a/n: omg over 800 followers??? thank you sm for your support!!! <3 literally can't believe it. This part is almost like a filler part because i wanted some drama before we continued. So next part we will finally get some relationship development if yk what i mean ;)
For the thousandth time that day, you thought about him again.
You shouldn't have. You should have been focusing on your lecture or what your friends were saying. You should have been studying for the quiz you had tomorrow, which you were probably going to fail now.
You definitely shouldn't have been thinking about Frat! Sukuna, or his lidded eyes, that crooked smile that showed off a canine and a dimple.
You were upset that he ghosted you for a week, but now you wish it had been for longer, then maybe you could focus better.
You also barely knew the guy. Sure, the "date" you both had two nights ago resulted in deep conversations, more than just "what's your favorite color", but it still wasn't enough. Not for you, someone who preferred to know the contents of someone's soul before moving further. The thing was, since that day, you and Sukuna had stayed in contact much more.
In fact, the next time you saw him wasn't after a week. And before you saw him, you and him had been texting all day and night. The day would start with a good morning text and end with a goodnight one. You found yourself updating him throughout the day about the most mundane things: "I'm trying a new coffee order today," or "omg just saw this guy trip lol".
It was unnerving to you, how you found yourself wanting, even enjoying, talking to him. Even though his responses wouldn't be anything more than, "nice," you knew in his word the only text a girl would usually get was, "come over." It felt odd knowing he wanted to get to know you outside of just sex.
It was Tuesday now, a day your classes went until 6 PM, so when you finally stepped out the lecture hall, you were exhausted. Despite being so spent, you still needed to study tonight, so you say goodbye to your friends and head to the conscience store to get an energy drink.
And lo and behold, standing in the large cafeteria adjacent to where you were heading, was Ryomen. He was with...fuck, were those girls? And three of them? Why was Ryomen with three girls, and why were they all giggling and batting their lashes at them like he just saved ten puppies from drowning.
Some weird emotion passed through you, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and jealousy. God, you should have known. You should have known that no matter how nervous and sweet he acted around you, he'd still be getting his game on somewhere else. You not wanting a hookup just meant he'd get it from somewhere else.
Every text you'd sent him since Friday echoed back to you. You felt embarrassed and disgusted. You were sleeping late just to text him, you would stop paying attention in class because he'd be texting you about what stupid stunt his frat brothers pulled that day.
And now you felt foolish. Of course there were other girls, there always is.
As you practically stomp to get your drink and get the fuck out, you make eye contact with him, the last thing you wanted. And what confuses you the most is the absolute, genuine horror that passes through his face. He almost jolts back from the girls, especially the one who was rubbing, rubbing, on his bicep.
You quicken your pace until you're outside his line of sight, and quickly buy what you need. You're about to leave when you see Ryomen making his way towards you.
Not on your watch.
You keep walking, it was a good distance to your dorm but you had no intention of stopping until you could smack the door in his face and never speak to him again.
"Y/N, wait! It's not what it looked like!"
It's not what it looked like, yeah, said every stupid guy ever.
You push past the crowd of people, hoping to lose Ryomen, but every turn you make, he follows. And even though you normally loved his tall figure, now it was a huge disadvantage because he caught up to you in just a few more strides. You felt a large hand grab your bicep, soft but enough to stop you in your tracks.
You turn around with maybe too much aggression, because Ryomen actually flinches.
"What? Don't you have an orgy to get back to?"
To your horror, he lets out a laugh, and he must have realized how fucked up that is given the situation, and snaps his mouth shut.
"What could possibly be funny right now?"
"Sorry, I just-," he stops, as if figuring out what to say next, "I swear it's not what it looked like."
"No, Ryomen, it's exactly what it looked like. You think you can have every other girl you want and me?"
And again, this fucker smirks.
"So I have you then?"
You splutter in anger, "That's what you're focused on right now!? Not the fact that I saw three girls around you? One of them was caressing you!?"
"C'mon, let's go sit somewhere so I can explain," he tries to direct you somewhere quieter, but you don't let him, slapping his hand away.
"No, I'm heading to my dorm."
"Y/N, I don't even know their names."
"Oh yeah, that makes it better," you say as you continue walking, him right behind you. And then you stop suddenly, and he trips as you whip around.
"You know, I knew I shouldn't have given you a chance, you're just like every other frat guy."
"Do you wanna know where I was headed?"
"What?"
He stares at you softly, which is completely opposite to the absolute fire in your eyes. It's like your personalities switched. You were normally calm, and he was the fiery one.
"I was coming to pick you up from your class, but they stopped me and asked if I was coming to some stupid sorority event this weekend," he explains calmly.
"So what? You just stood there and let them stick their hands in your pants?"
"No one's hand was anywhere near my pants."
"Ok Ryomen, I don't care, just let me go home."
"Not until you say you believe me."
"You know, technically I don't have to believe you because we're not anything," you stop to gesture between you two, "there isn't anything here, and I was stupid to assume just because you fed me one time it meant something."
He looks visibly upset at that and opens and closes his mouth a few times. You take that as your answer and continue walking.
You're right outside your building now, Ryomen is still hot on your trail. Even when you plan to smack the doors in his face or try to shut the elevator before he can get in, he follows you all the way to your dorm room.
"I'm not letting you in, so you're better off just leaving," you fumed, sliding the key into its lock.
You realized he hasn't spoken for the past five minutes, ever since you said the two of you "had nothing".
"Y/N, please listen," his voice was softer, there was almost a plead in it.
When you turned around you saw his eyebrows were slightly knit together, and he couldn't decide whether to keep his hands in his pockets or not.
"Ryomen, if you're just gonna make up a bullshit lie, I really don't want to hear it because I genuinely don't have time to waste."
"I'm not lying, I swear," he runs a hand through his hair, "I really was coming to your class, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get food, but they just stopped me out of nowhere."
He looked like he actually wanted you to believe him. The way he was almost frantic in his speech, while his eyes flickered all over your face for any possible reaction. It made the anger in your chest die down.
"Okay, let's say you're telling the truth. Is this really what I just have to put up with then? You said you wanted to get to know me, and we talk all the time like this might actually be going somewhere! But if I'm going to always have to worry about other girls, I don't think this can continue."
Just a week ago, you didn't think you'd be upset over seeing him with a few girls. And now you were talking about some "actually going somewhere". When did things get so deep?
"I don't get it." He announces.
"Get what?"
"You say we're nothing but then say something different later. You said there isn't anything between us but you're clearly upset I was talking to other girls. Which one is it?"
Oh.
He got you there.
You're at a loss for words, and instead your mechanism clicks into place to defend yourself.
"T-that's not what this is about!"
"That's exactly what this is about, Y/N." His voice is more stern now. He takes a deep breath in like he's preparing to give a speech, "I'm not gonna say I'm the best guy you could be giving your attention to. Hell, I'm probably at the bottom of the list. But what I know is no woman has ever made me wanna change. Fuck, the word alone makes me shiver."
You're now awkwardly standing in front of your room, part of you wanting to go in and smack the door in his face. The other half wanted to hear him out.
"I'm trying here, okay. And I know I'll fuck up probably a thousand times before you earn my full trust; it's just who I am. But I promise, I'm trying. Even if it's just friends, I don't care. I just-," he looks visibly horrified by his own words, like each one requires great strength to get out, "I like talking to you, and hanging around you. So just hear me out."
You would have to be the stupidest girl on planet earth — and for all other planets for that matter — to turn around on him now. You knew you had him wrapped around your finger when he showed up at your dorm on a Friday night with food and a confession of getting nervous around you. But now he was practically spilling his heart's contents, and from what you knew about the man, it was very out of character.
