a moment since you met that Sukuna hasn’t known you find him attractive. It’s why he enjoys pushing your buttons so much, but when you slipped so easily alongside him in his personal life, you became something more than a quick fuck. Someone to keep around. Someone who betters him.
In the dim glow of his lamp, laid out on his bed with his palm splayed over your thigh like it belongs there, something deeper stirs within him. Lust, surely. Only lust. You’re in his goddamn shirt, and he’s hungry. He’s starved for the feeling of bare skin slapping against his own, and you’re so damn gorgeous, like a cloud to any amount of judgment he can manage.
And you’re no better. You’ve been biting your lip until it’s raw as you resist the urge to clench your thighs since he invited you in. Sukuna’s not a traditional man, in all of your daydreams and fantasies, you had never imagined him treating you to dinner and romantically confessing. You never had broad expectations for anything extravagant from him.
That’s not what you want from him. You just want him as he is. You want him to let you in, to let you help him find himself and find happiness.
The air around you is charged, crackling with anticipation as his barriers begin to degrade and you let out a shaky breath. The world seems to hold its breath around you, the bustling city so quiet you could hear a pin drop as its noise fades into the background.
Sukuna’s tongue swipes over his lower lip, all reason thrown to the wolves as he leans over you and presses his lips to yours.
His lips are commanding, guiding you towards one thing and one thing only: pleasure. He moves his body over top of yours, caging you beneath his muscular build. You’re so small under him and the control he exerts over you is exhilarating.
The kiss is sloppy, filled with desperation as he settles himself over you, letting his hands roam your body. You’re pliant beneath him, thrilling in the way his hands slide down your waist to your hips. His grip tightens, fingers holding you in-place almost bruisingly. Your pussy throbs, clenching around nothing as slick pools between your thighs.
Consequences be damned, you’re both addicted to the taste and feel of one another.
Sukuna softly bites your lower lip, pulling a whimper from deep in your throat. He smirks against your lips, pressing his hardened bulge against your core. He swallows your gasp, running his tongue along your lower lip as he seeks entrance. You grant him what he’s looking for, drunk on his taste, minty with a hint of smoke.
Sliding your hands up his tense arms, you find purchase in gripping his shoulders as your head spins. He rolls his hips again, revelling in the feel of your nails digging into his bare skin. Getting your bearings, you allow your hands to explore the expanse of his chest, roaming down the high peaks and deep valleys of his extremely pronounced abs. You pause at his waistband, unable to help your smirk as he groans, his abdomen tensing under your touch.
He’s desperate for more, pressing you further into the bed as his lips explore your jaw, dipping his head into your neck to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. You tilt your head to grant him easier access, jaw slack and eyes glazed. His breath noticeably quickens when your fingers dip beneath his waistband, but you pause there.
You pull back suddenly, pushing hard against his chest as you practically have to peel him off of you.
“What’re-”
You slap a palm over his mouth, muffling the rest of his question until he can hear why you’ve paused. The sound of sock-clad footsteps on hardwood catches his attention and he quickly pulls away, putting enough distance between you to imply innocence. Sukuna pulls a pillow out from behind him, grunting as he sets it on his lap and leans his head back against the headboard.
Shortly after, the doorknob clicks and cracks open, a pair of golden-brown eyes peering into the room. Reddened and filled with tears, your mind sobers quickly as you hop off the bed and jog over to Choso to kneel before him.
“Hey, what’s going on?” You ask, taking in a breath to keep from panting.
“I had a nightmare.”
Ah. Sukuna had mentioned Choso had been having a lot of nightmares lately and it seemed to be keeping him up. You wonder if it’s related to his concerns regarding his older brother and the lawsuit. He may be young, but he seems to have a general understanding of the gravity of getting lawyers involved in situations.
Knowing what you know now about Sukuna’s family, you wonder if he’s been around lawyers before, given their father’s passing. Then there’s the question of Choso and Yuji’s mother, who’s clearly not in the picture anymore.
Quite literally.
You cast another glance back at Sukuna, whose chest is rising and falling heavily as he stares at the ceiling.
“That’s okay sweetheart, do you want me to come talk to you for a bit?”
Choso glances briefly at his brother before nodding. Smiling softly at him, you usher him out of the room and shut the door behind you, trailing after Sukuna’s little brother. He leads the way to his room, sitting on his bed.
Kneeling at the side of his bed, you keep your voice to a whisper to avoid waking his brother. “Did you want to talk about it, Cho?”
He considers this option for a moment, staring at his hands in his lap before shaking his head.
“That’s alright.” You smile reassuringly. “Your brother mentioned this has been happening a lot lately. I just want you to know you can talk to me if you need.”
Choso hesitates, staring down at his hands in his lap again, before shaking his head.
“That’s fine too. Do you want me to-”
“Chocho?” Yuji’s groggy voice sounds as he flips in his bed against the opposite wall, calling out your name as well.
“Go back to sleep, Yu. Your brother just had a nightmare,” you smile softly in the darkness of the room, your face illuminated only by a nightlight on the wall. You turn back to Choso. “Do you want me to read something until you fall back to sleep? I won’t let any monsters get you,” you reassure him with a grin.
Choso nods slowly.
“Great, what book?”
Choso peers over at the bookshelf, kicking his feet as he skims the titles on each spine. “I’ve already read all of these.”
Frowning, you tap your fingers on your thigh in thought. That had never stopped him from requesting Bridge to Terabithia before, but you suppose that’s neither here nor there at the moment.
What is with his taste in movies and books, why does he like the most heart wrenching titles?
“I could tell you a story,” you decide. Choso’s demeanor picks up as he nods eagerly, getting back in bed. You glance back at Yuji, who’s still quietly watching you. You suppose telling them a story won’t hurt. Pulling up a chair, you take a seat between the beds. “Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort. Which would only be broken by love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle, guarded by a terrible fire breathing dragon.”
You do your best to focus on your story-telling, although sitting in the dark waiting for the kids to fall asleep as you try to recall the story, something stirs in the back of your mind.
Something dread-inducing and sobering.
You would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined your first kiss with Sukuna, dreamt of it in the back of your mind and forcibly pushed it down. It only made sense that Sukuna’s flirting was mainly out of jest and teasing, so you had swallowed your feelings and been what Sukuna needed the most. A friend.
Now with the time to think clearly, it occurs to you that there was no spark, no fireworks, and no romance behind the way you kissed. Neither of you had been chasing anything beyond surface-level lust, and you’re just as guilty as he is.
It’s painful to think that the image you’d had in the back of your mind for so long isn’t the reality, but that’s life, isn’t it? You may get another side of Sukuna that most don’t, but at the end of the day, you suppose that doesn’t mean he shares the feelings you caught for him. You had every opportunity to clarify what you wanted from him, but instead you slipped your fingers under his waistband.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Your heart clenches, your chest tightening at the realization that your friendship with Sukuna could very easily hang by a thread because you both got caught up in one another.
“The ogre and the donkey travel to…” you trail off at the realization that both kids are sound asleep, slipping out of the room with a pit of dread in your stomach.
With a sharp intake of air, you let out a breath and quietly open Sukuna’s room door.
