kags supremacy

k - later 20s - setter squad vibes

[blancxr]

please and thank you ೃ༄* suna rintaro

content: roommate!suna x fem!reader, smau, timeskip (suna plays for ejp raijin), mostly fluff, swearing, mentions of drinking, slight miscommunication, very ooc, down bad suna bc yeah

*note: the text with komori is in suna's pov !!

[mayegasm]

ᢉ𐭩 cuddling with your two boyfriends

" he's so loud.. " 𝓶egumi grumbled into your nape, annoyance prominent in his tone.

𝔂uji was snoring loudly, large bulky arms draped over you and megumi's waist as a result of his rather uncontrolled sleeping habits of moving around a lot. his head rested on your bra, mouth agape and drool pooling in your cleavage. " it's annoying. "

" when are you not annoyed by something? " you asked, combing through his pink strands. you felt his hands tighten around your waist, squeezing gently. he just let out a low hum at your statement — not confirming nor denying.

time passed, yuji's snores turned into hiccups as he prepared for a yawn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "g'morning..." the kiss he put on your lips was lazy and gentle, full of sleep.

"morning, yuu. how'd you sleep?" he murmured a "good" against your lower lip before kissing you again, your hands molding his face gently. yuji loved your attention when he first woke up, it was the most awaited thing once he opened his eyes. it was simply routine.

megumi watched over your shoulder, leaning up on his elbow. he didn't say anything, just... observed. he had that familiar, faint dent in between his dark, thin eyebrows. he looked the same as he always did, but more annoyed than just plain grumpy. yuji eyed him, curious but in a teasing way. " jealous? "

" stop, " he got a hold on your jaw, turning you to face him. yuji stuck his tongue out at him, which megumi saw out the corner of his eye but chose not to comment on. " you haven't given me any kisses today. "

" yes, i have, " you corrected.

" mm, " he kissed where your jaw met your earlobe, trailing down to the corner of your lips. " it sounds like you have favorites to me, " he murmured.

" told you. he's jealous! " megumi pushed two fingers to his forehead, moving him back to prevent the chances of his interrogation of your favoritism being interrupted. you hadn't taken megumi to be the jealous type at all, if you were being completely honest, but you weren't complaining at all.

you puckered your lips. " no. you come get a kiss. i'm not kissing you. "

" ooh, picky. " yuji's commentary got him a pinch.

you gave into his demands with a slight laugh — there was only so far you could push megumi to be outwardly needy for affection. the kiss was special in comparison to your other kisses. more sweet, more savory, more apologetic for the fact that he was accusing you of favoritism. your hand gripped his jaw, tongues brushing against each other, relishing in the aftertaste of each other's chapstick.

they were both your favorites — your lovely boys to kiss, to love, to do anything and everything with. you pressed kisses to both their faces, alternating.

"you're both my favorites."

taglist :: @nonchalantfiend @kissthesword @1cckedheart @alex-021222 @catboygumi @leviackermanswaifu @sstorule @starlightwater @vanillaapples @velvetjpg @amix28 @hollowedv @whatthehellybronjames @stqrgumi @lilfluffybunny @razzleeeee @incandescent-night @megumour @stillsearching1name @sugerfilled @megumisrighttoe @brookeleanne @josuni @kalihrts @catgvrl @qrxswan @megurei @fushigurlfriend @iluvfictionalmen4eva @ilovejollofrice @hanawoof @stqrgumi @skeepingsecrets @sneak2013 @ferliouscupcake @dreamydaredevil @satorugojo-is-hot @jennyistrendy @fushigummy @skeepingsecrets @meganthestallionswife @chaosiskeycauseiamchaos @megssleepygirl @anqii @paincakezzz @tengensbigtiddies @cave-dweller4eva @luvrs-isle + join taglist in pinned !

[showhay]

helping tobio with english

fluff

kageyama is famously bad at english, which is why you currently find yourself trapped in his kitchen on a saturday afternoon, staring at a vocabulary sheet that looks like it’s been through a war. kageyama is sitting across from you, his pencil gripped so tightly in his fist it looks like it’s about to snap in half.

​“the word is relationship, tobio,” you point to the paper. “use it in a sentence.”

​“the ball has a good relationship with my hand,” he says instantly, his face deadpan.

​“no. a human sentence. like... people.”

​kageyama scowls, dropping the pencil onto the table with a heavy thud. he slumps back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like the alphabet personally insulted his lineage. “this is stupid. volleyball doesn’t require words. you just look at the ball and you hit it.”

​“if you fail the mock exam next week, coach ukai won’t let you play in the qualifiers,” you remind him quietly.

​the threat works instantly. kageyama bolts upright, his eyes wide with an absolute, primal terror. he looks at the vocabulary sheet, then looks across the table at you—the way you’re leaning your chin on your palm, looking tired but patient, your hair messy from sitting inside all day.

​he clears his throat, his face turning a sudden, violent shade of pink. he picks up his pencil, his fingers trembling slightly as he writes something down, his large frame hunching over the paper to hide it from your view.

​“done,” he mutters, shoving the notebook toward you.

​you look down. in messy, jagged handwriting, he’s written: i want to get in a relationship with y/n because i like her more than milk.

​you look up, feeling your own face burning. “tobio...”

​“it’s a correct sentence,” he barks out defensively, his hands slamming flat onto the table as he stands up, his entire face, neck, and ears a uniform dark red. “the grammar is right! i checked it twice! so don’t tell me it’s wrong!” (he looks like he wants to cry).

n: i could never pick a layout ;(

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[auelisse-deactivated20260603]

in stream, bro?

kenma has downloaded tomodachi life for the stream! definitely just to review it for the viewers! definitely.

post-timeskip, fem!reader, kenma is referred as “kodzuken” from chat, viewers does not know his real name, kenma goes live, fluff, hidden from public (well not for long lol), established relationship, hopelessly inlove with you btw.

his viewers does not know about his 6 months relationship.

user1 : HES ON EHS ON HES ON HES ON

user2 : he looks so good omg??

user3 : tomodachi life stream?? holyyyy

the chat flooded the moment he went on stream, the live titled “tomodachi life”— the viral game currently trending almost everywhere. when he loaded in, he customized his mii as a very unaccurate version of himself, just keeping his golden eyes and black hair as a hint. “what should we name him?” he asked, despite knowing what he’ll name it anyways. the name came up to him as “kenma”, where he argued the name was cutely fitting for the character.

user4 : HELLO KENMAAA

user5 : IT FITS HIM SMM

of course it does, it’s his name.

as they progressed into the game, he decided to make hinata, kuroo, and eventually adding another character when he said; “i’m gonna make another character to pair it with kenma.” he simply announced, and silently making you. the same eyes, hair, details in your face that he carved nicely; memorizing it as if it was imprinted in his memories, and it’s too detailed that some viewers is catching on quick.

user6 : aww she’s adorbss, btw is this guy using a reference or smth bro just points every detail possible as if memorizing something

user7 : wait hol on user6 is cooking but ngl look at hinata & kuroo, they’re practically the same in their rl lol

it was oddly quiet for a bit till he got into the name menu, “any suggestions for her name?” he reads the chat, feigning the act as once again, he already knows what the character’s name is gonna be; and then one comment stands out the most.

(username) : (name)!!

he paused for a second as he saw your comment on top of thousands, you must’ve catched on that he was making you and him together. a smile catched him almost as fast as he stopped it. “i saw someone said (name), i think that’s a perfect name.” he typed the name into the character. the personality came next, where he adjusted it as what he thinks you act like.

“okay, welcome (name) to the island.” he announced to the live as they spammed on the chat, “now let’s see what’s gonna happen when the miis get together.” it took him several hours to get them together; fast to make them fall in love, somehow incredibly long to get them to get married that he was almost irritated. the chat was laughing at when he was complaining.

user8 : kodzu isn’t having any form of chill 😭😭

user9 : relax ur not even ready for the minigame.

“what minigame.” his eye twitched as the chat spammed laughing stickers again, he has had enough cause this game has took six hours. and while he did manage to get them to be sweethearts in that time, although it’s pretty accurate seeing the first one to fall and who was incredibly inlove in the game was him. it was so bad that some viewers catched him smiling in the camera as he looked at the two’s interaction.

and eventually, after more hours, the two mii’s finally got the wants to marry status. and after his mii proposed (with a minigame that he didn’t think was hard), the two got married and the cutscene happened. and while so, he was smiling like an idiot. not noticing the chat going insane of his current expression that’s too happy as if he just won a ranked match, the difference is that this one is a dumb simulation that just happens to have his girlfriend named there.

user10 : i’m starting to think this a secret relationship planted into the game LMAO but that’s just a theory!!!

user11 : i wonder what’s going on that mind of his..

noticing he was smiling that hard, he coughed out. “what else can we do after they got married?” the chat spammed “baby” he paused, a little flushed as he imagined that scenario but coughed it off as he said, “oh, alright. and i’ll probably name it after our cat.” slip off. whoops. he just hoped nobody heard that because he is trying so hard to not make a reaction, but of course, nope.

user12 : IT???

user13 : STOP W THE IT, DID HE SAY OUR??

user14 : kodzuken has a gf real???

user15 : ngl i thought he was js like a smelly streamer that is womenless 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

the chat was loud. when he saw the last comment made him slightly offended but he let out a quiet sigh, didn’t address it one bit for a couple of minutes— besides, knowing his fans they’re gonna find out about you one day or another; and it could be today from his slip up. so with nothing else to say, he just shrugged. “i got a girlfriend, yeah.”

the chat was getting loud and louder. when a notification came; from you. “what a slip off LMAOOO” and without any shame, he pointed the notification that had your nickname on the contact to the camera. “look, she’s laughing at it. everyone start hating on her.” he joked and smiled lightly, he could notice some that stopped chatting perhaps of the jealousy that he has a girlfriend but there’s thousands that supporting it.

and from that stream is how they knew kenma is his real name & the existence of his girlfriend that he loves so dearly much.

[hckzee]

miya osamu used to laugh at people claiming they "fell in love at first sight," until it happened to him.

it was his first year at inarizaki high, and he needed to have his and atsumu's application forms signed by the vice principal—which was stupid in his mind since it wasn't like they were going to be going out of campus every single campus. but he really wanted to join the club (plus atsumu was there and he doesn't have the heart to leave his twin just yet).

speaking of his twin brother, he was currently stuck in the restroom, fighting for his life after drinking spoiled milk.

and so, here he was about to knock on the vice prinicpal's door, mouth already open to excuse himself, before a loud scream echoed from inside the room. "The hell do ya mean denied?!" the voice was shrill and obviously upset about something, yet there was a strange tug from osamu's heart when he heard it.

another voice soon followed. this one was more mellow and on the quieter side. "senpai! don't yell at the vice principal!"

the vice principal's voice agreed. "listen to yer kohai, [last name]-san, it'll do ya some good."

osamu blinked, pocketing the surname he had heard for future purposes. he looked at his outstretched hand, ready to knock on the door. then, at the door itself, which hid the screaming match from him. then, back at his hand again.

he placed his hand back to his side and pressed his ear on the door.

"'m sorry but i don't agree to this decision at all!" you shouted.

"good thing my word's the decision then," the vice principal hummed.

"we're sorry, vice principal—"

"no!" you intervened, cutting off your kohai. "'ve been tryna make ta bakin' club legit since last year, but ya always turn us down."

osamu's interest was immediately piqued. baking club? inarizaki high doesn't have a baking club? why was that?

