mdni | taking nerd!kuna and frat!kuna's dorky triplet jin for a spin in a bathroom stall!
a/n: sequel to double vision <3 lovely art is by @winterrbluess !!
it wasn't like you were trying to go three for three on sleeping with triplets.
seriously!
how were you supposed to know you'd bump into your the third slice of your sorta boyfriend(s?) sibling trio when you were busy avoiding the other two?
it'd been awkward with both of them when your first time with ryo had devolved into him bickering with his brother while he was still buried inside you, demanding sukuna leave while he scoffed out something about having dibs on you.
it only ended when you got up, covering yourself with a blanket and rushing to get dressed as they both abruptly turned to asking how the fuck you could've thought they were same guy. hearing two nearly identical set of complaints at the same time, bitching about how they were soooooo different, it should've been obvious while they were both oblivious enough to miss how hard you were rolling your eyes as you snatched your shoes and phone before slipping past the play boy half-blocking the door.
you could still hear them fighting over you halfway down the hall, stopping the other from following you out, equally petty despite their preferences for parties or poems.
embarrassingly enough, it took you ten minutes to realize you'd left them in your room.
awkwardly wandering around after sitting on a bench to put your shoes back on, ordering yourself a ride share to a coffee shop off campus, somewhere they wouldn't think to come to. some place you could wait it out for a while until they cleared out.
you couldn't predict the future.
had no way to sense that you'd find another man with pretty pink hair sitting at your favorite table.
or that when a surprised little laugh escaped your mouth, his head would snap up, thin glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as his eyes locked onto yours. everything about his face was softer than his brothers. gentler somehow. still sharp, of course, still angular, but still some untouchable tenderness graced his features. head tilting to the side as his lips parted, "do we know each other?"
"um, no, not really," you answered, and you caught the brief flash of understanding crossing his confused face as his brows briefly knitted together before he exhaled.
"met my brothers then?" he asked, and you giggled again.
"that obvious?"
what wasn't, however, was that it would only take half an hour before he had you sitting on the bathroom sink, panties stuffed in his pocket as he messily bottomed out in your pussy. freely moaning into your mouth while you played with his hair.
jin was clumsier than both of his brothers combined.
but you liked how eager he was, how his thumb kept rubbing circles in your clit, practically begging you to cum as he fucked into you faster, totally clueless that you'd been with either of his siblings.
well, you suspected that he suspected it, but he didn't say anything.
"s-shit, princess," he groaned, hips halting in the middle of his next pump, struggling not to cum while you looped a loose strand of his hair around one finger.
princess was a new one.
and you didn't totally hate it either.
almost about to cum yourself as his thumb pressed down on the sensitive bundle of nerves, the bathroom door bursting open with nearly comical timing as your night was once again interrupted.
"jesus christ, dude, what the fuck?"
okay, yeah, understandable.
"what are you guys doing here?" jin flushed, hurrying to pull out and shoving his dick back in his jeans in half a second, cringing at how hard it was to fit all eight inches in - with the condom on.
"you left life 360 on, dickhead," sukuna snarled, glaring at his brother like he was considering if he could get charged for attempted fratricide for strangling him here. his dark eyes drifting to you, jaw locking at the sight of your thighs spread, your dress shoved up high on your thighs. "the hell are you doing with him?"
"fate?"
shrugging your shoulders as you felt three heated sets of stares sticking to your skin, sizing you up and trying to decide who would win if they attempted to seize you for themselves.
it seemed like the universe had decided you were stuck with one of them.
maybe even all of them.
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
shoko had always been curious about you. every time she saw you at one of those parties, you were always the main focus of her night. above the cigarettes, above the alcohol, above the buzz of everything else around her. that was quite impressive.
it was a shame you always gave yourself to those meathead-frat boys that didn’t know how to please a woman. whenever she’d see one of them lead you to the bedroom, she’d grip her solo cup so hard it’d crunch in her hand. leaving nothing but a mess of alcohol and jealousy.
she heard your moans from upstairs, but she wanted to know how they’d sound in the shell of her ear. she wanted to see how you squirmed, what your face looked like when it crumpled with pleasure, what your slick felt like on the pads of her fingers.
it was a promise to herself that’d she’d get your hands on you. and she did.
you were sprawled out, sweat gulfing down your forehead and bite-marked breasts, cheeks stained with tears. shoko had gotten her hands on you for sure, though it was closer to torture than sex. she was captivated by the way you squirmed, the way you teared up when things got too sensitive.
a cigarette graced the beautiful, pink hue of her lips, chapped and parted. smoke curled around her face, making her seem more ethereal than you already perceived her. she was a goddess, nothing less.
her other hand occupied a dildo, in which she was fucking in and out of your syrupy pussy at a leisure pace. you came twice—once from her fingers, the second from riding her thigh so hard it left a bruise on her soft skin.
“such a sensitive thing, just how i thought you’d be.” she smiled at the squelching sounds your slicked cunt made for her. the toy was slammed inside you particularly hard, her eyes lighting up with fascination at the way you squealed and choked on a cry. she took a puff of her cigarette, blowing smoke into the air. “i wonder if you get this way for suguru as well.”
you shook your head, sniffling and making no attempts to wipe at your salty, endless tears. you were overwhelmed, in a hazy, dizzying way. and yet, you loved every second of the sexual torture she was inflicting on you. even if it was for the sole purpose of her curiosity and jealousy. “n-no..haaah—shoko. only youu!”
shoko looked pleased, though her expression conflicted with her words. “i don’t believe you. but you’re still a good girl for trying.” she crooned, waving her cigarette lazily. “i know i can fuck you better anyway. you were crying before i even thought to use a dildo.”
a pathetic whimper crawled out of your throat at her words, as well as the change in pace. every stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, the one that made you kick your legs and twitch helplessly. your pussy was a mess of slick and need, sopping out juices around the base of the toy—coating it with a new layer every time she plunged it back in. she didn’t need to be rough, she knew how to make you crumble without excessive force or speed.
“this is better though, mhm? i knew you’d look so pretty crying for me.” she held the toy deep inside your cunt, so deep you could feel it in your guts. “pliant and desperate just how i want you.”
you moaned and bucked your hips against the toy. she started to fuck you with it again, hard and quick just so she could see you fall apart. she held her burning cigarette near your neck, it hovered over you like a threat. the heat permeated against your sensitive skin, and you jolted in fear of being burned. once again, she looked allured by your reaction, and put the cigarette in its righteous place between her lips.
she pulled the cigarette away, refraining from blowing out smoke she’d trapped in her lungs. her lips found yours, pressing a messy kiss against your own. she exhaled the smoke right into your gasping mouth, her tongue massaging against yours experimentally. it was wet and filthy, something you had quickly learned she loved.
at that, you couldn’t help yourself. you cried out into her mouth, eyes squeezed shut and forcing out more tears. your third orgasm hit you hard, spurts of your release coating the toy like honey.
shoko broke the kiss, the saliva connecting the two of you snapped onto her lips. her tongue darted out, licking it up in a way that made you shudder. it was evident in the way her eyes had blown themselves wide that she was satisfied, but she never pulled the toy out.
she sat up, pressing her cigarette against your lips and letting you take a puff. “such a good girl cumming for me. stay put, let me see what else i have to play with.”
MDNI CONTENT: mentions of alcohol consumption, public claiming, aśś groping, territorial interception, hallway confrontation, calculated provocation
a/n: okay sorry for the confusion!! i tweaked the first chapter a bit!! cleared up the confusion and added more details!! hope you enjoy ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
A girl presses a shot glass to his bicep. Gojo flexes like this is what he’s here for. She tips it back without spilling.
A few people start chanting his name. You’ve seen this before. It always looks the same. Different girl. Same circle.
You’re across the kitchen island, half blocked by someone’s elbow and a stack of empty cups. The chant picks up again as he laughs.
One of the guys near him leans in and says something that makes the circle laugh. He glances past them—past the noise—and answers without looking away from the crowd.
“She’s not going anywhere.”
You don’t know what he said. The circle bursts out laughing.
You just know he didn’t look for you.
Another girl slips into his space like the circle makes room for her automatically. He leans down so she can say something in his ear.
He laughs. Someone says something else and it makes it worse. He leans into the guy beside him like he can’t catch his breath.
He doesn’t look across the room.
Beside you, someone nudges your arm.
“You gonna shoot your shot or just keep staring?”
You blink.
They’re not talking to him.
They’re talking to you.
You set your drink down without looking at him.
You slip into the crowd, squeezing past shoulders and raised cups. Someone swears when you brush past them. No one looks twice.
Geto leans against the far wall, drink untouched in his hand. He hasn’t taken a sip.
You stop in front of him.
He looks up.
“Fake date me.”
He looks at you once.
“When do we start.”
He says it like you asked him what time it is.
You didn’t expect him to take your plan so seriously. You thought he’d make you explain it. Instead, his hand slides to your waist.
His hand stays there when he pushes off the wall.
He doesn’t ask if you’re ready.
He just walks.
You have half a second to keep up.
Then—
“No way,” someone whistles.
Geto doesn’t react.
He steers you past the kitchen, his hand still at your waist.
Past the couch.
A few people glance over when they realize who he’s walking with.
He stops directly across from Gojo.
Geto doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, not Gojo.
This was your idea.
So why does it feel like you just lost control?
Gojo smiles like this is temporary.
The chanting dies down when Gojo steps away from the island.
He crosses the room like he was already planning to.
People shift without being asked.
He doesn’t look at Geto first. He stops just outside his space and looks at you.
Geto’s hand stays where it is.
“That’s who you’re betting on?”
You hold his gaze.
“Yeah.”
He steps closer.
“You’re not that bored.” His voice drops.
That’s when he catches your wrist.
“Talk to me.”
You don’t pull away.
You glance down at his hand on your wrist, then back up at him.
“I am.”
His grip tightens slightly.
“Not here.”
He keeps hold of your wrist until you’re out of the noise.
The music dulls the second you turn the corner.
The hallway is narrow. There’s nowhere else to look but at him.
“You’re serious.”
Not a question.
He lifts a brow, watching your face for hesitation. He doesn’t find any.
“You’re actually choosing him.”
“Yes.”
He exhales through his nose.
“You’ve never looked at me like that before.”
His eyes move over your face like he’s trying to place something.
“You’ve never given me a reason to,” you say.
You don’t know if that was brave or reckless.
You’re tired of caring which.
You don’t wait for him to answer.
You walk back toward the noise.
Gojo follows a second later.
The music swells as soon as you turn the corner.
Geto sees you before you reach him.
He doesn’t ask what Gojo said.
He just looks at you.
Geto’s hand returns to your waist.
Then it slides down and gives your ass a firm squeeze.
Your hand comes down over his and presses, holding it there.
His grip tightens, and he looks over his shoulder, making sure Gojo sees it.
contains: fluff, baking, domesticity, some nephew yuji pov, he has a camera, food fight, suggestive stuff because sukuna is here duh
words: 1.9k
note: thank you to this anon for the idea!
The lighting clinking and clashing of utensils and trays fill the apartment on this sunny Saturday morning right before midday. A murmur of voices, one issuing instructions and the other asking if they're doing it well come from the kitchen. A delicious scent of buttery, sugary, vanilla goodness wafts through the open windows, making the neighbors who catch a whiff of the mouthwatering smells sulk as their stomachs growl in envy.
Fortunately for a certain lucky toddler, he gets front row seats of the weekly baking session between his uncle and aunt who move around each other like dancers attuned to each other's bodies so well that they know when to shift or hand the other something before anyone asks.
Yuji cannot think—and he has tried, one arm crossed over his chest while the index finger of the other taps at his temple—of a time before you and Sukuna. His earliest memories which are blurry and broken like the puzzle he dropped last week, are of your cozy scent when you give him cuddles and his uncle's gruff murmurs as he wiped milk and drool off fatty cheeks.
Yuji doesn’t remember when he didn’t live here. He doesn’t remember not having his uncle's strong stirring hands and your giggle-inducing tickles.
Let's not forget that uncle Sukuna is the best cook in the whole wide world! Makes even the yucky vegetables yummy for the little boy who tends to gag at the sight of regular ones. Plus you makes the tastiest cupcakes with frosting as pink as his hair and muffins with chocolate chips as brown as his eyes.
And today, he's rocking back and forth on his heels, not the smartest thing to do while standing on his favorite blue chair that Sukuna steadies with a heavy, long leg against it. But Yuji isn't bothered, knowing he'll be caught quick and easily by the man.
“We makin’ dinos!” The toddler exclaims, holding up a green cookie cutter as you chuckle and nod enthusiastically. “Stego-saw-us,” he tries to pronounce like Sukuna taught him.
“Close enough, squirt,” rumbles his uncle as he ruffles the little boy's unruly blush tufts with a grumpy look that's not as mean as it is when they're outside.
The stretchy dough is rolled flat by you as you press the different dinosaur shapes down, flour dusting the counter and the front of your frilly pink apron. There's a long-neck one and a spiky one and a flying one.
Yuji is sent to get his little black camera while Sukuna opens the oven, a gust of hot air fogging up his glasses as you cover your mouth to hide your giggle. Nodding to himself, he slides the trays of cookies in and shuts it, the ticking of the timer starting while he wipes his lenses on the black apron he's got on that says, “Kiss the Cook.”
And you do just that as you steal a quick peck from your dorky looking boyfriend who smiles despite himself, drawing you in by the waist for another, deeper one that tastes candied and like toothpaste but is over fast enough so Yuji doesn't see as he bounds back into the kitchen.
“Wanna knead the pizza dough for me while I do the icing?” Sukuna asks as he sets up the ingredients on the other end of the counter that's clean. No one would guess that this tattooed, towering, terrifyingly built man loved to cook.
Glancing at him as you're letting the toddler pour sugar into the cup you're holding, you nod. For all Yuji's excitement to get his hands on the golden brown test cookies that are cooling by the window, he's quite dedicated to the task you gave him, rosy brows creased as his tongue sticks out in concentration.
The boy clearly does not want to create another snowstorm like the last time you had baked together where he tried holding a bag of flour as big as him and since he wasn't as strong as his uncle, it fell and puffed out everywhere like a big, white cloud. Sukuna was gaping like a fish while you had burst out laughing, calming the guilty toddler who eventually giggled with you.
“Sure,” you agree, swapping spots with the man so he slides into yours next to his nephew who's now waiting to mix the icing that Sukuna's whipping up. Not before getting your hands on his rounded, toned butt, dusty ivory handprints on his black pants despite the apron he's got on.
Freezing when you squeeze two, greedy handfuls of his rear, he cuts you a half-lidded, crimson stare that promises revenge as your lips part, brows rising in coy confusion.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you meant knead your dough,” you say, mock surprise in your light tone as you bite back a smile and you get to work on what he actually asked you to do.
“This woman's a menace,” Sukuna mutters but Yuji doesn't understand and doesn't care as they work together to make the icing.
When all the sugar, food coloring and other contents are in the bowl, the mixture halfway done, Sukuna nods to the toddler. “There you go, bud. Do it like I taught ya.”
When the bowl is set in front of him and Sukuna rolls up his little sleeves, Yuji takes the spoon that's bigger than one of his hands and uses both fists to hold it super tight and stir, stir, stir. Once the icing is a mirror-like glaze, Sukuna pats him on the back and stops him. “Atta boy, just like your old man.”
“Jin?” You pipe up, catching the slip up like a cat stepping on a scurrying mouse's tail from where you're wrapping a bowl in cling film to set it aside and let the dough rise for some time, the faint smell of yeast and herbs coming from your end of the counter.
You both knew damn well he meant himself, not his brother.
Face heating until his ears are red at the tips, Sukuna scowls an embarrassed thing that baffles Yuji as he thought they were having fun. But the slight smile his uncle gives him when he sees his worry eases the boy.
Handing Yuji the spoon to lick, he comes over to you and whispers something in your ear that has you as flustered as his uncle while the man smirks triumphantly, helping you clean up.
Sugar rush activated, Yuji is skipping around the kitchen and snapping pictures of everything that catches his fleeting attention. He takes pictures of your floury nose and cheeks. The click of his camera goes off when Sukuna holds a dinosaur cookie like it's flying. He snaps ones of the flour littering the floor and his footprints on them. He tells you, “Say Cheese!” even though there's no cheese around.
The shiny, digicam was a gift from you after you'd see him taking blurry pictures with Kaori's phone like he saw Peter Parker do when watching Spider-Man with Jin. And now, you get candid shots of everyone from the neck down or chest down in Sukuna's case. It reminds you of those cartoons as a kid where you could never quite understand why the adults were faceless but now you know it's because it's the world through a child's lenses.
You had to hand it to the kid, he knew how to take flattering pictures and not-so flattering ones. Sometimes you'd see one and think, “damn, the workout routine Sukuna put me on is doing me good” and other times you'll see your hair in a bird's nest as your face is smashed to your pillow and think, “this kid hates me.”
As for your boyfriend, he loves both pictures, gets them sent to his phone for safekeeping so he can store them away in his growing album of you.
Today's spontaneous photo that's certainly going in the books, is one of you and Sukuna with your backs to the camera, his head turned to look into at Yuji when he calls out, brows furrowed in that default frown of his that's softer around the edges while you're smirking into the lens like a self-satisfied cat who got the cream, hands in front of you, palms up as they're powdered with the incriminating evidence of the suspect who dirtied the grouchy man's pants.
No crime goes unpunished if your salmon-haired boyfriend has anything to say about it so when he sees the picture after Yuji takes it and proudly presents it, you know you're done for.
Dipping his fingers in the batter streaked bowl from the cake you baked earlier, Sukuna scoops up some and smears it on your cheek. You gasp like it's a very serious offense. Then you grab his face and smear the batter from yours to his in a sticky mess.
The toddler freezes. His eyes go wide in wonder.
It is a food fight. Flour, batter and even a few sprinkles flying around as squeals, grunts and lots of laughter ring out.
Yuji scream-laughs and take video. “Oh noooo!” he says, but he's smiling so big his cheeks hurt.
Suddenly, like two raptors that were fighting over their prey then realised the prey is slipping away, both adults turn their attention to him.
Yuji tries to run but Sukuna snatches him up and dabs a tiny dot of frosting on his nose. It is cold and sweet and the toddler licks it off. Best thing ever.
You all laugh and laugh and the kitchen is messy and loud and perfect.
The cake is layered and chocolaty and you smooth the frosting like a fairy god mother with magic. The dinosaurs line up on the tray like they are marching to the forest, glazed like the ones in his animated movies. Yuji takes one last picture of Sukuna and you holding the cake together, your hands touching in the middle.
“Do you think Yuki will like the cake?” you ask Sukuna while the weared down toddler naps on the couch.
You miss Yuji's rosy cheeks that would droop like he was frowning but lift and glow with his gummy smiles and sparkling, wet eyes. He's still got that baby face but the plumpness isn't as obvious and he isn't a cuddly little teddy bear for you anymore.
The pregnant woman had requested one of your signature chocolate cakes with decadent ganache and moist sponge that always got wiped out at parties and gatherings. But she wanted one for herself so she could eat it for days without guilt, the baby in her belly already having a sweet tooth that Choso was happy to tend to.
“Hell yeah, she will. Everyone loves your cakes,” he answers with an almost offended scoff that you even asked such a ridiculous question. “But my favorite cake is right here.”
He dots ganache on your nose and licks it off, making you sputter and shove at his chest when he gets mean and bites down on the tip of it with his sharp teeth.
“Blech, you're disgusting!”
A low, dark chuckle rumbles from him. “You know what they say, you are what you eat.”
The wooden spoon comes soaring towards him and he catches it with a quiet cackle, grabbing you and tossing you over his shoulder, large hands drumming on your ass.
“Unhand me, beast!” you thrash on his back, giggling at the sight of your floury handprints.