Ryomen Sukuna was known for casual hookups, not calling girls back, and just overall being a stereotypical fuckboy. So him saying "I like hanging around you" means you've definitely got into his head somehow.
"Fine," is all you say.
"Fine? That's it?" He looks almost offended.
"I'll give it a try, Ryomen, since you practically begged me," a smirk forms on your lips.
He splutters, "I did not beg?!"
You laugh at the slight pink coating the tops of his cheeks.
"I'm kidding. How about you take me out this weekend, you know, make it up to me for causing all this distress?"
"Y'know, usually women don't ask to get asked out," he folds his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing under his shirt.
"Someone has to be the man here." You lean against your doorframe, trying not to salivate at his muscles.
At this, he laughs, a deep rumble that unfortunately shoots straight down, your face heating up.
"Okay, I'll be here Saturday at 5, look pretty."
"I always look pretty."
He smiles, "Can't argue with that."
And with that, you once again somehow give him a chance. You knew you were stepping into dangerous waters, but something about the thrill excited you.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
a/n: finally after weeks of being insanely busy I've managed to get a part out! i already started working on the next part so keep an eye out! Also pls don't comment for a tag in the next part, the tag list is closed! But feel free to follow to stay updated. And tysm everyone for your support I'm glad people are liking the series!
TAG LIST CLOSED
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this is my original work, no ai used. please do not claim as your own. - @maroonskiesfrvr 2026
heyyy hope ur doing well I love ur writing btw!! just wanted to ask for your opinion on what’s been happening in the jjk community recently, with so many blogs deactivating or going on hiatus because of those ‘burn book’ blogs?
heyy!! i'm doing well hru, and thanks glad you're enjoying!
in terms of the "burn book" blogs, i genuinely am disgusted like how miserable do you to be to go anonymous and say such horrible things about people. but on the other hand you never know what's going on in peoples lives and they just come on the internet to vent so idk
but it's rlly sad that certain blogs are deactivating because of it esp the ones that are soo talented and have such good stuff up
i guess the best thing to do is just report as many of those burn book blogs you can, not rly much we can do, and also as a community of writers and readers, always support each other!
in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) fic
pairing ⸺ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader
summary ⸺ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be next and you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved—
until you wake up from your dream, gasping. why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?
warnings ⸺ eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity of aashi longfics), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied
a/n i'll see u at the end :3
December 23, 2018.
“How do you feel?”
The both of you lay, side by side on the grass as you stared into the sky. The only sounds that surrounded you were the occasional rustle of leaves, the hum of the late afternoon cicadas, and the soft, almost inaudible rise and fall of your breathing.
The stars were really bright that day.
The sounds of nature were even more tangible in the absence of traffic. After the culling games had roped in both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike, no one went out, so the roads were all virtually empty.
Satoru frowns thoughtfully, in a way that makes his nose scrunch up. His fingers play through your hair absentmindedly as he comes up with a response. With the way he’s thinking, your heart aches to tell him that you want his honest feelings, his doubts and fears, not some fake image he perpetually paints on for the rest of the world. You temper the urge.
“Fighting Megumi is gonna be…weird,” he says finally, with a sigh. “I’m just glad the real pain in the asses are out of the way.”
You remember the day he had come back from killing the higher ups. There was still blood matting his face and hair, dried and flaking. His eyes had long lost their light, and when you had got him alone in your shared room, grabbed a washcloth to wash his face. While you made sure none of the blood was still there, he had asked: Did I do the right thing?
It had taken three face towels to clean it all. The others had gotten soaked too quickly.
He continues. “I’ve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.”
You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are on the sky, as if trying to memorize every cloud.
“You can still want things,” you murmur. “Even now.”
What is left unsaid from you is, You can run away with me.
It’s a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.
At your words, he huffs out a laugh and turns his head just slightly, eyes meeting yours. The blue of them is softer in this light, dusk and gold turning them the color of worn glass. “I do,” he says. “I want a stupid house with a stupid yard and a dumb dog who only listens to you.”
You laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. “The dog would accidentally eat your god-awful heap of chocolates and drop dead.”
“Okay, then maybe not a dog then,” he accedes. “I could do with a cat. Just don’t confiscate my chocolates.”
Your voice is a bit stuffy when you reply with, “I would never.”
“Good,” His smile is crooked now, warm. “If I had all the chocolates and the cakes you bake for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.”
“You already have those, Satoru,” you laugh wetly.
“Yeah, but I want grocery lists and laundry days and boring Tuesday nights. Not endless mission reports. God, I’m definitely not going to miss the paperwork,” he groans, and his tone would sound petulant to anyone else; to you, it’s a reminder of how he’s been worked to the bone.
You roll closer to him, forehead brushing against his temple. “We’ll have all of it.”
There’s a beat of silence. The wind rustles through the trees again. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like he’s trying to make a home of it. You can’t help but look at his serene face and think,
I love you.
It goes unsaid.
Then, “You’ll wait for me?” he asks, almost like a joke.
You turn to him, gaze softening as it lingers on the line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes, the eyes you’ve loved in a thousand different lights. He’s so beautiful it aches—like something out of a dream or a poem scribbled by a lonely poet on a dirty street, staring up at a beauty wistfully peering out of a window of a high tower.
“Always.”
December 24, 2018.
He looks like he’s watching the sky again.
You are staring down at the shape of him broadcasted through Mei Mei’s crows. The ground is soaked, and the sky doesn’t seem to know whether to rain or just stay gray. His eyes are open.
But you know better. And still, you wait.
Around you, there’s chaos. Your students, in disbelief, are talking loudly but it’s as if everyone around you is talking underwater, none of their words comprehensible. You feel someone shake you, but you’re still staring.
His eyes aren’t closed, but he looks peaceful.
The air thrums with cursed energy, of people in utter shock, and with fear so thick it could choke.
But all you can think about is a stupid patch of wildflowers blooming in your yard. They would’ve been his favorite color—blue, like his eyes when he was teasing you. Like his eyes when he told you he wanted a dumb dog and boring Tuesday nights.
You were going to plant them for him every spring.
You were going to make him cakes every time he forgot his own birthday.
You were going to grow old together.
Instead, you’ll be the one laying flowers on his grave. Alone.
“I’ll go,” you say.
It’s too quiet. Someone protests. You don’t even hear who.
“I said I’ll go.”
You’re already stepping forward. The fight is miles away but it doesn’t matter—you’ll find it. You’ll find Sukuna. You’ll follow the stench of blood and ruin until it leads you to him.
You know your death is imminent, but there is nothing left to want anymore. Because a future without Satoru is no future at all.
As you make your way through Shinjuku rapidly, you can’t help but think of Yuji—his eyes wide and boyish, despite everything—as he shoved a flyer into your hand and told you to try that ramen shop with him once this was all over.
You remember Megumi’s ginger candies, the ones you had to keep hidden or Gojo would eat them all in one go. They’re still sitting in a dish by the kitchen window.
You remember Shoko’s voice when she said, “Just come back alive, okay?”
You remember Nanami, and Utahime, and Nobara. You remember every stupid, beautiful person you’ve ever loved.
You love them, but love doesn’t always save you; instead, it makes you walk straight into the fire.
Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.
So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.
When you finally spot Sukuna, you put up a good fight, but anyone who watches you knows you are resolved, have accepted your fate and prefer death. You don’t scream or cry when it happens; you stare at his face when your body is cleaved into spilling your blood like an endless dam.
You just think: I kept my promise.
I waited.