"an' i've been tellin' ya since last year: just enter the cookin' club."

a strangled cry came from you, which was followed by your kohai trying to calm you down.

"vice principal, bakin' is a science!" you declared. a loud bang and a startled yelp echoed. "we cannot be share space with the cookin' club 'cuz we'll be fightin' for every single ingredient, utensil, an' equipment!"

"[lastname]-senpai!"

osamu backed away from the door as a scuffle seemed to be happening inside. damn, you're really into baking to be fighting this hard for a club, huh? his heartbeat quickened as he continued to listen to your passionate monologue about how baking is superior to cooking (which he would have to disagree; they were both hard to do), how the baking club needed it's own space to cultivate, and how you'll never reach your potential if you were stuck doing omelets for the remainder of your high school life.

honestly, osamu was rooting for you to win... unfortunately, it seemed that you really angered the vice principal.

"that's it! a week suspension for ya, [lastname]-san! reflect on yer actions an' maybe i'll entertain yer idea."

"ya've been sayin' that since last year too!"

the door suddenly slid open and osamu swore his breathe just got stolen away. you looked absolutely radiant—too beautiful to put into words. even with a deep scowl on your perfect face, you'd managed to quicken his heartbeat like he had just finished a whole three sets of volleyball. when your sharp eyes landed on him, he corrected his posture, praying that his hair was having a good day and that there wasn't any seaweed stuck between his teeth.

though, before he could greet or have the chance to flirt with you, you sneered, "what'cha lookin' at, ugly ass dust feather?"

he blinked, caught off-guard by your insult.

yet he wasn't really offended by it. oh no, more like his heart soared through the air, backflipped in space, and crash-landed back into his chest. you were not only pretty, a baker (he assumed), and a mean senpai at that?

damn, you were a package deal!

you didn't bother apologising, turning to walk down the hallway, hair swaying with each step. after you, your kohai left the room, an exasperated look on her face as she bowed to osamu. "'m sorry! [lastname]-senpai didn't mean ta insult ya, i swear!"

again, before he could even speak, your kohai ran after you, scolding you for your brash behaviour.

osamu could only watch as you disappear from the hallway. his lips moved on its own, mouthing your surname like a prayer to the gods as his grip on his and atsumu's application forms tightened.

he wondered how piss his twin would be if he decided to switch to a none existent club.

is it cliche to use a baker! reader with osamu. yes. do i regret it. absolute not lmao

[oikyawa]

requested ۶ৎ | keiji akaashi doesn’t like how popular you are.

you’re really popular at fukurōdani academy.

everyone in the school knows your name, and probably what you look like too.

but akaashi doesn’t like it.

sure he’s happy that everyone likes you, or at least almost everyone.

but he doesn’t like that you’re always swarmed by people the second you’re not in any of your classes.

you could step one foot out of your classroom, and there’d already be ten students around you, offering to carry your bag and offering you water.

it’s not because they happen to be at your classroom fast enough, it’s because they ditch the last ten minutes of class to be at your beck and call first.

or you’re at lunch, munching on an apple with people surrounding you, watching really intently how you eat an apple, like they’ve never seen a girl eat an apple before.

he doesn’t get it.

he doesn’t get why people have to be around you all the time, even if it’s just breating the same air as you.

yes you’ve got the whole package, you’re pretty, smart, unbelievably funny, and you’re so nice. you would barely hurt a fly.

but he’s a little blind sided considering he’s your boyfriend of three years. of course you’re the prettiest girl to him, you always have been.

and he knows how lucky he is to have you, considering almost every student at school would kill to date you.

your locker is always filled with love letters, with undying confessions in them that are a little too extra.

‘keiji, catch everything that’s about to fall out of my locker.’ you tell akaashi, taking a breath before opening your locker in a swift move.

you’d been sick at home for the past two days, so the regular amount of letters you get, have tripled.

there are a lot, of envelopes. and akaashi manages to catch most of them with the trash bag he’s holding, no other bag would fit this many letters.

and along with too many letters, there’s also a handful of plushies. ones that you will be keeping, a facemask, and a small pot with medicine in it.

that’s definitely one of the most random items you’ve gotten.

‘this would’ve been useful two days ago,’ you mumble, fetching the things you actually need out of your locker.

‘there’s still a letter in there,’ akaashi says, his hand brushing past yours as he grabs the letter in the corner of your locker.

‘oh, thanks.’ he hands you the letter, and your breath hitches at the handwriting on the envelope.

it’s akaashi’s hand writing.

your name is written in cursive, perfectly centered and neat.

‘a letter?’ your gaze flicks between him and the letter, turning it around to see the stamp being your initials, along with tiny hearts.

‘open it when you’re alone, call me after.’ he smiles softly, tying the trash bag and slinging it over his shoulder, quickly going to the trash bin to throw it out.

the only letters you should read are his, not from some stupid guy who’s only trying to get in your pants.

akaashi would rather you never get any other letters than the ones he writes you, but that’s out of the question.

a/n: i scrambled this together in 20 minutes with christmas music playing, also the end is a little half assed i’m sorry 😢

tags: @akaashiit, @blythmourning, @bakugosgrenade, @bookworm-center, @levisotakugf, @wellitseugi, @badtzmai, @returntothefae, @noyamlv, @charukii, @amisuh, @z9mbo, @showhay, @wowbyselene, @heavybit3rr, @kotarosangel, @kpopmultistans, @girlwithanattitude, @eclipsedivan, @imgonnashartmyself, @listentothemelody00, @dearestelsie, @scarymygodurdivine, @an1ki3gai, @kagstobioisthelightofmylife, @qrxswan, @wave2cal, @tdntu0, @n0vawrit3s, @s1ckntw1st3d, @imagoodwriter, @jinshigooner, @haniipie, @skz143nstuff, @venusdreamr, @st3rdust7, @cwinxclub, @superswagboi05, @creamelon, @xyyyulat, @shookykookie30, @misasprout, @https-kasley, @jojo23allegra, @katsukisser, @etiolie, @miismelater, @sunnysideupx5, @thickthighsthickthighs, @sickenedhonesty

fill in this form, to be added to my taglist

[akaamarin]

Yuji rocking them lighting mcqueen

[seumyo]

husband!iwaizumi thinks you’re hot (literally).

You’ve just gotten cozy in bed when your husband tells you, “You’re hot.”

“Thank you?” you replied, confused. “I’m not really in the mood tonight, though…”

Iwaizumi looked at you as if you’d grown another head. His brows are drawn together, mirroring your confusion.

“What? No, love, you’re hot.”

“I know I’m hot, Haji. You told me. And I told you I’m not in the mood.”

He sighed. “Hot-hot. You have a fever.”

“Oh?” You put a hand on your neck, feeling the temperature a lot warmer than usual. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“How’d you know?”

He shuffled around your bedroom, going through the cabinets that had extra blankets, medicine, and a thermometer he kept in your nightstand. Iwaizumi sat next to you, the bed dipping under his weight.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he answered eventually.

“That’s it? That’s not even—mmph!”

You could only glare at your husband when he unceremoniously gives you the thermometer.

“Rude. Is this how you treat your wife? That is ill?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot to tell you.” He offered you the blankets and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand to show that he truly was sorry. You’re not sure if you want to believe him given that cheeky smile on his face. “Be right back. I’ll make you something warm and get some water.”

“But we just had dinner—”

“Just a little hot soup? Please?”

“But I just brushed my teeth, Haji.”

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after.”

You stared at him. There was no way you could win this argument. Iwaizumi was quite stubborn when he wanted to be.

“Fine. I want egg drop soup, though.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

You’re about to fall asleep when Iwaizumi pulls you closer to him, murmuring, “You okay?”

“Mmh. Feels like it’s going to come down on me t’morrow.”

He shifted slightly, kissing your temple. “Weekend tomorrow. I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled, nodding along. Having a husband who could tell that you were about to fall ill just from the subtle tell-tale signs was a blessing.

SEUMYO © 2026. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[belchyra]

Let me take care of you

[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k

[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader

[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything!

​"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"

​Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.

​Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.

It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.

​"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."

​"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.

This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?

​But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.

Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.

You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.

It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.

Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.

You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.

And Megumi knew.

He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.

Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.

The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.

It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.

Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.

The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.

"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.

The dust settled, heavy and silent.

Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.

The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.

But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.

The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.

You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.

"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."

Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.

"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."

The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.

Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."

The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.

By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.

"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.

Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.

You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.

A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.

Click.

You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.

The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.

But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.

He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.

The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.

"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.

"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"

"Stop."

The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.

He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.

"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"

Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.

"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"

"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.

You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.

Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.

He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.

"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"

"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."

"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.

"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"

You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.

"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."

The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.

But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.

The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.

Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.

Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."

You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.

"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."

You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.

"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."

He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.

"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."

The dam broke.

You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.

You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.

Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.

Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.

You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.

"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.

"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."

The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.

You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.

"Okay."

Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.

Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.

The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.

When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.

The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.

When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.

Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.

But he didn't lie down on his side.

Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.

You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"

"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."

You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.

You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.

The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.

He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.

"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.

"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.

You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.

It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.

You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.

"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.

Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."

Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.

He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.

"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."

He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"

It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.

The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.

You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.

But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.

You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.

"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"

The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.

Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.

He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.

"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.

"And [Name]?"

You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"

"It's more than okay."

© belchyra. All rights reserved. Do not republish, translate, steal, or feed my work to AI.

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Gojo has always been respectful of your boundaries when it comes to marriage—until now.

He knows how much your education means to you, how determined you are to finish school before even thinking about walking down the aisle, and he’s never once pushed. Not seriously, at least.

But the moment you casually introduce him as your husband to your professor after unexpectedly running into them at a quiet restaurant, everything changes.

The word hangs in the air longer than you expect. Gojo freezes for half a second before slowly turning to look at you, surprise melting into something dangerously pleased.

He takes no time to bring it up to you later; “Husband, huh?,” a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. He laces his fingers with yours and gives your hand an excited squeeze, like he’s just been handed a prize. “I like the sound of that.”

“Toru, don’t make a big deal out of it,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck as you avoid his gaze. “It just… felt natural.”

His grin only widens, eyes softening despite the teasing glint still there. “Yeah?” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Then maybe it’s not as far away as you think.”

———-

The next morning, you wake up with a weight draped over you.

An arm is slung around your waist, long legs tangled with yours, and warm breath ghosts against the back of your neck. Gojo hums contentedly in his sleep, pulling you closer the moment you shift even an inch.

“Toru,” you whisper, trying to wiggle free. “I need to get up.”

“Nope,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His grip tightens. “My wife doesn’t have class today.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head. “Your what?”

One blue eye peeks open, lazy and mischievous. “Oops. Slipped out.”

You smack his arm lightly, cheeks burning. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“Just practicing, you know.” He grabs onto you, tugging you back into his embrace.

He smiles into your hair, already waiting for the future where “practice” turns into a promise.

Dividers: @pixopix

[satoruslovey]

Frat!sukuna x soft!reader

synopsis: Sukuna doesn’t fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because you’re different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortable… until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.

Only this time,you don’t chase. You don’t fight. You just… disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizes—he’s not done with you.Even if you’re done with him.

So will he learn to live with it… or do whatever it takes to make it right?

Wc: 12.2k!!

warnings: emotional confrontation, misunderstandings, mutual yearning, kissing in the rain, sukuna is DESPERATE, grovelling, emotional intimacy, soft happy ending

Chap 1 ch2 ch3

After the last time you spoke to him, things didn’t break the way you expected them to.