“You'll be this beast's dinner if you don't watch out.”
what if she's written mine on your upper thigh only in your mind?
synopsis: after a mission-gone-wrong leaves you missing the memories of your apparent marriage with your least favorite former classmate - you find yourself aching for your best friend when she's the one who steps up to take care of you. can you keep your crush to yourself? or will you cross the line?
pairing: husband!gojo x f!reader x best friend!shoko
wc: 10.9k
content: MDNI!! mostly angst but smut and fluff too!, amnesia trope, tw mentions of cheating/infidelity!!, reader is bisexual, can you blame her for wanting shoko when she looks like THAT, marriage, separation, divorce, reader loses a lot of her memories, struggling to cope with her new life, gojo sucks lol, manipulation tactics, heavy pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is conflicted, masturbation, oral sex, fantasizing about someone else during sex, piv sex, pulling out, kissing, confessions, confrontations
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @dayanim who has some of the best ideas literally ever !! art is by @/aransmind + div by @/tsumiinum
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The last person you expected to see sitting by your hospital bed was the white-haired idiot who had decided from the first moment you’d met that you were his personal toy to tease and taunt.
Really, the only thing more shocking than staring at his blue eyes brimming with concern back at you was hearing Shoko’s soft voice refer to him as your husband as she said something about a care plan.
And before you could stop yourself, your stare slipped down at the faint feeling of pressure, stomach dropping as you realized he was even holding your hand, a white-gold wedding band glittering on his fourth finger – and oh God, a ginormous diamond ring on your own, framed by aquamarine or topaz or some other little blue gemstones encrusted in your band.
You instinctively wanted to rip it off. Throw it at him with an annoyed huff even if the world was still all fuzzy, the drone of the air conditioning and the beeping of whatever machines Shoko had you hooked up to.
“This isn’t funny,” you snapped at him, scowling as you tried to sit up, body sore and aching as your head throbbed in protest. How much did he pay her to go along with this?
His head turned back towards her, his mouth parting as he spoke under his breath, and your eyes finally focused properly, nausea settling deeper as you realized that Gojo was different. Bulkier. Shoulders broader, frame filled out, no longer looking the least bit boyish or lanky when he made the cheap chair he was sitting in looked cramped.
And when you looked back up at Shoko, it struck you how much longer her hair was, even shinier too, but the dark circles under her eyes made your heart stall. Your brain refused to accept it. Any of it. Watching the cigarette dangling between her lips as she listened to what Gojo was saying, nodding along as her stare slipped back to you, mouth twitching for a second.
“Baby,” Gojo started, ignoring the fact you were appalled at him using a pet name like that with you. You snatched your hand back from him with an indignant huff, looking over to Shoko like you were trying to signal her for some help.
“Seriously, is this supposed to be a joke?” You asked, taken aback as his fingers skimmed over your forearm.
“You got a head injury during a mission,” Shoko spoke slowly, caught somewhere between polite and bored, lacking any of the warmth you were used to.
“And you guys thought it would be the perfect time to play some stupid prank and convince me I married him?” You accused, hurt and confusion twisting together tight in your chest as you half-expected Geto to pop out from somewhere with a camera to reveal he was recording the whole thing.
But instead of just laughing it off, or apologizing, you watched with thinly-veiled horror as Gojo and Shoko exchanged an uneasy glance.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Shoko spoke, softer now.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, shrugging your shoulders as you swallowed the spit in the back of your throat. “Class, maybe? The exchange event?”
“What exchange event?” Gojo pressed more aggressively, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glaring at him.
“Don’t act like you forgot, dickhead,” you grumbled. “You dumped water on me in front of everyone.”
But the awkward silence that hung in the air made your anger lapse into something a lot fucking scarier when the most annoying man you knew shut up for longer than two seconds. Staring uselessly at Shoko, like he was trying to tell her to fix you with his eyes.
“You don’t remember marrying him?” Shoko carefully asked, and you hated how helpless you felt.
“I don’t even remember dating him,” you practically hissed, your gaze shifting for a second to the subject of your conversation just to see his practically gutted expression.
It seemed unfathomable. Didn’t come remotely close to making any kind of sense. Since when did he even have feelings for you? And even if he did, why the hell would you choose a man you couldn’t stand?
He was an immature asshole who acted like he was going to be a teenager forever.
Although, when he was sitting across from you now, you supposed he really had turned into a man after all.
“Do you remember me?” Shoko followed it up, stepping closer as her white lab coat shifted around her. Had she really managed to become a doctor? How much time, exactly, had you missed?
“Of course I remember you,” you blinked up at her, a little offended that she’d think otherwise. She occupied most of the space in your admittedly half-empty head, colored the memories you had in soft colors of casual comfort, sleepovers and movie marathons, lazily days spent together in relaxing silence. Memories molded around the sound of her laugh, her cool demeanor you tried so many times to match, clinging to her side and completely inseparable.
“Looks like she’s got retrograde amnesia,” she informed Gojo, all clinical, colder than you expected. “We’ll have to see how severe it is.”
Hearing something was wrong with you felt even worse coming from Shoko’s mouth, your lips pressing together in a pout as your brain struggled to catch up with the scene you found yourself plopped in. Where your best friend since forever was treating you like a stranger and someone you wished was a stranger was apparently your husband.
Your head fucking hurt.
Like someone was slamming an icepick through your skull over and over again with each thought you pieced together, vision swimming as you blinked between them.
“How long has it been?” You asked, almost scared to ask for a mirror to see if there would be a stranger looking back at you there too. “What year is it?”
Neither one of them wanted to immediately answer you, like it couldn’t be more obvious that it was a lot longer than they wanted to admit. Unsure of how to break the bad news to someone with a fucking brain injury.
Gojo spoke up first, sunglasses traded in for a black blindfold hanging low around his neck as his stare pierced through Shoko. “But her memories are gonna come back, right? She’ll remember me?”
You braced yourself for her answer, although you still knew her well enough to know what she’d say before her lips parted, ashes drifting down from the end of her cigarette onto the not-so-sterile floor.
“I don't know,” she muttered, not as apathetic as she intended, leaning against the wall as she avoided looking directly at you. “But I think you should take her home.”
Your mouth opened, ready to protest and push back against the idea of going home with Gojo while she refused to look back at you.
But then Gojo was grabbing your wrist, pale fingers sinking softly into the skin like it was his to touch, and in a blink, you were somewhere familiar and foreign all at once.
Your legs threatened to collapse underneath you, but then he was scooping you back up like you were nothing, carrying you down a dimly-lit hallway in a clearly spacious penthouse overlooking the city in the brief glimpse you got out of the large living room windows. Pictures lining the wall of the two of you together, group shots where his arm was slung over your shoulder or around your waist in almost all of them, beach photos you guessed you took of each other, fuck, even wedding photos proudly hung up on display.
Morbidly, you almost felt like you were walking through a mausoleum, staring at a version of you that must have died on whatever fucking mission you’d been on, one that loved the idiot holding you enough to build this domestic little life with him.
How were you supposed to be her?
“Our bedroom’s through here,” he murmured, turning to walk through the threshold of a sprawling room, big bookcases lining one wall and a king-sized bed taking up center-stage across from it, doors that you guessed led to a closet and bathroom adjacent to you. “You should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
Shoko had turned into a doctor.
And you had turned into…what?
A housewife? A sloppy enough sorcerer to get caught off-guard?
“Please tell me we don’t have kids,” you mumbled, a silent prayer more to the universe than him.
“No,” he chuckled a little bit, and you nearly said thank god, just to get cut off by his nostalgic hum, “You wanted some though.”
He was wrong. He had to be.
“Let’s get you in bed,” Gojo hummed softly, speaking to you with care you thought he only reserved for himself, his cockiness absent in favor of more of that delicate concern. You never thought he was capable of handling anything fragile. But then again, you never thought you’d be fragile either.
Your tongue felt numb, unable to form the sentence you desperately wanted to say, but you let him gently place you on the bed, pulling back the blankets and covering you up before readjusting the pillow underneath your head. Your eyes did feel drowsy, the throbbing pain bouncing around your skull begging you to just shut out the world until you fell asleep.
Gojo sat on the edge next to you, not quite touching, but enough you could feel the weight of his presence, the energy bristling and burning in the air next to you as you rolled over away from him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and you hoped he was wrong.
That tomorrow, you’d wake up, and you’d be back in your own bed where you could just laugh it off. Tell Shoko what an insane dream you had and giggle about how absurd it was to think you’d ever marry Satoru Gojo.
But no, when the sun rose and your eyes slowly cracked open, your heart sank at the realization you were right where you fell asleep at.
In Gojo’s bed. In Gojo’s penthouse. As Gojo’s wife.
He made you breakfast, brought it on a platter and helped you sit up, hand-feeding it to you while you squinted and studied his face, answering every question you pelted him with.
“How did we even start dating?” You huffed at him after forcing yourself to bite into the syrup-ladden waffle he popped into your mouth.
“I really had to wear you down,” he grinned, one corner of his mouth curling up like he remembered it fondly. “Basically get down on my knees and beg you after months of pestering you for attention.”
“You? On your knees?” You scoffed, brows arching at how ridiculous it sounded. You could sorta see it, big round glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, messy white hair sticking up every way as he dramatically clasped his hands together. But the hard part was imagining yourself on the receiving end.
“I always had a crush on you, I just sucked at showing it,” he shrugged. “It took a lot of convincing just for you to accept a single date.”
“Yeah?” You asked, not sure how to feel about hearing about yourself like this. From him.
“Guess Shoko helped too. Told you to give me a chance after she got sick of hearing me talk about you,” Gojo added, and you paused just for him to slip the fork back between your teeth.
Chewing your breakfast as you searched your brain for even a sliver of recognition only to come up empty.
Shoko really wanted you to go out with him?
Convinced you to do it?
You supposed maybe you could see it. You had more faith in her than you had in anyone else. Trusted her to a fault. Listened to every word that left her lips with devotion that drifted dangerously close to reverence.
Having a crush on your best friend was dumb.
Holding onto the hope she shared the same childish affection you did – and wouldn’t be put off by the fact you wanted to be more than friends.
Had she found out in the past? Picked up on your feelings and pushed you to be with Gojo instead of flat-out rejecting you?
Your stomach churned, food settling too heavy as you tried to lift a hand and signal you were done eating as he dropped the fork back on the plate, only earning a pout from your husband.
“So, um, I guess we started dating in school then? When did we get married?” You asked, struggling to piece together the fractured puzzle of your own life.
Gojo grinned sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle the soft undercut that replaced his previously scruffy hair. A black blindfold was pushed up and holding the rest off his forehead, his blindingly blue eyes glittering as they appraised you. “A month after graduation.”
Your mouth fell open in shock.
What, did you tell him you wanted to wait to have sex until after marriage or something?
He didn’t need the six eyes to see the alarm on your face, reaching out to squeeze your bicep. “With clan politics and the higher ups, we, uh, didn’t want to waste time, y’know? Risk them ruining it.”
You stared at him, all the new information struggling to sink in as you slowly nodded like you understood when you definitely didn’t.
“Were we happy together?” You asked next, swallowing hard as the sickly sweet syrup settled on your tongue.
His face scrunched up for a split second, nose wrinkling as he contemplated your question, and you wondered if maybe you were being a little insensitive, hastily holding him at a distance as you came to terms with being his wife – while he was dealing with losing this other you.
“You made me the happiest man on the planet,” Gojo murmured, a soft purr that made your body tense.
“What about me?” You pressed, wondering what possessed you to pick him, what led to you laying in a hospital bed with a gaping hole in your memories and buried anxiety that seemed to burn in your skin.
“You’ve been depressed lately,” he admitted, mouth flitting down in a fast frown. “I’ve had a lot of missions lately, and you were, uh, a little lonely here.”
Seeing him so serious was strange, almost uncanny as you pried and poked at your past together.
“I mean, couldn’t I just hang out with Shoko or go on missions too?” You tilted your head to the side, nearly flinching when he reached out to cup your cheek sympathetically.
“You did, but I think you were disappointed in how busy she was too,” he answered, unable to help how fast your brows furrowed together at the bizarre notion that your best friend wouldn’t show up for you no matter how slammed her schedule was. “But, hey, why don’t I see if she can start coming by to check on you when I have to start going on missions again?”
“Sure,” you mumbled, more agreeable than you really felt like just for the excuse of seeing Shoko more.
She’d tell you the truth.
Even if it stung.
Gojo leaned in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead like he’d done it a thousand times before.
And it took everything inside you not to recoil at his touch.
You wanted to believe your memories would come back.
That it would fill this awful chasm inside you and something would suddenly click to make the world stop feeling like you were wearing someone else’s skin. For you to stop looking in the brightly-lit mirror in the bathroom and not see a face that was and wasn’t yours at the same time, little lines and a few faint scars that weren’t there before, a crinkle by your eyes you didn’t recognize, a couple grays in your hairs you plucked out while you brushed your teeth.
Gojo only stayed for a couple days, going over photo albums and answering questions, even ones you didn’t ask, painting a pretty picture of a happy marriage, filled with silly romantic gestures. But he had to return to late night missions, teaching the first years that were waiting for him back at the school you used to go to together, and the second the door swung shut behind him, you were rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, ripping through all your stuff for some sign you must’ve left behind.
A diary? A journal?
You couldn’t get into your own computer, getting locked out after guessing the wrong passcode too many times, glaring at the stupid security questions you couldn’t figure out, guessing the dates of everything from your birthday to your supposed wedding anniversary, about to break the damn thing when you resorted to inputting 123456.
The only bright part of your day was the half hour Shoko would show up, usually after she left campus for the day, hair hanging loose and smoke clinging to her jacket as she peeled it off by the door, slipping her shoes off when she entered with the key you guessed she already had.
It wasn’t the same.
Nothing was anymore.
But it was nice to sit next to her on the leather couch that cost more than anything you’d ever owned before this, asking her about her day – and the few thousand you missed. She filled you in, awkwardly at first, usually always sliding back into the subject of your health, asking if you were eating enough and getting enough sleep. Tepidly questioning if the status of your memory had changed.
You hadn’t told her, but a few hazy pieces had started to slip in. Shattered stills and strange feelings that struck you when you’d come across specific photos or caught the scent of something.
Memories that felt more like a movie, watching someone else’s life play out instead of your own. Holding hands on the sidewalk, snippets of cuddling on the couch, eating out at five-star restaurants and laughing at his awful jokes. But it was hard to feel what the old you felt. Couldn’t pretend that it truly felt like you were experiencing them for yourself.
So you just sort of filed them away, put them into boxes as you sifted through the silence of the dull days dragging by in a home that felt suffocating when you were constantly reminded of how out-of-place you were inside of it.
But one thing bugged you more than it should, itched at the back of your brain every time something new sprang up, and you started putting together a timeline of the years you couldn’t recall.
“We didn’t, like, get in a fight or anything, did we?” You quizzed Shoko, swallowing hard as she unboxed the to-go food she’d brought. She froze for a second, glancing back at you with those big brown eyes, narrowing them for a second before she shook her head.
Her perfume was stronger tonight, the slightly intoxicating scent making your head feel a little fuzzier than usual as you absentmindedly scooted closer to her, sitting cross-legged as you toyed around with the food in your own takeout box.
“Of course not,” she answered, even and easy. You could hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, throat constricting as your chest strained to stop your heart from racing.
“Gojo said we hadn’t been talking much because you were busy,” you muttered, watching her reaction as her pretty brows coyly arched up. You couldn’t get quite comfortable calling him by his first name yet, no matter how many photos and videos he showed you of the two of you together, no matter how hard you were trying to be open to him.
“Did he?” She echoed, not giving anything away as you nodded, taking a small bite while she deflected your stare. “I don’t exactly get much time off these days.”
She had still started to stay later though. Thirty minutes tripling as she found excuses not to get off your couch or raid the well-stocked wine cabinet.
“Does that mean you’ll stop coming around too?” You asked, regretting the words once they were out of your mouth. Acutely aware of how much you hated the prospect of being stuck in this place without her to look forward to.
It wasn’t like Gojo was totally absent. Wasn’t like you completely minded him not being here either. He still showed up most days, made his appearance and pampered you with affection when he was here. But, well, it didn’t make you feel that differently about him either.
“No,” Shoko slowly answered, your heart stalling and skipping a beat as you felt your shoulders drop. “I’ll make time for you.”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Gojo couldn’t decide if this was for better or worse.
But then again, hadn’t he vowed to be with you in sickness and health?
“Sleep tight, pretty girl,” Gojo murmured, watching the slow rise-and-fall of your chest as you snoozed, blankets tangled around your legs as the moonlight graced your skin. He brushed your hair away from your cheeks, studied your features in the low light.
You probably wouldn’t even know he showed up.
Wouldn’t remember the few hours he returned home for in the morning, although he’d be sure to leave breakfast on the table and the book you mentioned Shoko recommending on the table for you when you woke up.
It felt like it used to.
Back when everything was fine.
Before the accident. Before you showed up at the school asking for a separation in front of his students when he stopped there instead of seeing you after getting back from an overseas mission.
Acting like it should’ve been obvious, your brows knitted together all serious as you insisted that you'd pack up your stuff and get your own place, ignoring his panicked protests as you turned your back on him.
On your vows, all the promises you made to each other when he slid that ring on your finger.
Told him he would’ve seen it coming if he’d bother to actually be around.
You wanted serious. Stable.
To have kids that didn't have to worry about whether or not their dad would come home. To have a life that was more than just your jobs and responsibilities.
Couldn't you see he was already giving you everything he had? Why the fuck couldn’t that be enough?
He wasn't the most mature. He'd never been, and you already knew that when you started dating. So what if he took up more missions? Kept his distance until it dawned on you that making more mini-hims would be a disaster?
He thought you’d understand.
The weight of the world was already on his shoulders. Why add more burdens? Why risk bringing a life into the world if he had no clue if he could even protect it?
If Gojo had known you’d try to leave him for it, he liked to think he would’ve done something differently.
He tried.
God, Gojo tried so fucking hard to convince you to take him back. Begged for you to see that despite his avoidance, under his plastered-on smiles and bad jokes, his affection was all yours.
No matter how much yours had faded.
He never thought he’d end up sitting by your crumpled body, bearing the proof of his point and staring at the blood sticking to your scalp Shoko’s nimble fingers washed out, holding your limp hand and wishing you’d wake up. Praying for the first time to some higher power for the universe to fucking give you back.
His wish had been granted.
Only for you to look at him with disgust.
Revolted by your relationship, all the memories you made together wiped – good and bad. Your first dates, the light laughter and secret kisses you shared, the latest ones where you started turning your head every time he tried to press his lips to yours.
Half of him hated it.
Hurt slicing through his heart when he thought of everything that had been basically erased for you, remorse that rubbed salt in his open wounds when it started to sink in that even when he had you, you still didn’t want him back.
But the rest of him was doing his fucking best to be grateful that you weren’t gone.
It was awkward at first. Not sure how to act around you when you were clearly put off by his presence. Inserting himself in every conversation, occupying as much space as you’d let him until your sharp tone began to soften.
He answered your questions.
Just, uh, omitted a few details.
You didn’t need to know about the divorce.
There was no fucking way he was letting it happen this time.
Gojo told you that your phone was broken during the mission, buying you a new one with a fresh email and making sure you only had the contacts you needed. Deleted any mention of separation and divorce attorneys and even your fucking searches of what to do in an unhappy marriage, wiping your internet history clean in case you managed to get back into your old email. Covering his tracks to make sure nothing could fuck it up this time, fuck, he even paid his own students on the off chance you somehow showed up on campus one day to visit him.
He begged Shoko to spill everything you told him, tried to pry her for more information on how you were doing when you hardly spoke about what you felt to him. Jealousy pricking and pinning his pride down when he walked in to find you smiling at her the way you used to look at him two months into your recovery, lips curled up in a pretty laugh before you noticed him there, leaning against her arm while you watched a movie together.
Murmuring that you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to taking missions on your own even after Shoko cleared you.
But he couldn’t exactly tell her to get the fuck out when she was your doctor on top of his friend too. She convinced you to give him a chance before. Was it so absurd to hold out hope that she’d do it again for him? Even if he had to talk her into not bringing up the divorce out of fear that it’d make your condition worse?
It took time, but you started to accept him again. Your memories coming back in bits and pieces, your personality too. Warming up to him over late-night dinners and early morning conversations, asking about things you used to do together at first, starting to bring up his schedule, his students, his missions.