Then, as you feel everything growing darker and darker, there’s only one thought left, just a silent prayer to whatever god that might still be out there:
Let us try again.
Please—let us try again.
…
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
You wake up from your dream, gasping.
The noise your alarm makes is an unfriendly wake-up call; in your furious effort to locate your phone—which has found itself nestled in your messy blankets—you notice your roommate, Maki, blearily shifting. You madly search to minimize the yelling you’re going to get from her later in the day (you’re already cooked by this point), until silence blankets the room once more.
It’s only until your phone is silenced that you register how fast your heart is beating. Then, when you trudge over to the personal bathroom you and Maki share and flick the light switch, you see that tears had flowed down your cheeks in your sleep.
What a weird fucking dream.
One to have on your first day of classes for the semester, too. You squint at your reflection, the fluorescent light doing your sleep-addled eyes no favors as you grudgingly get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face and all that. You don’t know why it was so vivid.
From the dredges of your mind, you first recall the flashing light beams and carnal violence in the destruction of the city, and then you. Were you some kind of magician? It was kind of like…Winx Club, but you weren’t a cunty fairy in cute clothes. Something about sorcerers, so maybe Harry Potter? Hunter X Hunter?
You spit out the frothy mix of your saliva and the mouth freshener. So ridiculous. You couldn’t even blame stress for the weird fanfiction at this point—classes haven’t even started.
Memories of the dream ebb and flow as you try hard to remember what else had occurred as you wipe your face. Gazing upon the white of the moisturizer you’re dabbing on your skin, a flash of white suddenly resurfaces.
Gojo.
A violent feeling overcomes your chest at the name, and you think you’re having a heart attack with the way it clenches like you’re almost about to weep in longing of a beloved. You gasp, cupping the left side of your chest as you try to lower your heart rate.
What hurts most of all is the searing pain, like a spiral of thinly corded string has branded itself on your ring finger. In your rush to look up in the mirror to see what could be hurting you, you don’t notice the red glow it forms. What you see in the see in your reflection surprises you: you’re crying again.
Tears have fully started streaming down your face with the pain, carving wet valleys on your cheeks as they went. After your heart rate slows down, you frown while looking down at your hands. Why were they shaking?
You repeat the name numerous times in your brain, each time causing you to physically tweak. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, and then resurfaces Satoru, Satoru, Satoru—
It’s after the tenth time you repeat his name that your body seems to calm itself down and get accustomed to whatever emotional shock that coursed through your name after you mentioned his name. His name originally came up because you remember the main person in your dream: the white-haired man. He was the reason you decided to confront that…three armed man? Or did he have four arms? Regardless, you basically offed yourself after he died because you loved him, or something. With the way your body seems to physically shake at the sheer thought of his name, as if the utter image of longing, love may not have been enough to describe what you felt.
Realizing that you’ve drifted off at reminiscing sleepily, you start, as if suddenly animated. You pat your skin, setting in the final step of your skincare routine. Then, you click on your phone screen to check the time.
And notice immediately that you are going to be late.
Then ensues you scrambling to your room, putting on your clothes, tripping on the floor in the process, getting a sleepy glare from Maki that has doubly certified that you are getting a scolding, and then finally making it out the door. The somewhat cool fall weather hits your face as you walk on the pavement, checking your clock repeatedly to ensure it hasn’t hit 9am yet.
When you make it into the lecture, you realize that it is packed. There aren’t many seats—it is a gen ed class after all, something on some ancient history, and you notice two empty seats, side-by-side, tucked away in the corner of the lecture room. You have to carefully maneuver yourself down the seats.
Navigating the maze of limbs and backpacks, you mumble a series of "excuse me’s" and "coming through’s" until you squeeze past two guys—a stern-looking blond with glasses that scream "salaryman thirst trap" and a loud brunet beside him. Reaching your target, you slide into the seat that leaves an empty one between you and the blond. You’re very pleased about the extra breathing room.
Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.
You prepare your supplies to take notes on the first (of many) syllabus reviews to come. In the meantime, you’re privy to hearing the mumble and grumble of people around you; it’s only when a throat clears itself at the head of the class do you see a man—probably the professor of this class, Yaga—who has the slides already up. Ancient East Asian History is branded on the big white screen in bolded, black Arial font. Clearly, graphic design was not his passion.
His voice projects through the mic and is fairly deep and resonant, so it’s clear to everyone, despite the number of people in the room, that class is starting. As expected, the next slide is titled “What is Ancient East Asian History?”
“Let’s delve deeper into what I mean by East Asian. Asia is a subcontinent that’s home to a diverse set of cultures, and even so in East Asia…”
As Yaga speaks, time ebbs and flows around you. The monotonous sounds of papers flipping, pens scratching on paper, and the clicking of keyboards surrounds you. You can’t help but think the fluorescent lights, harsh and white, had to be designed to keep students from falling asleep, because their intensity paints the lecture hall in this weird lighting. The mood created by it is something akin to the filter horror movies perpetually have on—vivid, but cold and dark. Like when you’ve been up for too long to the point that you don’t know if it’s night, or morning, because it’s still dark out. Then, dawn breaks, the sun enveloping the sky in its warmth.
Suddenly, the heavy set of doors that serve as your lecture hall’s entrance open loudly—louder than someone who is sheepishly entering late. Instead of the usual indifference reserved for a fellow student who had slept in, the room ripples with murmurs and giggles, shattering the silence that had settled—save for Yaga’s lecturing.
You don’t look at first. You look at Yaga, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “In Japanese culture, punctuality is a form of respect—something we are clearly still learning.”
You don’t turn. You don’t need to. But, like a current pulling you under, your gaze follows the crowd’s. And you see him.
Gojo.
Suddenly, your heart clenches violently, and you can only help but gasp hoarsely and shut your eyes. If you didn't, streams of tears would flow down your face once more. You couldn’t help but swear internally; you had thought you had conditioned yourself to be stable at the mention of his name.
But, almost as if it’s subconscious, you wrench your eyes open, desperate to view the boy. You’d assume something apologetic, maybe. Rushed. Someone with their hood up, mumbling an excuse as they shuffle into the shadows of the back row. But this—
This is someone who walks like he knows the sound of his own footsteps matters. His ivory hair is tussled, like he had just rolled out of your dream. He looks a bit younger than he did when you had seen him, but his eyes are the same unmistakable brilliant, cerulean color.
Now, he’s making his way down the stairs, skipping every third one with his long legs. Something leaves his lips, and it’s something humorous—depending on how girls and guys around him laugh, a shared sense of adoration in their eyes. You can only help but watch as he comes closer and closer to you, and you remember belatedly that the seat next to you is the only empty one in the whole lecture hall.
Yaga huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in barely concealed annoyance. “Nice of you to join us, Gojo.”
Gojo lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Yaga, you ever tried finding parking on this campus?” The lecture erupts in barely muted half-sleepy giggles.
It’s only when a particularly loud high five he receives—by the brunet in your row—that you break out of your reverie and turn to your laptop, flustered. Any attempt to act nonchalant would be funny as if the thing that’s wrong with you—that invisible thing—hasn’t been rippling violently inside your gut the moment you laid eyes on him. Like your body has just been handed proof. Like a wound cracking open in slow motion.
He’s approaching, long legs trying to get through the sheer amount of people to where the empty seat next to you was, and when he’s there, right next to you, you shouldn’t look up.
But you do.
When your eyes meet his, something ancient and awful coils in your throat. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition so buried it aches.
Pearly teeth and bright blue eyes glistening. A breathless, “Hi.”