Nothing around you changed. Classes went on, people talked the same way, the campus stayed just as loud and careless as it had always been. There was no visible change, no moment where everything slowed down to acknowledge what had happened. If anything, the world felt almost indifferent to it.

And that made it easier.

You went back to your routine without interruption. You reached class on time, sat where you always did, kept your focus where it needed to be. No one stopped you in the hallway anymore. No one stepped into your space like it belonged to them. You didn’t have to anticipate anything-no unexpected conversations, no presence you had to prepare yourself for.

It was simpler like this.

You didn’t have to think about him.At least, not intentionally.

There were moments that slipped through anyway.

They were small enough to ignore if you wanted to. A pause before leaving a classroom, like you were waiting for something without realizing it. A glance toward a corridor that didn’t need your attention. The faint, unnecessary awareness of absence,something missing that you refused to define.

You noticed it once.Then again.After that, you made sure you didn’t because there was no reason to.

The first time you saw him again, it wasn’t because you were looking for him.

You were just walking between classes, focused on getting through before it filled up, when your gaze lifted just enough to register movement on the other side. Recognition settled before you could stop it.

Sukuna.

He looked exactly the same.

Same posture. Same presence, people moved around him like he pulled attention without trying. There was nothing about the scene that stood out, nothing that should have made you pause.

And yet,you did.

Someone was talking to him. Laughing, standing too close, brushing against his arm like it was natural. It was the kind of thing you would have ignored without thinking before.

You should have.Instead, your steps slowed just slightly.

He didn’t lean in.Didn’t respond the way you expected.

There was no shift in him, no engagement that pulled him closer into whatever was happening.

He just stepped back,it was small and barely noticeable to anyone else,

But you saw it.

Your gaze lingered a second longer than it should have before you looked away and kept walking.

It didn’t matter.You told yourself that immediately.And for the most part,you believed it.

On the other hand,for him,

He sees you before anything else registers.

It’s immediate. The second you step into view, his attention shifts without asking him first, like it’s already decided where it belongs.

He doesn’t move ,that’s the only difference.

Before, he would’ve crossed the distance without thinking. Would’ve stepped into your path, said something just to get your attention, just to see how you’d react. It used to be easy,instinctive in a way he never questioned.

Now, he stays where he is.Not because he doesn’t want to move.That part hasn’t changed.

The instinct is still there. His body reacts the same way it always has,the pull to close the distance, to step into your space before the moment passes, before you’re out of reach.

It hits just as fast.Just as strong.

He just doesn’t act on it and….it’s because of him that he can’t.

His jaw tightens slightly, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be.He tells himself it’s nothing,that this is how it should be now.

No interruptions. No stepping into something he already ruined. No pretending it can go back to what it was.

It should have been simple.It isn’t.

Because now that he’s not moving toward you, he notices everything else instead.

The way you walk past without looking at him. The way your attention doesn’t move, not even for a second. The way there’s no hesitation in your steps, no awareness of him anywhere near you.

Like he’s just—another person.

That is harder to accept than he expects.

Someone beside him says something,he doesn’t catch it.A girl laughs, closer than necessary, her hand brushing his arm like it’s nothing.He doesn’t react or lean in like he would have.He just steps back ,subtly, it comes to him naturally.

His attention is still on you.For a second, he thinks about it.

Moving. Calling out to you. Stopping you before you disappear into the crowd like another face.

The thought settles in his chest, sharp enough to make him shift forward without realizing it.

Then,he stops, he knows its not like before.

So he stays where he is and watches you walk past,and doesn’t follow.

To him,that restraint doesn’t feel like control.It feels like losing something,and not being able to do anything about it.

—-

Days pass as usual,

The routine doesn’t break.

It holds in place, steady enough, You move through your days the same way you always have, lecture, notes, the quiet discipline of keeping your focus where it belongs. It’s controlled. Measured. Exactly what you wanted.

And still something keeps slipping,Not enough to disrupt anything.Just enough to be felt.

You notice it in the middle of things. When your pen pauses longer than it should, when your thoughts drift somewhere you didn’t send them, when your attention shifts before you can catch it.

It doesn’t stay long enough to take over,But it happens.

You don’t look for him.You make sure of that.

But your awareness shifts anyway.

A door opening.Footsteps slowing.

Someone taking a seat behind you,and your body registers it before your mind does.

You don’t always turn.But sometimes,you already know.

It gets harder to ignore than it should be.

You don’t let it settle.You don’t give it space to become anything more than a passing thought.

Still,it lingers just long enough to leave something behind.

A quiet, persistent awareness that doesn’t belong,but refuses to leave.

For sukuna,It stops being unintentional. That’s when it gets worse.

At first, it’s easy to dismiss.

Same classes. Same schedule. Same places he would’ve been in anyway. There’s nothing strange about ending up in the same room, nothing that needs explanation.

But then,he starts adjusting.

Not enough for anyone else to notice or make it obvious.Just enough for Him to know

He gets there earlier.Not by much.But enough that he’s already seated when you walk in.

He tells himself it’s nothing.That it doesn’t mean anything.

And still he waits, Although its not something that he’d admit.

But the moment the door opens—

his attention locks.Every time.

He watches you walk in.Watches the way you move without hesitation, like nothing around you matters enough to interrupt you.

And something in him tightens feeling so sharp.Like it’s been building all day just for that moment.

He doesn’t move toward you.But he doesn’t stay away either.The distance changes.

A seat closer than before.Then another.Not beside you yet.

But close enough that he doesn’t have to look for you anymore.Close enough that if you look up,

you’ll find him-

And you do, more and more each time.Enough that it stops feeling like coincidence.

The first time your eyes meet—

he doesn’t react.He doesn’t smirk or say anything.Doesn’t turn it into something lighter than it is.

He just-holds it.

And that’s where it goes wrong.Because he doesn’t want to look away.

Atleast immediately, because it finally feels like there’s something there , that it hasn’t completely disappeared.

Even if it’s just a second.Even if it’s nothing more than this.

You look away first. of course you always do.But it’s enough.More than enough, Because,that moment.That look.

That brief, unguarded awareness that slips through before you shut it down again.It stays with him longer than it should. Long enough to follow him out of the room,to settle somewhere he can’t ignore.

It makes everything else feel less.He notices it everywhere.

The conversations that don’t hold.The people who expect something from him that he can’t seem to give the same way anymore.The way he steps back without thinking, like his body’s already decided it’s not worth it.

The problem is not them, its you.

And the way everything else falls short of something he didn’t even realize he was holding onto.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, irritation settling in where something else is trying to take shape.

It doesn’t make sense,shouldn’t matter.And yet he’s here earlier.Sitting closer.

Watching you like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t know how to ask for.

That’s not something he’s used to or something he knows how to handle.But it doesn’t stop,Nothing about it does.

——

The lecture ends in the usual way,chairs scraping back, voices rising, people already halfway into their next conversation before they’ve even left their seats.

You close your notebook and gather your things, taking your time the way you always do, to avoid getting caught in the rush.

When you step into the aisle, you expect it to be clear.

It isn’t.

He’s there.

Standing in the way , not really blocking you or…Not trying to.

But he’s close enough that you have to acknowledge him.

For a second, you think he’ll step aside but he doesn’t.

You glance up and he’s already looking at you.There’s something different in it.

The usual sharpness is nowhere to be seen, that easy, unreadable confidence he used to wear like it cost him nothing, also not there.

This has a hold in it.

Like he’s been standing there longer than he should have, something he decided to do.

Your grip tightens slightly around your bag.

You wait.So does he.

Then—

“…You’ve been leaving early.”

It’s not what you expect.

His voice is lower than usual. Doesn’t sound careless or thrown out just to fill space.Its Measured.

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“I haven’t.”

He nods once, like he’s already thought that through.

“Earlier than before.”

There’s no accusation in it.No edge.Just quiet observation.

And the fact that he noticed at all lands heavier than it should.

You shift your weight slightly, eyes flickering away before settling back on him.

“I’ve always left like this.”

A small pause.

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention before.”It’s quiet.But it lands.

He doesn’t react the way he used to.No pushback.

Instead—his gaze drops briefly, like he’s considering it.

Like he knows it’s true.

“…Yeah,” he says after a moment.

It’s softer than you expect.

For some reason that unsettles you more than anything else.

The silence stretches again, but it’s not empty.

There’s something in it now. Something held too tightly, like it might slip if either of you moves too fast.

He shifts slightly, not stepping closer,but not giving you space either. Like he hasn’t decided which one he’s supposed to do.

“I—”

He stops.Your attention sharpens. Because him hesitating? Is new.

He tries again, slower this time.

“…I didn’t come last week.”

You nod once.

“I know.”

The words come out before you think about them. And the second they do,you feel it.That small slip.

His gaze lifts fully to yours.With no intent of searching or questioning, its just there.

“…You noticed.” It isn’t a question.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should.

“I notice things.”

It’s controlled and Careful ,But it’s not nothing.

He exhales quietly, like something in him eases and tightens at the same time.

“I didn’t think you would.” There’s something off in that. Almost as if its uncertain.

You don’t answer immediately. Because that doesn’t match him,none of this does.

“You still came today,” you say instead.

It’s a small thing,It shouldn’t matter.But by now you know it does.

His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s holding something back.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Didn’t want to miss it again.”

The words sit between you. The words are simple but anything but casual or empty.

You stand there for a bit. Because you can hear what he didn’t say. Because it feels like something is trying to reach you,and stopping just short.

You look away first,Of course.

You step past him, keeping just enough distance, your shoulder brushing the air between you but not him.

Still—

you feel it.

The way his attention follows.

He doesn’t turn right away.He lets you go.That is in his control.

What isn’t—is everything else.

His chest feels tighter than it should. Not enough to hurt, or so he thinks,but its noticeable.

Because that wasn’t how he meant it to go. He had more.He just couldn’t get it out right.

His hand lifts briefly, dragging through his hair before dropping back down, like he’s trying to shake off something that won’t leave.

You noticed.That’s what stays. Not what you said or how you said it. But That you were paying attention at all. Even now.

And that changes something.

Because it means this isn’t one-sided, it means he didn’t lose it completely.

He exhales slowly, eyes shifting forward before he finally starts walking.

This isn’t enough.He knows that.Not even close to enough.

But it’s the first thing that hasn’t felt—empty.

Sukuna doesn’t just want to be near you.He wants to get it right.

He just doesn’t know how yet,but he’ll do what it takes to figure it out.

——

The library is quieter than usual.

Calm enough that every small sound feels sharper. Pages turning. Chairs shifting. The low hum of people trying not to disturb each other.

You’ve been here long enough to settle into it , to be focused.Almost.

You don’t notice him at first.

It’s only when the chair beside you pulls out, not across or behind—

beside.

That gets your attention. Just slightly.

You don’t look at him immediately. You don’t need to. You already know.

Your fingers still against the page for a second before you turn it. You continue writing. Like nothing changed.

Sukuna sits down slower than he means to. He’s careful with it. Like he’s aware of the space he’s stepping into.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

The silence stretches.And its different from before,tense.

He glances at you once.Then again.

You don’t look up.

Your focus stays on your notes, your posture steady, controlled,but your pen presses harder than it should.

He notices that.Of course he does.

“..You always sit here?”

It’s quiet but it’s not casual, like you’d expect from him.

You nod once.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You’ve seen me.”

It’s not a question. Your hand stops. Just for a second.

Then—

“…I’ve seen you everywhere,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Silence.

You feel it immediately ,What you just admitted.