It was kind of strange, to hear you say the same things you had before your injury, to watch your old mannerisms come back, to see you become his wife again little by little, day after day.
Maybe the universe had decided to bless him.
Give him another chance to save this marriage by wiping the slate clean.
Surely you’d see now why he couldn’t just settle down in some suburbs and pop out a couple kids with you – not when he’d failed to keep you safe.
Still, he found it hard to break his old habits. Slipping into his old routine of taking too many missions, shoving more on his plate to distract himself from what was happening inside his own home. So he didn’t have to come home and see how much fun you were having with Shoko instead of him, start playing the comparison game instead of being glad that you were being supported.
So he didn’t have to hear you scold him for coming home so late, or missing meals together.
This you didn’t seem to mind though.
Just left notes on the counter for him or wrapped-up dinners stacked in the fridge, oblivious he’d just sit on the edge of the bed and watch you sleep half the night instead of resting himself.
He knew that he was deluding himself.
But you gained enough of your old self back that he could trick himself into thinking that everything was fine. That your relationship had just found a new normal.
Gojo still got you back.
Wasn't that all that mattered?
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Your brain had a funny way of playing tricks on you.
Memories were a fickle thing. Floating back in a haze, ones you had to hold onto, replay and study when one forced its way back up.
You didn’t know what to make of all of them.
Fuzzy recollections of museums and missions, of love and laughter, of hurt and heartache. Caught somewhere between the old you and this new one, torn between feelings that lingered in the past and new ones cropping up in the present, nearly six months passing from the awful day you woke up and realized you missed an entire fucking decade.
You’d guess you got half of it back, experiences that weren’t fully formed, but close enough that you could feel yourself changing as you found new footing.
Shoko said you shouldn’t hold your confusion against yourself when you finally admitted you were struggling with what to think about this new life of yours.
You didn’t know how to tell her that your problem was her.
That spending every evening with her instead of your husband had re-sparked your unrequited crush on your best friend. One you guessed the old you forced yourself to forget when you chose to be with Gojo instead.
And now the new you was married. A ring on your finger, but an ache in your heart and butterflies in your stomach when Shoko so much as smiled at you.
But it wasn’t like your husband was ever here to notice.
No, you’d spent far more time with your friend than the man who you supposedly loved.
“You feeling okay?” She hummed, her thigh brushing against yours on the couch as you scooted closer to snuggle underneath the thick blanket while she pulled up the stupid reality show you started watching together. And despite the bored expression she was wearing, you could hear the hint of softness in her voice as her warm eyes briefly flitted over to you.
“Just cold,” you excused, shrugging as you tried to drag your stare back to the tv.
Her brows scrunched together with suspicion, throwing you one of those ‘I-know-you’re-full-of-shit’ looks before her lips puckered, “Weren’t you complaining about being too hot earlier?”
Guilty.
But if she knew it was really just an excuse for you to take off your hoodie and reveal a much tighter tank top, she didn’t acknowledge it. Tonight, she had traded her doctor’s coat in for a loose sweater, the kind that hung loose on her frame, exposing the pretty shape of her collarbone, smooth and clean, drew your attention to the way the tendons in her throat flexed when she leaned in closer, resting the back of her hand against your forehead to check your temperature.
“Don’t think you’re running a fever,” she muttered, her fingers lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary as you swallowed hard, wondering if she could see how flustered you felt. If the air was only feeling thick in here for you. “Maybe I should stay a little longer to make sure though.”
“Yeah?” You had to bite back your smile.
“Mhm,” she casually nodded, hitting play on the next episode while you both pretended that best friends definitely sat together with thighs touching and pinkies grazing against each other under the covers of a blanket.
Definitely delicately traced over the other’s knuckles with the tips of your fingers, not quite daring to intertwine them.
Tiptoeing across a thin line as boundaries started to blur, as your friendship drifted further and further away from platonic – and closer to crossing over to an affair.
You knew you shouldn’t.
That you didn’t even know if what you felt for her was genuine, or just gratefulness that she was here for you, that she consistently showed up when you felt so alone. But you couldn’t keep telling yourself they were leftover remnants of happier times when she started occupying your thoughts even when she wasn’t around, when your heart stuttered when she spoke and heat pooled in your stomach every time she touched your arm or skimmed her fingers over your own.
God, you didn’t even know if she felt the same.
You tried to ask if she was seeing anyone once, but she just vaguely said she wasn’t in a relationship. Changed the subject before you could press her on it.
Should you care?
No. Not when you didn’t want to hurt your husband.
Who you admittedly had started to care for, at least in some capacity. He changed. Gojo was sweet, stars in his eyes and no longer only focused on stuffing sweets in his mouth, constantly apologizing for his absences – even if he didn’t do anything to change them.
You’d wake up with him there sometimes, occasionally share meals where he’d earnestly ask about how you felt and what he could do to make you happier, eager to please. He’d pepper your face with kisses, slip his hand into yours like it was the most normal thing in the world or sling a possessive arm over your shoulder on the rare occasion he’d drag you out for a date.
But even if you had the same last name, slept in the same bed, your soul didn’t feel like it was tied to his.
And even when you tried to force it, to fight to feel what you knew you were supposed to, open yourself up to loving and wanting him the way he wanted you, there was just nothing there. Not so much as a tug, no undercurrent or gravity from the old you pulling you back to him.
You didn’t love him.
But you didn’t know how to leave him.
“Sho,” you murmured softly, tapping twice on the back of her hand to get her attention.
“Hm?” She turned, tilting her head thoughtfully, attuned to your needs. And maybe it was your imagination, simply wishful thinking, but you could’ve sworn her eyes darted down to your lips for a moment before they drifted back up to your own eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” You swallowed hard, not sure how exactly to bring it up. To fish for what you really wanted to know.
“Always,” she answered, but you saw the way her stare diverted to the tv, discomfort swirling under your skin at the fear you’d do something to put distance between you.
“Do you know what things were like between, um, me and Gojo before I got hurt?” You posed, a hard lump forming in your throat as her shoulders stiffened. “Did I ever talk to you about it?”
And despite the fact you were sitting side-by-side, she still pulled out her phone and pretended it buzzed when you both knew it hadn’t.
“Fuck,” she feigned worry as her unsure voice broke the pained pause, scrambling for an excuse while you faked a sympathetic smile. Acted like it didn’t sting when she stood up and let the blanket fall back down on you. “I’ve gotta go, one of the students-”
“Sure,” you mumbled, waving it off as you brought your knees up to your chest, painfully aware of how large the couch felt when you were the only one on it. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Shoko soberly promised, and it felt like some invisible thread between you tensed, pulled taut as you watched the front door shut behind her, felt the thud heavy in your chest.
Tuning out the drone of the tv, as you rested your chin on your knees, playing back the past hour while you ran your palm over the side of your thigh. Your skin still warm, your mind distracted as you dreamed about what would’ve happened if you just kept your mouth shut.
Lying to yourself like suggesting the warmth simmering under your skin was simply coincidence, that you could somehow be confusing it with anything other than lust.
And when you ended up back in your king-sized bed, sprawled out on top of the comforter with your hand slipped down your shirts, scrunching your eyes shut and rubbing messy circles over the thin fabric of your panties.
You tried to think of Gojo.
To picture him on top of you, imagine his lips on your skin and his cock stretching you out. Tell yourself that you weren’t a cheater, that maybe you were just mixed up, missing a physical connection because you hadn’t fully allowed him to have you. That perhaps in clinging to Shoko, you could’ve closed yourself off.
All you found was the same frustration you’d been stuck with from the start.
Grinding your teeth when your hand drifted underneath the fabric, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, unable to tell who you were even wet for when it felt like they were playing a game of ping pong with your heart.
Your head told you that it should be Gojo.
That you made a promise to him, that you owed it to who you were before to try to love him too. Guilt pervading your judgement, sinking its icy talents into your bones when you thought of how it must feel for him – how he was probably mourning and missing a wife that didn’t fully exist anymore.
But your heart wanted Shoko.
Had since you were teenagers and you realized how pretty she looked with a cigarette perched between her lips, when Geto started getting too close to her and you had to deal with how much it ached to see her leaning into a man.
Was it so wrong to want her if you kept it locked inside your head?
Your fingers trembled.
Shook as you shoved them deeper, a gasp escaping right as you felt a sudden surge of cursed energy – and you realized in abrupt horror your husband was here.
His blindfold half-off, blue eyes wide with surprise as they slowly slid down your body, like his technique wasn’t giving him a fucking 4k viewing of you touching yourself.
“Sweetheart,” he started, in an amused low drawl that had you considering finding a hole to curl up and die in as you hurried to pull your hand out of your panties. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I didn’t-” You started, face flushing as you struggled for something to say to justify what you were doing.
He kicked off his shoes while you were still stammering, your breath getting stuck in your throat as you watched him climb on top of the bed, on top of you.
You couldn’t breathe. Brain short-circuiting as he caged you in underneath his beefy arms, his palm reaching out to cup your face as you stared up at him completely frozen.
And then he faltered, like he only just remembered that the furthest you’d gone with each other in the past six months was kissing, and one makeout session after you’d drank too much wine with Shoko and he played with your tits for like, ten minutes, before you claimed you were on your period.
This was uncharted territory.
Even if he had probably explored it a thousand times before.
“Is this okay?” He tentatively asked, like you couldn’t already feel his cock digging into your thigh.
You nodded.
It happened almost automatically.
You wanted to believe this would fix you. Fix everything. Make it all make sense.
And when his lips crashed into you, you kissed him back. He tasted too sweet, his cologne enveloping you in an overpowering cloud as his body pressed against yours. The whole thing felt almost clumsy, unable to even focus on anything when one of his hands was already snaking down your side to pull your shorts down lower on your hips.
The metal of his wedding ring tauntingly rubbing against you with his swift movements.
But you didn’t stop him.
Didn’t say anything, actually. Just let him stick his tongue down your throat while you tried to run your hands along his chest too, feeling the thick muscles of his sturdy frame.
And then he was getting up, stripping off his uniform and tossing it on the floor like he wanted to make it easier for you to touch him. Before you could even process the expanse of annoyingly perfect skin, unmarred and unmarked, he was helping you sit up, tossing off your tank top before positioning himself between your thighs to tug off your shorts.
You felt exposed.
A raw nerve in open air before your breasts were even out, face heating up as you sat there in your bra and panties as he just stared.
“Matching set for me?” He smirked, completely clueless who you were wearing it for. Whose favorite color was a soft shade of green, whose stare didn’t burn when it dragged over your skin.
No.
No.
You swallowed the spit pooling in the back of your mouth, nodding as your lips automatically parted, “Hoped you’d come home early.”
“Thank fucking god,” he grinned, the happiest you think you’d ever seen him as he peeled your panties off, blue eyes glittering at the sight of your pussy. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to cringe at how dramatically he said it, your breath catching in your throat as he lifted your thighs up and hooked your knees over his shoulders.
But then he was burying his face between them, huge hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs possessively as he dragged his tongue up your entrance.
You shut your eyes, let yourself get swallowed by the dark, the sensation of his thick tongue as it worked its way inside you, clawing at the comforter instead of his hair. Fistfuls of soft cotton instead of the short, wispy strands or the soft buzz of his undercut.
It would just make it harder to imagine someone else.
To pretend that you were back on the couch, a blanket covering both of you while you toyed with Shoko’s long hair, gasping her name while she teasingly sucked on your clit. Would she take it slow? Murmur that orgasms were good for the body and brain? Educate you on just how many nerve endings were located on that pretty little bud as she licked it?
“Mm, S-” You had to stop yourself when you realized the vision behind your eyes was still of the pretty brunette whose scent was still clinging to your clothes rather than the man whose tongue was currently trying to make you cum.
“That’s it,” Gojo grunted, his voice deep and rough as it reverberated through to your core completely wrong. “Say Satoru f’me.”
You couldn’t.
“Missed this, baby,” he purred while you told yourself to fucking snap out of it. “Missed you.”
You managed a moan back, thighs trembling as his fingers dug into the pliable muscle, mouth wrapped around your clit to suck on it like it was candy. A little too much teeth, his sharp canines grazing over it just to make you gasp and try to wiggle back from his grip.
But Gojo didn’t let you go.
No, he held on tight, practically rutting into the bed as he messily made out with your pussy.
You tried to focus on the pleasure, on the warmth in your chest and the heat burning under your skin, but it was hard when he was moaning even louder than you were.
“C-can I fuck you?” He groaned, peeking up at you to ask for permission.
And against your better (any) judgement, you were just nodding again.
Desperate to do something to change how things were currently going, to stop feeling so confused and conflicted all the time.
“Yeah,” you softly agreed, and once again, it only took him a couple seconds to change positions, pulling your hip around him to lock your legs behind his back as he tugged down his boxers enough to yank out his cock.
You guessed you could appreciate its appearance. Thick and veiny, the tip a pretty shade of pink, all swollen and leaking. But the idea of it being inside you was enough for regret to bloom in your chest, the dim realization that you were in too deep.
That you both deserved better than whatever this was.
But you laid there, letting it happen anyway.
You didn’t stop him, just bit down on the inside of your cheek as you felt it slip inside you, watching his face scrunch up in near ecstasy as your body sucked him in, operating on muscle memory as he pushed his way past the first ring of resistance until he was making himself fit.
Stretching you out how he liked, moaning your name like a prayer as you counted the number of times the headboard banged into the wall.
“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed, blue eyes flashing open as his cursed energy swelled and soared, his infinity off as he buried himself deep, bottoming out again and again, just messily rutting into you now without any rhythm.
Thrusting faster, his sweaty palms sticking to your thighs as you shut your eyes again, trying not to think about what his fingers were aching to prove as they gripped you hard enough he might leave prints.
“S-Satoru,” you halfheartedly moaned his name, despising your body for not reacting more to the way he was stretching you out, to his fast thrusts, only for his dick to abruptly stall anyway.
He was cursing under his breath, pulling out at the last second to roughly stroke his cock, finishing on your stomach while your eyes fluttered open to stare at his cum on your skin. The lump in his throat bobbed hard, his jaw clenched tight as he immediately started stammering awkward apologies.
How long had it been?
Thirty seconds?
Forty-five?
“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t had sex since y’know, the accident, and it felt wrong to jerk off and-” He scrambled, getting off of you and grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor to start wiping you clean while you tried to sit up.
“It’s fine,” you murmured. “You’re fine.”
You were too.
Right?
He started to stroke his cock again, sloppy and fast, mumbling something about being the strongest as if it could magically make his dick stay hard when it was already trying to soften.
“Give me a minute, I’ll still get you off,” he promised, tossing the now cum-stained clothes back to the ground with his other hand as he started to get back on the bed. But you just slipped your legs underneath the blanket, rolling onto your side with a small shrug.
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, swallowing hard as you stared at a blank spot of the pale blue wallpaper to avoid looking back to see what kind of face he was making at you. “You should go shower. We can get something to eat delivered.”
“But-”
“It’s not a big deal,” you awkwardly muttered. “It’s been a while for both of us.”
You could hear the air fizzing out of his popped pride, ego deflating in the thick pause.
“So, uh, dinner?” You asked, trying to move on before he could insist on eating you out again.
“I, uh, actually was only supposed to be stopping by for a few minutes,” he cleared his own throat, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the bed next to you. Brushing some of your hair back out of your face, fingers practically buzzing as they caressed your cheekbone. “But I’ll order your favorite.”
“Another mission?” You asked, your voice strained as you struggled to capture the feeling bouncing around in your chest. A strange mix of disappointment and anticipation, knots you hadn’t realized were tied tight in your stomach coming undone as you glanced back over your shoulder at him.
Your husband was attractive. Attentive. Affectionate.
So why couldn’t you make yourself care more about his absence?
Why didn’t it ache like it should when he was saying he was about to leave?
Everything was just awful and icky, ice-cold guilt creeping under your skin instead that while Gojo fucked you, kissed you, you were fantasizing about Shoko’s lips instead.
“I’ve gotta go take care of some clan stuff first, but yeah,” he remorsefully confirmed, nodding as his fingers drifted down to your mouth.
You let him lean down and kiss you again. Shut your eyes and even returned with tender pressure of your own, even though some part of you had splintered. Started to accept that you really might not be able to save this marriage before you did something you’d regret.
Maybe you’d regret this instead.
Wake up five years from now with all your memories and emotions fully intact, hating yourself for not staying longer, trying harder. But you didn’t want to risk waiting fifty years and wishing you’d just done it sooner.
Would he understand if you asked him for a divorce?
To see what it was like to separate?
Could you even do it? Find your own place, maybe switch to a different career, a normal one? Working a desk job or something boring that didn’t require you to put your life on the line?
You didn’t want to do this to him. But you couldn’t see any other options where you’d both be happy. Didn’t he deserve someone that loved all of him too?
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he hummed, delivering a gentle peck to the top of your forehead before striding over to the closet. Grabbing a change of clothes from the closet and hurrying to dress himself as you studied the wall, ignoring the blur of movement in the corner of your vision until he started back towards the door.
He left without asking for another goodbye kiss.
And you somehow felt less alone when you were totally by yourself.
Sitting back up in bed, stiffening at the faintly sticky spots left on your thighs and stomach when you threw your legs off the side to stand.
Debating on taking a shower yourself before a gleam of silver drew your attention back to the laptop sitting unused and collecting dust on your nightstand. And a thought popped up, so obvious you nearly scoffed as your feet moved forward on their own, flipping it open as your fingers tapped the keys.
Hitting enter and holding your breath, unsure if it would actually work or-
Welcome.
Of course.
The passcode was Shoko’s birthday.
You almost laughed.
Smiling like an idiot at the screen at the realization you did, in fact, still share something with who you used to be as you started to sort through the files.
You didn’t know what you expected.
A diary?
None of your internet history had been saved on it, and most of the documents seemed to be about missions or receipts from stores or random expenses you saved for one reason or another. No big secret waiting for you to find.
But little clues that stacked up.
Reservations for a vacation for one. Old photos that all seemed to be dated pretty far back. No new snapshots of you and Gojo. No receipts for any men’s items dated around his birthday. But there was a folder labelled Sho.
Photos neatly organized by year, although it seemed like there were less and less as the time went by. But your smile seemed more genuine when it was her arm thrown over your shoulder, her hand placed on your waist than the one you wore the matching gold band with.
You found one taken last year, standing outside a small but pretty brick house you guessed was on the outskirts of the city, squeezing her in a hug while you grinned at whoever was behind the camera, a gift bag dangling over your elbow. The file name was housewarming.
It took a few more minutes of digging to find where she sent the address over email, something inside yourself caving as you found yourself slamming the laptop shut, looking wildly around the room before starting back towards the closet.
Not stopping to think too hard in case you changed your own mind.
Chickened out on following your heart for once.
You didn’t pause to think whether or not she’d even be home, or if she actually still lived there until you were ten minutes into a taxi ride, breathing too fast as you anxiously smoothed the fabric of the dress you’d chosen.
It still felt surreal to leave the penthouse, staring out the window at the passing places, your wallet and phone sitting on your lap as you resisted the temptation to bite at your nails and pick at your cuticles.
Itching to get there and terrified to arrive.
But before you could tell the driver to turn back around, he was parking outside the house from the photo, two cars parked next to each other in the driveway you didn’t recognize, mumbling a thank you as you passed him a tip before you got out. Standing out there as the breeze sent a shiver down your spine, each step that took you closer to Shoko scaring you shitless.
You didn’t even know what exactly you were going to say to her.
Ask if the old you had admitted feelings for her? Confess that the new you wanted her too?
If you were going to get rejected, you still just wanted to get it over with.
If this was going to be the start of a new life, well, then you wanted to be shoving the door open and stepping through the threshold.
You still hesitated outside the door, standing on her mat while your finger froze inches away from the doorbell.
And then you heard the voices from inside.
Shoko’s, and a second one you couldn’t quite place. “I mean, it sounds kinda obvious to me.”
You leaned against the wall, chewing on your lip as you listened in, unable to help yourself when your brain was trying to convince you that you already fucked up. Your stomach twisting into knots as you heard Shoko’s soft sigh through the door..