And the invisible string, that had spiraled and corkscrewed itself into the jumble it was, pulls—until it is straight and wrung tight. You don’t know this boy. You’ve never seen him before.
So why does it feel like your heart just remembered how to break?
Your throat is dry, but you manage out a “Good morning.”
You turn back to your desk, your fingers quivering. By your side, he’s moving and rummaging through the contents of his backpack quite noisily, one that can be heard throughout the lecture hall if one were to tune out Yaga’s droning. In curiosity of seeing what was taking him so damn long to find, you turn your head slightly, and notice the heaps of wrappers—all pastel colored and bright, like candy and dessert wrappers—that his backpack is almost suffocated with. Then, he pulls out his laptop, opens it, and resumes the game of Run 3 he had paused beforehand.
Respectfully, what the fuck.
As if sensing your stare, he turns to you until meeting your eyes; you were caught. Like a deer caught in headlights, you helplessly stare back at him, heat creeping up your neck, and his gaze leaves your eyes to look at your lips, which you were biting.
Then, he leans in slightly—you also inching yourself back because why is he getting so close and why is your heart beating so fast—and whispers, “Do I know you?”
You’ve never seen him outside of the weird dream you had, and it would’ve been weird to admit that you’ve dreamed about him. “No, I don’t think you do,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.
His lips quirk in response, but, to your dismay, he doesn’t retract. His brows furrow while he stares at your face, as if deep in thought, and nods, flirtatiously saying, “Makes sense. I feel like I wouldn’t have forgotten you if I had met you.”
Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you can’t help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, “No, I don’t we have. I’m sorry.” If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you must’ve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.
And thus the lecture runs its course. Throughout, you’re tense, the heat of his presence never letting you relax. You feel every movement of his fingers, his forearms, as he played his games or typed miscellaneous things that you didn’t see because you were physically forcing yourself to stare at the lecture slides, back ramrod straight.
It’s only until his leg starts shaking that you start feeling…weird. His reaction is completely normal; you don’t blame him, because Yaga’s been going over the syllabus’ section of projects and how you can’t change project partners for over thirty minutes. But it’s the fact that a steady wave of nausea is building up inside you, until a sharp piercing sensation overwhelms your head.
Then, a vision.
It’s hazy, as if projected on cloudy water. A shaking leg, clad in what seems like uniform pants, underneath a small wooden desk. Then, a hand reaches out to yours, grasping it firmly, and you feel a weird sense of nausea once more. However, it’s not the same feeling you’ve been feeling since your dream—instead, it’s a stomach upturning feeling of being teleported somewhere.
A bed.
It’s a small one, in a room that resembles a dorm. The hand grasping yours isn’t simply grabbing your hand; it’s now trailing up your sock-covered ankle, up your calves, and then under your skirt—
The murky vision gets even murkier until you can’t register anything anymore. Then, you suddenly return, the fluorescent lights being the first thing you register after the weird deja-vu-memory thing. The feelings you felt from the vision linger, including overwhelming feelings of euphoria, lust, and sheer happiness that bloom in your heart warmly, like a flower in fresh spring.
You’re so distraught from the complicated jumble of feelings that have thrusted themselves upon you that you don’t hear Yaga say his concluding words. It’s the jarring, obnoxious screech! of the chair next to you—Gojo’s—that you jump to your senses and realize half of the students have left.
Thus, you hurriedly pack your things and book it the fuck out of there because you would rather die than be the last person to leave class, lest Yaga think you were staying behind to talk to him. You’ve had more than your fill of East Asian Studies today.
Maybe it’s best if you avoid Gojo, lest you slip up. The dream—and the weird reactions your body seems to be having in his presence—are too…peculiar. If something happened, you wouldn’t know how to recover.
In your haste, you don’t realize you’ve left something behind, nor did you hear the “Wait! You forgot….this” that Gojo had called out to you, staring at the object in his hand—and your retreating back—with a complicated expression.
next. Note to Self: Don't Call Random Boys your Husband (soon!)
a/n short chapter, but this series is going to contain a mixture of: a lot of crack and fluff, yearning (as always, yall know me), and debilitating angst ("who did this to you??" oh i loved writing the angst) and crazy reunion sex. comment down below to be added to the taglist!!
to be clear, unless otherwise indicated, reader is getting these moments from the past as "migraines" / flashes / dreams.
dating iwaizumi hajime has turned into a full, chaotic, and perfect marriage—he’s 31 now, terrifyingly strict with the national volleyball team, and yet the most tender, doting husband at home. you’ve built a life together with a three-year-old daughter who keeps both of you on your toes—and has made iwaizumi’s possessiveness toward you even more intense.
mornings are soft and domestic—shirtless iwaizumi flips pancakes in the kitchen while your daughter climbs onto a chair to “help,” tiny hands patting his cheek and giggles filling the room. he hums low as he works, occasionally glancing at you with a fond smile, like he can’t believe he gets to spend his life with the two of you.
the home gym has become a family space—your daughter tries to copy everything you do, stretching or folding into wobbly yoga poses while you guide her, and iwaizumi chuckles quietly from the side, proud and entertained. he gently adjusts your posture during light workouts, hands lingering a little longer than necessary, teasingly possessive under the guise of coaching.
he still never pushes you too hard—your workouts are gentle, short, and playful, mostly to keep you active and healthy. he encourages your daughter’s movement too, whispering little praises while sneaking in soft kisses or playful nudges at you. the three of you together create a cozy, loving rhythm: yoga, stretches, and giggles filling the gym.
sex now happens only when the house is empty—usually when your parents or his parents take your daughter for a day or two. when it’s just the two of you, iwaizumi is unrestrained and possessive, indulging fully in his breeding kink.
he pulls you into the gym or bedroom, pressing you down onto benches or the yoga mat, hips pressing into yours with full strength. every thrust is deliberate, deep, and overwhelming, making you gasp and tremble beneath him.
he grips your waist, lifting and adjusting you mid-thrust, murmuring filthy praises: “so tight…so wet…all mine, baby…mine to fuck.”
his hands roam across your body while he fucks you, squeezing your hips, tracing your back, and teasing your breasts, making your body arch instinctively toward him.
he loves dirty, possessive whispers while he pounds you, dragging your face to the side of his shoulder, pressing his lips to your neck, and groaning your name like it’s the only thing he wants to say.
he shows off his strength, picking you up and spinning you over onto the bed without breaking rhythm, cock still buried deep, thrusting into you with full force, hips snapping harshly against yours.
favorite position is still mating press—he folds you in half, pressing your chest to the mattress, holding your arms above your head as he drills into you, watching your toes curl, your back arch, and your lips part for him.
he loves hearing you moan around him, telling you how perfect you feel, how he can fill you so completely, and how you’re his in every way.
when he knows you’re close, he grabs your jaw or presses a hand over your chest, forcing you to meet his gaze as he murmurs, “cum on my cock, baby…only mine.”
he doesn’t let you come alone—drags it out, thrusting deep, teasing, whispering filthy praises and ownership, until your body is trembling, overstimulated, and completely his.
after he’s done, he collapses beside you, still glancing down at you with that soft, satisfied smile, brushing damp hair from your face, murmuring, “so good…so perfect…my girl…my wife…”
afterward, he cradles you like he did your daughter as a baby, kisses along your shoulders and neck, whispering soft praise while you both catch your breath.
iwaizumi balances life as a trainer, husband, and father—commanding and strict at work, playful and doting at home, and completely possessive in private moments, showing that he can be all sides of himself and make them work seamlessly together.