Your gaze lifts, And he’s already looking at you. Closer this time. Too close to ignore.

Something shifts between you.And its feels so real.

His brows pull together slightly, not in confusion,something else. Something you can’t name yet.

“…I didn’t mean it.”

The words come out before he can adjust them. Your expression changes.

“Mean what?”

He exhales slowly, looking away for a second before forcing himself back.

“The way I said it.” It’s not a full apology. But it’s not nothing.

Your chest tightens.

this is different.

You don’t respond immediately.

“You said what you meant.” Your voice is steady but softer than before.

He shakes his head slightly.

“No.” A beat.

“I said it like it didn’t matter.”

His words hit. Because it did.

You don’t look away this time. And for a second…neither does he.

The space between you feels smaller. Not physically ,just…closer.

Like something is about to shift into something neither of you knows how to handle.

His hand moves slightly on the table, they’re not reaching but they’re closer.

Then stops.

“…It did,” he adds, quieter. that’s the closest he’s come.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Because a part of you,wants to believe him. And that’s exactly what you don’t trust.

You close your notebook.

“I should go.”

He nods immediately.Too quickly.Like he expected it. Like he knows you wouldn’t want tostay.

“Yeah.”

You stand.He doesn’t stop you or reach for you,doesn’t even say another word. Doesn’t say anything else.

But when you walk past, you feel it again.That same thing.

Stronger this time , and you know this time that its not just awareness but something stronger pulling, something which is unfinished.

He doesn’t move for a long moment after you leave.

Because …..that was close. Closer than he’s been. Closer than he’s comfortable with. And still its not enough.

His jaw tightens slightly as he looks down at the table.He meant it. Not the words but what he tried to say. And it still came out wrong.

He exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair.

This isn’t something he can force like before ,something he can win by pushing harder. If he does,he loses you again. And,that’s not something he’s willing to risk anymore.

He just wants to keep this from slipping through his hands again. And maybe that’s why he starts paying attention to details he would’ve ignored before.

The crease between your brows when you reread a line too quickly. The way your fingers pause against the page whenever your concentration drifts. The quiet habit you have of tapping your pen twice before continuing your notes.

Tiny things.

The kind of things that settle into him before he realizes he’s memorizing them.

The distance between you changes slowly after that.

He starts sitting closer during lectures, close enough that your shoulder brushes his line of sight whenever you shift in your seat. Somewhere along the way, it stops feeling strange to find him there.

You stop reacting to his presence immediately. Your body no longer stiffens every time he sits beside you, and your gaze doesn’t dart away as quickly when you catch him looking.

The tension remains.It simply changes shape.

One afternoon, you miss part of a lecture while searching through your bag for a pen you swore you packed. By the time you look back up, his notebook is angled slightly toward you.

The missing lines are already there.

Your eyes linger on the page for a second before you copy them down quietly.

When you finish, he pulls the notebook back without comment and continues writing like nothing happened.

Something about that stays with you longer than it should.

Not the gesture itself. The ease of it. The fact that he noticed at all.

You begin expecting him in small ways after that.

A seat occupied before class starts. A familiar presence beside you in the library. The low sound of pages turning a few minutes before the lecture begins.

The awareness settles carefully, slowly enough that you almost miss it happening. Almost. Sukuna notices the shift immediately.

Your guard still exists. He can see it every time your attention catches itself lingering too long. Every time you seem to remember, halfway through a moment, that you should probably pull back.

But you stay. And for him, that changes everything. Because every second you allow him near you feels painfully earned. And every second makes him want to keep earning more.

Somewhere along the line, the space between you changes as well, without either of you acknowledging it.

It shows up in small ways first.

His shoulder ending up close enough to yours during lectures that you become aware of the warmth before you realize why your focus slipped.

You notice it. You stop reacting to it. That’s the dangerous part.

you’re reaching into your bag for a pen when your fingers brush against his by accident.

The contact lasts less than a second,your hand stills immediately after. So does his.

Neither of you says anything.

You pull your hand back first, finding the pen a moment later than you should have.

When you finally look up again, his attention is already on the front of the room.

But the grip he has on his own pen has tightened slightly. And for some reason,it came to your notice.

Another time, the lecture hall empties too quickly around you.

You stand at the same moment he does, both of you stepping into the narrow aisle at once. Too close. Your shoulder brushes his chest lightly before either of you can stop it.

The contact is brief.Its barely there.

Still, something in Sukuna’s posture changes instantly, his body going still in a way you’ve never seen before.

Like he felt all of it.

You murmur a quiet apology and try to move past him.

His hand lifts instinctively. Not grabbing or holding. Just settling lightly against your waist for half a second to steady you before letting go again.

The touch burns long after it’s gone. You feel it all the way back to your seat. Sukuna feels it longer. Because you didn’t pull away immediately.

You looked at him first. And for one dangerous second neither of you moved.

After that, he becomes more careful with himself.

Ironically, it only makes everything worse. Because now every accidental touch feels deliberate in the moments after.

Every brush of your hand. Every shift of your knee beneath the desk. Every second you remain close instead of creating distance.

And you let it happen. Slowly, reluctant. But enough that the tension between you begins settling into something warmer. Something softer around the edges. Something that almost feels safe.

That’s what ruins him.

The way he starts getting used to it. The way he starts waiting for those tiny moments like they mean more than they should. Like they’re proof that maybe, slowly, you’re letting him back in.

——-

The café was loud in the comfortable way it always was around them.

Gojo’s voice carried over half the room effortlessly, something animated and exaggerated spilling out of him while Geto sat across the table looking deeply regrettable about ever responding in the first place. Shoko was barely participating, curled into her chair with a drink in one hand and the expression of someone enduring a long-term inconvenience.

It felt normal. Easy.

The kind of scene you hadn’t realized you missed until you were standing in front of it again.

“There she is,” Gojo announced the second he noticed you. “Thought you died.”

“I was in class.”

“Exactly. Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes softly, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you stepped closer to the table.

Geto gave you a small nod in greeting. Shoko lifted two fingers lazily without looking up from her drink.

And despite yourself,you relaxed.Just a little.

“Sit down before he starts crying,” Shoko muttered.

“I cry beautifully,” Gojo said immediately.

“You cry loudly.”

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Gojo pointed at you triumphantly. “See? She likes me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It basically was.”

You shook your head, still smiling faintly as you moved around the table,then stopped. Because Sukuna was walking toward the group.

Your attention caught instantly. Not intentionally, It just did.

He slowed slightly when he reached the table, gaze flickering toward you first before anyone else. The look lasted maybe a second. Still enough that something low in your chest shifted unexpectedly.

“Move,” he muttered toward Gojo, nudging the empty chair beside you lightly with his foot.

Gojo’s grin appeared immediately.Dangerous.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

Sukuna ignored him completely. Which somehow made it worse.

The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out and sat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not across from you. Beside you.

You became suddenly, painfully aware of how close he was.

The warmth of him settled near your shoulder almost immediately, familiar enough to make your chest tighten before you could stop it.

Gojo looked delighted.

Geto looked like he’s fighting a smirk.

Even Shoko glanced up briefly over the rim of her drink before looking away again like she’d expected this already. And that unsettled you more than anything else.

Because suddenly it didn’t feel contained anymore. Whatever had been happening between you and Sukuna over the past few weeks had stopped existing only in quiet moments and lingering eye contact, Other people could see it now.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

Instinctively, your gaze shifted sideways, And found Sukuna already looking at you. Not intensely , not carelessly either its,

Just….there. Aware.

Like his attention kept settling on you before he realized he was doing it. Like it happened naturally now.

Your breath caught softly.You looked away first.

Conversation drifted around you again after that, easy and overlapping, but your awareness stayed split strangely in two.

Half listening to Gojo argue dramatically about something meaningless. Half aware of Sukuna beside you. Every small movement registered.

The brush of his sleeve near your arm when he reached for a drink. The quiet shift of his posture whenever you spoke. The way his attention flickered toward you before anyone else whenever the group laughed about something.

None of it was obvious. That was the problem.It felt unconscious. And somehow that made it harder to dismiss.

“You’re quiet,” Gojo said suddenly, looking between the two of you with immediate suspicion.

“She’s always quiet,” Sukuna answered before you could.

Your eyes lifted immediately.So did Gojo’s brows.

There was something strange about hearing him say it. Not teasing but…familiar. Like he’d spent enough time paying attention to know.

The realization hit harder than it should have.Because he had.

Sukuna seemed to realize it a second later too.

A faint tension pulled briefly through his shoulders before he leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze shifting away.

Gojo looked moments away from losing his mind.

“This is insane,” he muttered dramatically into his drink.

“Please shut up,” Shoko sighed.

You tried focusing on the conversation again. It didn’t really work. Because every few seconds, your attention drifted sideways again without permission.

And every time—

you found Sukuna already there.

Then Gojo spoke again.

“So,” he said lazily, stretching back in his chair, “we’re all still alive enough for tomorrow night, right?”

Shoko groaned immediately. “No.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because every time I mean it.”

Geto glanced toward you. “You coming?”

You blinked once. “Coming where?”

“The party.”

The word settled strangely in your chest. Your gaze shifted toward Sukuna automatically. His expression flattened almost immediately, like he already disliked where the conversation was heading.

Gojo noticed. Which meant everyone noticed.

“The frat’s finally doing something tomorrow,” Gojo said.

“And our Frat king here actually agreed to show up.” Gojo continued, far too entertained by this entire situation.

“Historic moment, honestly.”

The thought caught uncomfortably against everything else that had been building these past few weeks.

The carefulness.The lingering looks. The quiet touches that never seemed intentional until they were over.

And then—a party.

Crowds. Music. Girls draped across him like before. Like nothing had changed at all. Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Because you suddenly couldn’t tell which version of him was real.

The one beside you now,or the one you’d spent so long trying to forget.

“I’m only showing up because you people wouldn’t shut up about it.” Sukuna’s voice cut through the table quietly.

“You don’t have to come.” He said to you, carefully.

You looked at him immediately. He was already watching you again. And there was something restrained in his expression now. Almost wary, like he was trying to spare you from something before it happened. The look settled somewhere dangerous beneath your ribs. Because it felt sincere.

And that,that was becoming harder to protect yourself from.

———

The conversation happens later, after the noise of the café has faded and everyone drifts off in different directions.

You end up outside one of the campus buildings with Shoko almost by accident, the evening air cooler now, carrying that faint tiredness that settles over campus after sunset. She’s leaning against the railing near the vending machines, tapping the bottom of a cigarette pack against her palm while you stand beside her with your bag hanging loosely from your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s comfortable enough that the silence doesn’t need fixing.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Shoko says eventually.

You glance at her immediately. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m always weird. Yours is recent.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, looking away toward the dim lights scattered across campus.

“I’m fine.”

Shoko hums softly like she doesn’t believe you for even a second. The image from earlier keeps circling quietly in your head despite yourself.

Sukuna beside you at the café.The way his attention kept drifting toward you without meaning to. The way he sounded when Gojo brought up the party.

Flat.Detached.Different. Dangerously easy to believe.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Shoko says observing you.

Your shoulders tense slightly.

“That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

You stare ahead quietly for a moment.

The worst part is that you don’t even know what exactly you’re thinking anymore. Not clearly. Not in a way that makes sense. Because things have changed. You know they have.

You feel it every time he sits beside you without hesitation now. Every time his hand brushes yours and neither of you pulls away quickly enough. Every time his gaze settles on you like it’s become instinct.

And somehow,that’s exactly what scares you.