“Utahime,” she said, all serious and stiff, and you had to swallow the ugly lump bubbling up in your throat at the thought of her talking to your pretty black-haired senior. “I really don’t know what to do.”
You hated hearing her like this. The rare, raw vulnerability in her voice that you knew you weren’t supposed to hear. But even more, you hated that she was showing it to her, going to someone else with her problems like you hadn’t right there earlier. Waiting for her to see that even if you changed, you were still her person first.
Who she was supposed to go to when things went wrong.
You couldn’t hear what Utahime said back, but you could hear Shoko’s low groan, felt it in your core as your breath got stuck in your throat. “She doesn’t even know they were going to get a divorce.”
Oh.
You didn’t think hearing something so earth-shattering could leave you feeling so hollow. Everything scooped out and empty as your brain turned the word over and over again like it had some entirely new meaning now that you knew everything you’d been feeling so awful over for months was exactly what you would’ve chosen with all your memories.
“You should’ve told her,” Utahime scolded her, not exactly strict, just reprimanding her like it was obvious.
“You know Satoru,” she said, exasperated. Exhausted of all these games. “He made me swear not to say anything before I even showed up.”
It wasn’t hatred simmering in your stomach for your husband. Disgust, once again, disappointment that was too thick to swallow, sitting heavy on your tongue when you thought of how much time you wasted because he never told you the truth.
“What an asshole,” Utahime scoffed.
“I don’t think she really loves him,” Shoko mumbled, and your body made the move before your brain did, finger pressing the doorbell to announce your arrival.
The silence was awful.
Not as bad as the thoughts racing around in your head, spinning in the same circles you’d been stuck in for weeks, only strengthened by the discovery you were always destined to be waiting here outside Shoko’s door. Heart pounding against your chest, still beating despite how much it fucking hurt, pulse pounding in your ears as you prayed for her to answer it.
And still, when it swung open, and the brown eyes that hadn’t left your head your whole life locked onto yours, all the words you’d been planning on pouring out didn’t come. Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’, a cigarette between her fingers that she quickly dropped to the wooden floor and crushed despite the fact it wasn’t even lit.
“How did you-”
“I’m, uh, just gonna go,” Utahime excused herself with a little squeal that told you exactly whose side she was on, squeezing past both of you and scurrying to her car, keyring jingling on her finger as she scrambled to leave.
Neither of you said bye. Just stuck staring at each other, the silence saying things you were both scared to confess.
“Um, hey,” Shoko broke it.
“Hi,” you breathed back, swallowing hard as you regained a sliver of your composure. “Your address was in my email.”
“I guess you heard,” she started, talking like she’d already let you down. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her small shorts like you would miss the way her fingers were shaking, her mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Look, you and him-”
“I came here to tell you I want to leave him,” you cut her off before she could feed you more of the same bullshit or any excuses.
“You-”
“I don’t love him,” you half-whispered, an invisible weight abruptly lifting off your shoulders as it hung in the air. Dragging your stare from the shape of her lips to that pretty mole underneath her eyes to your favorite shade of brown, barely a sliver of it ringed around her blown-wide pupils. “I don’t want him.”
“Don’t-” She swallowed hard, stopping herself before she could push you away again. “Don’t say something that you don’t-”
“I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers,” you confessed, not totally sure if it was coming out remotely normal, the words rolling off your tongue anyway after holding in the truth for so long. “I don’t know what happened to us. But I know what I don’t want.”
An asshole who had sex with you after lying about the status of your relationship for months. Who kissed your forehead and fucked around with your feelings and forced your best friend to keep quiet just to keep seeing you.
You still felt guilty. Hints of regret and remorse that clawed at you as you tried to justify the emotional affair you knew you were having right under his nose, even if you were only going to return to his penthouse to pack up your stuff and deliver divorce papers.
“You liked me,” Shoko said as if it was simply inconceivable. As if she never noticed all the times tried to hold her hand or go with her on missions. When you found yourself staring in dressing rooms together when you knew you weren’t supposed to.
“I was worried you didn’t-”
“I liked you,” she suddenly spoke back up, taking a step closer that stole your breath away. Immediately cracking any composure you had in an instant as her fingers laced in between your own and squeezed. “I just wanted you to be happy. I thought Satoru would-”
“How could he ever be better than you?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.
He might be the strongest, but he’d sorta turned out to be the shittiest husband.
Even when he knew you wanted to leave him before, that your marriage was on the rocks, he still didn’t stick around to support you the second time around. Still picked missions over you.
You hoped he wouldn’t blame you for choosing Shoko over him.
For wanting someone who would stay.
You knew you shouldn’t do it, but you still cupped her cheek before you crashed your lips into hers. The wine on her lips overriding the faint hint of smoke hanging on her clothes, her tongue slipping inside to trace along your teeth as she tangled her free hand in your hair.
It felt right.
The connection was comforting, relaxing, your body melting into hers as she drew you in closer, deepening the kiss and about to drag you inside before you both heard it.
“What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”
Shoko jolted back, her hand slipping down to your side before she caught herself and removed it entirely.
“Satoru, it’s-”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?” You turned around, blocking Shoko from his view, your brows furrowed as you scowled at your husband. The man you’d been sleeping next to. Who you just slept with. And okay, perhaps you once gave your heart to – before you decided to take it back.
His blindfold was up, but you were pretty sure his blue eyes were bulging beneath them. His cursed energy practically thrummed thick in the air as he struggled to control it.
“Of course she told you,” he spat, venom in his tone as he took a few fast steps forward. “She just wants to fuck you. Tell me, Shoko did you always want to scissor my wife, or was it-”
“Did you think I’d never find out?” You hissed at him, flinching back as he continued to stride forward, his hand clasping around your wrist only to find yourself back in the penthouse, back in your bedroom, his cum-stained uniform still on the floor.
“You were supposed to stay and everything was supposed to be just fine,” he exclaimed, fingers still digging into your skin as you shook your head at him.
“I’m not fine,” you pointed out. Weren’t you the one with the traumatic head injury? Who lost so much of your life and six more months on top of it because he decided to choose a path he knew you wouldn’t have wanted?
“That doesn’t give you the goddamn right to cheat on me,” he sharply retorted, exhaling hard through his nose as he pulled your body closer to his. About the same distance you were to Shoko before, in some cruel imitation of the moment you shared with her. “And with our friend.”
You had to give it to him.
He knew you well enough to know exactly what strings to tug to make you feel fucking awful. You didn’t want any of this to happen. Didn’t want to be in your own shoes. Didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings no matter how hurt you felt.
“I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t!” You argued back, a hot lump forming in your throat as tears you couldn’t stand started to form at your lashline.
“You couldn’t try for me? Lie for me?” He pressed, his voice raising as you choked back a strangled sound.
Couldn’t he see that you did?
That for months, you tried and tried and tried to love him, when he wasn’t even there most of the time?
“You’re everything to me,” he continued, desperation bleeding through you struggled to find something that would make him understand. “You’ve been everything to me since the day I met you.”
“How can I be everything to you when I’m not even important enough for you to make time for?” You heard yourself ask, although you had the funny feeling it was something you said to him before.
“I take those missions to protect you, y’know, the people we care about, the world,” Gojo argued, as if that was what you wanted from him. “For what? For you to throw away our vows and fuck off with Shoko?”
“It’s not fair,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I didn’t take those vows Satoru. You know I’m not that person anymore, and honestly, I don’t think I will be again."
Staying would only hurt both of you.
Pour salt in a wound that had been bleeding long before you woke up in that hospital bed.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, ripping your wrist free of him as you stepped back.
“Don’t say sorry,” he grimaced, but his blindfold was still on. This distance was still there, being kept at bay even when you were both supposed to be baring your soul. “Say you’re not going anywhere. Say you’ll never see her again. Say anything except-”
He knew you couldn’t.
“I can’t,” you softly murmured.
You didn’t know what the future would hold.
But you didn’t want one without Shoko in it.
“Losing you once was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice,” Gojo pleaded. He tried to grab you again, to pull you in. Make up for his mistakes with his pretty mouth that he couldn’t match with his actions.
You were both messes. He manipulated you. You were about to make out with your mutual friend. You were better off without each other. He might not see it now. But you still hoped one day he would, that he wouldn’t hate you forever for saying goodbye a second time.
“You didn’t do anything to keep me.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3
anyway. i love all your readers. i love when they’re shy and anxious and socially awkward. i love when they’re bold and confident and outgoing. i love when they’re weak to making the same mistakes over and over. i love when they learn and know they deserve better. i love flawed readers who make mistakes and do the wrong thing and say the wrong words. i love strong readers who are pillars and know what to do and say. i love the readers that meant for minorities to give them a place to belong. i love the readers who are clever and sassy and quick witted. i love the readers who don’t always know what’s happening and don’t always have all the answers. because i actually enjoy reading the readers YOU come up with and i am able to appreciate what YOU wrote and i am proud of YOU for writing what YOU wanted even if it didn’t always tickle my fancy because there’s PLENTY out there that will be what i’m looking for so please write reader whatever way you want to write !!!
alien!choso who had been perceiving you for a long, long time. he first noticed you when his ship interfered with the signal from your tv. that romance movie was practically manifesting him. he dialed in, since observing humans had always been a hobby of his!
the tv buzzed on your end there were small sparks that replicated stars of some sort. little did you know you were being studied by some extraterrestrial being. you couldn’t see him, but he could see you.
alien!choso who had been losing his mind over this human girl on earth. he wasn’t aware that such beauty existed, which was a lot coming from someone who lived amongst the stars. being more infatuated with a human than the expansion of the universe was quite impressive. he was dusted to the stars, but certainly not used to you.
you were one of a kind. the stars couldn’t recreate your beauty, he thought, even if the elements in your body were crafted from supernovas themselves—ones he had witnessed.
every evening, after you came home from work, he’d interfere with your signal. it wasn’t long before he showed up in your phone, laptop, every piece of technology you owned. he memorized your schedule as he warped through time and space, kept mental notes of everything you seemed to be interested in even when he didn’t know it.
but most of all, he’d study the people you brought over. it made him feel stiff and stunted inside to see people getting to interact with something as gracious and wonderful as yourself. it made him deeply upset. he yearned.
alien!choso managed to send you a message, actually. a beautiful photo of the stars flooded the screen in which you were staring at. and finally, you became a bit fearful.
“who’s there?” you called out, talking to a tv was absolutely ludicrous! and yet, you got an answer.
the screen glitched, an eerie buzzing hissing at your eardrums. choso was very excited to be noticed by his new human crush! something that came with being a full time human watcher, was that he knew most every language on earth.
“choso.” the text fizzled its way onto your infiltrated screen, followed by even more brilliant photos. nebulas, galaxies, stars upon stars. “observe, do you like it?” it was cute, he was trying to impress you.
you stared at the photos in awe, your pupils swallowing up the beauty your hands could not reach. were you being watched by an alien? and why?
“okay, choso.” you finally managed, “nice to meet you. can you show me more?”
he was ecstatic.
alien!choso who started to become much braver during his interactions with you. he was everywhere, and you couldn’t help but reply. talking to an alien was strange to say the least, though falling for one was even more preposterous. so why, why did you find that your heart pumped faster whenever you noticed him watching?
he gave you so much affection, despite being light years away. he’d listen to you rant about things he didn’t even understand, just so he could hear you speak to him. he was everything you wanted in a guy. except he wasn’t human, his existence wasn’t even proven. were you the only one that knew aliens existed?
“you are beautiful.” your phone screen said, choso liked to be the center of your attention the most he could. if you were watching something, he’d immediately hog the screen so he could be the only point of your focus.
“thank you, choso.” you chirped, not even attempting to swipe out of his interference. “you know, i’d like to see what you look like. since you call me beautiful every chance you get.”
choso’s breath hitched, whatever organs in his body that he had were fluttering with something he didn’t really know. love? had to be. at first, it was all he could do to smile. he sent you more photos, uranus, saturn, jupiter—was he coming to earth? or just trying to keep your attention?
“you will see me.” the screen buzzed again, “i will come to you. i’m at jupiter, don’t you know jupiter?” to which you nodded at.
“you are beautiful, baby.”
baby? he must’ve learned that from the romance movie you were watching when he first found you. and it felt perfect coming from him.
alien!choso was at your house within a week—and he didn’t even warn you! it was two in the morning when he came, you noticed when you saw a purple light illuminating your whole backyard. it beamed through your blinds, awaking you immediately.
you shot up, throwing the covers off your adrenaline ridden body and stumbling into your slippers. a peek out the window confirmed it.
there was an alien waiting at your back door.
alien!choso who didn’t even knock, afraid to disturb his favorite human. he’d wait hours if he had to, that would feel like mere milliseconds to someone who existed before earth was even in the workings. the light from his ship died down to something far softer, though you were certain the neighbors had already seen!
when you opened the door, you finally got to see the creature you had been observed by. the thing you had fallen for when he was a galaxy away.
oh, he was gorgeous.
he had black hair down to his shoulders, smooth and soft despite what you’d expected, accompanied by the cutest antennas spiriting from his head. his eyes were large, the sclera was a dull black color while the rest of the area was a lovely violet hue. there were markings across his face and light purple skin, you wondered what they meant.
the moment his eyes caught sight of you in the doorway, he felt like a whole other being. you were far more ethereal in person, nothing he’d seen in his long lifetime amongst the expanse of the universe even compared. his antennas twitched, and a dorky smile stretched easily across his face.
“you are beautiful.” that was exactly what you expected him to say. his voice was more human like than you’d expected. star struck was a great way to describe a case such as yourself.
“choso you—“ you covered your mouth, the beauty of this creature had you dumbfounded. you lightly grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside your warm home. “you really came!”
your hand around his wrist felt like a kiss—which he hadn’t even felt before, but he knew it was good. something in his chest stuttered and jumped, it was a feeling he’d long affiliated with you. “of course, i said i would.”
choso eyed you up and down, and you were sure there was a new light in those voidous eyes of his.
“i love you.”
alien!choso was immediately trying to kiss you, just like he saw in that movie. humans liked to kiss, obviously! his big hands rested on your hips, pulling you closer to him rougher than he intended.
“—woah!” you squeaked, hands balled against his chest. “choso, slow down. you just got here!”
he looked partially confused, but he was still smiling. he moved one hand off your hip, grabbing yours instead. his light purple fingers caressed your palm softly, to which he planted a small kiss to. “if that’s what you want me to do, love. anything you want me to.”
you stood on the tips of your toes, kissing him gently on the cheek.
choso blushed. it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.
alien!choso who eagerly led you back outside to his ship, trying to impress you once again. it was impressive indeed, but you had expected nothing less from something like him.
“i’d like to take you somewhere.” he said, holding your hand in both of his, trying to kiss it again. he was such a gentleman, you wished human men would take notes. he was so obsessed with you, surely that was a dangerous thing. “you pick where, baby. anywhere you want.”
you pondered for a moment, a very brief moment. “i’d like to go to callisto, choso. will you take me there?”
choso grinned, nodding so hard his antennas bounced. “i will show you better things than callisto.” he promised, scooping you right off your feet and walking towards his parked ship.
synopsis: geto suguru is out to get you and while you know he wants you to stay away from his best friend, his efforts to deter you only drive you forward. naturally, that doesn't sit well with him.
contains: MDNI, unedited, cussing, weed, alcohol, dry humping, slight smut, frat parties and clubbing, reader is a maneater, satoru is lovesick, suguru is done, cockblocking, shenanigans, misunderstandings
words: 14.5k (whoa now)
note: art credits to k05062688 and _SinnerV on x
Geto Suguru has a heart of gold and is a joy to be around. Just ask anyone and they would confirm this with a fond smile. He's the guy that everyone wants to befriend rather than just be with or become.
He had a way of guiding people with an air of security and providing a judgment-free zone for close friends and strangers to confide in him like he was a father at a confessional, intently listening on the sins followers committed and teaching them how to repent without ridicule.
Gojo came to him as an arrogant, obnoxious rich kid with no consideration of those around him. He never had to pay mind to anyone given his sheltered life and silver spoon in his mouth. After the raven-haired man put him in his place by responding to his snarky remarks in kind, Satoru finally had a friend who didn't walk on eggshells around him that he could be vulnerable with and learn from.
Suguru took him under his wing, helped him adjust to the real world outside of his extravagant, overconsumption lifestyle. As much as Satoru was an asshole, he was just as lost if not more as an adolescent, still a kid and naive at that. Through Suguru, he learned how to carry himself and win people over with his authenticity rather than the snob his family expected him to be—socialising with others from various backgrounds without insulting them or seeming out of touch because he didn't comprehend their struggles.
He was quick to defend the starry-eyed, silver-haired man when he made mistakes—taking on a protector role in their dynamic. Not that Satoru was a special case or anything as he'd do the same for Shoko, Nanami, Haibara and any of their other friends.
While Satoru is outgoing and fond of many now, he's still worlds away from others in a way he can't change given the family he was born into. Suguru on the other hand is down to earth. The unattainable was enigmatic to humans since the dawn of time so it's no wonder why girls would sought after his charismatic best friend. Satoru was a flirt but oh could he fall. Plummet actually. Quite like Icarus did and you think Shoko's comparison is fitting as all the pretty man was missing were pearlescent wings to look like an angel. It was why he couldn't stay away from his ex-girlfriend, Ari, for too long. She was his first everything and Suguru's convinced they'll grow old and die hand in hand if Satoru had anything to say about it.
For now, Ari seemingly wanted nothing to do with him and it would have been something he overlooked had she not ignored his calls and texts for weeks rather than days like she used to. She was as weak as Satoru when it came to opening her heart to him again and again. Needless to say, his lovesickness deterred many admirers and they'd flock to Suguru instead, adding to his own ever-growing list of admirers. Whispers about what girls wanted him to do to them and reminiscing about what he had done were prevalent on campus
Not one to follow the crowd, Satoru was the half of the pair that snagged your attention. Across the room at a bustling party where he nursed his drink, slumped against the wall while his best friend had a hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowed like he was giving him a serious pep talk about getting over the girl that broke his heart. Again.
He may have been here in body but not in spirit or mind, the lights flashing over his face like the memories he's undoubtedly sulking over. What a cute thing. As a kid, you'd lose interest in toys that everyone else wanted or had. The unique, rare things enchanted you. That could be the reason you gift people personalized presents and melt when they return the favor. Of course, the demand for Gojo Satoru wasn't low but you'd say he invoked a fear of missing out within you for the first time.
It's why you found yourself slinking through the stuffy crowd of partygoers cramping up the frat house and sauntering over to the two men. The ivory haired man caught sight of you first, the lights in the house bleeding from blue to pink as he faced you, ending his friend's lecture as he noticed Satoru was no longer listening. Under their dual attention, you graced them with your kindest smile.
Satoru's lips, reddened from him nibbling on them, parts as he takes you in, the somber look in his gaze from earlier fluttering away. Good. You liked when his eyes resembled the beach on a warm summer day rather than a stormy sea. Introducing yourself, you pat yourself on the back when you pulled what you guessed was his first genuine grin of the night, judging by his silent friend's cocked brow as he looked from Satoru to you.
You weren't rude by any means so you did acknowledge Suguru as well. You'd heard good things about him from Shoko too, how nice he was. But there was no trace of that when his eyes assessed you, lids lowering until they were suspicious slits. You thought nothing of it. Not when Satoru and you were laughing and clutching your stomachs just seconds later, clicking like lost pieces of a puzzle that had been found.
Suguru was mildly miffed at how a stranger was able to achieve what he'd tried to do for days—get Satoru back to that bright, beckoning light everyone knew him to be. And as his best friend, he was the shadows that touched everything surrounding that beam, acting as a repellent to scare off people undeserving of having Satoru shine on them.
He was yet to find out which category you fell into. Your arm on Satoru's biceps and smile morphing into a lascivious smirk answered that for him soon enough.
Satoru lightens up even more when a song he loves blasting while driving starts playing through the speakers, his head already nodding along. You noticed because of course you did. Suguru's certain your eyes haven't left his best friend for more than a minute in the half an hour you've been talking to him. Time flies when Satoru starts yapping.