“Hey…”
“Hey.” Sukuna hasn’t moved since you left the room.
Silence punctuates the air, the tension palpable and just as uncomfortable as you could have predicted. The friendship with Sukuna that you had worked so hard to nurture seems to hang precariously in the balance of discomfort and regret.
“Was that story fuckin’ Shrek?” Sukuna asks with narrowed eyes. It does little to quell the unease hanging low over your heads.
You laugh nervously. “Yeah. I didn’t know what story to tell.”
“Do you have the fuckin’ opening memorized?”
“I guess so,” you chuckle again, unable to meet his gaze. The silence spreads once again. “Um- I should go.”
Sukuna doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have kissed you. He shouldn’t have grinded on you.
He doesn’t want to complicate something he doesn’t quite understand himself.
So why the hell does his stomach drop when those words leave your lips? Lips that were on his barely a half hour ago.
The uncertainty of where you sit with one another lies in the distance between you both. It settles like dust over a table left untouched for many years, yet it accumulated in only a few minutes. You want to reach out and find the answers you’re looking for, but you don’t have words.
What the hell are you supposed to say? You’ve hopelessly fallen for him and you don’t want whatever it is you have to end, even at the cost of unrequited feelings? No, Sukuna would push you away.
Sukuna doesn’t even attempt to clear the dust, he can only stare, wondering what’s going through your mind, because what’s going through his makes no sense to him.
Whatever it is that he’s feeling now, it’s a jumbled mess. It’s not the same distress he felt at the thought of you presenting alone and it’s not the lust he’d chased that left him with a painful erection.
Whatever he feels, it’s some sort of warning. Like an omen that he’s somehow fucked things up again with you, tearing a rift through the friendship that even he has worked hard to mend. He wonders if one heated kiss is enough to dissolve the effort he’d put into everything, if this changes what you had for good.
So why the hell are the next words to part his lips “yeah. See ya.”?
Watching you slip away, listening to you pack your belongings in a hurry and slip out the door without even a goodbye, Sukuna grits his teeth and slams his head back against the headboard. If the ground split open and swallowed him whole right now, he thinks he would prefer that to the sound of the front door shutting.
Fuck. Fuck, he did it again.
How many times would you let him fuck up your friendship before you deemed him not worth the time of day?
Shit, he hopes you’ll let him make it up to you once more, even if he’s not sure he deserves it.
What the hell was he thinking, anyway? Or, more likely, not thinking? Was he so driven by a need to wet his dick that he seeked out the one person he couldn’t bear to watch walk away from him?
Why is it that he can’t keep his mind clear when it comes to you?
Sukuna rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck.” Should he chase after you? No, no. He can’t have you thinking there’s any meaning behind his actions beyond whatever it was you already had.
And even he knows how fucked up of a thought that is, one that sits in the pit of his stomach like sour bile. He grimaces, blinking at the foreign feeling of guilt wrapping its ugly fingers tightly around him.
He pulls out his laptop, opening the email chain you’ve been using since the two of you met, but his fingers pause over the keyboard. What the hell is he supposed to say? ‘Sorry for kissing you’? ‘Sorry for thinking with my dick instead of my head’?
“Fuck,” he hisses, louder this time. Tossing his laptop on his bed, he trudges out into the living room, grabbing the broken cap of his lighter and its base from his coat pocket, and what’s left of his pack of cigarettes before standing out in the cold night air in only his sweatpants.
The nicotine hardly seems to make a dent in the toiling emotions tightening his chest and hollowing his stomach. He’s smoked his way through so many packs lately that the dent on his wallet and his reliance on the drug only seems to be growing, yet another pile of problems to add onto his list.
You’re the only thing that seems to quell his narcotic addiction, but you’ve got to be some sort of drug yourself with the way Sukuna behaves like a braindead dumbass around you.
Staring at the ember at the end of the cigarette in his hand, he sighs, leaning forward on the railing of the balcony. The cold doesn’t seem to touch him, like he’s numb to the world beyond his own issues.
Sukuna is a truly fucked man.
main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon
❦ a/n ; poor sukuna and reader do nawwwt know how to make things easy on themselves 🙂↔️ thank you all so much for reading and for all the love and kind comments and asks, they seriously make my day and i'm so happy to chat with yall and hear your thoughts.
shoutout as well to my reader who suggested a type o negative shirt cameo, this one's for you <33
reader is stronger than i am for not leaping on sukuna when he invited her into his room shirtless tbh. i am weak for him
ANYWHO thaaank you as always and i hope you're all doing well <33
❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.
the adventures of spider-man! a spiderman!gojo collection
pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x f!reader
summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?
warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, smut, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, attempt at SA on reader, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied
playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics
a/n AHHH spiderman!gojo m list is here!!! THANK YOU for 10k+ notes on the first oneshot as well as 5k followers :') requests are open for drabbles and suggestions for the next oneshot are also welcome!! comment down below if you'd like to be tagged :)
Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.
tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader
NOTESજ⁀➴ hope y'all enjoy the new chapter! appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten so far for my last few chapters! makes me soooo excited to post even more and more! so sorry for the late upload though, school has been CRAZY and i was lowkey spiraling because of this new guy i was talking to but yeah ENJOYYY ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
wcજ⁀➴ 7.5k
taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie @higuchislut @domilovestoru @aishies-stuff @genxnarumi @username23345
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
Two weeks had passed, and Gojo Satoru was a ghost in your life. Not literally, of course—his presence was hard to miss, especially since you still caught glimpses of him with Mina—but the days when he’d linger outside your band practice or wait for you by the bleachers during his hockey drills were long gone.
Instead, his world seemed to orbit around Mina now. He was always meeting her, whether before or after his own practice. The few times you had decided to sit in the bleachers and watch him, hoping he’d wave you over for a laugh or even just a chat, he’d merely sent a casual wave in your direction before rushing to Mina.
By the third time, you decided he wouldn’t miss your absence. Mina was there to take your place.
Now, here you were, stuck in the middle of band practice. The studio walls felt too tight today, and even though the air was filled with the rhythmic clash of drums, the heavy hum of the bass, and the soaring melody of your guitar, the energy in your chest was mismatched.
Your phone sat on the edge of the amp, its screen glaring at you with an all-too-familiar sight: an unread message to Gojo. Delivered. Not even read.
It stung more than you cared to admit, but you knew better than to let it show. You didn’t own him. He didn’t owe you anything.
You shook the thought from your head as the band kicked into another song. This time, you focused.
The song flowed easily under your fingers, each note falling into place with effortless precision. Your hands moved like they had a mind of their own, strumming, pressing, and pulling out the right chords without a second thought.
You hit every note perfectly, the rhythm steady, the melody crisp—technically flawless. But something was off. The music, despite its perfection, felt wrong.
Instead of the light, airy feel the song was meant to have, each strum was laced with tension, harsh and biting, like a storm trapped in a song meant for sunshine. The melody should have danced, should have lifted the mood, but instead, it thundered through the room, loud and jagged. Every note you played was sharp, angry, as though you were trying to fight something—only it wasn’t the song you were supposed to be playing anymore.