“I don’t know what he wants,” you admit finally, quieter this time.

Shoko glances sideways at you.

“Neither does he.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Tired. Brief. Then the silence settles again.

Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

“You going tomorrow?” Shoko asks after a while.

You already know what she means.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Shoko finally pulls a cigarette free but doesn’t light it yet, rolling it slowly between her fingers instead.

“You should.”

You blink once. “Why?”

She shrugs lightly.

“Because you’ve been orbiting this thing with him for weeks.”

The words land more directly than you expect. Your brows pull together slightly.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Still calm. Still matter-of-fact. Shoko tilts her head back slightly, looking out across campus.

“And honestly? Whether he’s miserable or having some identity crisis over you isn’t really the point.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly at the word miserable. You hate that she notices. Because of course she does.

“The point,” Shoko continues, “is that you’re allowed to exist outside of whatever’s happening with Sukuna.”

You stay quiet.

“You don’t have to avoid places because he might be there,” she says. “And you definitely don’t have to sit around wondering whether every look means something.”

That one hits a little too accurately. A faint smile pulls at the corner of Shoko’s mouth when she notices your expression.

“Go to the party. Have fun. Ignore him if you want to. Talk to other people. Remember your life doesn’t stop every time Ryomen Sukuna starts acting emotionally constipated.”

You laugh despite yourself. A real one this time. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you stare ahead quietly. Maybe she’s right.

Maybe you’ve spent too much time reading into every glance, every careful touch, every almost-word like they carried more meaning than they should. Maybe going would finally settle it one way or another.

“I guess I could go for a little while,” you murmur eventually.

Shoko snorts softly beside you.

“That’s the closest thing to recklessness I’ve ever heard from you.”

You roll your eyes lightly, but a small smile stays on your face this time.

And somewhere deep down,beneath all the hesitation and caution and doubt a quieter thought lingers.

You want to see him there.

——-

The party swallows you in pieces.

First the music. Then the heat. Then the blur of bodies moving through colored light like the whole house is breathing around you.

For a moment, you linger near the entrance beside Shoko, fingers curled around a drink you haven’t touched yet while people brush past your shoulders laughing too loudly, already drunk enough to lean into each other without caring.

Rain taps steadily against the windows outside, soft beneath the bass vibrating through the walls.

You tell yourself to relax. To stop thinking so much.

“You look like you’re preparing for war,” Shoko says beside you.

“I’m standing.”

“You’re standing aggressively.”

You glare weakly at her over the rim of your cup.

Shoko only snorts softly before glancing around the room.

“You know, normal people usually come to parties to enjoy themselves.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“You’ve looked at the door six times.”

Heat crawls unpleasantly into your chest.

Because the worst part is, you hadn’t realized you were doing it. Not consciously.

Your attention just keeps shifting every few minutes before you can stop it. Toward the hallway. Toward the stairs. Toward every flicker of pink hair moving through crowded rooms before disappointment settles quietly afterward.

You hate it.The automaticness of it. The way some part of you keeps waiting anyway. You came here for yourself. You remind yourself that immediately.

Because Shoko was right.

Your life shouldn’t tighten around Sukuna every time he enters it. You shouldn’t still be carrying him around inside your head this heavily after everything.

Tonight was supposed to prove that. That you could still exist somewhere he existed too and remain untouched by it.

And maybe, if you were being honest, some quieter part of you wanted to know if he’d look for you too.

The thought settles heavily enough that you immediately shove it away.

Gojo appears before you can spiral further. Naturally.

“There she is!” he announces dramatically, nearly sloshing his drink onto both of you as he throws an arm around your shoulder. “I knew you secretly wanted to come”

“You invited me three hours ago.”

“And yet you still came. Beautiful character development.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself. Real enough that it surprises even you.

Geto appears behind Gojo looking deeply exhausted already.

“She’s been here five minutes and you’re yelling.”

“I’m creating atmosphere.”

“You’re creating public disturbance.”

The night gets easier after that slowly.

You let yourself get pulled into conversations instead of standing quietly at the edges of them. You argue with Gojo about something stupid enough that halfway through neither of you even remembers what side you were defending anymore. Someone drags you into a blurry group photo you definitely didn’t agree to.

And somewhere along the way, the tightness inside your chest starts loosening. Not completely, Never completely. Because Sukuna still exists in every corner of your awareness whether you want him there or not.

Every low laugh behind you makes your attention shift instinctively before your brain catches up. Every tall figure moving through crowds pulls at your focus for half a second first.

You keep wondering if he’s seen you yet. You hate that you keep wondering.

But eventually even that begins softening beneath the warmth of the night around you.

Shoko disappears somewhere upstairs. Gojo gets distracted by literally everything at once. Rain crashes harder outside now, silver streaks racing down dark windows while thunder rumbles faintly overhead.

And for the first time in weeks,you breathe. Actually breathe.

Maybe this is what you needed. Maybe Shoko was right, whatever has been. happening between you and Sukuna lately doesn’t have to consume every part of you. You can exist around him without unraveling,perhaps.

And beneath all those thoughts—another one slips in quietly.

You want to see him tonight. Not for closure or for any answers. Just to know if he’ll look at you the same way he has lately. Like something in him shifts every time you enter a room. Like he feels this too.

Your chest tightens around the realization.

Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being afraid of wanting him.

And started being afraid he might not want you back in the same devastating way.

The thought is still sitting low beneath your ribs when your attention shifts suddenly. No reason.Just instinct.

Your eyes lift across the room, and find him immediately.

Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

Sukuna stands near the open patio doors, rain-heavy air curling into the house around him while dim gold light cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. His dark shirt clings slightly at the collar like he’s already stepped outside once tonight, pink hair damp near the edges from rainwater.

And even from here,he looks restless. He doesn’t seem drunk or entertained, like the Sukuna everyone else sees at parties.

His gaze moves distractedly through the crowd, shoulders tense beneath the flashing lights like he’s searching for something without fully realizing it.

And suddenly, your chest softens.

Because some horrible, hopeful part of you wonders if he’s been looking for you too.

The thought lands gently.Deeply.

Enough that your pulse stumbles around it.

Then someone stumbles into him. A girl.

At first, you barely react. People have been colliding into each other all night ,but she doesn’t move away after.

She grabs onto his arm laughing breathlessly, body swaying slightly from alcohol as she nearly slips near the wet patio entrance. Sukuna catches her automatically before she falls, one hand circling briefly around her waist while the other steadies her wrist.

Your stomach drops. The girl laughs again getting closer this time.

Her fingers slide upward slowly against the chain resting near his collarbone while she leans toward him, saying something near his ear with the kind of easy familiarity that makes your chest tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s brows pull together immediately. Not softened or amused.He looks Distracted. Like he barely even registers what she’s saying.

His hand stays at her waist only long enough to steady her before it loosens again, attention already shifting elsewhere through the crowded room.

But from where you’re standing that distinction barely matters. Because suddenly it all comes rushing back at once.

Every party you ever saw him at before this.

Girls draped across him effortlessly. Lipstick-stained glasses. Hands touching him like everyone already knew he’d let them.

The version of him that never belonged to anyone long enough to matter.

Your throat burns violently. And the worst part?

For weeks now,you let yourself forget. You let yourself believe in quieter things instead.

Library tables.Lingering eye contact. The warmth of his hand steadying your waist.

The way his gaze softened around you lately before he even realized it was happening.

The almost apology in the library.The carefulness.

God.

The carefulness ruined you most. Because you believed it. You actually, genuinely started believing he meant it.

Your eyes sting immediately.

Hot enough that you blink hard against it on instinct. Because standing here now, watching another girl lean into him while rain crashes outside the windows and music drowns the room around you—

you suddenly feel unbearably stupid.

Not angry.Not even jealous.

Humiliated.

Like every hopeful thing you carried carefully these past few weeks existed only because you wanted it to. Because you kept mistaking scraps of softness for something real.

The girl says something else, leaning closer into his space.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to answer when his gaze shifts absently over her shoulder instead, restless, searching—

Then stops,

On you.

Everything in him stops,like the world stopped. You see it happen in real time,the confusion first,then recognition.

Then absolute fucking horror crashing across his face so fast it almost doesn’t look real. His hand drops from the girl immediately like the contact burns him alive.

The color drains from his face. His entire body goes rigid. Because he knows.

He knows exactly what this looks like. Exactly what you’re thinking. Exactly what just shattered inside you.

“Wait—”

The word rips out of him rough enough that several people nearby actually turn. The desperation clear in his voice.

The girl beside him startles when Sukuna jerks completely away from her now, attention locked entirely onto you with something frantic breaking apart behind his eyes.

Like he’s watching a car crash happen in slow motion and can’t stop it. But it’s already too late. Because something inside you has broken open completely. And suddenly you can’t breathe in this room anymore. Can’t stand inside his world another second.

Not where you let yourself believe, even briefly, that maybe this time, maybe this time he was finally reaching for you the way you’d been reaching for him all along.

You turn before he can get to you.

Rain crashes violently outside as you shove through the crowd toward the front door, pulse hammering painfully beneath your skin while behind you-

you hear Sukuna calling your name.

And for the first time since you met him—

Ryomen Sukuna sounds terrified.

——

Sukuna doesn’t think.

The second you turn away from him, something primal tears through his chest so violently it almost knocks the breath out of him.

Pure panic.

He’s moving before the girl beside him even finishes reacting.

Her hand slips from his sleeve as he jerks away from her completely, eyes already locked on the space where you disappeared through the crowd.

“Wait, Sukuna, I was just—”

He doesn’t hear the rest.Doesn’t even register her voice.

Because all he saw, all he can still fucking see …is your face. The look in your eyes. It wasn’t anger. He could’ve handled anger, You yelling at him,Hating him,Slapping him across the face. Anything.

But that look—

Like something inside you had quietly given up. Like every fragile thing he’d spent weeks trying to rebuild between you collapsed in a single second.

Like you finally regretted believing him. Fear hits him so hard it borders on nausea.

People turn as he shoves through the crowded house, shoulders slamming hard enough into strangers to send drinks splashing onto the floor. Someone curses at him. Someone says his name.

Gojo maybe, maybe Toji, He doesn’t know.

Nothing matters except getting to you before that look settles permanently into your eyes.

Rain crashes against him violently the second he steps outside. Cold enough to sting. Heavy enough to soak through his clothes instantly.

His eyes search frantically down the street before he finds you halfway across the sidewalk, walking too fast through the storm with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you’re physically trying to hold your chest together.

And something inside him fucking caves in. Because you’re crying. Not loudly, or dramatically but,

Worse.

Silent.

Your shoulders shake once beneath the rain before you wipe harshly at your face, still moving like if you stop for even a second you’ll completely break apart.

And Sukuna,

Sukuna has never felt terror like this before. Because this is his fault.

Not the girl. Not the party.

This.

You hurting like this because he was too late. Too stupid. Too fucking blind to realize how fragile your trust in him still was.

“Hey—”

His voice comes out wrecked and its barely recognizable.

You don’t stop walking.Panic claws viciously through his chest. Sharp enough to hurt.

He catches up quickly, shoes splashing hard against flooded pavement before instinct takes over completely and his hand closes around your wrist.

His touch is Warm,desperate,shaking slightly.

You gasp softly as he pulls you back before you can slip against the slick pavement, your soaked body colliding lightly against his chest for half a second before you stumble back again.

But not before he feels it. How badly you’re trembling.

And God.

That nearly fucking destroys him on the spot.