“Would you like to dance?” you ask Satoru, nodding to the makeshift dance floor. Acquainting yourself with him didn't dim your interest like it usually did with men. If anything, you wanted to get to know him more, sink beneath his skin and witness the blood pumping through the veins of this handsome man. For now, you'd settle for the touches that came with dancing.
Satoru's grin widens and he's about to agree when Suguru shakes his head. You'd almost forgot he was still here, leaning against the wall and watching you both intently.
“Actually, Satoru's a bit out of it tonight. If he over does it, he'll be a pain to wake up for classes tomorrow,” his best friend's smooth voice cuts in like sinking into hot water after a cold day.
Bummer, you think as you nod in understanding. The reminder from Suguru sobers Satoru up, his inner turmoil crashing down on him once more as he gives you a bashful, apologetic smile.
“I’d hate to end the fun early but Professor Yaga will have my head on a stick if I miss another one of his classes,” the young man cringes at the thought, “Can I take a raincheck on that dance?”
He's too sweet to be upset with so you smile and agree. “Sure, we'll continue another time.”
Delighted, Satoru pulls you into a side hug that warms your shoulder and torso before pulling away all too quickly with a wave as he disappears in the direction of the front door. Suguru wasn't quick to follow, violet gaze on you like he's trying to figure out what your deal is. You merely tilt your head in question, blinking innocently. He doesn't fall for the act, the dark brows that were nearly straight lines above his hooded eyes lowering.
“See you next time,” he greeted, following his best friend's path right as Satoru calls out to him from somewhere outside, voice loud and boisterous enough to be heard over the booming bass.
There's butterflies swarming your tummy. Though that could just be the cups of punch you'd drank earlier sloshing around in there. Either way, you're looking forward to Satoru making good on his promise.
Though Suguru stomps on the flapping creatures in your stomach, crushing them beneath his combat boots like they were nothing more than filthy insects when he finds ways to intervene in your attempts to get closer to his soft-hearted best friend. He knows your type. The kind that goes after what they can't have to prove a point and do away with the person they treated as a quest once they got the gratification they set out for.
At first, you think you're seeing things and getting defensive because you like Satoru. Just a little. A puppy crush. Still, it was certainly odd how Suguru inserted himself in every possible way when you were trying to talk to Satoru alone. When you sat too close to Satoru on the lumpy couches at parties, he'd squeeze into the sliver of space between you as if it was shaped for him to. When you'd act all curious about the drink Satoru had in hand and he'd hold it out for you, seconds away from sharing an indirect kiss, another hand would appear, holding a sweating bottle of said drink just for you. When you'd disguise your flirting as jokes, Suguru would add on and Satoru would be beside himself with laughter as if the long-haired man was a comedian. You'd eye him and he'd just smile, giving no hints that he was aware of what he was doing.
Hence, you let it slide, brushing it off as your imagination. There were countless other methods to get Satoru's attention. You'd gathered them from your trusty books and the tips never failed you before—physical contact and forced proximity.
You'd brush up against Satoru when you studied with him in the library and he didn't move away which had you smiling to yourself behind your notebook. Suguru then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head, much to the librarian's chagrin as he glanced around, eyes landing on you and Satoru with a glint.
“It's quite crowded in here today, huh? Wanna go grab some lunch and stretch our legs?” He suggested, mentioning the café that had his best friend's favorite mochi. As he expected, Satoru sprung up, packing away his stuff and agreeing. You mourned the loss of his strong shoulder pressed to yours just as Suguru looked back at you and gestured for you to come along.
That was fine. The problem started with your next attempt when you'd complained about how chilly the air was while your group walked back from the park you'd found after having dinner at a nearby restaurant. Everyone else knew to bring their coats and jackets, having seen the weather forecast but you “just so happened to forget yours.”
Satoru was the first to react, tugging off his jacket since he had a hoodie under anyway and hope sparked in your chest, chasing away the wind nipping at your cheeks.
Or maybe it was the black coat that draped over your shoulders from behind. Suguru was there, striking his lighter, the warm glow illuminating his tan skin as if he were your saving grace. Exhaling a plume of smoke into the air above your head, he jut his chin at you.
“That better?” he asked around the stick, standing there and smoking his cigarette without a care in the world, the cherry red at the end of it burning bright orange as he took another puff, eyes squinted. The breeze licked at his ponytail, toying with that rebellious section of his bangs that always fell over his forehead as if it liked being on his face.
Unlike you who was pretending to shiver, he was perfectly content in his black Henley, sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms and the veins that lined them. You didn't want to slide your arms into the sleeves of his pleasantly scented coat so you ducked your head into the collar to hide your embarrassment (that you got the wrong guy's chivalry).
Forcing a nod, you look away. “Yeah, thanks.”
Again, to everybody else, it looks like he's just being a compassionate person, good friend, a gentleman even. And yet, the strange sensation in your gut is leading you to believe otherwise. You're not stupid enough to confront him about it without actual incriminating evidence. If you just pointed and yelled at him for being a snake, everyone would look at you crazy for accusing the guy who was far from sinister of being just that and think you had trust issues. Throwing the coat down and trampling it after all the fuss you made would be worse.
Suguru makes his intentions crystal clear one night when you see Satoru heading to the parking lot. Being alone with him in his car was a great way to make a move on him.
“You need a ride home? Sure, can't have a pretty girl like you waiting on a cab this late,” he agreed easily, opening the passenger side door for you with a playful grin, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, making him all the more gorgeous.
Hand clenching around the shoulder strap of your book bag, you take a step forward, not wanting to spring into the car like your heart is within your ribcage. This was playing out so well. You'd charm the socks off him, revel in his melodic laughter and invite him up for coffee and maybe see if he's got white hair everywhere—
A tug on your bag has you halting. Confused, you glance back to see if it got caught on the car mirror beside you like your shirts tend to catch on the doorknob of your room as if the fixture was sentient and didn't want you to leave.
There was no mirror or door in sight but the man standing there was as wide and tall as the latter and his face reflected your deadpan. Satoru greeted his best friend with that cheerful tone he'd offer anyone.
Suguru nodded in acknowledgement, eyes coming back to where you stood, hand dropping from your strap. “You live near the suburbs, right?”
“Yeah, why?” You raise a brow though the sinking feeling in your belly told you exactly where he was going with this. You just wanted to be wrong for once.
“My parents’ place is around there. Satoru's far out in comparison,” he proves you right as Satoru ah's as if he just recalled that fact, “Come on, I'll take you.”
The only person you wanted to take you was currently waving you goodbye and telling you to get home safe as you trailed after Suguru, glaring at the back of his stupid head.
“I know what you're doing,” he told you after being mostly quiet on the drive here, now parked outside your complex.
Unbuckling your seatbelt, you glance over at him. Hands still on the steering wheel, he's clearly ready to say his piece then drive off.
“Do you?” You humor him, opening your bag to make sure your phone and the earphones you tend to misplace are in there.
With a heavy sigh, Suguru looks to the side to meet your gaze, his unamused while yours is dry.
“Hitting on Satoru isn't cute. It's not gonna get you anywhere.”
The absolute tone in his voice has you scoffing. “Oh, really? Well, I won't know unless I try, right?”
Jaw flexing, he gives you a once over, not liking what he's seeing if his curled lip is anything to go by. Uncaring because he's not the one you want looking at you anyway, you wait for him to continue.
“That wouldn't be fair to him or you. I don't think you want the same things that he does and I'd rather prevent anyone getting hurt.” He phrases it like he's doing you a favor.
Praise from others about his people skills evidently inflated his ego to the point that he's sure he knows what's best for you when, mind you, he only met you a few months ago.
Reaching for the door handle, you ready yourself to leave. “Thanks but I think I can make my own decisions.”
Stubborn refusal laces your words even though they come off sounding like you'll consider his advice. He's aware you planned on forgetting this conversation entirely.
Nothing else is said as you exit the car with a quiet thank you and shut the door, retreating into the front gate of your complex, leaving Suguru to stare ahead at the road, your scent that's still here irking him. He rolls down the windows to get rid of it.
He realises that trying to ward you off directly only deepened your determination to defy him. He was like a fool fanning the flames of a wildfire, spreading it until it ate up the surrounding forest and coughed out ashes. Suguru thinks you're that fire and will leave Satoru charred if you succeed in winning him over.
Watching you at parties, mingling with strangers like they were long lost friends and chuckling at their dry humor as well as inquiring about your dating life through Shoko, Suguru found out that his assumptions about you were right. You had one or two boyfriends in the past but you were inclined to having casual flings for the past two years. You'd bed Satoru and head out. His stomach twisted at the thought of his friend feeling used and unworthy of your adoration after you abandon him when your curiosities are satiated.
The cruel thought had him scowling at your form as you tossed a ball into one of the solo cups on the table, the partygoers around you cheering and chanting for you to chug the alcoholic beverage down with enthusiasm. Satoru clapped for you then checked his phone for the umpteenth time. His ex, Ari, hadn't made contact in months and he still held out hope. Suguru blinked and then you were at Satoru's side, lifting his spirits with a pat on his back as you said something that had him smiling again. As if you knew he'd be staring when you glanced his way, you caught his gaze and grinned like the cat who got the cream. If Suguru wanted to act like a dragon guarding its treasure horde then you were the sneaky thief who'd break in to see what was so precious about it.
A shift had occurred though. You took on multitasking. Satoru was bound to be out of reach if Suguru was hovering so you'd get girls to distract him whenever you could, scandalizing them with whispers about how he'd eyed them stealthily all night and wanted them to make the first move. He loved being chased, you had whispered, and boy could his fan girls sprint. Having women all over him, hanging off his every limb was something Suguru couldn't shake easily. Chivalrous at heart, he couldn't turn them down or reject them shortly. The way you'd bite back a smile while sitting way too close to Satoru for his liking made it obvious that this was your doing.
The sky split open in bursts of gold and violet, sparks raining down over the city. You stood shoulder to shoulder with Satoru at the edge of the rooftop, close enough that your sleeves brushed when he laughed at something you said. The fireworks painted his pale hair in flashes of color, reflected bright in your wide, starry eyes as you tipped your head back to watch them bloom and disappear.
Across the roof, Suguru stood beside Ieiri and Kento, hands tucked into his sleeves. He wasn’t watching the sky. He was watching you.
You felt it—his gaze, steady and unreadable—and turned. For a moment, the fireworks flared between you. Then his expression shifted, subtle but sharp. A small shake of his head. Not amused. Not impressed. Disappointed. Like you were being foolish. Like you were being obvious.
Heat crept up your neck, but you turned back to Satoru anyway when he nudged you, pretending you hadn’t seen.
Suguru didn’t look away until the sky went dark.
Satoru almost never slowed down, which made it unsettling when he did. He was slumped on a bench outside the lecture hall, pale, sunglasses crooked, mumbling weak complaints about betrayal and bad cafeteria food.
You crouched in front of him anyway, pressing a cool drink into his hand, brushing his bangs back to check his temperature despite his dramatic protests.
The fever was brewing since this morning so you'd gotten him meds from the nearby pharmacy. Of course, he made faces and gagged at the ones that weren't all sweet and sugary.
“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you muttered, softer than you meant to.
“That’s why I have you,” he shot back faintly.
You pressed a cold bottle of tea to his forehead despite his whining, adjusting his collar when he complained about the heat.
A shadow fell over the two of you.
Suguru.
He took in the scene in one quiet sweep—your hand still near Satoru’s face, Satoru leaning toward you without thinking.
“I’ll take him,” Suguru said evenly.
You stood, suddenly aware of how close you’d been. Suguru slipped an arm around Satoru’s shoulders with practiced ease, steadying him. For a brief second, his eyes met yours.
Not repulsed this time.
Just guarded. Measuring.
Then he turned away, guiding his best friend down the path, leaving you standing there with the faint, unsettling feeling that you’d just stepped into something far more complicated than a crush.
Suguru thinks the same.
Thus, he began keeping Satoru occupied. Complained that they hadn't had a chance to bond, just the two of them in ages. Satoru scoffed since they were housemates and saw each other all the time. Suguru told him that was different. So they started hanging out as a duo more at places you'd only find out they were at days later when one of them posted a story—shooting range, rage room, archery, obstacle course, mountain climbing, zip lining, bungee jumping and running marathons.
Frustration simmered within you but you were also impressed by the lengths Suguru would go to for his best friend's sake. It was respectable in an overly protective way.
He thinks you've learned your lesson now that he's kept Satoru out of the nightlife scene for some weeks. You'd made small talk with Satoru tonight at the club, your friend group reuniting with the best friends after some time so everyone wanted to know what they got up to and wanted to join next time. You maintained your distance which had Suguru proud of his efforts, chest puffed and head high.
What threw him off was you sliding into the seat beside him at the bar, ordering a fruity margarita. Hairs rose at the back of his neck in apprehension at your proximity but you either didn't notice his tense body or didn't care. Probably a mix of both. You stood there long enough to notice him eyeing a pretty girl on the dance floor—big smile, bright eyes and bouncy coils of hair. He wasn't the only set of eyes she caught and you could see why.
“Want me to go put in a good word for you?” you ask, sipping on the deceptively sweet drink that would make your head buzz in a half an hour or so.
Tearing his eyes away from the woman, he blinks and lowers his head to see if he heard you right. The expectant gaze of yours tells him he did.
“You’d do that, why?”
Shrugging a shoulder, you glance around. “Just ‘cause. We're friends, right?”
“Barely.”
Your hand waves in dismissal. “Whatever, I'm trying to be nice since you opened my eyes about Satoru.”
His brows bounce. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
Mulling over your words as his finger circles the rim of his glasses, he glances at the woman and then back to you then repeats.
“Okay, since you wanna play wingwoman,” he concedes. He prefers approaching women himself but seeing as you were attempting to make peace with him, he accepted.
Triumph brightened your gaze as you threw back your cocktail like it was a shot. “Have another ready for me, will you, babe?” You sweet talk the gullible bartender then disappear into the sea of people. To Suguru, you may as well be a shark among smaller fish with how easily his eyes track you. A habit he developed from closely monitoring your interactions with Satoru. It was like he had a radar inside him that would go off and he'd just know you were circling his best friend.
Swaying to the music, you dance your way over to the woman he hopes will go home with him tonight. She welcomes you with ease, your bodies moving in sync to the rhythm of the song playing like you'd practiced the choreography countless times and this wasn't impromptu between strangers. Head ducking, you whisper in her ear and she looks over her shoulder, sparkly eyes finding Suguru's. Whatever you said has her eagerly nodding and you flash her a dazzling smile under the disco lights for it.
Holding out your hand palm up, you wait for her to take it. Suguru straightens up, as he's certain you're about to lead her over to him, complete your wingwoman duties by bringing her over to him so he could finish the job. He takes your magarita from the bartender, wanting to hold onto it for you so he doesn't look like he's impatiently waiting. Admittedly, you'd done the talking quick if she was already agreeing to come chat to him. Though not many women turned him away so he's not that surprised.
What does surprise him though is you using her palm in yours to pull her closer to you, her arms resting on your shoulders as you converse with her. The song changes into something sexier and so do your moves, hips no longer swishing from side to side but rolling forward, meeting hers as she mirrors you. Your hands slide down her sides, definitely not friendly as you grab handfuls of her full hips. She throws her head back and laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.
Suguru can't move from his spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. Were you stealing the girl from right under his nose? Had he walked straight into your trap?
Your lips brush the shell of her ear as you whisper something to her and when you pull back to look at her, the sultry grin on your face is blocked from his view.
Because she's kissing you. On the mouth. With tongue.
And you're returning it with the lazy pace she's going at. He thinks that you may have forgotten the plan. That you're more tipsy than you thought and all you could think of doing was flirting. But then your eyes open, locked onto his immediately and the smirk you give him is knowing.
Bristling, Suguru can't do much else other than hold your gaze until you look away first. To have some kind of control or win in this situation. You lose only because you wink at him as you break the kiss. He's stumped when you bid her goodbye and join him at the bar counter again, thumbing away the lipstick smeared on your mouth and taking your cocktail from him.
“Sheesh, I haven't been kissed like that in forever,” you chuckle.
Eyes narrowed, he watches you take a sip of your drink and exhale like you've been refreshed. “Thought you were putting in a good word for me.”
“Oh, I did. Unfortunately for you, she's into women. Though if you change your perspective, it's a win for me so not all is lost,” you inform him cheerfully.
He's not convinced.
You don't protest as you were being truthful. She does like women. Did you maybe, kind of, sort of tell her the “creep” at the bar wouldn't leave you alone so you asked her to pretend to be your girlfriend? Maybe but that part is unnecessary to add so you don't.
Suguru's life doesn't get any easier from there. For some unknown reason, girls on campus are dodging him rather than launching himself in his direction. Some approached him still but mostly to ask if the rumors about him hooking up with others while he had a girlfriend were true. Others didn't care about the rumors as they had no shame. He was outraged and asked them who they heard that from. They said his girlfriend.
And they'd always point at you.
“What's the matter, baby?” you'd asked cutely when he marched up to you that day.
“You think you're funny, huh?” His expression was indifferent but there was a flicker of annoyance in those amethyst irises.
“Fucking hilarious, actually.”
What you didn't anticipate was that he'd use those rumors to his advantage, scaring off guys who showed interest in you so you couldn't go around flirting with every other idiot at parties. You were pissed but he justified it.
“You want to be with Satoru, don't you? He doesn't like girls who make googly eyes at other men,” he explained as if that was reason enough for chasing away innocent people.
“Oh, okay because I was wondering.”
Honestly, you'd gotten so caught up in the games you were playing with Suguru that you had forgotten your original motive for a bit. Now that he reminded you, you were going to double down on getting Satoru out of the friendzone and into your pants.
The best course of action you could come up with was sitting on his rival's lap at a party that any student from all the surrounding universities could come to. Sukuna Ryomen was all muscle, tattoos and mean glares. He was the heir to his family's empire just like Satoru was. They were the biggest competitors in the same market and that gave rise to a lot of animosity between the two men.
You were hoping for jealousy, irritation and maybe even an angry confession. The reaction you did get tugged at your heart. Satoru's pale brows crinkled, nose scrunching slightly in the distinct way it would when he was hurt. Still, he mustered a smile and nodded at you as if saying, “Go get ‘em, girl!” Sukuna's hand on your waist was unbearable now.
That expression hadn't stemmed from hidden feelings or envy. It was betrayal. Seeing his friend in the arms of someone he openly despised had upset him. You couldn't bring yourself to enjoy the party anymore and stepped out onto the balcony to get some fresh air.
An all too familiar presence appears beside you but nothing is said.
“If you're here to say I told you so, save your breath,” you muttered, staring out at the city lights.
“Stop playing games with him or it'll only get worse,” Suguru warns.
“Don't tell me what to do.”
“You're not serious about him.”
He was right. “You don't know that.”
Suguru is convinced he's going to lose his mind and not because of his coursework or expectations of his family but your unrelenting ass. He doesn't like stooping to pettiness but you left him with little else to do.
As for you, you were certain you cared for Satoru. Though you had to admit that your admiration for him was based on curiosity and lust rather than love. Getting a rise out of Suguru was the rush you were aiming for. At some point your crush took the backburner so you could piss off his best friend. Something about his glares, sneers and disdain for you became addicting.
And so you press on. Even if Satoru didn't take interest in you, you were having fun and if he wanted to use you as a rebound, you wouldn't mind.
Feeding into a man's ego always got their attention. So when your group is at the beach, you do just that. Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru are playing volleyball with some strangers, the sun blazing down on their half-dressed bodies as they score another point and high five. Haibara's taking a dip in the tidal pool, waiting for the others to join as the cool, turquoise water laps at his overheated skin. Nanami's lounging on the chair beside yours, glasses low on his nose bridge as he reads a book under the shade of the umbrella.