as a father, he’s everything you knew he would be—firm when needed, endlessly patient, and completely soft for your daughter. he melts when she runs into his arms after practice, scooping her up like she’s the only thing that matters in the world. he reads her bedtime stories in a low, soothing voice, even doing silly voices to make her giggle, and sometimes you catch him asleep beside her crib, still in his work clothes, too tired to move but unwilling to leave her side.
as a husband, he’s fiercely devoted—always making sure you feel loved, protected, and cared for. he checks in on you throughout the day with texts, sneaks you quick kisses in the kitchen while dinner cooks, and holds you close at night when exhaustion hits him hardest. no matter how stressful work gets, he never lets you doubt his love or his attention.
balancing his role as japan’s athletic trainer with family life isn’t easy, but he manages it with grit and dedication—strict, no-nonsense iwaizumi at the training facility, and gentle, soft hajime at home. he sets boundaries clearly: work stays at work, and when he steps through the door, he’s yours and your daughter’s completely.
he takes pride in being able to do it all—guiding the best athletes in the country, being the father his daughter can always run to, and the husband who never stops cherishing you.
the mix of domestic fluff with your daughter and unrestrained, filthy intimacy when alone makes life with iwaizumi full, messy, and perfect—strong, loving, tender, and completely his.
iwaizumi hajime, at 31, is proof that he can carry the weight of the world in his hands and still come home to hold his family just as carefully—balancing discipline and devotion, strength and softness, until the life you’ve built together feels unshakable.
no i actually love that classism is made present and obvious in haikyuu so much, like it’s made to fit so well as an important theme
the difference between the public, private and state schools is so obvious and, imo, well done (e.g. shiratorizawa vs seijoh vs karasuno)
furudate also hits on the urban/rural divide in terms of resources, security, educational standards, etc, and how that affects the tokyo teams compared with the miyagi ones, as well as others
it gets a really good balance between “ppl from lower income backgrounds can and do succeed”, and “ppl from privileged backgrounds have a far higher chance of success” and i love that
some of my favourite examples under the cut, in no particular order
kageyama and ushijima in general, and in their relationships with everyone honestly, but especially hinata and oikawa
“what have you been doing the last three years”
ushijima’s metaphor with plants growing in the best soil (in which the best soil is an elite public school) vs “i am hinata shōyō, from the concrete”
that line is so. fucking good.
karasuno’s vb team struggling to get access to the gym and daichi competing with other teams for facilities
the whole “you should have come to shiratorizawa” thing, especially ushijima and oikawa’s conversation after aoba johsai loses to karasuno (it’s really well done in the stageplay, i can’t find the link rn)
actually i feel like a lot of the fandom’s memes and jokes with ushijima stem from lines that are some of the most poignant examples of class dynamics
hinata cycling over a mountain to get to school
karasuno’s coaching team compared with the other ones, and the patchiness in having reliable teaching supervisors in the past
the timeskip jobs. shiratorizawa, nekoma and karasuno come to mind for me as schools that illustrate this really well.
also the difference in types of schools (e.g. dateko being a technical college) is really interesting when it comes to timeskip. actually, i feel like this’ll end up a whole extra post
the parallels and differences between tanaka, kyōtani and yamamoto
team records of making it to nationals, e.g. shiratorizawa dominating the miyagi prefecture
the roles of parents and the notable absences in many instances
‘the lucky ones’, i think is the chapter title translation - the one focusing on ushijima and sakusa post-timeskip - it’s a really good chapter
nekoma’s motto being ‘connect’ - it’s a key team value, but also highlights the privilege of being well-connected and living in the capital city. it also affects their timeskips, facilities, ability to hold training camps, etc
the everyone-knows-everyone vibe of the town karasuno is in. really hits the nail on the head.
tokyo having an extra team in nationals as the event sponsor slot (i forget exactly what they call it)
it doesn’t diminish the impressive abilities of the players who went to public schools (like sakusa, reon, etc) but also acknowledges the ways class privilege helped them to get where they ended up and i just think that’s a really good balance
oh yeah i live in the uk so in case there’s confusion, us public school = uk state school. public schools here are an extra elite type of private school (eg. eton, harrow, etc)
sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath him— but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am I— gasp—" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.
You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."
Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."
Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.
Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.
Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.
"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."
"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.
You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.
"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."
Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.
Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.
You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.
"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.
Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.
Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.
The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.
He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.
Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?
He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.
You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.
He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.
Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.
You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.
Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.
The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.
Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.
Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.
The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.
Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.
Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.
And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.
He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.
Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.
You stare still on him.
Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.
"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.
Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.
His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."
"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.
It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.
He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"
"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.
His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."
Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?
". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.
Something ticked within him.
His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.
"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.
Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"
"Got a problem with it?
"Watch it. I'm still your president."
"Dirty talking already?"
Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.
It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—
Thump!
"What the hell!"
"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."
Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.
Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.
"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.
Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.
"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.
The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.
"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But it looked like you wanted to.
"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."
Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.
He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.
Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.
You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.
Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.
Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.
Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.
Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.
"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.
You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.
"It's. . . big," you murmured.
And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.
Just a jock. And a princess.
"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.
He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.
Cute.
"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.
You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.
"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"
"Not unless you want me to watch?"
Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?
"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.
"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"
His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.
Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.
"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.
He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."
"What's with that name?"
"What?"
He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?
Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.
He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.
His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"
Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.
Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.
He paused for the first time that night.
Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.
Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"
"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."
He blinked.
Spoke in that terribly stark way.
"You a virgin?"
"Must you be so blunt?"
A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.
"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."
He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—
"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."
Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.
Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?
The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.
Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?
"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.
You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.
That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.
Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.
His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"
Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.
"Obviously! I'm not that—"
His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.
It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.
Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.
The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.
"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."
He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.
No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.
The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.
"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.
Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.
"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.
Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.
Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.
His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.
You nodded.
"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.
You squeaked. "Yes— yes."
Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.
Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.
He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.
"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.
You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.
He drawled. "Good girl."
Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.
"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.
Red, too.
Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.
He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.
He could get used to this darling side of yours.
A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.
You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.
You twitched when he reached your thigh.
"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."
"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.
"Fingers. . . I think."
Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.
No, here? You were just his princess.
"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.
Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.
The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—
You pitched a whine.
"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"
"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"
"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"
Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.
After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.
Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.
"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.
"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.
"Ryo—"
"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."
His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.
"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."
"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."
A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.
The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.
He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.
"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"
You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.
So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.
"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—
Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.
"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.
"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.
"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.
He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.
He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.
He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.
"Fuck— there," you whined.
"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."
Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.
"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"
"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.
"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."
Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.
Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.
His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.
"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.
His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.
His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—
Sweet. So fucking sweet.
"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.
So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.
But still speaking, it seemed.
"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.
"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.
He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?
"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.
Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.
His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.
A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"
His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.
"I— hngh. Kuna."
"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"
"Mngh."
His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.
Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.
"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."
Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.
Your hands froze.
So did he.
With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"
Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.
"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"
His eyes softened.
"Nervous?" He murmured.
You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.
Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.
"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."
A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.
The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.
"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."
"I. . . thanks. Thank you."
"For being a decent human being?"
He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.
Fuck. He could get used to this.
"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.
The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.
His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.
"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"
A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.
The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.
A mission, a fancy hotel, one shared room, and years of feelings neither of you has been brave enough to talk about. What was supposed to be a simple overnight assignment with Satoru quickly turns into something much more complicated, especially when old tension starts getting harder and harder to ignore.
PAIRING: bestfriend! satoru x fem!reader
WC: 6.9k
WARNINGS: dry humping, a little bit of smut, no angst yet..