The guitar hummed with your frustration, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion the song was supposed to evoke. It was heavy. It was out of place. It was angry. And as you continued, the gap between the song and your soul seemed to widen.
“You’re playing too hard,” Choso called over the final note, his drumsticks resting on the snare. His voice cut through the distorted noise of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality, but only slightly.
You lowered your guitar, chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension still clinging to you. His words didn’t quite register at first—until you looked up, meeting his steady gaze. His brow furrowed, and for the briefest second, you could have sworn he saw right through you, saw past the perfect notes and into the tangled mess inside.
“I hit all the notes, didn’t I?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. You didn’t want to look weak, but you couldn’t help it. The question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as doubt. Your fingers still tingled from the aggressive strumming, the burn of the misplaced energy lingering.
“You did,” Yu chimed in from the keyboard. “But it’s not… you. It’s like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“Like you’re following a script,” Choso finished, his dark eyes steady on you. “Instead of playing from the heart.”
Their words hit harder than you expected, stirring a frustration you weren’t ready to face. Before you could snap back, your hand slipped during the next strum. The string bit into your finger, sharp and unforgiving.
“Ah, shit,” you muttered, pulling back as blood welled up on your finger.
Iori, who had been watching from her spot near the mic, immediately stepped away, her voice cutting through the tension. “Break time,” she called, her tone more serious than usual. The mic stand clinked softly as she set it down and moved toward you.
You blinked, still reeling from the sting in your finger. The blood dripped slowly, mixing with the burn of your frustration. Iori was already moving toward the back of the room, opening a cabinet for the first aid kit.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still carrying that steady assurance.
You didn’t answer right away, just watched as she grabbed the kit and walked back over. The room felt strangely quiet without the hum of the music, the weight of their words still hanging in the air. Your hand felt heavy, the cut sharp but not unbearable.
Iori knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand in hers. “Let me see.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your skin as she cleaned the wound. It wasn’t painful, but the act was grounding, calming, almost too much after the storm inside you. You had to look away, feeling the sharp edges of your emotions settle, just for a second.
“You really gotta stop playing so hard,” Iori murmured, her gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was a faint smirk on her face, but there was something else too—understanding, maybe. She didn’t press the issue, though. Instead, she simply wrapped the cut with care, her voice softening. “You’re not gonna get anything out of this if you keep forcing it.”
Her words stuck with you, hanging in the air even as she finished tending to your finger. The sharpness of the cut seemed to mirror the tension inside you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of understanding in the quiet aftermath. You weren’t just playing with your fingers; you were playing with your heart, and it had all gotten twisted up somewhere along the way.
Iori finished wrapping your finger, her hands gentle as she tended to the cut, but you didn’t feel the same sense of calm you usually did when she was around. Everything felt off, jagged, like even the simplest act was just another reminder of how out of sync you were with yourself. She stepped back, giving you some space, but the words she’d said lingered in the air.
The moment stretched, but you barely noticed it, too lost in your own head. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw Naoya walking over with a drink in hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed you the can like it was a casual gesture, but you could feel his eyes on you—assessing, calculating.
You caught it without looking, but your fingers felt sluggish, the weight of the can nothing compared to the weight you were carrying. You cracked it open slowly, the fizz rising and popping in the quiet. But it didn’t help.
Naoya sat down next to you, his posture as rigid and sharp as always, but his gaze never left you. There was an uncomfortable intensity in the way he studied you, the usual mockery and sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something a little less abrasive.
He leaned back, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if searching for something deeper than the surface.
“What’s bothering you now?” he asked, the words more direct than you expected, his voice stripped of any sarcasm or playfulness. “Last time you were like this was two weeks ago, remember? And I don’t think I need to tell you that you don’t exactly have a good track record when you start shutting down.”
His words hit like a cold splash of water, a reminder of the pattern you were stuck in. You had been here before, trapped inside your head, not sure how to get out. It didn’t matter that this time it felt different—like the frustration wasn’t just with the music anymore, but with everything around you, everything inside you. Naoya knew better than to let you avoid the question.
You didn’t answer right away, running your thumb along the lip of the can absentmindedly. The bubbles inside hissed in your ears, but the sound only reminded you of the noise in your own head.
Then, as the silence stretched, Nanami spoke up from his spot across the room, his usual calm voice cutting through the stillness.
“You know, ignoring it won’t help,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Whatever this is, bottling it up just makes it worse. You’re not exactly subtle when something’s eating at you.”
You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up, too tangled in the mess of your thoughts. Your mind raced, too much noise in your head to form a solid answer.
“I… I don’t really know,” you said finally, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. You shook your head, frustration leaking through your voice.
You sat there in silence, the words hanging in the air. The frustration still churned inside you, a gnawing feeling that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many times you tried to shake it off. It wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the cut on your finger. It was everything that had been building up inside you, everything that you hadn’t been able to say or figure out.
Gojo. That name echoed in your mind, but even thinking it made your chest tighten, a knot forming deep in your stomach. It was him—his presence, his expectations, the weight of his shadow that seemed to be clouding everything. You couldn’t put it into words, not here, not now. Not in front of them. But damn, you just wished you could hear his voice. Maybe then, things would feel a little clearer. Maybe just hearing him tell you it was going to be okay would make the world feel less heavy.
The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised to find Iori watching you, her eyes softer than usual, like she could sense the wall you were putting up.
Without a word, she clasped her hands together and stood up, her movements calm and purposeful. “You know what? Let’s call it a night. Why don’t we order some food and just chill? No pressure, no rehearsing. Just take it easy this time around.”
Her words were simple, but the way she said them felt like a release, like an invitation to let go of the tension that had been creeping up in the room.
You felt the weight of your own silence, the words swirling in your chest that you couldn’t quite voice. Maybe you were being unfair, maybe you were letting everything pile up inside you when they didn’t deserve it. The guilt hit you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you found yourself speaking.
“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. I’ve been... off, I guess.” The words came out clumsy, but they felt necessary. Like if you could just say them, it might ease the tension that had been building inside you for so long.
The room felt quieter as you looked around, but instead of a wave of understanding or sympathy, Choso’s voice cut through, calm and unfazed.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said with his usual nonchalance, leaning back in his seat. His eyes flickered toward you, but there wasn’t any judgment in them, just an effortless coolness. “Everyone has their moments. No big deal.”
He shrugged, looking more like he couldn’t care less, but the ease in his tone made the guilt inside you settle just a little.
“You’re still here, right? That’s what matters.” His words were blunt, but they had a way of hitting exactly where they needed to. No overthinking, no grand speeches. Just... simple reassurance.
You let out a small breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to be like this every once in a while. You weren’t perfect, and neither were they. And that, for some reason, made it all feel a little more manageable.
“Thanks,” you said, the words lighter now, like a burden had shifted off your shoulders.
Iori gave a small, approving nod as you finally relaxed, her smile soft but reassuring. “So, what are we having?”
After the food had been devoured, the room was filled with the casual noise of packing up and cleaning up the last bits of the mess. The rest of the crew had already begun to pack up, their laughter and chatter a distant hum as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. The studio, once filled with the warmth of conversation and the sound of instruments, now felt quieter. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, and everyone was ready to call it a night.