Your sunglasses are doing nothing to hide how you're ogling Satoru. He's in red shorts, a white tee, glasses shielding his sensitive eyes from the blazing sun, creamy skin tanning a little already. It's not like you're using your shades to be discreet. He'd be hard to look at if they were off with how his silver hair caught the light and might as well have been a piece of the sun on earth. Your eye candy appreciation is ruined when Suguru looks over and catches you staring, now over the rim of your shades. He nudges Satoru and nods towards you. Following his gaze, Satoru spots you as well and your face warms but you wave at him and he lowers his glasses to shoot you a wink before resuming the game.
Tastefully, you flipped Suguru off then decided to cool yourself off by going for a swim. Standing, your hands grab the hem of your cover up t-shirt, pulling it up and over your head. Satoru's gaze is on you again immediately and Suguru is about to tell him to focus on the game when he sees you.
The two-piece swimsuit you wear flatters your figure, your tits filling out the bra cups perfectly and ass looking rounder than it usually does. Fingering the strings to make sure they're not twisted, you ensure that your sunscreen from earlier is still sufficient. The bikini is pretty but it's the colour that has Suguru's eye twitching.
A sapphire blue that made your skin glow. The choice was intentional. Suguru's sure that if Satoru came over and pressed his face against the side of your chest or hip, his eyes would blend right in. He knows it too because he's beaming at the sight of you in his favorite colour. Who are you to deny his vanity when it came to this?
“Hiding a body like that should be illegal, sweetheart,” Satoru calls out to you, voice all flirty and smile evident. “Don't you know blue's my favorite?”
You have the audacity to play coy and look down at your pedicure at his compliment. “Who's to say we can't share a favorite?”
Both of you are smiling stupidly at each other. The ball hurting towards Suguru is launched back to its sender with more force than necessary, hitting Naoya square in the face as he cusses. Suguru isn't quick to apologize after the bastard tried to insult him earlier by saying that he “served like a little girl.”
You won this round, that's for sure. A nasty feeling coils in Suguru's gut as he watches Satoru and you stroll down to the shore to play in the waves. Ever observant, he sees that your bikini top's knot isn't fastened tight enough. One wave will untie it for sure. Someone ought to warn you.
He doesn't. In his defense, you wouldn't believe him anyway, always striving to do the exact opposite of whatever he said.
So when you jumped in the water with Satoru, laughter ringing in the like as you guys readied yourself for the push of the oncoming wave, bobbing up and down as it passed over you, Suguru savored the gasp you let out as you feel your bikini top fall away. Covering your chest, your face was on fire. He didn't get to bask in satisfaction for long though as Satoru peeled off his shirt, giving you an up close and personal view of his efforts at the gym and desirable genetics when he handed it to you and you slipped it on.
There was no use, this point was definitely yours.
Suguru comes to terms with the fact that not every season can be kind to him. He's not talking about personal struggles or anything like that. In that department, his life is sound. Unless you consider him finding you unbearable a personal issue then maybe he does have a problem.
The universe is working in your favor recently. You've gotten more opportunities to get to know Satoru better, spending time with him alone. As his best friend, Suguru hears all about it. How you're scared of horror movies and wanted Satoru to hold your hand for comfort even though you'd chosen to watch the film in theaters. How your car was at the shop so you had to catch a ride with him to campus. How good you were at video games when you helped him clear difficult stages.
He could tell Satoru was starting to like you a lot more. Not in a romantic way, that spot was sealed and secured for Ari. But still enough to make Suguru anxious about how hard he'd take it if you just turned on him once you were rejected or your interest faded. Satoru valued his friendships just as much as his relationship so it would hurt him and he didn't need that on top of his heartbreak.
Musicians that Satoru is a big fan of are in the city for a festival. The information was hidden by gatekeepers so he was bummed that he couldn't get his hands on tickets. You, however, were successful. He was driving you both there a few hours early to beat the traffic when the two liters of water he chugged earlier made a reappearance.
Suguru's parents' house was nearby and you did not look forward to seeing him. But there was a spring in your step that even he couldn't take away. When Satoru pulled up into his driveway, he mentioned that his best friend's folks were out for the weekend so Suguru was house sitting. The garage door was open and Satoru went straight inside to greet his best friend then jogged into the house.
From behind the hood of what looked to be a street racing car, Suguru peeked out. He was less than happy to see you and while you shared the sentiment, you wanted to rub your victory in his face. Shutting the car door after you stepped out, your heels clicked against the gravel as you walked up to the car he was working on.
The bare expanse of your torso appeared in his peripheral vision as he carefully dismantled an old part he was planning to replace. The muscles on his arm flexed with the movements of his dexterous hands, tank top snug against his back and chest while his faded jeans sat low on his hips, a strip of his carved abdomen winking at you. There was a dirty rag in his back pocket which hardly served its purpose given how there were dark smudges and an oil sheen on his forearms, grease splattered on the bottom of his grey tank top.
“Can't say hello, Tinkerbell?” you ask flatly, thinking the name suitable for him given that he was playing mechanic.
Suguru stood up straight, rag in hand as he wiped what he could off his arms, gaze assessing. “You're the one dressed like a fairy yet I'm Tinkerbell?”
He wasn't wrong. The flowy, halter crop top you wore had a pattern that resembled butterfly wings in shades of purple, blue and green. Your denim skirt was short enough that bending would give whoever was around a whole show.
Resting your chin on your shoulder happily, you smiled because you took that as a compliment. “Thank you.”
His unimpressed stare, eyes hooded and lips downturned only made your smile grow. Annoyed by the sight, he sighed and went to his workbench to drop the old part there and take the new one.
“Don't you think dental floss would cover up more?” he questioned in a drawl. That was almost funny. Almost.
“I'll keep that in mind for my next concert with Satoru.” His jaw clenches at your response, his hair gathered away from his face in a bun giving you a clear view of the reaction.
Wanting to annoy him more, you brush past him, hips pressing into his butt as you squeeze your way over to his workbench to inspect what was there like the inquisitive thing you were, delighting in how he stiffened.
“This music is trash,” you complained, making a face at the noise coming out of his speaker on the bench.
“I'm not playing it for you, Tink,” he replied through slightly gritted teeth. Having you in his space, touching all his things was starting to bother him.
Sat atop his bench, you roll your eyes, “You're the one tinkering—”
“Ah, much better,” Satoru sighed as he reappeared, no longer troubled by his aching bladder. “Ready to go—Oh! What happened to your skirt?”
Glancing down, you gasp at the sight of your soiled skirt, the gross greenish-brown stain marring the bedazzled denim hideously.
Fuck, you could not go to the festival like this. It had taken you hours to finally be satisfied with an outfit that didn't look better in your head than it did on you. You almost pulled your hair out in frustration and canceled the whole outing.
However, you were going to have to sit this one out anyway. The patch of who knows what ruined your mood entirely.
So you lie.
“I, um, fell and hurt my ankle. It's sore so I don't think I'll be able to come anymore,” you tell him with your best grimace. Bringing your foot up, you massage the spot that's definitely not aching.
Worried, Satoru's brows bow and his lip juts out ever so slightly. He's so damn cute. “Shit, are you sure? It can't be that bad.” He moves toward you.
“She had a pretty hard fall. Putting weight on her foot would make it worse for all we know,” Suguru adds, making him pause.
The snowy-haired man looks conflicted. He really wants to see his favorite bands as it's rare for them to perform live but he doesn't want to come off as a bad friend by leaving you behind when you're the sole reason he's going in the first place.
Your reassuring smile lessens his guilt though.
“I'll be fine. I have first aid supplies at home that should help. Riko was upset that she couldn't see them, right? Maybe ask if she's free,” you suggest. If anyone was to take your place right now, you'd want it to be her. The younger girl has been stressing over her coursework recently so she deserves the treat.
Gears turn in Satoru's head as he considers your words. You always are so considerate, just like Suguru.
“I'll ask her. But at least let me take you home before I go. I feel really bad,” he tells you.
So do you for lying to him.
“What if you're late? I can't let you do that.” You shake your head.
He waves you off, coming to scoop you up to carry you to the car. “None of that. I'll get there on time. Without speeding,” he promises.
You're ready to be lifted when Suguru holds him back by beating him to it. “I'll do it. You're gonna mess your clothes if you try. Like some clumsy people.”
The comment has your mood souring further as he picks you up bridal style and walks you to the car, Satoru opening the back door so he can put you down gently.
Paying extra attention to make sure your “sprained” ankle isn't harmed, Suguru's hands leave you as he ducks out of the car.
Not before whispering a venomous, “Fucking liar,” in your ear that has you bristling, shiver creeping up your spine.
Lord, he's so mean you almost forget that you're supposed to be grimacing with how your lips twitch up.
He walks away all smug, twirling the wrench he had in his pocket and whistling. That light feeling in his chest at your loss was too intoxicating to give up. He had to get another hit soon.
And of course, he did.
Because when you need help assembling your new desk on Saturday, Satoru just so happens to be the guy you ask. Picturing him pouring over the instructions and hammering nails into place had you kicking your feet and giggling as you typed out the text to him.
Donning a tank top and matching boy shorts you had purchased as lingerie, you're glad that it can pass off as loungewear even with the lace trim and silk bow on the waistband of the bottoms and your neckline. Your hair falls messily today and it adds to the appeal. Your socks and slippers will have to do.
Skipping over to the door when there's a knock, you swing it open with a playful grin which falls into a frown instantly.
Lady Luck isn't shining down on you today.
Dark amusement gleams in the raven-haired man's eyes as he eyes you up and down. “This how you greet all your friends?”
You crane your neck to look behind him for the ivory head of hair you were expecting. “Where's Satoru?”
He pushes past you gently, walking into your apartment like it's his. “Something came up with his family. Now where's this desk?”
As if on autopilot, you led him to the room you had made your study. The one with the window that gave you a perfect scenic view of the botanical garden across the street that you could use to clear your mind after hours of intense focus.
He casually snatched the assembly booklet from your grip, snapping you out of your daydream. A satisfied grin tugged at your lips as he scanned the diagrams. Clearly, he couldn’t manage this without help. And of course you would assist because you didn't want him complaining to Satoru that you made him do all the work.
You would not stand for it.
The absurdly elaborate desk had been your suggestion from the start, mostly because you knew it would trap his best friend—not him—in hours of tedious labor while you would have admired him and passed him the parts and tools he required. But the silver-haired man was unavailable so you were stuck with his all too smug counterpart who was realising he bit off more than he could chew. Served him right.
He settled cross-legged on the hardwood floor, surrounded by scattered boards and plastic bags of hardware, actually taking the time to read each step. That alone was surprising. Dressed in a worn gray tee stretched across his shoulders, dark jeans dusted with sawdust, and scuffed sneakers, he looked the part of an unwilling carpenter. Though his luscious tresses did not match his career—perhaps a model playing a carpenter would be a better description.
A crease formed between his brows as he examined the hammer in his hand, as if the poor tool were to blame for the dents forming in the wood. The real issue, of course, was the excessive force behind every swing. He lessened it as if remembering that this was your desk and not actually you, cutting you a look that had you arching a brow.
His frustration was replaced by his perfectionism.
With a nail gripped between his teeth, he focused intently on lining up the next piece. You let your damp palms fall to your sides, having crossed your arms for too long, fingers tightening into fists while you watched him remove the nail from his mouth and strike it cleanly into place. Each hit echoed sharply through the room.
The project consumed the entire day. You paused midway to eat, then returned to the chaos of half-built shelves and instruction pages. By evening, the desk finally stood assembled. He didn’t stop there, either—he stayed to arrange your textbooks and paperwork neatly into the compartments, transforming the once-empty corner into a functional study area.
“Is the Wicked Witch satisfied?” His barely open eyes and flat expression tells you that he could not give less of a fuck what you thought of his workmanship.
Looking over the desk, the smell of new paint and wood filling the room so you opened the windows, you nod. “Partially.”
The dark-haired man rolls his eyes, slow and exasperated. “Of course.”
“Your efforts are appreciated though,” you say as you have the decency to walk him to the door. But your kindness ends there as your smile drops. “Now leave.”
When he's out of your hair and you listen to make sure he took the elevator and left, you slump against your door with a loud groan, kicking your feet as your fists pound against the floorboards childishly.
Stupid Geto and his stupid sly tricks, you think in utter annoyance.
This whole fucking-up-your-chances thing is getting really old and you're not having fun anymore.
All hope is not lost because Satoru invites you over for movie and game night the next Friday to make up for his absence during the desk assembling. To your utter delight, it's just you two because Suguru is out so Satoru is lonely. Every time you try too hard, your efforts end up falling flat so this time, you just wear an oversized sweater, a skirt and sneakers.
(A cute matching lace set under just in case.)
Giddiness has you smiling like an idiot as you drive to his apartment. Not even the afternoon traffic or the slow truck in front of you can get you down. On a normal day, you'd have a lot of unsavory things to say about the delays but today wasn't one of them. Taking it all in stride, you still managed to arrive at his place just before the time you both agreed on.
Satoru greets you at the door, looking adorably dorky in his boxy glasses that complement his blue Superman tee which he paired with sweatpants and slippers. His wispy white hair is so fluffy and slightly tousled as if he was trying to tame it before you got there. It's as endearing as the smile that kicks up at the sight of you looking equally as comfy.
“Ah, you made it! Hope you're ready to be sick of me as I explain DC Comic lore while we watch the new Superman movie,” he says in that smooth, carefree voice of his that has you smiling too.
“Can't wait,” you reply with a chuckle as you pass him to step inside when he gestures for you to do so.
Oh, you know all about DC Comics, being a big Jason Todd fan yourself but you don't want to spoil his fun by telling him you already know all there is to know about the universe. Besides, you quite enjoy watching people get all excited and gush over their interests so passionately.
The difficult part wouldn't be wanting to complete his sentences for him but resisting the urge to kiss him.
“You brought snacks too? I doubt we're gonna finish all of this,” he tells you as he takes them from you and goes to set them down on the coffee table in the living room.
As far as you can see, the apartment has an open floor plan so you could watch TV from the kitchen that's all low lighting, marble countertops and expensive appliances. The interior is grey mostly but there's splashes of oak and greens that make it more homey.
What makes it obvious that it's lived-in and not something from a house magazine or listing is that there's photos of the pair of best friends that stay here scattered all over the place along with figurines, a video game console and a signed guitar that they got from a concert of a band they both liked.
There's a big, leather L-shaped couch in the living room that Satoru guides you to and he was not kidding about you guys having an abundance of snacks. From chips and dip, popcorn and pizza to an assortment of candy and sweet drinks that are bound to make your teeth hurt, you don't think you can come up with anything that's not here.
Settling down, you both get comfortable, two blankets sprawled over your laps while Satoru clicks away on the remote to bring up the movie. You keep a pillow on your lap to occupy your antsy hands so they don't give into the urge to scoot closer to him, maintaining a respectable distance.
Thankfully, the movie steals your attention and you make comments on funny scenes, snickering at how Clark Kent gets worked up when Lois Lane interviews him. Though it does get a little awkward when they start making out in the kitchen. Satoru's eyes are wide as he turns to you just as you do the same. His cheeks pinken and he looks down, chuckling shyly.
“They're really into it, huh?”
And yes, that would have been the perfect opportunity—the mother of all opportunities—for you to snag and make a move on him.
But as you open your mouth, a smooth line about how you think you could do better, his blasted phone buzzes on the other side of him. Smile falling, he gives you an apologetic look before excusing himself to take the call while you glare at the lovers on screen after hitting pause. A gummy bear faces the brunt of your sour mood as you bite down on it and decapitate the poor thing.
You don't even have to look up when he gets back to know that your plans have been ruined. Having grown accustomed to this, your stomach sinks as your shoulders slump just from the slightest shift in the air and the way he's fidgeting with his phone case.
“Something came up?” you ask preemptively and the smile he gives you is more of a grimace than anything, blue eyes hidden behind the glare from the flat screen.
Blowing out a breath, he nods solemnly. “Yeah, uh, my friend's car broke down in the middle of nowhere. I've got her location and given the time, I'll definitely get there before roadside assistance does.”
That you completely understand but you know damn well that the “her” he's referring to is his ex-girlfriend with how guilty and tense he seems. He's fidgeting because he wants to leave immediately to go to her aid but knows it'd be rude to up and take off without telling you first.
Holding back a sigh, you nod and muster a smile. “Yeah, of course. Wouldn't want her stranded at this hour. Not exactly safe for a woman.”
Satoru seems to feel worse as you're so empathetic not knowing that you're cursing the universe for your luck once again and asking why the fuck there aren't more people to dispatch for roadside assistance to accommodate incidents such as this one.
Exhaling in relief, Satoru slumps. “Thank you. I'll make it up to you when I get back, promise,” you've heard that line from him so many times that he might as well write it on his tombstone.
There's shuffling then a jingle of keys before the door clicks shut, the apartment feeling much bigger and a lot lonelier now. You're grateful for the mass amount of snacks now so have something to munch on and wallow in self pity.
If the gummy bears were sentient they'd be sweating with fear as they're about to be massacred, beheaded by your merciless teeth.
Scrolling through the selection of unappealing movies and series, you don't even register that an hour or two had passed since your crush left until the door opens and shuts.
Parking up, you glance over your shoulder with a grin, ready to say “Welcome back” only to be met with the last person you wanted to see right now. Expression dropping into a flat one, you watch Suguru's brows lower beneath the baseball cap he's got on, darkening his features in shadows.
“Huh, didn't think you'd still be here,” he drawls as if he knew exactly where his best friend was. He did. Of course he did. Satoru probably describes his bowel movements in detail to the guy.
“Why are you back early?”
He snorts at your question, shrugging off his jacket so he's just in a fitted tee and cargo pants as he toes off his boots. “Asking me that in my own home is weird, don't you think?”
The bastard's got a point there so you just face forward and resume flipping through flicks mindlessly, not looking for anything in particular as your mood sours further.
Ignoring the approaching footsteps, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as he plops onto the other side of the couch, whistling lowly at the spread of junk food on the table.
“Damn, you guys had plans, huh? Well, we can't let this go to waste.” The faint scent of him is potent now and you despise that it's a good one. Why couldn't he be one of those jerks who bathe in axe body spray or other kinds of offensive-to-the-nostrils brands?
“We?” You ask as he produces a packet of what looks like dirt and grass but know is weed and starts cleaning it, the living room now smelling a bit earthy.
Shrugging, he nods. “Yeah, would be rude to go to my room and leave you here. I'm not a bad host, you know?”
“Whatever. You won,” you blurt out begrudgingly as you'd rather not have him here, basking in his victory and rubbing it in your face while eating your snacks. “Congratulations.”
It doesn't take him long to understand that you're referring to Satoru. Are his ears deceiving him or are you accepting…defeat?
“Did I?”
Annoyed, you snatch a pack of sour strawberry licorice from the table, tearing open the plastic. “Yes, you did.”
Huffing, he shakes his head.
“Satoru's happy now,” you say after a moment of chewing on the candy to calm yourself. “He's back with her, right? So…there's no point anymore.”
You weren't about to go after a taken man. Believe it or not, you had more dignity than that. While you're not one to forfeit like this, the disappointment is overshadowed by your relief. Relief that whatever feud between you and Suguru might be over because fuck were you tired.
Guilt gnaws at him as he's rolling up his blunt, staring at the paper in deep thought. A long-suffering sigh that comes from low in his lungs exhales from him.
“Look, Satoru has a girlfriend—well, he did. They only broke up a few months ago, and knowing them, it won’t last. So you’ve completely misunderstood the situation,” he starts. “I’m not the villain here. If anything, I was looking out for you as much as him.”
He goes quiet to let you take that in then continues.
“Unless you’re keen on getting caught up in that mess, I’d say I spared you the trouble. And it’s even more complicated than you think. Satoru and Ari have been together for half a decade—she’s like family to me. That kind of history doesn’t just disappear. Even if he doesn’t show it, he’s falling apart over her. It’s always been her for him. I was just trying to keep you out of it so neither of you ended up getting hurt.”
Okay…you were aware that Satoru had just gotten out of a long term relationship but not that it was this bad. The cool and carefree man truly did hide a lot behind those charming smiles and easy laughs.
Slouching against the backrest on the couch, you stare at the wall blankly, reeling from the revelation. “I see,” you mutter.