NOTES: erm there will be a part two im so sorry. it will be finished soonish! im still learning how to write in general but like specifically smut so i apologize if this doesn't read too well :( when part 2 is done, ill link it at the top here! there might be a few mistakes here and there, i didn't really edit it, but ill read through tmrw and fix wtv i can find lol. ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY
“Hey, cutie. What are you doing here?”
Satoru’s playful, velvety soft, and annoyingly smug voice booms from behind you. You didn’t get the chance to turn around before you felt his arms loop around your waist.
He was so confident in his actions and made it feel so natural, like they belonged there. He pulled you back until your back met the solid warmth of his chest and leaned down as if personal space were a foreign concept to him. His breath brushed your ear, soft and warm, and your body betrayed you before your mind had time to object.
You almost shivered.
Almost.
You locked your knees and stared straight ahead.
Satoru hummed near your neck. The sound carried mischief, comfort, and the kind of familiarity that made your heart do stupid flips inside your chest.
“Satoru,” you said, voice flat. “You know why I’m here.”
He laughed under his breath. His arms stayed around you.
To anyone else, the scene would look intimate, too intimate. A quiet embrace in Principal Yaga’s office. His chin close to your shoulder. Your back pressed to his chest. His hands resting at your waist like they had found their favourite place and refused to leave.
But this was Gojo Satoru.
He had always been like this, a touchy, careless, and shameless man. He leaned, grabbed, poked, tugged, and draped himself over people without warning. With you, he was worse. Much worse. It started when you two were students at Jujutsu High. He would steal the chair beside you even when three others were empty. He would rest his long legs across your lap during breaks. He would tug at your hair when he wanted attention, pinch your cheeks when you ignored him, and wrap his arms around your shoulders whenever he got bored.
At first, you fought him. You shoved his hands away and told him to fuck off. You glared so hard Shoko once said your face might get stuck that way.
Satoru never cared.
The first time you snapped at him to give you space, he blinked at you through his dark glasses, smiled like you had said something funny, and leaned even closer.
So, you gave up. Definitely not because you started liking it… yeah definitely not. That was what you told yourself. You gave up because Satoru Gojo was a mulish man, impossible to move once he decided where he wanted to go. And for some reason, he always seemed to move toward you.
You, Satoru, Shoko, and Geto had been stuck together since your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Back then, the school felt like its own world. You spent your days running through the long halls, dragging yourself back from missions, and sitting through Yaga’s lectures like each one might last forever. Being an adult felt so far away. You were always too occupied with getting through the next curse, the next injury, the next report, and the next time Satoru opened his mouth and made everything worse.
You had all been young and reckless then, convinced that whatever pain could be laughed off if you tried hard enough. Years had passed since, and none of you were quite the same people anymore. Still, the four of you remained at the same school, bound to the same world, moving within the same familiar barriers.
The uniforms had changed. The missions had grown uglier, and the weight on your shoulders had settled in so deeply it almost felt natural now. But through all of it, your friendship with them remained one of the few things in this life you truly cherished.
Shoko was your anchor in a heavy storm with her dry humor, tired eyes, and cigarette smoke that clung to her like a second shadow. She always knew when you needed silence more than advice.
Geto had a quiet steadiness to him. He was patient, thoughtful, and strangely easy to be around. You used to tease him for sounding like he had already lived three lifetimes, always ready with some annoyingly reasonable advice when the rest of you were busy making terrible decisions.
With them, you always knew where you stood. With Satoru, nothing ever felt simple. There had always been something between you, something you could never quite name no matter how hard you tried. But you felt it. God, you felt it. In the extra second his hand lingered before letting yours go. In the way his teasing softened when it was just the two of you. In the way he looked at you with those impossible blue eyes, like there was something he wanted to say but never did.
From the first day you met Satoru, you made one very clear promise to yourself: you were never going to fall for him. At the time, it honestly did not seem that hard. Yes, he was gorgeous, annoyingly so, but he was also impossible. Spoiled, loud, shameless, always demanding attention. He flirted like it was second nature, throwing out smiles and stupid little comments just to watch girls blush when he walked by. And the worst part was that he knew exactly what he was doing. Satoru always knew.
Even with his glasses on, he was bad enough—tall, white-haired, unfairly built, with a grin that made it hard to keep your thoughts respectable. But when he took them off, it was like everyone around him forgot how to function. His eyes were ridiculous, too blue and too pretty for one person to have. You had once watched a girl nearly trip over herself after he looked at her for all of three seconds, and another go so red she turned away before he could even say anything.
You had rolled your eyes then, convinced everyone was being dramatic. And then Satoru turned to look at you. For one awful second, you completely understood. You were not blind, and you were definitely not stupid. Satoru Gojo was, without question, the most handsome man you had ever seen. Which was deeply irritating. The kind of handsome that made you roll your eyes on purpose, mostly because admitting he was that attractive felt like losing.
But his looks were never the real issue. It was the way he cared about you. That was what got you in the end.
Because underneath all the arrogance, the teasing, and that smug little grin you constantly wanted to smack off his face with a rolled-up mission report, Satoru was always there. When you called him at three in the morning because you wanted snacks from the convenience store, he picked up on the second ring. He complained the entire walk there, obviously, but still grabbed your favorite drink before you even asked. When you forced him to watch your stupid shows, he groaned like you were torturing him, took up half the couch, and interrupted every five minutes with questions. Then, somehow, he remembered every character’s name. And when you came back from a bad mission too drained to talk, he didn’t push or joke. He just sat beside you and stayed.
That was worse than the flirting. Worse than his face. Worse than the way his hand rested warm against the small of your back when he guided you through a crowd.
Shoko and Geto loved you. You knew that. They would be there the second you needed them, no questions asked. But Satoru was there for all the small, stupid things too. Somehow, he kept slipping into the quiet parts of your life until they did not feel complete without him there.
Maybe that was when your promise started to break. Not in some huge, dramatic moment. Just slowly, in little pieces, until one day you realized you had already fallen and had no idea when it happened.
Whatever you and Satoru were, it never fit neatly into one word. Friendship sounded too simple. Love felt like too much to admit. So, you didn’t call it anything; that felt like the safer choice.
And now you stood in Principal Yaga’s office with Satoru’s arms around your waist as if this was normal. As if your heart was not beating against your ribs like it wanted out. As if his thumb had not started tracing slow, lazy circles against your side.
You grabbed his wrist.
“Satoru,” you warned.
“What?” he asked, far too innocent.
“You know what.”
“I missed you.”
“You saw me this afternoon.”
“That was hours ago.”
“It was twenty minutes ago.”
“Exactly,” he said, tightening his hold. “Cruel.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but familiar footsteps sounded outside the office. Satoru released you at once. Not because he felt guilty. No. He released you only to lift both arms toward the door, preparing himself with the wide, dramatic confidence of a man about to annoy someone on purpose.
Principal Yaga entered and stopped in the doorway. For one silent second, he looked at Satoru’s open arms.
Satoru smiled. “Yaga. Come here.”
Yaga walked past him without slowing down and sat behind his desk.
Satoru’s arms stayed in the air.
You pressed your lips together trying to stop yourself from laughing.
“I need you two for a mission,” he said.
Satoru dropped his arms and leaned against the wall. “Aw. Together? You’re spoiling us.”
Yaga ignored him. “Its an overnight mission.”
That got your attention.
You straightened. “Us?”
Yaga folded his hands on the desk. “Yes.”
You glanced at Satoru. He looked delighted. That was never a good sign.
“Gojo can handle most missions alone,” you said. “Why send both of us?”
Satoru placed a hand over his chest. “Such faith in me. I’m touched.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet you keep me around.”
“I don’t recall choosing that.”
“You wound me.”