You waved them off, telling them you’d close up the studio. The others didn’t seem to mind, already heading out the door with tired smiles and promises to meet at the next session. As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you stood there in the silence, the door clicking shut behind them.
The studio was empty now, save for the soft hum of the lights above. You set your bag down on the couch, the familiar weight of it suddenly feeling too much. But instead of heading home like you probably should have, you took a deep breath and made your way over to your instrument.
The band had been more than patient with you, more than understanding as you struggled through each practice, trying and failing to get things right. The pressure had been mounting—the gig was right around the corner, and you still hadn’t found your rhythm. But every time you messed up, they were there with encouraging words, with reassurances that you’d get it, that they knew you could.
A wave of gratitude washed over you as you stood there in the quiet studio, staring at your instrument. They could’ve been frustrated with you. They had every right to be. But instead, they were kind, patient, and supportive, letting you take your time. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being better, for not meeting their expectations, for not being as good as they believed you were capable of being.
You let the thoughts settle in your mind, but then, as quickly as they came, you shook them away. There was no point in dwelling on what you couldn’t change right now. What mattered was what came next.
You couldn’t take their patience for granted. You couldn’t let them down again. The gig was coming, and you had to be better.
With a steadying breath, you picked up your instrument. The room seemed to fade around you as you closed your eyes, tuning out everything except the steady pulse of your heartbeat and the strings beneath your fingers.
You began to play, your fingers moving over the strings with a gentler touch than before. The aggression was gone, replaced by a quieter intensity. It felt better, more in tune with the mood you wanted to create, but something was still missing. There was a void, a note that you couldn’t reach, a spark that wouldn’t ignite no matter how many times you strummed. The frustration lingered, swirling inside you, gnawing at your concentration.
And just as the frustration began to settle into something heavier, your phone vibrated sharply against the floor where you had tossed it earlier. Startled, you paused mid-strum and glanced over. The name on the screen caught you off guard.
Gojo.
You stared at the caller ID for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flutter in your chest. What was he calling for? Was it... was it really him? You hesitated, fingers still lingering on the strings, unsure of whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail.
It had been so long since you’d heard his voice, but you didn’t know if you were ready to face it yet. You knew you couldn’t keep running from this, but... this? Right now?
The phone vibrated again in your hand, urging you to decide.
You took a deep breath and answered, your voice shaky as you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Gojo’s voice came through, smoother than usual, but there was something about it that felt more serious this time. “I’m downstairs. I’ve been waiting for you.”
You froze, eyes darting to the door like you could somehow see him on the other side. Downstairs? You weren’t sure you’d heard him right.
“Wait... what?” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “You’re downstairs?”
“Yeah,” Gojo responded, his tone firmer now, like he wasn’t messing around. “Come down. I’ll be waiting.”
Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to show up out of the blue like this. You looked at your phone, still processing the strange urgency in his voice.
“Uh, alright,” you said, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “I’ll be there in a second.”
You hung up quickly, set your guitar down, and grabbed your things, moving with more haste than you had anticipated. The tension in the pit of your stomach only grew as you locked up the practice room and made your way down the hall. Something in his tone had shifted, and it made the usual teasing Gojo feel distant—more... serious.
You rushed down the stairs, the echo of your footsteps against the walls reminding you how quickly everything had shifted. When you finally rounded the corner, you saw him standing by the door, his posture straighter than usual. The smirk was gone, replaced by a focused intensity in his eyes that you rarely saw.
He didn’t greet you with his usual grin or playful jab. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s go.”
You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. But there was no turning back now.
The walk was quiet, but the silence felt different this time. Gojo’s usual cocky confidence was replaced with an almost tangible tension in his posture. He walked with purpose, his strides long and quick, but there was a tightness in the way he carried himself that you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be this... off. He always wore that smug grin, that careless energy that made everything feel like a joke. But now? He looked like he was carrying something heavy, something too complicated to shake off.
You wanted to ask him what was going on, but you knew better. If Gojo didn’t bring it up, he wasn’t going to. You could tell that much, even with the unease simmering beneath his usually cool exterior.
You both reached the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you entered. The familiar hum of the coolers and the bright fluorescent lights did little to ease the tension hanging between you. You found a seat near the back, not really feeling hungry or in the mood to browse, so you just sat there, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Gojo as he wandered over to the drinks section.
You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to grab his usual—his go-to strawberry iced tea, the one he always joked about being his secret weapon—but to your surprise, his hand reached for something different. He grabbed a can of beer, the silver can catching the dim light as he turned towards the cashier.
Your brows furrowed slightly, not because you had a problem with it, but because it was so out of character for him. Gojo, the always-lighthearted, playful figure, wasn’t someone you expected to be reaching for alcohol, especially not when the atmosphere had been so... different tonight.
He returned to the seat next to you after quickly paying for the drink, the cool can in his hand now making a soft, faintly metallic sound as he cracked it open. The hiss of the carbonation was the only sound between you two for a few moments as he took a long drink, the beer slipping past his lips without the usual playful smirk that usually accompanied any of his actions.
You hesitated, the air thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you should say something or just let him be, but you could feel that something was wrong—something deeper than whatever lighthearted banter he would usually throw your way. You’d known him long enough to see when something was off. Tonight, it was impossible to ignore.
Finally, after a few more moments of silence, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned toward him, your voice quiet but laced with concern. “What’s going on with you, Satoru?”
He didn’t immediately respond, the can still in his hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was weighing his words. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with anticipation. Then, as though he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he muttered just one word:
"Mina."
It was soft, almost lost in the distance of the moment. But hearing it—the way it left his lips so raw, so fragmented—sent a jolt through you. This wasn’t the playful Gojo you knew. This was someone who was struggling, someone who didn’t have all the answers.
You blinked, the name hanging in the air like a strange weight. Mina. You’d thought the two of them were the perfect couple. They had that effortless chemistry, the kind of bond that seemed unshakable. Gojo and Mina—it just made sense. They were the kind of pair people would look at and say, "That’s it. They’re meant to be." And yet, hearing Gojo say that name now, in the quiet of this moment, felt like a crack in a carefully built illusion.
You hadn’t expected this. The way he said it, though... so quiet, so far removed from his usual confident, teasing tone, made you pause. You’d never once imagined that Gojo—someone so composed, so unflappable—could be this thrown off by a relationship. It was unsettling to think that things might not be as perfect as they appeared.
Before you could gather your thoughts to ask what had happened, Gojo let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already exhausted by the very thought of explaining. “It’s complicated,” he said, cutting off any further questions you might have had.
You could tell from the way he said it, with that tired edge in his voice, that this wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t just an argument or a misunderstanding. There was more beneath the surface—something tangled up in emotions and expectations that Gojo clearly didn’t know how to untangle.
He took another sip from the can, his fingers tight around it once more, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.
"Tell me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."
He looked at the can in his hands for a long moment, his fingers white-knuckled around it. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air before he finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time.
“It’s not that she’s done anything wrong,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “She’s... a good girlfriend. She hasn’t done anything bad, nothing’s wrong with her.”
He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “But... it’s like something’s missing. Like, when I first met her, I thought I saw something, you know? There was this... feeling, like we clicked or something. But now, every time I’m with her, it feels... off. It’s not her fault, she’s not doing anything different, it’s just—” He trailed off, searching for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.