Rain pours violently between both of you now, thunder cracking somewhere overhead while water streams endlessly down Sukuna’s face, his hair plastered against his forehead, his chest heaving unevenly beneath a shirt soaked through completely.

And for a second,he just stares at you. Because you look heartbroken. Painfully heartbroken. Your eyes are red beneath the rain. Your lashes clumped together with tears and water.

Your mouth trembling slightly every few seconds like you’re trying so hard to stay composed and failing anyway.

The sight tears something open inside him so violently he almost physically recoils from it.

Because he did this. He did this to you.

And suddenly Sukuna realizes with horrifying clarity that he would rather let someone carve him open alive than have you look at him like this again.

“It wasn’t—” His voice catches hard.

His voice catches hard.

Too many things trying to come out at once. He tries again immediately.

“It wasn’t like that.”

You laugh softly. And the sound absolutely fucking ruins him. Because it sounds exhausted. Humiliated.Like you’re trying not to completely fall apart in front of him.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

Rainwater drips endlessly from your lashes as you look away from him, jaw tightening hard enough to shake.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Sukuna’s chest caves inward so violently he physically steps closer without meaning to.

Because you sound done. Not angry. Done.

“No.”

The word leaves him instantly in such panic. Desperate,Almost pleading.

“No, don’t— don’t fucking say it like that.”

You finally look at him again. And, he’s losing you. He can feel it happening in real time. Like sand slipping violently through his hands no matter how hard he tries to hold on.

“She grabbed onto me,” he says immediately, voice uneven in a way he’s never heard from himself before. “I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her.”

Rainwater drips from his jaw as he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair.

“I was looking for you.”

Your breath catches. Tiny.

And suddenly he’s talking too fast, panic ripping every sentence out before he can think.

“I’ve been looking for you all fucking night,” he says roughly. “That’s why I kept looking around. I didn’t even realize she was talking to me until—”

His voice breaks violently.

“Until you looked at me like that.”

Your throat moves sharply as you swallow. But your expression doesn’t soften and somehow that terrifies him more than if you screamed.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Okay. Thats all you say.

The word hits him like a knife straight through the chest. Because it doesn’t sound like belief. It sounds like surrender. Like you’re already trying to kill your feelings for him before they hurt you worse.

“No.”

He steps closer immediately. Too close now. Close enough that your rain-soaked breaths mix between both of you.

“Don’t say it like that.”

Your composure finally cracks then.Not dramatically but if there’s something Worse than that.

Your face crumples slightly before you look away again, one shaking breath leaving you hard enough that Sukuna’s chest physically aches hearing it.

“Then how am I supposed to say it?” you ask quietly, voice breaking apart. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

Sukuna freezes Because there it is. Not jealousy. Not anger. But pain.

Raw enough that it strips him open instantly.

“You know what the worst part is?” you whisper, eyes burning now despite the rain washing endlessly down your face. “I actually started believing you.”

Something inside Sukuna shatters completely.

“You looked at me like…” Your voice breaks so hard you stop speaking entirely for a second, shaking your head once like you hate yourself for even admitting this. “God, you looked at me like I mattered to you.”

“You do.”

The answer leaves him violently fast.

Immediate ,Like breathing ,as if him not saying it fast enough would make it worse. Your eyes widen at his words slightly.

And Sukuna steps closer again before he can stop himself, hands hovering helplessly near your arms like he wants to hold you together physically but is terrified you’ll pull away.

“You do,” he says again, rougher this time, rain soaking through every word. “You matter so fucking much it’s driving me insane.”

Your breath catches sharply. And suddenly Sukuna can’t stop anymore. Weeks of restraint split open all at once.

“I can’t fucking sleep anymore,” he admits, voice wrecked now. “Every room I walk into, I look for you first.”

Rain streams endlessly down his face while his eyes stay locked desperately onto yours.

“I sat through that stupid fucking party hoping you’d show up.”

Something in your chest twist sharply.

“And when you did…” His voice catches roughly. “Fuck.”

He laughs once in disbelief Like even now he can’t believe how badly this has ruined him.

“You looked so beautiful tonight I couldn’t fucking think straight.”

The confession lands between both of you like lightning. Its raw, ugly and honest .

“And then you looked at me like that—”

His voice cracks completely this time. Actually cracks. Like he physically cannot survive replaying that moment again.

Before you can react—

he drops.

Straight onto his knees against the flooded pavement. The sound of it shocks you visibly.

“Sukuna—”

“I don’t care.”

His voice is wrecked now. Absolutely wrecked.

Rain pours over him mercilessly while he looks up at you from the ground like he’s watching his entire life walk away from him in real time.

And maybe he is.

“I don’t care if this is pathetic,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t care if I look fucking insane right now.”

Your chest tightens painfully. Because Sukuna never begs. Never. But he is now.

“You can yell at me,” he says, breathing unevenly. “You can hate me if you want to. But don’t stand there and tell yourself none of this was real.”

His voice breaks hard around the last sentence.

And suddenly he looks…something which isn’t,arrogant like his usual self, he looks … terrified.

“I meant every fucking thing,” he says desperately. “Every look. Every touch. Every second.”

Your composure visibly splinters then.

A shaky breath leaves you as your hand rises instinctively toward your mouth.

And Sukuna’s expression crumples completely the second he realizes you’re crying harder now.

“Fuck,” he whispers brokenly, like the sound physically hurts him. “Baby, please don’t cry.”

The nickname slips out accidentally.

Raw. Unthinking. And somehow that ruins you even more. Because Sukuna is kneeling in the middle of the storm looking at you like losing you would destroy him completely

Rain crashes endlessly around both of you. Cold water streams down Sukuna’s face, soaks through his clothes, drips from his lashes every time he looks up at you from the pavement beneath your feet.

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem aware of the storm anymore. The only thing he sees is you.

Shaking. Crying. Looking at him like he’s broken something fragile beyond repair.

And it’s killing him.

“Sukuna” you whisper shakily.

He looks up immediately.Like your voice physically pulls at him.

“Stand up.”

He shakes his head once instantly. Small.Desperate.

“I can’t lose you.”

The words leave him before he can stop them. Raw enough that your breath catches.

Rainwater slides down the sharp line of his jaw while he stares at you like he’s drowning in front of you and doesn’t care who sees it.

And suddenly he looks nothing like the Sukuna everyone else knows. No arrogance. No control ,just fear.

“Sukuna,” you say again, voice cracking harder this time. “Stand up.”

Slowly,hesitant enough,he does.

But the second he’s close again, your hand presses hard against his chest instinctively. Holding space there.

Keeping him from getting any closer before you completely lose yourself in him again. Your fingers fist weakly into his soaked shirt.

Sukuna looks down at them like the contact alone nearly destroys him.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper.

Rainwater clings to your lashes while your voice trembles apart more with every word.

“You don’t get to look at me like I’m everything to you and then make me feel this replaceable.”

Sukuna physically flinches. Like the words hit somewhere deep enough to bruise.

“You think I wanted her there?” he asks roughly.

Your jaw tightens immediately.

“That’s not the point.”

“I know it’s not the fucking point.”

His voice breaks suddenly. Violently. And that shocks both of you into silence for half a second. Because Sukuna never sounds like this. Never.

Rain crashes harder around both of you while he drags a shaking hand through soaked hair, chest rising unevenly like breathing itself hurts now.

“You know what the problem is?” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know how to do this right.”

Your eyes flicker toward him again despite yourself.

“I don’t know how to stand in front of you without feeling like everything I’ve ever been is suddenly disgusting.”

The confession lands hard between both of you because its Ugly and honest.

“You look at me now and I can see you trying so hard to trust me again.” His voice roughens further. “And every fucking second I’m terrified I’m gonna ruin it.”

Something in your chest twists painfully.

“You think I don’t know what people say about me?” he laughs once softly.

There’s no humour in it.

“They’re right.”

You shake your head immediately. But Sukuna keeps going before you can stop him.

“No, listen to me.” His eyes lock onto yours desperately. “I spent years acting like none of this mattered. None of them mattered. Drinking too much, sleeping around, acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything because it was easier than…” His voice catches hard. “Than feeling something real.”

Your grip tightens involuntarily against his chest.

“And then you happened.”

The words leave him quietly this time.Almost disbelieving. Like even now he can’t fully understand what you did to him.

“And suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly every time you looked at me.”

Your breath catches sharply.

“I started noticing everything.” His voice shakes. “The way you play with your rings when you’re nervous. The way your face changes when you’re trying not to smile. The way you always look for everyone else before yourself.”

Rain drips endlessly from his chin while his eyes stay completely fixed on you.

“I tried so hard not to want you this badly.”

The honesty in his voice hurts , it hurts so much.

“But you kept getting under my skin anyway.” He laughs again softly, devastated this time. “And then one day I realized I was rearranging my entire fucking life around the chance of being near you for ten minutes.”

Your composure visibly cracks.

“I stopped going to parties because they felt empty without you there.” His voice lowers roughly. “I sat in classrooms I didn’t care about because you were in them.”

Tears mix endlessly with rain on your face now. Sukuna notices every single one. And it destroys him more each time.

“When you stopped talking to me…” His throat moves sharply.

“Fuck.”

He looks away for the first time. Only for a second. Like the memory physically hurts to touch.

“I thought that was it,” he admits quietly. “Thought I finally pushed too far and lost the only person I’ve ever looked at and thought…”

His voice breaks completely. You stare at him with your heart hammering.

Sukuna swallows hard, eyes finding yours again with something unbearably vulnerable split wide open inside them.

“The only person I’ve ever wanted to be better for.”

Something inside you caves inward violently.

“And tonight—” His breathing turns uneven again.

“When you looked at me like that…”

He presses a shaking hand briefly against his own chest like he physically can’t steady what’s happening inside it.

“I swear to God it felt like someone ripped my fucking heart out.”

Your eyes sting harder instantly.

“You wanna know why I panicked?” he whispers.

He steps closer despite your hand still against his chest. Not enough to overpower you. Just enough that warmth collides between your soaked bodies again.

“Because I knew exactly what you saw.”

Your breath trembles.

“You saw every reason you ever had not to trust me standing right in front of you again.” His voice cracks hard. “And I couldn’t fucking survive knowing I put that look in your eyes.”

The storm roars around both of you. Neither of you notices anymore.

“You don’t understand what you’ve become to me,” Sukuna whispers brokenly. “You walk into a room and suddenly everything else disappears.”

Your hand tightens in his shirt. Instinctively.

“And yeah,” he laughs softly again, devastated. “Maybe this is pathetic.”

His eyes burn into yours.

“But I’d rather kneel in the rain begging for you than spend one more second pretending I don’t belong completely to you already.”

Sukuna’s words hang between both of you beneath the storm. Heavy. Breathless. Still vibrating somewhere deep inside your chest. For a second, neither of you move.

Rain crashes endlessly around you, soaking through everything, thunder rumbling low somewhere above the city while your pulse pounds so hard it almost hurts.

And suddenly, you realize Sukuna is shaking. Your hand is still twisted tightly in the front of his soaked shirt, fingers trembling against his chest while he looks at you like he’s waiting for the final blow. Like he genuinely believes you might still walk away. And somehow that hurts worse than anything else tonight.

“Sukuna…” you whisper.

His eyes close briefly at the sound of his name in your voice. Like it physically wounds him. You hate this. You hate him. You hate the terrifying amount of power he has over your heart.

“I hate you,” you whisper shakily.

The words collapse halfway through because neither of you believes them anymore. Something helpless flickers across his face. Not defensive or angry. Just devastated.