Yaga’s brow twitched. “Enough.”
Both of you went quiet and Yaga continued, “Gojo has a meeting with the higher ups near the mission site. He will be unavailable at first. You will begin the investigation and containment. Once his meeting ends, if necessary, he will join you and assist with the exorcism.”
You crossed your arms. “What grade?”
“Special grade.”
Satoru’s smile faded.
Yaga turned his attention to you. “The curses have been appearing near a commercial district. Civilian traffic is heavy during the day. Several people have already reported missing time, hallucinations, and sudden bursts of aggression.”
Your fingers tightened around your sleeve. Missing time was never a good sign and hallucinations were worse. Curses that messed with perception were dangerous in a different way. They could turn a normal street into a trap before anyone even noticed something was wrong. A safe path could lead straight into oncoming traffic. The voice calling your name could belong to no one at all. And by the time you realized your own senses had betrayed you, it was usually too late.
Yaga slid a folder across the desk. You took it and flipped it open.
The first page was filled with grainy photos from security cameras. A shattered shop window. A warped reflection caught in polished tile. Black residue smeared along one wall like something had dragged itself across it. Beneath that was a statement from a store owner who swore his own reflection had smiled at him just before he blacked out.
You sighed. This was not going to be a simple cleanup.
Satoru leaned over your shoulder, close enough that his hair brushed lightly against you as he studied the photos.
“Ugly little thing,” he murmured.
You glanced at him. “You see something?”
“Maybe.” The playfulness had left his voice. “The residuals are all over the place. Could be more than one curse. Could be one curse splitting pieces of itself off.”
You hummed, still glancing over the file before looking back up at Yaga. “Alright. And what’s the hotel situation?”
Yaga’s expression stayed perfectly neutral. “Ijichi booked one room for the two of you.”
For a second, you were sure you had misheard him.
You slowly lowered the folder. “Sorry. One room?”
“Yes.”
“With him?” you asked, turning your head just enough to indicate Satoru beside you.
Satoru pressed a hand to his chest like you had wounded him. “Wow. You say that like spending the night in my presence is some kind of punishment.”
“It is,” you said without missing a beat.
His mouth curled into a grin. “You don’t mean that.”
An irritating warmth crept up your neck, and you immediately looked away.
You hated him.
You hated him so much.
Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of both of you. “The school is cutting unnecessary costs where it can.”
“Of all the places to cut costs,” you said, “you landed on making me share a room with him?”
“It’s a standard business hotel,” Yaga replied. “There will be two beds.”
Satoru gave a disappointed click of his tongue. “There goes my dream.”
You turned toward him slowly and saw that the idiot was already grinning.
For one very tempting second, you considered throwing the folder directly at his face.
Yaga spoke before you could. “Ijichi’s waiting outside. You’ll leave now, stay near the district tonight, and start early tomorrow morning. Keep civilians out of it as much as possible.”
You looked back down at the photos. A familiar tightness settled in your chest. Not fear, exactly. Something closer to readiness. That unsettling feeling that came before a fight, when your body caught on to the danger before your mind had fully sorted through it.
Satoru noticed. Of course he did.
His shoulder brushed against yours. “Don’t do that.”
You glanced at him. “Do what?”
“That thing where you decide the whole mission is yours to carry before we’ve even left the room.”
"Well, I am starting it alone,” you said. “You’ll be busy with the meeting.”
“For a few hours, maybe.”
“That’s still alone.”
He tilted his head, trying to catch your eye. “I’ll be nearby.”
You said nothing.
“Hey.” His voice dropped, softer now, stripped of the usual teasing. “I mean it. I’ll be close.”
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest, warmer than they had any right to be.
You looked away first.
“Try not to make the higher-ups cry," you said.
Satoru gave you a lazy smile. “I can’t promise anything. They make it way too easy.”
Yaga let out a tired sigh. “Gojo.”
Satoru straightened at once and threw up an overly enthusiastic salute. “Understood, sir. I’ll be on my absolute best behavior.”
“You are a grown man,” Yaga said flatly.
“Allegedly,” you muttered.
Satoru turned to you, scandalized. “Wow. I expected this from him, but from you? That hurts.”
Yaga exhaled through his nose, clearly at the end of his patience. “Get out of my office before I regret assigning either of you.”
Satoru’s mood brightened instantly as he headed for the door. “Come on, then. Our romantic overnight mission awaits.”
“It’s not romantic,” you said, following him.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “But it is overnight.”
“That doesn’t help your case.”
“And there’s a hotel room involved.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“And two beds,” he added, with a sigh dramatic enough to belong onstage.
You gave him a sideways look. “You’re actually upset about that?”
“I’m just saying, it feels a little unnecessary.”
“The beds?”
“The separation.”
You stared at him. “Keep talking and you’ll be sleeping in the hallway.”
He reached for the office door, glancing back at you with that pleased, shameless grin. “Aw. You’d miss me.”
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
You gave Yaga a quick bow, more from habit than anything else, then followed Satoru out into the hallway.
He was already a few steps ahead of you, hands tucked into his pockets, white hair catching in the afternoon light spilling through the windows. He moved with that same careless ease he always carried, like nothing in the world had ever been heavy enough to slow him down.
You watched him walk ahead of you, and that old promise twisted quietly in your chest.
Never fall for Gojo Satoru.
What a stupid thing to promise yourself.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start getting ideas.”
“I’m not staring,” you said. “I’m making sure you don’t trip over your own feet again.”
“That happened once, and I still think the floor had it out for me.”
“The floor didn’t do anything. You just tripped.”
Satoru nodded like you’d proven his point. “Exactly. That’s what it wants you to think.”
You tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway.
Of course, he noticed. His grin softened just a little, and for a second, the air between you shifted in that quiet, familiar way it always did when neither of you knew what to say next. The hallway felt strangely still around you, like the rest of the school had faded into the background.
Then Satoru opened his mouth and ruined it.
“Since we’re sharing a room tonight, I’m claiming the bed by the window.”
You looked at him. “You don’t get to start making demands before we’ve even left the school.”
“I’m not making demands. I’m planning ahead.”
“You’re testing my patience.” You brushed past him with a groan, and his laugh followed you down the hall, loud and careless, echoing off the walls of the school.
Outside, the late afternoon air felt heavy and damp. Gray clouds hung low over the campus, thick enough that rain seemed inevitable. Wind moved through the trees near the entrance, sending a few loose leaves scraping across the pavement.
Ijichi’s car was already waiting.
He stood beside it with his usual rigid posture, clipboard held tightly against his chest as though it offered some kind of protection. The moment he spotted Satoru, his expression tightened.
“Gojo-san,” Ijichi said, glancing at his watch. “You’re late.”
Satoru looked offended. “We’re exactly on time.”
“You were expected seven minutes ago.”
Satoru leaned slightly toward you and lowered his voice. “He missed me.”
“He’s afraid of you,” you said.
Ijichi opened the back door with a strained sigh. “Please get in.”
You slid into the car first. The seat was cool beneath you, and the mission folder settled on your lap.
Satoru climbed in beside you, choosing the spot directly at your side despite the wide stretch of empty seat available. His knee knocked gently against yours.
You shifted away. A moment later, he shifted closer.
You turned to look at him.
He kept his gaze fixed out the window, smiling faintly as though he’d done absolutely nothing.
The car pulled away from the school, and Tokyo Jujutsu High slowly disappeared behind the trees and gray sky. The road curved down the mountain, carrying you toward the city, toward the mission, toward one hotel room, and toward the one man you’d spent years trying not to want.