He let out a quiet laugh, self-deprecating and bitter. “Maybe I built some kind of... fantasy around her, and now that I’m seeing who she really is, it doesn’t line up. I thought it was something real, but now... I’m not sure.”
You could see it, the confusion in his eyes. He wasn’t blaming her—he wasn’t even sure what was wrong, but the discomfort was there, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t that Mina had changed, but that Gojo’s perception of her had cracked, leaving him to figure out if there was anything left of what he thought was there.
You took a slow breath, trying to find the right words as you watched him wrestle with himself. You could tell this was weighing heavily on him, and it wasn’t just about Mina—it was about Gojo grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure how to explain even to himself.
You leaned back slightly, your voice soft but steady. “I get it,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “When you first meet someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the feeling of it all—the excitement, the newness. And maybe... maybe you started seeing things in her that you wanted to see, or that felt right in the moment.”
You paused, allowing him to process, before continuing. “But just because you’re feeling like things aren’t clicking now, doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. Sometimes, when we’re with someone, we get so focused on the idea of them that we forget to focus on who they really are. And maybe that's what’s throwing you off—you’re seeing the real her now, and it’s different from the image you had in your head.”
You could see the tension in his face, but you pressed on, keeping your tone gentle. “It’s not a bad thing, Gojo. People aren’t perfect, and relationships are never just about the spark you feel at the beginning. The real connection, the deep stuff, that comes over time. Maybe it’s just a matter of slowing down and letting things evolve naturally, instead of forcing them into some mold you’ve created.”
You shifted slightly, choosing to be honest with him. “It sounds like you’re scared of being disappointed or realizing that it’s not what you thought, but maybe you just need time to figure out who she really is, and who you are with her. You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.”
You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Just don’t give up too soon because of some uncomfortable feelings. If you’re both willing to figure it out, it doesn’t have to be the end of something good. Sometimes it takes work to get through the doubts and see what’s really there.”
Gojo leaned back, his gaze drifting once more as if the answer was just beyond his reach. His hands rested loosely on his knees, the can in his hand now forgotten. His tone was quiet, almost tentative, as he finally spoke.
Gojo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as he processed your words. The usual intensity in his expression was softened, like he was turning over each of your points in his mind, carefully weighing them. His hands, once tense around the can, were now resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined as if the weight had lifted, even just slightly.
You could feel the shift, the way his posture had changed. He was listening—not just hearing—but truly taking in what you were saying. He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes, though the storm wasn’t fully gone yet.
“I get it,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I understand where you're coming from. You're right. Maybe I’ve been too focused on this idea I had about her, this... perfect picture I painted in my head. And now that it’s not lining up, it’s throwing me off. I’m just... I guess I was expecting things to be a certain way, and now it feels like I’m not even sure where I stand anymore.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted down again, looking almost lost in thought. “I know you’re right. I can’t expect everything to be perfect, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her for not matching whatever image I had. But—” He paused, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.
"But..." you prompted gently, knowing there was more he was holding back.
Gojo’s eyes flicked to you, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing his features. “But… I’m just not sure if she’s the one,” he said, his voice trailing off like he was unsure even about admitting it to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment, as if the words felt too heavy.
“It’s not like I don’t care about her. I do. And she’s a good person. She’s been nothing but kind to me, and we get along well enough. But... I don’t know. It’s just this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like, maybe we’re not as compatible as I thought we were. Like, something’s missing.” He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ground for a long moment.
He looked up at you then, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to keep second-guessing myself, but at the same time... I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure. I don’t want to be the guy who’s just going through the motions, thinking it’ll work out, when deep down I’m not sure if we’re actually right for each other. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
He glanced at you with a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight for Gojo. “I mean, I don’t want to keep dragging her into something if I’m not sure I can give her what she needs. And I can’t help but wonder if... if I’m just waiting for something that isn’t there.”
He let the silence linger for a beat before he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... am I really feeling what I thought I was? Or was it just... a good idea in my head?”
You hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say, because this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation you were used to dealing with. Gojo was always so confident, so sure of himself, and now, seeing him so lost—it felt unfamiliar and honestly, a little overwhelming.
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure how to ease his tension. You knew that you couldn’t just throw out words of wisdom like it was all simple, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t simple for him, and you didn’t want to make it worse by trying to give advice that sounded too rehearsed.
After a long pause, you spoke, trying to find a balance between understanding and honesty. “I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s not like I have the answers for this kind of stuff.” You let out a soft, nervous laugh, realizing that you weren’t exactly the expert here.
“But...” You trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “You’re not alone in feeling confused about this. Relationships are messy, and sometimes, it’s hard to know what the right thing is. What you’re feeling—doubt, uncertainty—it’s not abnormal. It’s just... part of figuring things out.”
You fidgeted a little, glancing down at your hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... it’s okay not to have all the answers. I think you just need to give yourself permission to take a step back. Maybe let it go a bit slower, without all the pressure to know if it's ‘the one’ right away. And if something’s still unclear, then... you can figure it out. It doesn’t have to be right or wrong all at once.”
You looked up at him again, your voice softer. “It’s just, don’t feel like you have to have it all figured out right now. I’m not sure if that helps or anything, but... that’s the best I got.”
Gojo was quiet for a moment, taking everything in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your words had actually made any impact. But then he turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, but something softer, almost relieved.
“Man, look at you getting all deep and philosophical. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, his voice light and playful.
You blinked, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to act like you weren’t completely embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m just trying to help, okay?”
Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you reacted. “I know, I know. But seriously, I didn’t think you were the ‘advice-giving’ type. I’ll be honest, that was a little... sappy.”
You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him, though you could feel the warmth on your cheeks. “Well, maybe you need it. You act like you have everything figured out, but look at you now—getting all lost in your own head.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sappy, but helpful. Can’t deny that. But don’t let it go to your head.”
You looked at him, now slightly less flustered, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying... Sometimes things aren’t as simple as we want them to be. It’s okay not to have everything figured out right away. Relationships take time.”
Gojo met your eyes, his expression more thoughtful now, and he let out a long breath. “Yeah... I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself to have it all figured out. Thanks for the reminder.” His smile came back, softer this time. “You’ve got a point. Maybe I do need to take a step back and just see where it goes.”
You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now. “It’s not a race, ‘Toru. Don’t rush it. Just let things happen as they do.”
There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, before Gojo broke it, his tone still teasing but less guarded.
“Alright, alright. I’ll try to take it slow, philosopher,” he said with a wink.
You rolled your eyes, but the tension had definitely eased. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get all sappy on me again.”
Gojo grinned, clearly in a better place than before. “I’ll try to spare you from that. But hey, next time you drop some deep wisdom on me, I’ll be ready.”
You flushed a little again but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Don’t push it, Gojo.”
As the two of you walked back home, the air between you had shifted. The tension that had lingered for so long was finally gone, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled over both of you. You found yourself walking in step with Gojo, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing naturally as you let the silence between you stretch, not feeling the need to fill it with words.
Now that the weight of the conversation had lifted, you allowed your gaze to wander to him, something you hadn’t done too openly before.