“I know.”

Your throat burns harder instantly. Because he sounds like he’d let you.

Like he’d stand here and let you destroy him if that’s what you needed.

You shake your head sharply.

“No, you don’t.”

Rainwater slips down your cheeks endlessly now, your breathing uneven and fragile while Sukuna watches you with complete, terrifying attention.

“You don’t understand how terrifying this is for me,” you admit finally.

And there it is.The truth. Raw and shaking between both of you.

Sukuna’s expression crumples instantly. Because suddenly he understands. This was never about another girl. This was about you finally allowing yourself to hope. And thinking he destroyed it.

“I know,” he says again, rougher this time. “I know I fucked this up, I know I scared you, I know I’ve given you every reason not to trust me but—”

His voice breaks hard.

“But please don’t give up on me now”

The plea nearly destroys you. Because Sukuna never asks for anything.Never. And yet here he is in the middle of a storm looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

Your composure finally gives out completely. A broken sound leaves your throat before you can stop it, fingers tightening harder in his shirt as tears mix violently with rain against your face.

And the second Sukuna sees it, something inside him snaps.

He stands abruptly. Not to leave but to catch you. His hands find your waist instantly, careful for all of half a second before he pulls you against him like he physically cannot survive another inch of distance between you.

You gasp softly against his chest.Warm. Solid. Shaking just as badly as you are.

“Sukuna—”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately.

The words spill out against your wet hair desperately, uneven and wrecked. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your chest aches violently. Because he means it. Every single word.

“I didn’t know how bad this got,” he admits roughly, hands tightening at your waist. “I didn’t realize how much of you I already had until I thought I lost it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut instantly.

“And you have me,” you whisper brokenly before you can stop yourself.

The confession hangs there. Both of you freezing slightly beneath the rain. Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you. And the expression on his face absolutely ruins you. Because he looks stunned. Like nobody has ever handed him something this precious before.

“You can’t say shit like that to me right now,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your breath catches sharply.

“Why?”

A broken laugh leaves him. Wrecked.

“Because I’m already one second away from losing my fucking mind over you.”

And suddenly you can’t take it anymore. Not the way he’s looking at you. Not the honesty splitting him wide open. Not the unbearable tenderness underneath all that desperation.

So you kiss him.

Your hands slide into his soaked hair before you pull him down toward you hard enough that his breath catches violently against your mouth.

And for one stunned heartbeat, Sukuna freezes. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he thought you were about to leave him here instead.

Then he kisses you back. And it isn’t smooth , Isn’t polished. Its desperate. Weeks of restraint collapse between you all at once beneath pouring rain and shaking breaths.

Sukuna kisses like he’s starving.

Like every quiet look and lingering touch and swallowed confession finally shattered open inside him at once.

And God, the sound he makes against your mouth nearly breaks you apart completely. Because it sounds relieved.

His hands slide up your back instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer while rain pours endlessly over both of you. You can feel his heart hammering violently through his chest.

Feel the way he keeps holding you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you gets far.

Your foreheads stay pressed together, breaths tangled, eyes still half closed while the storm rages around you unnoticed.

And finally in the entire night, the panic inside Sukuna finally starts settling. Only slightly. Just enough to breathe again.

“I meant everything” he says quietly .

Your eyes open slowly. Sukuna looks wrecked still.

“I know,” you whisper back this time.

And the relief that floods his face is so raw it almost makes you cry again. A quiet laugh escapes you suddenly through the remains of tears.

You’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs out the faintest laugh against your forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Probably.”

Rainwater drips from his lashes while his thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, wiping away tears even though more immediately replace them.

The touch is impossibly careful. Like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to hold you like this.

Then quieter he says,

“So don’t scare me like that again.”

You blink at him in disbelief. A laugh escapes you despite everything.

“You’re blaming me?”

“No.” His arms tighten instantly around your waist again. “I’m saying I almost fucking died.”

The dramatic sincerity in his voice makes another wet laugh break from your chest. And Sukuna stares at the sound like he wants to memorize it forever.

The storm hasn’t softened yet. Neither have your feelings. Neither have your feelings or hurt.

But for the first time in a while, neither of you is running from it anymore.

Sukuna presses one last lingering kiss against your forehead before resting his against yours again, eyes finally closing properly this time.

And standing there beneath pouring rain with your heart still shaking violently inside your chest,

you realize something quietly. You’ve never seen Ryomen Sukuna look more terrified. Or more in love.

——-

The storm still crashes endlessly around you, rain soaking through your clothes, dripping from tangled lashes and trembling fingers, but somehow it feels farther away now.

Muted.

Like everything narrowed down to this one moment instead. To him.

Sukuna keeps his forehead pressed against yours, breathing unevenly while his arms stay locked around your waist like he’s still scared you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.

And Maybe he is.

Your heartbeat hasn’t settled yet. Neither has his. You can still feel it hammering violently through his chest every time your body shifts against his.

Still feel the occasional tremor running through his hands when they tighten unconsciously at your back.

Then quietly, almost too low beneath the rain, he says,

“I’m sorry.”

The words land differently this time. Because the words aren’t out of panic, but honesty.

Sukuna’s eyes close briefly, lashes wet against his cheeks while he exhales shakily through his nose.

“For all of it.”

Your eyes sting immediately. Sukuna notices.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye carefully. “Don’t cry again, baby, I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

A watery laugh escapes you despite yourself.

And the relief that floods Sukuna’s face at the sound of it is almost unbearable to look at.

Like hearing you laugh again physically brought him back to life.

The storm softens slightly after that. Not fully.

But enough that the rain becomes steadier instead of violent, washing quietly through empty streets shining gold beneath streetlights.

You finally become aware of how cold you are.

Your clothes cling heavily to your skin now, fingers stiff from rain while your entire body shivers suddenly beneath Sukuna’s hands.

His expression changes instantly.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“You’re also shivering.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him tiredly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cold.”

Before you can argue again, Sukuna is already shrugging off his soaked jacket despite the rain still falling lightly around both of you.

You blink immediately.

“Sukuna, that’s literally worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“I said I don’t care.”

The jacket settles around your shoulders anyway, still warm somehow despite the storm. And your chest aches quietly at the gesture. Because old Sukuna wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have cared enough to.

This Sukuna does.

You just stand there beneath dim streetlights while rainwater drips steadily around your feet.

And then, Sukuna reaches for your hand.

He’s careful, no confidence just care. Like he’s still asking permission. Your fingers slide into his before he can second-guess himself. And even such a small gesture makes his breath hitch.

The walk back is quiet. Not awkward. Just soft.

The frat house comes into view slowly through the rain after that, lights still glowing warm behind fogged windows while distant music hums faintly from somewhere inside.

For a second, your steps slow down, he sees that.

His fingers tighten around yours slightly.

“You okay?”

Your eyes linger on the house quietly.

This place used to feel like proof that you could never have him properly.

Too many stories attached to it. Too many girls. Too many nights where Sukuna belonged to everyone except himself.

But tonight, standing here soaked through while his hand holds yours so carefully it almost hurts,

the feeling is different.

“Yeah,” you whisper finally.

And Sukuna’s shoulders loosen so subtly.

The second you step inside, warmth wraps around your skin hard enough to sting. The party has mostly died now.

Music still hums quietly somewhere downstairs, low conversations drifting through the house alongside the smell of alcohol and rain-damp clothes.

Gojo looks up first from the kitchen island. Then pauses dramatically. His eyes flick toward your joined hands. Then your soaked clothes.

Then Sukuna standing absurdly close beside you like he’s terrified distance might happen again if he allows it.

Silence.

“Oh my God,” Gojo breathes.

Shoko looks up from the couch immediately afterward.

One glance at both of you and understanding settles across her face instantly.

“You cried and fixed your lives in the rain, didn’t you?” Gojo whispers dramatically.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna says immediately.

But his grip on your hand tightens instinctively afterward.

And Shoko nearly smiles into her drink. Nearly.

“Called it,” she mutters quietly.

Geto looks deeply exhausted by all of you.

Heat creeps unexpectedly into your face which doesn’t go unnoticed by sukuna. And before anyone can continue further, his hand settles gently against your lower back.

Protectively, guiding you toward the stairs.

The walk upstairs feels strangely intimate now.

The frat house quieter here, distant bass fading beneath rain tapping softly against windows while Sukuna keeps glancing back at you every few seconds like he still needs visual confirmation you’re following him.

And suddenly,you realize he’s nervous. That realization nearly ruins you all over again.

Because Ryomen Sukuna can beg in the rain, confess his feelings with his heart practically bleeding out of his chest,

and still look scared bringing you into his room.

Sukuna’s room is warm. Warmer than the rest of the house somehow. Maybe because it’s quieter here.

No flashing lights. No shouting. No chaos vibrating through the walls.

Just soft rain against the windows and the faint sound of both your breathing still trying to settle after everything.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Sukuna just stands there staring at you like he still hasn’t fully recovered from the fact that you followed him upstairs willingly.

That you stayed.

Then his expression tightens suddenly.

“You’re still freezing.”

Before you can answer, he’s already moving.

“Sit,” he says, grabbing a towel from somewhere near his closet.

You blink once.

“You sound bossy for someone who cried in public ten minutes ago.”

Sukuna pauses mid-step. Looks at you completely seriously.

“I’ll cry again.”

A startled laugh escapes you instantly.

And the relief that flashes across his face at the sound of it is almost embarrassing in its intensity.

Like hearing you laugh physically keeps him alive now.

You settle onto the edge of his bed while Sukuna kneels in front of you again, towel draped carefully over your head before he starts drying your hair with surprising gentleness.

The intimacy of it nearly undoes you. Because Sukuna touches you now like he’s aware you can bruise.

“You really got on your knees in the middle of the street,” you mumble again while he works carefully through damp strands.

He exhales quietly through his nose.

“Yeah i did”

“Yeah?”

You glance down at him finally.

His pink hair still damp. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them before.

“You looked one second away from proposing.”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. Its small and rough around the edges but its real.

“Would’ve if you kept walking away.”

Your chest tightens painfully at how honest he says it. No ego. Just truth.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

Sukuna’s hands still briefly in your hair.

“Probably.”

He disappears for a moment after that before returning with one of his hoodies.

Black. Too big. Still warm from the dryer somehow.

“Put this on.”

You take it slowly, fingers brushing his accidentally. Sukuna’s breath catches so softly you almost miss it.

Almost.

By the time you finish changing in his bathroom, the rain outside has softened into a quiet steady rhythm against the windows.

When you step back into his room wearing his hoodie, Sukuna looks up from where he’s sitting against the headboard.

And completely freezes.

Your stomach flips instantly beneath the intensity of his stare.

“What?”

Sukuna blinks once like he’s trying to recover from a thought.

Then he says,

“Nothing.”

A beat.

“You just look really good in my clothes.”

Heat crawls immediately into your face.

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

The words leave him easily. Then suddenly both of you go quiet. Because that means something different now. His expression softens afterward.

Like he’s still getting used to the idea that he’s finally allowed to say things like that openly.

“C’mere,” he says quietly after a moment.

You go without hesitation.

And Sukuna visibly melts the second you settle against him. Actually melts.

His arms wrap around you carefully at first before tightening slowly, like he’s still convincing himself this is real.

Your head rests against his chest while the steady sound of his heartbeat fills the quiet room between rainfall and distant music downstairs.

And for the first time in weeks, neither of you feels restless.

Sukuna presses a lingering kiss against the top of your head.