God, Suguru is in dire need of a smoke now. “You mind if I?” When you shake your head, he sifts out his lighter and strikes it, a cherry glow at the end of the blunt as smoke curls into the air.
Within seconds, the pungent scent of weed has your nose wrinkling. “Eugh, you're going to kill your brain cells with that thing.”
Casting you a dry look, Suguru's lids lower. “You wouldn't be saying that if Satoru was the one doing it.”
That shuts you up. Perhaps he made the joke too soon but you roll your eyes in response so he supposes it's not that bad.
“I wouldn't. That stuff messes with your head. Makes people lazy.” You eye him. “No offense.”
“Some taken,” he says, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “But I get it.”
Your brows raise. “You do?” Since when has he ever agreed with you? Even when you're right, he'll play Devil's Advocate just to antagonise you.
Lifting a shoulder, he shrugs slow and loose. “Not liking being out of control makes sense.”
Tongue stabbing your cheek, you pick up your bottle of fruity cider that was beginning to sweat on the table and take a swig. “God forbid a girl doesn't like not knowing what she's saying or doing.”
A beat passes. He watches your profile. The slope of your nose, the tension you can't really hide and normally he'd poke but tonight he doesn't. Maybe it's the weed. Maybe it's a truce. He doesn't know.
But he doesn't mind it.
Arm stretching between you, he holds out the joint to you, close enough for you to reach but far enough for him to take it back if you refuse.
“You don't have to but if you're curious…one puff won't take away your autonomy.”
Face scrunching in disgust, Suguru can still see the curiosity in your gaze. If you weren't on the fence about it you would've surely bat his hand away even if that would've caused ash to fall.
“Fine,” you concede. “One pull but if I start talking about my childhood dog, it's all your fault.”
His laugh is quiet and easy as he sits up a little straighter. “Take it easy, yeah?”
You pluck the blunt from his fingers, aware of his eyes tracking every movement as you lift it to your mouth. The living room is dim, washed in blue from the television and thin ribbons of moonlight spilling through the blinds. You take a breath in—
Instant regret.
The smoke claws down your throat, and you double over, coughing into the quiet hum of whatever’s playing on the screen. You nearly drop the blunt onto the rug before he leans in and rescues it from your hand, a low laugh rumbling out of him.
“Shit,” you wheeze, blinking away tears.
“I said take it easy,” he murmurs, settling back into the couch like this is all very entertaining.
“Let me try again,” you manage, stubborn even as your lungs protest. If there's one thing you hate, it's doing things wrong.
Mild amusement flickers across Suguru's face, the TV light catching the edge of his smile. He slides the blunt between his lips—slowly, deliberately—and draws in. He tilts his head toward the ceiling, exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curls silver in the moonlight instead of straight at you. You don’t know why that small courtesy unsettles you more.
He hands it back. “Please heed my words this time.”
You try again, gentler. You feel his gaze drop to your mouth as you inhale, heat creeping up your neck despite the cool glow of the room. You hold it for a second before letting the smoke drift out, watching it roll across the sharp lines of his face, illuminated in flickers from the screen.
“That's better,” he says softly.
You pass it to him with a small smile, pretending you don’t notice the way his eyes dip to the glimmer of your lip gloss on the filter. He hesitates. His throat moves as he swallows, jaw tightening just slightly, like he’s debating something ridiculous and losing.
“Wait, let me wipe that off—” You start, reaching for it but he doesn't hand it over.
No, he's already bringing it back to his mouth, pressing his lips to the same place yours had been. The sight sends a strange jolt through you—too intimate for something so small. Your pulse stutters, then races, loud in your ears beneath the steady murmur of the television.
The breeze through the cracked window carries the distant hum of the city, alive and steady. And there you were, sitting together on the couch, sharing a smoke in a room lit only by the moon and a screen neither of you are really watching. You think this is the calmest you two have been in each other's presence.
Slowly, a syrupy, sluggish rush seeps into your bloodstream, leaving you pleasantly lightheaded as your thoughts swim. It's fleeting and you want to feel it again, something similar to spinning in circles until the world twirled around you.
“Can I?” you ask so sweetly that Suguru's eyes narrow into slits, suspicion marring his features.
“Uh-uh, you're liking this, aren't you? Addict. It's hitting, huh?” He mocks, tilting his head, loosening bun flopping to the side, his baseball cap next to him.
Clicking your tongue, you flick your wrist. “Don't be a jerk. You wanted me to try, right? Now you're taking it away when I'm enjoying it?”
He considers, then sighs. “Fine. But not like before.”
Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing slightly. The ember glows brighter in the dim room. He pulls it away, caps it with his fingers, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he leans in.
Your breath catches.
Suguru cups a hand lightly at the side of your face—not forceful, just steadying—and brings his mouth close to yours. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his knuckles against your jaw as he taps it.
“Open,” he murmurs.
Your eyes flick up to his, suspicious and curious all at once. But you part your lips.
He exhales slowly into your mouth.
It’s warmer than you expect, minty and sweet, the smoke curling between you, shared air and shared space. For a second you forget to breathe it in because you're too aware of how close you are—how his nose grazes yours, how his hand is still hovering near your cheek like he’s not sure he should be touching you at all.
You inhale and the smoke disappears into your lungs.
When he pulls back, it’s barely an inch. You're still there, suspended. Your lips are still parted. His eyes flick down to them and back up again, quick and unguarded.
“Told you,” he says quietly, though his voice has lost its edge. “Safer.”
You swallow, then coughs once, laughing through it. “That was—”
“Smarter?”
“Intimate,” you counter.
He drops his hand like he’s been burned. “It was practical.”
“Sure,” you say, but you don’t move away.
The silence stretches, thicker than the smoke. You're still too close. Close enough that if either of you leaned forward just a fraction—
Instead, you lean back first, a small smirk tugging at your mouth so he knows you're about to spout some nonsense. “If I say I still don’t feel anything, will you do it again?”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a reluctant smile there now. “Nice try, but no.”
“Aw, man,” you lament as if you're really bummed but your amusement sparkles in your glazed over eyes.
The buzz settles in warm and slow, a heavy, gentle weight behind your eyes. Sounds feel rounder, softer. His voice seems closer than usual. It's like you're underwater or trying to talk in a dream, like the world has been wrapped in velvet. Everything feels slower.
High blooming brighter, your glowing smile does too and suddenly everything is so fucking funny from the way the couch cushion falls to Suguru's incredulous look when he startles after you bark out a loud laugh.
“Shit, Satoru's gonna think I got you high,” the man cusses under his breath but then he's giggling with you, the sound boyish and only stirring you on further as he excuses himself then comes back with a glass of orange juice. “Here, this should help your blood sugar.”
To be safe, he'd also stopped after three pulls, not wanting to be on cloud nine with someone who's never experienced it before and may not know how to deal with it.
You're completely fine, other than the languid hum in your veins, this is just another night for you. In fact, you laugh way harder and more maniacal with your friends and siblings, often getting scolded by your endeared parents to keep it down because as much as your joy melts their hearts, you should not be cackling past midnight.
“Thank you,” you sober up and accept the glass of chilled refreshment from him.
At the mention of Satoru, your brows bounce as you honestly forgot about him and hadn't thought about him much at all after Suguru mentioned him getting back with his ex. You'd always been good at getting over people, crushes and fleeting flings. Or maybe somewhere along the line you stopped wanting him and simply persisted to provoke his best friend. Not that you'd admit to that. Never.
The back and forth was too entertaining to stop. Before it became exhausting at least. Now you're seeing Suguru in a different light because he had your best interest in mind too even if he didn't go about it the right way. And he says as much.
He says it casually, staring ahead, not at you:
“I wasn't trying to be a dick to you. At least not at first.”
Rolling your head against the top of the couch, your look at his enviously beautiful side profile.
“You feel bad,” you point out after studying him.
“I do,” he admits with a nod. “I should've handled it better.”
You've never heard an apology from him before so you don't know what to say.
Suguru's eyes stay on the screen. “I really do care about Satoru. He's—” He exhales. “He's my person. And every time I thought I was shutting things down cleanly you pushed back.”
You swallow. “Yeah but I didn't think you'd keep pushing too.”
“I shouldn't have,” he agrees. “I got petty. You made it easy but that's not an excuse.”
Fiddling with your fingers, your voice softens. “I shouldn't have treated it like a competition.”
“It's not like it was one-sided. I played a part too,” he reminds you.
Twin sighs pass both of your lips as if you're both waving the white flags of surrender. Suguru turns his head, your face closer than he expected. Close enough that he can see the tiny crease between your brows and the way your lips part on a breath.
You’d always preferred bright rooms and brighter personalities, so places like this—low lights, drawn curtains, smoke clouding the room faintly—never felt like your scene. And neither did Suguru.
At least, that’s what you’d told yourself.
The living room is washed in baby blue light, shadows softening the edges of everything. Music hummed low from somewhere you couldn’t see. You sit with your legs tucked under you, passing a packet of fruity chews back and forth, trying not to think too hard about the way the haze blurred more than just the room.
Suguru had always annoyed you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. Too calm. Too composed. Too aware. You’d written him off as aloof, maybe even a little smug. But sitting across from him now, watching him pick the red candies you didn't like, you found yourself studying him differently.
His indigo eyes caught the dim light in a way that made them look softer than usual. Warmer. When he smiled at something you said, it wasn’t flashy or attention-grabbing. It was easy. Unforced. The kind of smile that felt like it belonged exactly where it was.
You hated that you noticed.
His long hair fell over his shoulders in dark, glossy waves, a few shorter strands brushing his cheek when he tilted his head to listen to what the neighbors were playing. He tucked them back absentmindedly, the motion so natural it made your chest tighten for no good reason. There was something almost feline about him—like he could stretch out anywhere, claim any space without trying.
Satoru, of course, was Satoru. Loud laugh, bright grin, every word delivered like it deserved a spotlight. He was the kind of handsome that demanded attention, all sharp lines and easy confidence. Lean, striking, impossible to ignore. He filled the room effortlessly.
Suguru didn’t fill the room like he would if he was here.
He settled into it.
And somehow, that was worse.
Whenever they sat side by side, they were nearly the same height, both built in ways that made it obvious they took care of themselves—Satoru more lithe, Suguru broader, solid in a way that only really registered when you were this close. Close enough to notice the quiet strength in his shoulders when he leaned back against the couch. Close enough to catch the clean, subtle scent of him beneath the smoke.
When he spoke directly to you, his voice was lower than you remembered. Smooth. Unhurried. It slid over your skin, softened by the haze, and you had to fight the ridiculous urge to lean in closer just to hear him again.
You’d always said you didn’t get the appeal. That he was overrated. That his whole mysterious thing was overplayed.
But in the dim glow of the living room, with smoke drifting between you and the world feeling far away, you started to understand it.
He wasn’t a neon sign.
He was moonlight.
And you hated how much you were beginning to like the dark.
Shifting, your knee brushes his thigh. He doesn't pull away and neither do you. His heart kicks, once, hard. It would be so easy to lean in and you might not stop him if you're this comfortable with physical contact.
That damn blunt.
Your eyes flick to his mouth.
He feels it then—the almost-confession, pressing against his ribs, heavy on his tongue. The thing he's been refusing to name.
But thankfully you open your mouth and throw him a fucking curve ball.
“Guess we're in the same boat, huh?” You don't even give him a chance to ask what you mean. “We both want Satoru but can't have him.”
Bolting upright. Suguru rears back as if you slapped him, the lethargic haze from the weed evaporating like nail polish remover left unsealed.
Sputtering, he chokes on his spit. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”
Concerned, you pat his back both to ease his coughing and soothe him. “I mean, it was obvious! Only someone in love with the guy would fight so hard to chase me away. Classic best friends to lovers “and they were roommates” plot.”
You shake your head as if you're ridiculous for not seeing it sooner while he stares at you in horror. "You do know it's legal now, right?"
“No!” He cries as dramatic as his best friend and you almost jump.
“Huh?”
“I'm not in love with that idiot. Geez, he's pathetic at times! I care for the guy a lot but in a brotherly way.” All the snacks he scarfed down threaten to resurface as he questions his life decisions up until this moment. Did everyone think he was in love with Satoru? Fuck no.
Bursting out laughing at his panic, you throw your head back, the boisterous sound of your amusement echoing in the apartment. Suguru scowls at first but then his lips tremble and he laughs too.
“Oh my gosh, I totally misunderstood. Sorry,” you say through a fit of giggles.
Grabbing your phone, you sneakily cancel the order of a rainbow cake, balloons and a banner that said, "GAY IS OKAY!"
“Don't even think of telling him that,” Suguru warns, knowing it'd go to his best friend's head and he'd never hear the end of it.
You're laughing so hard the room shakes a little. You grab your orange juice to sip—but your hand slips and it spills down your chin and top. You groan, realizing you'd taken off your sweater earlier.
Suguru jumps up, grabbing tissues, and hands them over with a smirk. “Here, try not to drown.”
You snorted, accepting them, juice dripping onto the couch that's fortunately leather. “Thanks. I'm the epitome of grace.”
A strange thought flashes in his mind and he tries to shake it off like a dog would water but it's stubborn and refuses to pass. So he reaches out and stops you before you could wipe yourself.
Confused, your brows knit as you look up at him questioningly. Heavy-lidded, amethyst eyes hold yours and you're entranced as he sits back down, closer than before, body heat warming you despite the cold juice you spilled.
“Can I clean you up?” His voice is so soft and decadent that you wonder if your hearing has gone bad with how low it is.
With the pad of his thumb, he swipes the dribbling sweet drink off your chin, bringing it to his mouth to lick it off. Humming at the taste, he watches you intently, searching for any reluctance.
But you look as into it as he is if your blown pupils are anything to go by. He saw them dilate right now.
The air grows thin and fluffy like cotton candy the longer you stare at him, trying to figure out where he's going with this. However, you know exactly what he means just like the tendrils of attraction you tried to seal away in the back of your mind slither out from under the door you trapped them behind, creeping into your thoughts, the corners of your vision warming as your stomach swirls.
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Sure, okay.”
He chuckles, watching you fluster. The unacknowledged tension that’s always simmered between you feels warmer, closer, something neither can deny—but it’s all in the shared laughter, the messy chaos, and the accidental closeness.
There's no room for hesitation now, just impulse as he leans in, kissing along your jaw, tongue slipping out then moving lower on your neck, muscle flat against the column of it, warm and wet as he follows the line of dripping juice that's getting sticky now. Lips parting, an unbidden sigh comes out of your mouth.
The spaghetti strap of your tank top is inches away from falling off your shoulder and you're not bothered, not when there's a man lapping away at your skin, the scent of weed, mint and citrus invading your senses as Suguru swirls and glides his tongue across your chest, the tip dipping into your cleavage. He sucks and swipes, lips smacking lightly at times as he replaces all the sticky, tarty sweetness with his saliva that's cooling in the night air. Dreamy sighs flutter from you.
Moments later, you're on his lap, rocking over the stiff bulge in his pants, the fabric rustling with each roll of your hips against his. Big hands splay on your hips to guide you as his tongue dips into your mouth, humming at your buttery, candied taste that's tinged with earthy smoke while you suck on his. His cock kicks under you and your spit-slick lips split into a smile.
Nails digging into his chest, a cute little gasp hitches your breath as your clit catches on something. His tip perhaps. The man below you grins, nipping at your shoulder. He knew you were hitting his piercing, but didn't say anything, that would be a surprise for later.
Sucking hickeys below your collarbone until you're squirming, fingers tangling in his hair to yank him away, Suguru grunts in protest but relents, focusing on you grinding on his lap instead.
Massaging your waist apologetically, his heated expression is anything but sorry as he grabs fistfuls of your ass and drags you back and forth over the length on his throbbing cock, a pleased noise sounding in the back of his throat when he feels the flickering pulse of your clit.
Hips lifting, he bucks them, rolling them up to meet yours, your back arching as you press yourself down on him harder wanting to feel each and every vein and ridge that branches out on his thick shaft. The crotch of his pants is growing darker, damp with your arousal as your panty-clad pussy rubs over his confined cock.
Most of his long hair had fallen out of its bun, slightly bouncing whenever one of you gave a hard thrust. These may be his favorite pair of cargos but fuck, he hated them now for not letting him have his skin on yours. Though he had to admit it was satisfying watching your brows knot in frustration as you hump him, shifting this way and that to try and get closer.
The pace of your hips is sporadic as your pick and choose whatever rhythm that satiates your needy little clit. While he's struggling with the restraint of his bottoms, you're too occupied making yourself feel good to care. Typical. He didn't expect your feelings towards him to change overnight anyway.
So he decides to be a little mean as he swats your ass, making you jerk with a squeak. “This is what you wanted, right? Playing games to win my best friend over, driving me up the fucking wall all because you wanted a turn on his cock?”
Kiss-bitten lips curl into your mouth as your half-lidded eyes fix him with a glare that's not intimidating in the slightest. Not when you're a bunny in heat using him like a pillow.
“Still want it?” You shake your head and his chest puffs. “No? I haven't even started fucking you and you've already changed your mind? Fuck, you're a slut.”
Suguru thinks he's going to love this side of you. Messy hair, flushed, dewy face, mouth watering so much that you have to thin your lips so you don't drool as your brows pinch in concentration.
He can't take it anymore, unwilling to embarrass himself by coming in his pants with barely any friction. So he lifts you and unzip his pants, tugging down just enough so that his fattened clothed cock is free for you to rub down on. You do just that, wasting no time.
Panting breaths and barely hidden whiny noises emanate in the quiet living room. Blood roars in his ears and your heart pounds as you both stare down the line of your bodies, enraptured by the drag of your pussy against his cock, moans pouring from you both. It's slow and lazy then rushed and frantic and then you're coming with sparks behind your eyes.
Burying your face in his neck, you take gulps of his spicy, musky scent, breath condensing on his damp skin, licking over his pulse, sucking in the heartbeats. It's not long before your hips start moving again, eager to get him off as well.
Yet he stops you and you pull back to look at him.
Violet irises darken into something closer to the sky at dawn as he stares back at you. “Fuck, I can't come like this. Want to feel you around me.”
There's a question in his eyes, seeking permission that you're more than willing to give and he cracks a shaky smile. Fumbling with his boxers, he tugs out his cock that looks bigger than it felt and you gawk at how pretty it is as he lines it up with your entrance, coating it in your slick. Proportionate, girthy, slightly curved with a glossy pink tip and is that a bead of precum or a metal bead that the top—
A hard knock sounds on the door, rudely snapping you both out of your lustful dazes that seem to vanish into thin air. A snort and laugh follow, all too familiar as your gaze snaps to Suguru's, eyes just as wide as yours before you're scrambling off his lap and he's pulling his pants up, tucking his erection away. You're hastily tugging on your sweater after tying your hair, head getting stuck as you struggle to find the neck hole.
Cussing under his breath, Suguru reaches over and pulls it over your head and you gasp like you were suffocating. Pressing play on the movie that had paused, you click until it's fifty minutes in as Suguru and you sit on the far ends on the couch like you had when he first got here.
Satoru enters a few seconds after that. He'd forgotten that he took his own keys so didn't need Suguru to unlock the door for him. He scratches the back of his head as he walks over, clothes dotted with droplets of rain you only realise is still falling now, his hair damp.
“Ah, sorry, guys. I'm extremely late. The roads were hectic and I waited for the rain to calm down before trying to drive back,” he explains, looking remorseful.
“It's okay,” Suguru and you say at the same time before exchanging scowls.
Cerulean eyes dart from him to you and back, snowy brows bunching in confusion. “What happened? Why are you both all flushed and breathless?”
“We were fighting over the remote,” his best friend grumbles childishly.
Satoru buys it and laughs, shaking his head. “Gosh, you two are too much. I was worried that I'd come back to a crime scene but I'm glad I didn't.”
“You almost did,” you mutter, earning a glare from the other man while Satoru chuckles.
“Um, alright. Can you guys behave while I go shower? Gotta get out of these wet clothes before I start coughing and sneezing.”
“Sure,” you say with a nod.