There was something almost disarming about Gojo when the playful edge in his voice softened, when he wasn’t in “Gojo mode.” His features, though still sharp and striking, held a kind of warmth that you hadn’t expected to see, a rawness that only revealed itself in moments like this—when he was being real with you.
His eyes, usually full of that mischievous glint, looked calmer now, more reflective, and as the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal quality. The way he carried himself, effortlessly cool yet undeniably human, made you pause and just take him in, appreciating him for a moment. His presence felt different now—less overwhelming and more... grounding.
And then, as if on cue, you caught yourself smiling, soft and almost wistful. It was strange, the way just being near him—hearing his voice, feeling the quiet ease that had settled between you—seemed to heal something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was aching until it started to fade away.
It was like the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Like, somehow, everything felt a little more manageable in the moment.
You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer, the quiet warmth between you two still lingering as you walked the rest of the way home. But even as you let yourself bask in the calm, a part of you couldn't fully relax. Deep down, you knew this wasn't something that would last long. Gojo had been here tonight because of his issue with Mina, and once that was sorted out, you figured things would go back to how they were before—back to the teasing, playful banter and the walls he'd built up around himself.
It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy this version of him, the one that was more genuine, more grounded—it was just that you knew the reality. Once he figured things out with Mina, he’d go back to being the Gojo everyone knew. And you’d go back to being just... you.
You reached the front door of your apartment, the familiar hum of the city in the background, and paused. Turning to face Gojo, you smiled, though the weight of your thoughts lingered in the back of your mind.
"Thanks for walking me home," you said, keeping your voice light, though there was a little more softness to it than usual.
Gojo looked at you, his usual playful grin starting to creep back, but there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of sincerity from earlier still hung there. "Of course," he said with a casual shrug. "What would I do if you got caught up in some crazy situation without me? You know I can’t let that happen."
His voice was light, but the way he said it carried an undercurrent of care, something unspoken that made the words feel warmer than they usually would.
You raised an eyebrow, unable to help a small laugh. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”
He shot you that signature grin, the one that could charm just about anyone, but there was still a softness to it now—an openness that didn’t quite match his usual carefree demeanor.
"Hey, I’m just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you ever need a bodyguard, you know where to find me."
Despite the playfulness in his tone, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on both of you. The reality of the situation, of his relationship with Mina, still lingered in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this brief, real side of Gojo—might slip away once everything was sorted out.
You pushed the thought down and smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I’ll keep that in mind," you replied, though part of you wasn’t sure you’d ever need him that way.
There was a brief pause, and then you cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into the present. "I really do hope things work out with Mina, Satoru," you said, your voice sincere. "You deserve to get everything figured out."
Gojo’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Mina. It wasn’t the usual teasing grin anymore, but something softer, more thoughtful, as though the thought of her pulled him out of the moment for a second.
He reached up, almost absentmindedly, to ruffle your hair, a subtle attempt to lighten the mood. “You worry too much,” he said, his voice a little quieter, his fingers running through your hair in a playful but gentle motion.
You flinched, swatting his hand away lightly. “Satoru, come on, you’re messing it up.”
Gojo chuckled softly at your reaction, but instead of pulling his hand away, he kept it there, his fingers still resting on your head. He gave you a gentle pat this time, his touch light but lingering, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment just yet.
He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, as if there was something in his gaze that wasn’t quite matching his usual carefree attitude. For a split second, the usual playful energy around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
Despite how many times Gojo had been touchy with you before, this time was different. His gaze felt heavier, more intense, and it made you feel uncomfortably aware of the way his hand rested on you. A soft heat spread through you, and before you knew it, your cheeks were flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck.
Then, almost absentmindedly, Gojo’s hand dropped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath your eye. You froze at the touch, your breath catching in your throat as the tender motion sent a shiver down your spine.
His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate, that it left you momentarily speechless. Gojo’s thumb continued its slow, soothing stroke over your cheek, his eyes still locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted.
For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the night, the world around you, even the uncertainty that had been lingering in the air. It was just him, just you, and the quiet tension that seemed to wrap itself around the both of you, neither of you daring to move or speak.
You couldn’t help but feel your heart race, unsure of what this moment meant or how to react to it. You’d never felt quite so exposed in front of him, as if his touch and gaze were pulling something out of you that you didn’t know was there.
Gojo’s smile was still soft, his eyes not leaving yours, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something different than before. A strange vulnerability, maybe, or perhaps just a shared moment of silence that neither of you had the words to explain.
And for a heartbeat, everything felt... unsettled, as though the line between what was familiar and what was new had blurred just enough to make you question whether you were still in control of the situation.
You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a soft breeze. “Satoru?”
The sound of your voice seemed to snap Gojo out of whatever trance he had been in. His eyes blinked rapidly, as though he were shaking himself back to reality, and the softness that had filled the air between you suddenly wavered.
Gojo blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting as if he were suddenly realizing what had just occurred. His hand pulled away from your cheek like it was almost burning, and he stepped back, an almost startled expression crossing his face. The teasing, playful demeanor faltered for a second, and you could see the surprise flicker in his eyes—not just from you, but perhaps from the moment itself.
"Ah... sorry," he muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair in an awkward gesture that didn’t quite match his usual calm. “Didn’t mean to... uh... get so close.”
He cleared his throat, visibly trying to regain his usual composure. With a shaky smile, he waved his hand as if brushing it off. "Anyway, I should get going."
You nodded, a strange tightness in your chest. He was already backing away, his voice lighter than before but with a hint of haste in it. "Take care, alright?" His tone was almost clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness that had lingered moments before.
You wanted to say something, to stop him, but the words got stuck in your throat. You simply watched as Gojo, with one last glance over his shoulder, turned and started walking down the hallway.
He didn't look back this time, his figure disappearing into the distance and then into the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost final sound.
The quietness that followed felt almost suffocating, the cool night air filling the space where he had stood. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had just been, unsure of what to make of everything. Your heart was still racing, the lingering touch on your cheek echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.
As the sound of the elevator faded away, all you were left with was the lingering memory of him, his touch, his gaze—and the sudden weight of everything unsaid.
hades!gojo who is so desperate and yearning for persephone!reader that he stares longingly at her as he talks to cerberus about what he could do to gain your affection
★ synopsis: rindou haitani is drawn to your purity, and he's determined to be the one who takes it from you.
★ c.w.: smut, slow burn, corruption kink, obsession, slightly toxic relationship, princess complex, rindou is a huge simp for reader lmao, but he would never admit it, reader is an innocent lil virgin child, ran is the supportive older brother we all need.
★ a/n: fair word of warning, I wrote this story a year ago and discontinued it like June of last year... the writing is prob a lil outdated but ykw, I thought yall would enjoy. (who knows if yall like it enough I might even continue it...)
★ w.c.; 3.1k
chapter index
EVERYTHING HURT. Sure, he had received worse beatings in his lifetime, but this was the first time someone had swept him off his feet. His brother had been absent, perhaps that's what caused this. Some punks had come up to him and picked a fight with him when his brother wasn't there, and normally he would have been able to hold his own.
But, dammit, he was tired. That was all.