Then another. Like he can’t stop.

“You know,” you mumble sleepily against his chest after a while, “Gojo’s never letting you live this down.”

Sukuna groans softly above you.

“I’ll kill him tomorrow.”

“You cried in the rain for me.”

“I said don’t tell people that.”

A tired laugh slips from your chest.

And Sukuna’s arms tighten around you immediately at the sound.

Silence settles softly after that and this time its Warm.

Outside, the storm finally passes.

Inside, Sukuna keeps one arm around your waist while his fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin beneath oversized sleeves.

Still touching you like he’s afraid this might disappear by morning.

But it won’t.

And this time,

when he reaches for you,

you reach back. ♡

note:AHHHH i know that this took so long, but i didn’t want to rush it, i needed some time to think because i wanted it to be as realistic as it can be 😭

Also thank you to the reader who gave me the idea for the rain scene in the comments in the previous part. This is the last part but I’ll post some drabbles for this couple <3 it was so hard to fit 12k words in one post omg , tell me what you think??

[lilithkleia]

your loser ex has your name tattooed on his chest. and he isn’t above begging to get you back.

you stared at your tv, a tub of ice cream in hand while watching the ridiculous boxing match play on the screen. and just like clockwork, the pink haired man won, pumping his fists into the air while everyone cheered him on.

sukuna fucking ryomen.

your pathetic ex, the sad sloppy excuse of a man (or so you liked to tell yourself), the self centred prick who still thrived off of the chaos and adrenaline of a good fight, was unfortunately still as hot as ever. sweat slicked down his back, his tattoos catching the lights around the ring while he was declared the winner. it was all the same until you noticed the fresh letters carved onto his chest.

pretty letters that unmistakably spelled out your name. and knowing his body and every inch of it, you knew that that wasn’t there before. this fucking loser. had you permanently etched on your skin. and just as you were about to frantically dial his number to give him an earful, he looked riiight at the camera—

“hey y/n. i know you’re watching this. stop ignoring my calls, baby.”

oh he was dead fucking meat.

you knew that it’d be mere minutes before he showed up at your doorstep—the same cycle of him begging to have you back, only to go back to his theatrically crafted suave persona.

and just like clockwork, about an hour later—riiiing!

you opened the door only to find sukuna, still drenched in sweat, standing at your doorway with a comically large bouquet in hand.

“are you fucking insane?”

“i take it that you saw my tattoo.”

you eyed him up and down, barely hiding your distaste—until he dropped to his knees before you.

“what the fuck are you doing. GET UP.”

“please, baby please i’ll do anything to get you back.”

he was down on the ground, your neighbours whispering while the renowned boxer hugged your legs, his head buried in your thighs, the bouquet he got long forgotten on the floor.

“please.”

he was begging now, kneeling before you while his eyes brimmed with tears. and a sick sick part of you made your heart skip a beat.

he was desperate, your name etched on his chest, on his knees, hugging your legs as if that’d ground you to him.

“is this because no one wants to fuck you anymore?” you snorted and he looks at you almost as if you slapped him across the face.

“c’mon doll, you know that’s not true.”

“pathetic.” you spat out, his face flushing a deep shade the moment you said it.

“you still have they repressed degradation kink i see. stupid fucking masochist.”

fuck.

“please—.”

“your begging needs improvement. we’ll see how good you do when i have you gagged and sobbing.” you cooed and you swore you could see his sweats tent just the slightest.

you were going to turn the boxing ring’s forbidden ryomen sukuna, into your pathetic, whiny little slut. and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

GRAAH. i like pathetic men. hehe. @yoonsucks @yorikae @rosiestrudel

dividers: @/pixopix .

all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.

[tiramisooooh]

happy birthday to the best boy, yuji!🐯🌸

[naomiiocha]

Gojo commission I did recently, had to put pants on him for this post booo 👎

[tteokdoroki]

thinking about firelord zuko who very quickly discards tradition as soon as you’re married.

he never walks ahead of you, always a few paces behind like he has a better view or he’s appreciating a sight only to be seen once in a life time. your fingers stay interlaced beneath heavy cloaks that bare the emblem of his home nation, but nowadays yours is stitched into the fabric with threads imported from your own. right above his. right above his heart.

zuko who’s shadow takes shape in the darkness, allowing your light to filter through a room full of opinionated others. he knows the extent of your capability extends beyond the wildest dreams, far greater than those who stand around you waiting for the crack in your visage. you’re strong, even if you stand a few heads shorter than him, your voice is loud and oftentimes the most correct in a room full of static and noise. he’d never let you feel less than, he never speaks for you, lips only parting to clear the buzz in the air and to allow attention to fall to you.

fire lord zuko who insists on being your right hand at every table — leaving you to take a seat at his head. he can’t stand the thought of eating meals at opposite ends — where the distance makes him feel lost, too far from home. he eats to your right where he can listen to the mundane up close, watch the way your lips curl around bites of food or a the words that make up tale from your tribe. he listens like the world has stopped for the two of you, like a nation in need of rule can wait another day for its lord and his princess.

in a similar fashion, he tends to you like a devout follower. even if there are handmaids and tailors and people to help. every door you’ve ever walked through is held open by him. for you. he lifts the straying edge of your train with a certain reverence, treating extra fabric like it’s an extension of you. zuko twirls the braids into your hair in the fashion that you like, undoes the lacing strings of your attire with fumbling fingers that only know the roughness of flames after a late night — because even though his mess of your garments is embarrassing, it makes you laugh in a way that warms him like honey notes in milk before bed.

zuko preps the water that laps at the tension in your shoulders and eases it away with hands that move like molten lava. rose petals bob along the surface, perform twizzles in the ripples of water that ebb around the lines of your body. worn down by work, diplomatic duties but tended to by unspoken love and adoration. zuko sinks into the tub behind you, bare and warm — his chin on your shoulder and face in your neck because that’s the only place he’s found safe enough to call home.

when you’re married to zuko, life is not instantly easier and the traditions of others still find their way into your relationship as performative duty… but he carries part of the load. he makes it simpler for you, because loving you, is simple too.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[wadigrove]

so you know how firebenders rise with the sun and how zuko is an early riser?

i imagine that you wake up one day by the soft gold slipping through the balcony doors, warming the silk sheets tangled around your legs.

your body still feels heavy, languid, like molasses slowly settling back into itself—the ache of last night lingering in a way that makes you shift with a small, sleepy breath. everything feels warm, slow, unhurried.

when you blink your eyes open, zuko is already awake.

he stands by the balcony, the early light catching on his skin, turning it into something almost molten. his robe hangs loose on him, barely tied, dark hair unbound and moving with the wind. there’s something steady about him like this, something grounded—his shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath, in and out, in and out, like he’s in quiet conversation with the sun itself.

it’s intimate in a different way. not the closeness of touch, but the quiet witnessing of him—of who he is when the world isn’t pressing in.

you shift in the sheets, the silk whispering against your skin as you pull it up to your chest, sitting up slowly. the movement is small, but he notices immediately. he always does.

his eyes flick toward you, sharp for only a second before they soften, the tension in his posture easing as soon as he sees you awake. and then a smile—small, warm, just for you—touches his lips.

your voice comes out softer than you expect, still wrapped in sleep. “come back to bed.”

you reach for him, hand slipping out from beneath the sheets, fingers curling slightly in silent invitation.

there’s a pause. just a breath.

and then he exhales, something almost amused flickering across his face, like he already knows he’s lost.

because how could he ever say no to you?

he steps away from the balcony, leaving the morning behind for a moment, drawn back in by something stronger.

by you.

[lilithkleia]

situationship!sukuna vs a panic attack >_0 !

you didn’t know how you let it get this bad again. it was one moment where you seemed to be getting better before it all came crumbling down. you were studying one moment, seated on the floor, before your brain was flooded with every momentary thing you did wrong—it was all seconds before you could feel your throat close in on you. the room started to feel too big, too small all at once, your eyes brimming with tears threatening to spill, while your body seemed to close in on itself.

the very second it began you wanted to will it to stop. you hated it. it made your skin crawl and it made you feel like everything seemed to crumble over virtually nothing.

you needed something, someone to ground you—the only person who’d seen you like this was shoko, and she had forced her way into your mind and heart in ways that terrified you. but she knew you, she could help.

you fumbled around the room, your face now streaming tears, your breath coming out in short spurts like you were drowning.

“shoko..shoko..” was all you mumbled before rummaging your contacts list, before typing out a very scrambled and frantic—

y.n: i need you. come over. pleade

sukuna: i’m omw.

your head was far too gone to notice who you’d texted at the time, too busy trying to force yourself to breathe normally while you were curled up in the floor, slowly knocking against your head just to make it stop.

you were slowly crumbling, right before you heard a curt nod at your door.

you unlocked it, your head held low, right before you were going to jump into shoko’s arms, you looked up.

“hey—woah what happened to you?”

“you’re not shoko.” you gasped out, your face flushed, your eyes still hot with tears.

“no…i’m not.” is all he said, standing in your doorway while you spiralled.

sukuna had never found himself in a situation like this. he was used to short conversations, drunken rambling, but not this. he’d never seen you out of your entire collected, calm facade, he could feel pits form in his stomach when you saw your tear stained face, the way you hiccuped every moment while trying to get your words out.

“im sorry i’m so sorry i meant to call shoko—i’m so sorry kuna.” you gasped out, your eyes still teary, you so desperately wanted it to stop. you were embarrassed beyond belief, of all people.

“hey hey it’s okay—what’s wrong?” he was awkward, clumsy, but he wanted to help.

your relationship with each other was steady, something where it wasn’t enough to constitute something romantic, but something that was far beyond platonic too. it was messy hookups, late night drives, getting drunk on rooftops and singing like there wasn’t another soul in the world.

“i can’t, kuna i can’t—” you were slowly stepping away from him, still gasping for air while your vision blurred before you, slowly trying to hiccup your tears away. he can’t see you like this. he’ll leave you behind. and everything you’d built so far was going to crumble because you were an idiot.

right before you sat back down, you could feel sukuna slowly grab your wrists, before leaning to look at you.

“may i..?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft, softer than you’d ever heard him before.

“it’s okay, i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, i was just caught off guard.” he hoped to god he was saying the right things.

you slowly leaned into his touch, your voice hoarse, your face still streaming, your vision still blurry as ever, but his arms slowly enveloped you, carrying you over to your couch, his arms around you while you slowly sobbed into his chest.

“do you…wanna talk about it?”

you slowly shook your head,

“that’s alright. whenever you’re ready.”

your breathing was still unsteady, still sobbing into sukuna’s chest while you mumbled little apologies for soaking his possibly very expensive sweatshirt.

he slowly cupped your cheeks, slowly wiping away what seemed to be endless tears while you clutched at his shirt, still in his arms while you sobbed.

sukuna was terrible at this—he was a man of a few words, but that was okay, you didn’t need many words right now. you were steady in his arms while he slowly patted your head, until your hiccups seemed to slow. he was unused to this, but he wanted you beyond what words he could conjure up. he wanted to shatter this weird limbo the two of you were stuck in. he wanted to be yours. but until then, he’d always be here, rocking you in his arms until your sobs slowed to slow snores into his chest.

he’d never been more grateful that you called the wrong number, and neither were you. he was here, he was quiet, unsure, panicked but he was there. he didn’t freak and he didn’t run from it, and that meant more to you than words would ever say.

ITS BACK. @yoonsucks @yorikae

dividers: @/pixopix .

all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.