That's certainly why he needs to shower, definitely not because the scent of sex clings to him almost as much as his sugary cologne and there's a red hickey winking at you from the neckline of his t-shirt.
Beaming, he heads off, a spring in his step as his damp ivory hair bounces, going to his room, completely smitten with his girlfriend and oblivious to the fact that your panties were pushed to the side moments ago and his best friend's cock was an inch inside you. Damn him for interrupting!
It's pouring outside, a perfect reason for you to stay over and sneak into Satoru's bedroom. That would have been your plans hours ago but now the door across from his seems way more tempting.
After Satoru's appearance, Suguru looks like he wants to bite you for what just happened and not in a hot way. Though you think you'll find it erotic regardless.
To your surprise, he comes to the guestroom later, the moonlight casting the room in a blue glow as your shadows dance across the wall, two bodies becoming one, whispers and sighs of pleasure covered by the showering downpour, the roll of thunder and revealed by the occasional flash of lightning.
note: think this is my longest fic yet. why is it giving twelve-episode romance anime? 😭
this isn't a sukuna fic so do let me know if some of you'd rather not be tagged: @getopilleds @peachygelic @kaagrwl @uncagedwings @shamelessdancer @sukusdoll @aspinny @thebl00dwyrm @emluvsgetou @poisonnuggies @zenaskull @liliklei @wwasabiiiii @bruleecream @batcatgal @sunabff @icebearcucumber @emluvsgetou @vm4879bb-blog @pjselee
LOWKENUINLY excited for this series this is my first frat fic hope you guys enjoy!!! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜
[ongoing series]
A girl presses a shot glass to his bicep.
He flexes like this is what he’s here for.
She tips it back without spilling.
The room erupts. Someone starts chanting his name.
You’ve seen this before.
You’re across the kitchen island, watching him soak it in.
One of the guys near him leans in and says something that makes the circle laugh. He glances past them—past the noise—and answers without looking away from the crowd.
“She’s not going anywhere.”
You don’t know what he said.
You just know he didn’t look for you.
Another girl slips into his space like the circle makes room for her automatically. He leans down so she can say something in his ear.
He laughs.
He doesn’t look across the room.
Beside you, someone nudges your arm.
“You gonna shoot your shot or just keep staring?”
You blink.
They’re not talking to him.
They’re talking to you.
You set your drink down without looking at him.
You slip into the crowd, squeezing past shoulders and raised cups.
He’s leaning against the far wall, drink untouched in his hand.
You stop in front of him.
“Fake date me.”
He looks at you once.
“When do we start.”
He says it like you asked him what time it is.
You didn’t expect him to take your plan so seriously.
Or to start immediately—his hand sliding to your waist.
And not even look at you first.
His hand stays at your waist as he pushes off the wall.
He doesn’t ask if you’re ready.
He just walks.
You have half a second to keep up.
Then—
“No way,” someone whistles.
Geto doesn’t react.
His hand stays at your waist as he steers you past the kitchen.
Past the couch.
He stops directly across from Gojo.
He doesn’t say anything.
He just watches.
He’s watching you, not him.
This was your idea.
So why does it feel like you just lost control?
You look right back.
Gojo smiles like this is temporary.
The chanting dies down when he steps away from the island.
He crosses the room like he was already planning to.
People shift without being asked.
He doesn’t look at Geto first. He stops just outside his space and looks at you.
“That’s who you’re betting on?”
You hold his gaze.
“Yeah.”
He steps closer.
“You’re not that bored.” His voice drops.
That’s when he catches your wrist—firm, not rough.
“Talk to me.”
You don’t pull away.
You glance down at his hand on your wrist, then back up at him.
“I am.”
His grip tightens slightly.
“Not here.”
He keeps hold of your wrist long enough to steer you out of the noise.
The music dulls the second you turn the corner.
He lets go first, then faces you.
The hallway is narrow. There’s nowhere else to look but at him.
“You’re serious.”
Not a question.
He lifts a brow, watching your face for hesitation. He doesn’t find any.
“You’re actually choosing him.”
“Yes.”
He exhales through his nose.
“You’ve never looked at me like that before.”
His eyes move over your face like he’s trying to place something.
“You’ve never given me a reason to.”
You don’t wait for him to answer.
You walk back toward the noise.
The music swells as soon as you turn the corner.
Geto sees you before you reach him.
He doesn’t ask what he said.
He looks at you.
His hand slides from your waist to your ass and squeezes once.
Your hand comes down over his and presses, holding it there.
Mornings with baby daddy Sukuna after giving birth.
Domestic, fluff, suggestive 🍼
Morning with your husband have never been quiet. Not because of noise but because of his presence.
You wake at five a.m., the sky still dark, the world hushed like it’s holding its breath. Your body moves before your mind does, practiced now. Two months postpartum and motherhood has etched routine into your bones. You rise slowly from the bed, the soft cotton of your maxi dress whispering against your legs, hips swaying with that familiar, lingering pregnancy walk you haven’t quite lost yet.
Sukuna’s arm slips from around you. Not because he’s asleep. Because he’s always aware for the love of his life.
You feel his gaze follow you even before you turn back. He’s propped against the headboard, massive frame relaxed but alert, eyes half-lidded and sharp as ever. Seven feet of power contained in bare skin and lazy attention. To the outside world, he’s terror incarnate.
But to you? He’s watching to make sure you don’t strain yourself.
“You’re up,” he says quietly.
The baby stirs in his crib.
Your baby.
Yuji, round, warm, impossibly soft. Pink hair already unruly, cheeks so chubby they strain his little expressions, eyes wide and dark and yours. Sukuna’s genetics stamped him boldly, but those eyes soften everything.
“Morning Suki,” you whisper fondly, brushing a thumb along his cheek.
Sukuna hears it.
His mouth twitches.
He likes that name more than he’ll ever admit. You feed Yuji in the low light, rocking gently. The house smells like milk and sleep and warmth. Sukuna stands nearby, arms crossed, watching like a sentry. His gaze flicks between you and the baby: protective, possessive, something deeper.
“Tch,” he mutters when Yuji fusses louder. “He knows.”
You glance up. “Knows what?”
“Whenever I try to make a move on ya,” Sukuna replies flatly. “I swear this kid’s doing it on purpose.”
You laugh softly.
Jealousy looks strange on the king of curses but with Sukuna, it’s quiet. Controlled. It shows in the way he steps closer, the way his hand settles at your lower back as if grounding himself.
When Yuji finally settles, you return to bed.
Sukuna pulls you in immediately. His arm wraps around your belly. Instinctive, familiar hand spreading wide, thumb moving in slow, circular strokes that say you’re safe, you’re here, I’ve got you. He presses his mouth to your neck, kisses laid there like punctuation.
You sigh.
“You still do that, I’m not pregnant anymore.” you murmur.
“Because it works,” he says simply.
He breathes you in. Deep. Like scent matters. Like you matter.
“You walk the same,” he adds suddenly. You smile faintly. “I do?”
“Yes.” His hand tightens just slightly. “Slow. Careful. Like your body remembers carrying him.”
There’s something reverent in his voice. Pride without words.
“I like it,” he admits.
Morning grows brighter.
Breakfast is domestic chaos done quietly. You sit at the table in oversized pyjamas now because Yuji threw up some milk on your night dress, hair wild, lips still flushed from sleep, skin glowing without effort. Sukuna moves through the kitchen like he’s the best daddy in the world. Garbage taken out. Counter wiped. Bottles warmed. Yuji cradled against his chest with surprising ease.
Anyone who saw him like this wouldn’t believe the stories. Sukuna feeds Yuji with careful focus, watching his tiny mouth, adjusting his grip, murmuring under his breath when milk dribbles down those ridiculous cheeks.
“Greedy,” he mutters affectionately.
Yuji gurgles.
“See?” Sukuna says. “He gets that from me.”
You watch from the doorway, heart full.
Later, you move around the house folding laundry, straightening things, existing in that soft domestic rhythm that still feels unreal sometimes. Sukuna follows you like gravity. Not hovering. Just there.
Every time you pass him, his hand finds you.
Your waist.
Your lower back.
Your belly.
Always grounding. Always claiming.
“You’re in my way,” you tease when he crowds you at the counter.
“I don’t care,” he replies calmly, nudging his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it’s necessary. “You smell so good and feel so soft. It’s not my fault.”
“Suki,” you sigh. “You’re distracting.”
“Good.”
He presses a kiss just below your ear, lingering. His arms encircle you easily, your smaller frame fitting against him like it was designed that way.
“I love you,” he says suddenly, voice low, unguarded. “You given me everything, woman.”
You lean back into his chest.
Outside, people fear him. They stare when you walk beside him—tiny next to his towering frame, hand lost in his. They see danger.
They don’t see this.
They don’t see how he watches your slow steps.
How he softens when you’re tired.
How he gets jealous of his own son and laughs at himself for it. How he treats you like something precious and earned.
And Sukuna?
He has never been more certain of anything in his life than this:
You.
This home.
This soft, feral, domestic morning are his greatest victories.
݁˖𝜗ৎ hockey player sukuna gets a lovesick case of frostbite
pairing: hockey player!sukuna x figure skater!reader
contains: UNEDITED, fluff, figure skating, hockey team nonsense, mentions of fights and blood, uncle sukuna, nephew yuji
words: 2k (not bad)
note: this was a drabble idea sent in my inbox and while i don't take requests, i thought it was cute! so here you go anon <3 art by su2kuna!
Ice. You've loved it for as long as you could remember. It framed your earliest core memories with frosted, intricate edges with swirls of baby blue snowflakes as your toddler self bubbled with giggles in your mother's arms. She'd laughed with you, cradling you within the safety of her warm embrace as she glided over the frosted lake just outside your holiday home as your father clapped and cheered, voice carried over by the gentle breeze.
It's where you witnessed your parents, so very in love with each other, skate together like a pair of elegant swans courting each other, bundled up in white coats and scarfs that may as well have been feathers, faces reddened from affection as much as the cold, their breaths curling into wispy hearts as you recorded them.
You had laced your first pair of skates before you could properly tie your own shoes. By six, you were gliding. By nine, you were competing. By sixteen, the world knew your name.
To you, the ice glows pale blue under the lights, smooth and glassy like a frozen sky waiting to be written on, and when you step onto it the first glide feels like exhaling—your blade whispering across the surface, carving thin white lines as the cold air kisses your cheeks and speed gathers effortlessly beneath you. It is firm but alive under your edges, springing you into jumps and catching your landings with a sharp, honest kiss, so that skating on it feels less like moving across something solid and more like flying just inches above a mirror that knows you completely.
Audiences loved you for your versatility. One season you were all soft blush and bashful glances, skating to delicate piano concertos, embodying first love with shy smiles and fluttering lashes. The next, you prowled across the ice in crimson silk and smoky eyeliner, every step deliberate, every glance a dare, smirks lascivious. Commentators called you “chameleonic.” Critics called you “fearless.” Fans simply said you had “duality.”
Now, at twenty-seven, the medals were boxed away in velvet cases in the back of your closet. Retirement had come quietly after a lingering ankle injury and a final standing ovation that lasted long enough to make you cry on live television. You hadn’t disappeared, though. Legends hardly ever did.
Instead, you traded sequins for sleek black leggings and a whistle around your neck. You coached rising stars with the same relentless precision that once defined your own training. Albeit with a maternal touch as you experienced the pressure of the industry firsthand and defended your students when need be.
Twice a week, you taught ballet in the mirrored studio above the rink, correcting posture with gentle hands and sharper words. Your prodigies adored you as you did them. Parents trusted you. The rink felt like home in a way the roaring arenas never quite had.
Sukuna was the opposite of quiet.
Massive, broad-shouldered, permanently scowling beneath his helmet, he was professional hockey’s golden boy—captain, leading scorer, owner of a highlight reel that seemed to grow by the week. His record was obscene. His fan base, feral. Interviews painted him as cocky, blunt, occasionally insufferable. He wore arrogance like a second jersey.
You've seen him. Blush pink hair, tattoos highlight the sharp planes of his scarily handsome face, invasive carmine eyes. There was blood smeared across his face and dripping from his mouth more times than you'd seen it clean but that fanged smile never wavered.
It was difficult to be unaware of a presence as large as his. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, underwear ads and even slapped onto the ramen noodles you liked as well as your favorite energy drink..
Naturally, you had crossed paths for years at shared training facilities, international tournaments and the Olympics. Figure skaters and hockey players lived in parallel worlds divided by boards and temperament. He’d always nodded at you with infuriating amusement, like he knew something you didn’t. You'd dismissed him as loud, overconfident, another brute who thought grace was a weakness.
“How embarrassing. Do better, boys,” you had drawled once when you passed his team in the hallway, the conservative pricks of the group talking down to the female hockey team, telling them to come to the after party with less than respectful looks—all sleazy smiles and wolfish gazes.
Halting in your tracks when he arrived, shooting the culprits a withering scowl that promised punishment for their sexism and lack of good sportsmanship. They gulped and sputtered apologies to the women they offended.
A hand came down on his shoulder, downturned expression faltering as he looked to his side and saw you.
“A full face cage would do you barbarians some good,” you told him with a nod to his swollen cheek and busted lip.
That certainly wasn't praise or a compliment in the slightest but what's a young man to do when the girl he harbored feelings for for a better part of a decade touches him and talks to him at the same time?
If anything, he took it as you calling him good-looking and telling him not to damage that moneymaker of his. The pink-haired hulk of a man gave you a dopey, crooked grin, scarlet irises swirling rose gold as his pupils morphed into little hearts. Not that you noticed as you'd just shook your head in disappointment and sauntered off.
What you hadn’t known—what he had never quite managed to tell you—was that he had been half in love with you since he was fifteen and watched you win gold with tears on your cheeks.
He’d assumed it was a phase. An admiration born of proximity and admiration. It had faded when schedules separated you, when headlines about your boyfriends surfaced, when he buried himself in playoffs and championships.
Until the Saturday he brought his eight-year-old nephew to your rink.
“Uncle ‘Kuna, that’s her,” Yuji whispered loudly from beside the boards, eyes wide as you demonstrated a slow spin for a cluster of tiny skaters wobbling on rental blades.
He hadn’t prepared for the way his chest tightened. You looked different without stage makeup and glittering costumes. Softer. Real. Your hair was in a loose braid, your laugh easy as one of your students clung to your arm after they nearly fell on their butts.
You only noticed him when the lesson ended. Your posture went rigid for half a second before you smoothed it away.
“If you’re here to critique edge work,” you called dryly, “you’re about ten years too late.”
He barked out a surprised laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I'm like a newborn fawn on those things”
His nephew tugged on his sleeve. “She’s the best skater ever,” he informed him solemnly.
“I know,” he said before he could stop himself.
You blinked at the sincerity in his voice then looked at his nephew who was a sweeter, softer version of the brick wall beside him. Instantly, you knew you'd come to adore the kid.
Yuji enrolled in beginner classes that afternoon.
His uncle started showing up every week, at first under the excuse of bonding time as if he didn't bicker with his brother, insisting that he'd fetch Yuji after classes. He leaned against the boards, bulging arms folded, watching carefully as you adjusted his nephew’s stance, praising small victories like they were Olympic medals. Sometimes you caught him watching you instead, his usual smirk replaced with something quieter.
It was his nephew who forced conversation.
“Uncle says you skate like a swan. He says you're like Odette whenever we watch the movie,” he blurted one evening.
Your brows shot up. “Does he?”
He shifted, suddenly less composed but his face was on fire. “You do,” he muttered. “Always have.”
You studied him differently after that. Not as the cocky captain with a million followers and an ego to match—but as the man who stayed late to help his nephew retie skates, who listened intently when you'd explained the discipline of ballet and how it may help his rusty teammates, who admitted he’d rewatched your old programs before big games because they calmed his nerves.
“You?” you teased softly one night. “Calmed?”
He huffed. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”
The more they talked, the more the edges of him softened. The arrogance wasn’t cruelty, it was armor. The bravado, habit. Beneath it was someone startlingly earnest, almost shy in the face of you.
You found yourself laughing with him in the empty stands after lessons, your shoulders brushing. Found yourself watching his games, recognizing the same artistry in the way he carved across ice that you once felt in your own routines.
Newborn fawn, my ass, you thought.
It was the nephew who finally took matters into his own hands. Encouraged by watching you two warm up to each other and spurred on by the secrets he couldn't keep to himself.
Snapping his fingers—hardly because it doesn't make a noise—he gasps as if he had a Eureka moment one day after class, pointing at you then blinking up at his confused uncle frowning at him.
“Wait, isn't she the pretty fairy from the posters on your wa—”
“Aha,” Sukuna laughs, squeezing his nephew's shoulders with a pointed, warning look that Yuji has learned not to fuck with over the years. “Shouldn't you go take off your skates and change?”
Yuji takes the opportunity to flee, knowing he may get an earful later. Sukuna watches him going, cussing colourfully in his mind as he avoids your stare with the worst attempt at indifference ever.
His nose wrinkles when he's been caught, something you've come to recognize. It makes you snicker as you look down at your shoes, stifling your amusemnent.
“My posters on your wall, huh?”
A distressed noise comes from his throat. “It's stupid. I was younger and—”
Waving a hand, you gave him an easy smile that visibly eased the tension in his shoulders. “Don't sweat it. It's cute.”
There was a moment of silence that stretched between you—comfortable and cozy—as you regarded each other. You feel as if you're seeing him for the first time and he's accepting the fact that his feelings never faded, just laid dormant.
“You two are obviously in love,” Yuji declared one afternoon, hands on his hips while you both were locked into one of those lingering stares yet again.
Startled, you both stared at him in identical horror.
“We are not,” you insisted.
The hockey player crossed his arms defensively. “Kid—”
“You look at her like she hung the moon,” the boy continued, unimpressed. “And she smiles at you like she’s not annoyed anymore.”
That quietest you two until Sukuna's clicking his tongue, lip curled up as he tells the eight-year-old to stop reading so many fairytales with his mum.
He glanced at you, suddenly stripped of every ounce of swagger. “I did have a crush on you,” he admitted quietly.
You arch a brow at the past tense. “Did?”
Tattoos crinkling, he smiles but it comes off more as a painful grimace like he does if he gets injured during a game.
“Do!” He blurts.
Blinking in surprise at his enthusiasm, you huff. “Do?”
“Still do. Probably worse now.”
Your heart did something inconvenient and fluttery. “I thought you hated me,” you admitted, flitting through your memories to see if you had missed any signs that made it obvious.
Just as you thought, there were none.
What else was a girl to think when some aggressive hockey player packed with muscle and unstable hormones would glower and frown at her from across the room growing up? You swear he looked like he wanted to bite you and not the nice kind of biting but rather like a tiger clamping its jaws down on the neck of a gazelle and shaking it violently, skin and blood flying everywhere.
“I was terrified,” he corrected. The guy had never had a crush before, he didn't know how to act.
That, more than anything, undid you.
You had spent your life performing love stories on ice—bashful and breathless, sultry and dangerous. But this felt different. Unchoreographed. Unscored. Real.
You stepped closer, close enough to see the flicker of hope in his eyes.
“For the record,” you said, “you’re much sweeter than I expected.”
His grin, when it came, was boyish and triumphant all at once like your praise rendered him back into that fifteen-year-old who watched you, positively awestruck.
Behind you, his nephew pumped a fist into the air like he’d just scored the winning goal.
Yeah, he's definitely getting ice cream tonight, that Optimus Prime figure that's unreasonably expensive for his birthday and the newest gaming console for Christmas. Sukuna didn't give two shits if Jin chewed him out for spoiling the little brat.
And in a rink that had witnessed your greatest triumphs and hardest falls, you began something entirely new—no spotlight required.
you have bewitched me. i could not possibly fathom a world without you in it. you are all i think about, night and day. to be without you would be like the night sky having no moonlight and no stars to brighten it. you own my soul. my heart. my body. it is yours. i will crawl on my bare hands and knees to you. we are many miles apart and my heart aches to be near you. i yearn for you to be in my presence. you are the most scrumptious woman i have ever laid eyes upon, and i am most lucky to have you as my wife.
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