So there he was, clutching his arm and limping down the hallway of a nearby apartment complex. He needed somewhere to rest, anywhere would have sufficed. Slight issue, though, apparently no one liked to answer their door anymore. His phone had died hours ago. He was completely lost.
He didn't blame them. If he were in their shoes and a bloodied stranger knocked on their door at two o'clock in the morning, he wouldn't have answered either. No, he blamed his shit luck.
He groaned, stumbling onto what might have been the tenth doorstep of that evening. He must have dislocated his shoulder, or something along those lines, because he found himself physically unable to raise his hand to knock on the door. He weakly felt around for the doorbell before pressing it.
12A. He would never forget that number.
When the door opened, and revealed the pajama-clad form of a young girl, he felt bad for knocking.
The remnants of a bun sat atop her head, with messy strays sticking up in every which direction. A few strands fell delicately against her [tone] skin and brushed over her cheeks. She was wearing a night gown and a pair of oversized slippers. Her tired, tired eyes... there was something about them that drew him closer to her. Subconsciously, perhaps, his eyes drifted to her lips.
His trembling hands gripped the doorframe, and it was then that he realized he had never squirmed under anyone's gaze until this very moment.
The girl opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She bit her lip, and then her eyes met his. "Uh..."
"Sorry to bother you so late," he swallowed. He apologized. He never apologized, but at this point he was getting desperate. He didn't want to bother such a cute girl, so he resolved that he would simply use her phone and call his brother to come pick him up. Yeah, that was perfect. "I'm a little uh... I was wondering if I could borrow your phone?"
The girl's eyes widened, and the pain in his stomach grew. Shit, wait, those might be butterflies. "Oh! Yeah, of course, come in." She stepped aside.
He knew he looked like a hot mess. He was soaked, Tee shirt stuck to his chest with rain and stained pink by blood. His hair was in no better of a state, with rain-soaked strands sticking to his skin. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his bloodied knuckles were in a similar condition. Yet, still, he found it in himself to cast the girl a smile for her kindness. "Thanks."
The kitchen he entered was dimly lit and cozy. There was a dirty plate on the counter, but other than that, the place was clean.
The girl placed her phone on the table. "Here, you can use my cellular," She murmured. Her voice was just above a whisper. "Can I get you something to drink?"
Judging by her quiet tone, it would be safe to assume that the two of them weren't alone in the house. The boy scrunched his brows together, helping himself to one of the seats at the table and using what was left of his strength to fall into it. He licked his lips. "Water would be great, doll, thanks."
He felt like an asshole. God, just the biggest asshole in the entire world. But she had offered and he was thirsty. People rarely showed him kindness, let alone to this extent.
He flipped open the girl's phone, sliding his thumb over the keys. He felt the little grooves and raised bumps gliding beneath the pads of his fingers. Shit, he thought. What's his number?
A moment passed before he heard the quiet sound of water filling a cup, followed by the quiet tap-tap of his own fingers on the keys of her little red flip phone. She set the glass before him just as the phone began to ring.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Who is this?"
Thank god.
"Hey, man," He sighed. "I got roughed up by a few guys a little while ago. I'm laying low in some chick's apartment right now. Can you come pick me up?"
"Lil bro?" His brother answered groggily. He had probably woken him up, but he didn't care. "You don't have your bike?"
The boy pinched his nose. "Obviously not. Why else do you think I'm calling you? Come pick me up."
There was a pause on the other side of the line. "Can't."
"You can't?" He sighed into the receiver. "What do you mean you can't?"
"I mean I'm out of town right now. I won't be home until tomorrow morning."
If it were possible, the beat-up young man felt his heart nearly drop right out of his ass. One final sigh left his lips, and then he hung up on his older brother. He turned to notify his host, who met his gaze with pursed lips.
"You have to walk home?" She asked.
The young man nodded.
"Where do you live?"
For a moment, he debated lying to her. He had no reason to trust this stranger. But, still, he supposed she had been kind enough to allow him into her house. Might as well give her something. "My brother and I have an apartment on the East Side."
Her eyebrows jumped in surprise. "You're not gonna make it that far in your condition," she noted.
She was right. Partially. He wouldn't bleed out, but he might pass out trying.
Soundlessly, the young woman left the kitchen.
It had gone quiet in her absence. He glanced around the corner, but she wasn't there either. He melted into his seat, feeling the weight of his troubles settle on his shoulders. He was fucked, he was so fucked. She was right; there was no way he could make it home in this shape.
His host was pretty cute, though. He smiled at the memory of her at the door a mere five minutes earlier. Wouldn't mind having that as my last memory, he thought to himself in that quiet kitchen.
When the girl returned, she had a small stack of white fabrics in her hand. She offered them to him wordlessly.
He raised an eyebrow. "What are these?"
"Clothes, towels, yeah," She answered quietly. "You can use my shower."
"I'm not doing that," he said rather sternly. "I've asked enough of you already."
She scrunched up her nose. It was... cute, actually. She ran her gaze over him, bit her lip again, and then continued pestering him. "Please, I insist."
His heart did... something. He scrutinized the girl across from him. Why was she being so kind? No one was ever kind, not around these parts. But, god dammit, she was pretty. One more look at her eyes, and he couldn't find it in himself to refuse. "Okay."
★
He was glad he had taken the girl up on her offer. His entire body was submerged in the water, with the exception of his face. The warmth crept into his pores and undid the cramps in his arms and legs. His shoulder hurt like absolute hell.
The bathroom, much like the kitchen he had been in earlier, was a cute little room. It had pink walls and curtains. The shower rug had been pink too, he thought, but he hadn't been paying much attention to it. Three bottles were lined up on the shelf of the bathtub. He popped one of them open, giving it an experimental sniff.
Strawberries, he sighed. Cute.
He squirted some of it into the palm of his hand, and only then did he actually take the time to read the label. He was pretty sure it was shampoo, so he slathered it onto his hair and began massaging it into his scalp. More of the warm strawberry scent. He sighed blissfully.
Girls' bathrooms are so much better than boys' bathrooms.
He shamelessly indulged in a little more of the shampoo, letting the bubbles run down his shoulder. Feeling cleaner already, he grabbed the cup next to him and began scooping water into it.
Clean. Rinse. Clean. Rinse. He repeated the cycle with the bar of soap, and then again with a handful of her conditioner.
Shit, he inhaled the sharply. Coconut? It was almost intoxicating. She must have smelled amazing, although – admittedly – he hadn't exactly been sniffing the girl when she let him in. That would be weird.
When he was finished, he dried himself off and pulled the shorts the young woman had given him onto his hips. They were a little big. If anything, they probably belonged to her father or her brother.
Or maybe her boyfriend?
He shook his hair to expel some of the water. He might have been a little selfish in hoping that wasn't the case.
When he caught his own reflection, he winced. He had two cuts on his face and lips, as well as one on his left hand. He had deep gashes in his right arm and on his shoulder.
He slid the tee shirt over his head next, and then folded his towel up.
The girl was waiting on her bed when he exited the bathroom. She smiled at him. "Hey."
He found himself smiling back. "Hey."
It was then that he noticed a first aid kit on her bed.
Before he could even ask, she answered for him. "I want to dress your wounds."
"Oh," was all he could say. "Okay."
What on earth had gotten into him tonight? If only his brother were here. Maybe then, he would have been able to have some sense slapped into him.
Timidly, far too timidly for his own liking, the boy took a seat on the bed next to the girl. She popped the kit open, rummaging through it before producing a few disinfectant wipes and some bandages.
"The one on your arm might need stitches," She muttered. Her fingers traced the pink skin around the gash, setting his nerves alight with something foreign. "I can do them for you, if you'd like."
He chose to ignore the odd feeling. "You a nurse or somethin'?"
"No," The girl retorted. "Would you rather bleed out and get infected?"
Was he really going to trust a complete stranger to put stitches in his arm? Was he that naive?
"Alright."
Yes, apparently he was.
The girl hummed, tearing open one of the disinfectant wipes. Gently, she pressed it against the cut on his forehead. She slathered some ointment onto it, and then covered it with a bandage. The sudden hot-and-cool sensation made the boy shudder.
"What's your name?" She had asked.
It would be rude of him to refuse her an answer. "Rindou."
"Rindou," She tasted the name on her tongue. The boy almost wanted to hear her say it again. "I'm [Y/N] [L/N]."
[Y/N] [L/N] from Apartment 12A, the girl who smelled of strawberries and coconuts. She went in next for the cut on his lip, dabbing some of the ointment onto it. The air grew dense as she slid her thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes nearly fluttered shut. It had been ages since he had felt such a kind touch.
Don't stop, he thought, relishing in the gentle contact. Don't ever stop.
"Alright, lend me your arm," She told him.
He hesitated before exposing his wrists to the girl from 12A.
She opened a small package and a hooked needle fell into her palm. She produced two more odd-shaped devices from the kit, one of which she used to grab and thread the needle. "You cleaned the gash, right?"
Rindou nodded.
"Okay, this might hurt," She inhaled sharply through her nose. She pinched some of the skin with one of the tools, and then fed the needle through some more skin on the other side of the gash.
"Ah," He hissed. Be cool, Haitani, be cool.
"Sorry, Sorry!" She hummed.
That was all the painkiller Rindou needed to forget about the pinch in his arm. The girl made two more stitches and tied them off, closing the cut off. He had to fight the urge to reach and touch one of the sutures.
"Okay, you're all set," She said.
Rindou saw an apt opportunity to get closer to the girl. "Could you fix one more for me?"
[Y/N] from 12A nodded.
Rindou pinched the neck of the T-Shirt the girl had given it, and then began tugging it off of his head. When he set the discarded article of clothing aside, he noticed that the girl was staring at him. That did wonders for his ego, but that was beside the point.
He quirked an eyebrow at the curious girl.
She reached out to him, reddened face, her nimble fingers ghosting just above the wound. They danced over his skin, tracing the winding curls of his tattoo. She was tantalizingly close; he could feel the heat of her pulse above his skin. At the same time, she wasn't close enough.
"You..." She breathed. She rested her hand on his shoulder, finally. The pliers with the needle were clenched tightly in her other hand. "Are you?"
Rindou followed her trembling gaze, meeting the gentle, frightened movements of her finger as she traced the black curvatures of his chest piece. So she knows who I am. He felt his pulse kick up, but refrained from moving regardless. "Yeah."
She whimpered quietly, almost so quietly that Rindou wouldn't have heard it if he weren't hypersensitive to her every movement right now. She was terrified, clearly, and rightfully so. "You gonna hurt me?"
"No," Rindou answered without a second thought. He felt calm. He just couldn't explain why.
"Okay," She whispered. Then, as if nothing had happened, she resumed her work. She poked the needle through his skin, and then fed it under and threaded it through the other side. The whole time, his eyes were trained on her. She was focused, and had her tongue sticking out from her pink lips and her eyebrows scrunched. She tied off the first stitch, and then cast her patient a concerned glance. Her voice was quiet once more, as if she was scared she would be hurt if she spoke too loudly. "You're not flinching."
"Doesn't hurt," He muttered back, matching her tone. That was partially a lie. He couldn't deny that the feeling of having something moving beneath his skin made him a little uncomfortable, but he would be damned if he admitted that in front of the cute girl. "You look cute when you're concentrating. I don't wanna mess you up."
The girl breathed a quiet chuckle and, shit, if Rindou hadn't felt his heart flutter earlier, he definitely had this time. There was a warmth that settled on his cheeks, and then a whirlwind of something he hadn't felt in a very long time blew through him. He didn't get crushes. He was a Haitani, one of two of the most fearsome men in Roppongi. He did not simply blush over cute girls who gave him stitches.
"I'm a little nervous, sorry," she said. She smiled warmly at the boy. "You're doing really well, though. I'm almost done, okay?"
And Rindou Haitani revoked the statement he had previously made about not blushing. Before he knew it, a similar smile began to grow on his own face. "Okay."
Somewhere deep in what was perhaps the more sensible half of his brain, he could already hear his brother nagging him. Tonight was an unfortunate sequence of stupid ideas, so he wouldn't blame him.
He winced at the sudden and unexpected feeling of the wound being pulled shut. [Y/N] tied off the final stitch, and then placed the needle back in the bag before tossing it into the trash bin.
"Alright," She said. "You'll sleep here tonight. I'll set you up in the guest bathroom."
Rindou raised a brow. This girl was bossing him around. She was bossing him around. "I will?"
"You can't make it home in that condition," She said. "So, yes, I insist."
And later that night, when he was tossing around in his makeshift bed – a bathtub filled with cushions and blankets – he would have been lying to himself if he claimed he didn't like it.
★
The sound of a rumbling engine roused him from his sleep. He shifted on the pillow, fumbling for his phone. It was dead, anyway, so he didn't know why he even bothered. If the clock just above the bathroom door was correct, then the time was currently 5 o'clock in the morning.
I need to get out of here, he mused. In the same breath, he threw the sheets off of his body and folded them up into his arms. Using his hip, he kicked the door open.
The house was quiet, but if the person who was here with them last night was still here, they would most likely be waking up soon.
So he began to make his way over to your bedroom. He kept his footsteps light – as he had learned to do after years of combat – and then gently opened the door.
You were sound asleep on your bed, and he didn't want to wake you. So he tip-toed over to your nightstand – a risky move, considering he had claimed to know better than to leave a trace of himself just two nights ago – and tore a small sheet of paper from your post-it pad. There was a little pen on the dresser, which he clicked twice before beginning to jot down his thoughts.
.
Thank you for everything,
I owe you one.
I'll bring the clothes back.
-R
.
He set the sheets down on the floor in front of your bed. When he raised his head, he was greeted by the sight of your sleeping form from up close. Your eyelashes cascaded over your cheeks, and your mouth was slightly parted. He followed the gentle rise and fall of your chest – perhaps for a moment too long – and then left you there peacefully.
He shut the door behind him. He did the same with the front door when he left.
Not a trace, he reminded himself. Not a trace.
But he knew he would be back eventually. The shirt was nothing more than an excuse to see that pretty face again.
a/n: comment if I should continue this series!! (it'd be written better I promise)
I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.