Rain began to fall before you reached the main road. At first, it was light. Soft taps against the window. Then it grew, threading silver lines down the glass.
Satoru rested his head back against the seat. For once, he said nothing.
You looked at his reflection in the rain-streaked window. The curve of his mouth had relaxed. His glasses hid his eyes, but not the faint tension in his jaw.
“You worried?” you asked.
His reflection smiled. “About sharing a room with you? A little. You kick in your sleep.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
You glanced down at the folder again. “What do you think it is?”
Satoru tilted his head, eyes moving over the reports. “Could be a curse working through reflections. Maybe sound, too. A few of them heard voices right before they blacked out.”
You flipped to another page. “One victim said her reflection moved before she did.”
His expression sharpened. “Then it’s probably not just messing with their heads at random. It has some kind of trigger.”
“A cursed technique?”
“Most likely.” He glanced at the photos again. “The question is how far it reaches and whether it needs direct contact or just line of sight.”
You frowned. “So, I shouldn’t rush in blind.”
“Exactly.” He turned toward you, his voice quieter now. “I know Yaga said to go in first but I think you should wait for me."
“I know how to do my job, Satoru.”
“I know.”
You looked at him.
Satoru’s face stayed angled toward yours, but his voice softened.
“I know you do.”
In that moment, the car felt too small. His shoulder bumped into yours, his knee still brushed your leg, and the smell of him, clean soap and faint sugar, filled your senses.
You looked away first and stared out the window. The city lights smeared across the wet glass like paint. Beside you, Satoru stretched his legs and sighed like a bored cat.
“So,” he said, voice bright again. “For our sleepover, do you prefer scary movies or snacks first?”
You closed the folder. “Neither.”
"Ugh, how boring.”
The rain kept falling as Ijichi drove on, steady against the car windows, softening the glow of streetlights outside into blurred streaks of gold and white. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space between the three of you, broken only by the occasional swish of the windshield wipers.
Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute. The warmth of the car, the low murmur of the road, and the exhaustion sitting deep in your bones all worked against you. Before you knew it, your head tipped gently onto Satoru’s shoulder.
A small, sleepy smile lingered on your face.
Satoru glanced down at you. For once, he didn’t immediately say something stupid. His expression softened, hidden from you as his fingers carefully brushed a few loose strands of hair away from your cheek.
“Isn’t she just so cute, Ijichi?”
Ijichi looked at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking briefly from Satoru to your sleeping form. “I will never understand your relationship, Gojo-san.”
Satoru let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, careful not to jostle you.
Honestly, he didn’t understand it either.
All he knew was that something about you kept pulling him back. For a while, he’d tried to blame it on your cursed energy. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend there was some reason he kept ending up beside you, some explanation for why leaving never lasted very long.
But that excuse had worn thin a long time ago.
You had settled into his life so naturally that he barely noticed when it happened. You were simply there now, threaded into his days, into his routines, into thoughts he didn’t always mean to have. He hovered close, never fully crossing the line, never quite stepping back either.
And sometimes, when you leaned into him without thinking or looked at him with that exasperated fondness you tried so hard to hide, he wished something would finally shift.
But for now, he stayed where he was, quiet beneath the weight of your sleeping head, letting the rain and the low hum of the car fill the silence.
By the time the car finally slowed to a stop beneath the covered entrance of the hotel, you were still fast asleep.
You ended up waking up to a sharp pain in your cheeks.
Your eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, only to land on Satoru’s grinning face inches away from yours. His fingers were pinching both of your cheeks because apparently gently tapping your shoulder or saying your name like a normal person had never occurred to him.
“Ow, Satoru,” you mumbled, swatting weakly at his hand.
He giggled and finally let go, entirely too pleased with himself as he opened the car door and stepped out into the cool, rain-damp air.
From the driver’s seat, Ijichi turned slightly toward you. “I’ll be back tomorrow night to pick you both up.”
“Of course, Ijichi. Thank you,” you said, your voice softening as you gave him a polite nod before stepping out and closing the door.
The first thing you noticed was the hotel itself.
It rose high into the night sky, all polished glass and dark stone. Water spilled gently from the fountains flanking the entrance, their soft splashing mixing with the rain tapping against the pavement. Tall stone columns framed the broad glass doors, and warm light poured from within, golden and inviting.
This was definitely not what you had expected. You had prepared yourself for something decent, maybe comfortable if the budget allowed. Not this.
You walked toward the entrance beside Gojo, casting him a sidelong glance. The doormen bowed as the two of you approached, and one of them opened the door with a practiced smile.
The lobby was even more extravagant. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, reflecting off the polished marble floors. The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive candles. To one side, a small group of musicians played live near the seating area, their music flowing softly through the open space. Guests moved through the lobby in low conversation, suitcases rolling smoothly behind them.
You looked back at Gojo, suspicion building.
“Satoru…” you said slowly. “Did you change our hotel?”
He turned to you with a look of pure innocence that fooled absolutely no one. “Well, did you really expect me to sleep in some measly four-star hotel before I have to meet with those old geezers tomorrow? I need my beauty sleep.”
You sighed through your nose.
You don’t know why you bothered asking.
“Just relax,” he said, waving lazily toward the seating area. “Sit down while I check us in.”
You nodded and made your way over to one of the plush chairs near the musicians. The cushions sank slightly beneath your weight, and for a moment, you let yourself settle into the comfort of it.
The music was even nicer up close.
You watched the violinist move her bow in long, smooth strokes, her fingers shifting with practiced ease along the strings. The pianist beside her followed in perfect rhythm, not needing to look up. There was something soothing about how focused they were, how calm their expressions remained as the notes filled the space around you.
A light tap on your shoulder pulled you from the music.
You glanced up to find Gojo standing beside you, room key in hand. “Room’s ready. Come on.”
He extended his hand.
You looked at it for half a second before placing your own in his. His fingers closed around yours easily, warm and steady as he helped you to your feet. He let go a moment later, though not quite as quickly as he could have.
The elevator ride up was quiet, aside from the soft mechanical hum and the faint music still lingering in your ears. Gojo leaned casually against the wall, looking much too relaxed for someone who was almost certainly hiding something.
You should have known.
The moment the hotel room door opened, you stepped inside and stopped cold.
The room was beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city below, rain tracing slow lines down the glass. A seating area sat near the windows with a low table and a neatly arranged tray of bottled water. The carpet was thick underfoot, and warm lamps cast a soft glow over the space.
But none of that mattered because directly in the center of the room was one bed.
One large, perfectly made, unmistakably singular bed.
You stared at it for a second, just to make sure you were not missing another one tucked around some hidden corner. Then you slowly turned toward Gojo.
“So,” you said, giving him a knowing look, “what happened to two beds?”
Of course, he immediately put on that fake, helpless expression of his. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked almost sheepish, which might have been convincing if you had met him yesterday.
“Well, you know,” he said. “It was the cheapest option. Had to consider the budget and all that. Really, I made the smartest choice here.”
You stared at him.
Then at the luxury suite.
Then back at him.
“God, I don’t even know why I put up with you.”
He smiled, entirely unbothered. “Because I’m delightful.”
You rolled your eyes and stepped farther into the room, setting your things down with a little more force than necessary.
The problem was that arguing about the bed would get you nowhere. Offering to make him sleep on the floor would never work. He would refuse on principle, probably with a dramatic speech about his back and his importance to society. And if you offered to sleep on the floor instead, he would absolutely drag you back into the bed the second you dozed off.
And if you were being painfully honest with yourself, sharing a bed with Gojo was not exactly the part that bothered you most.
You were not opposed to it. You would rather swallow glass than admit that out loud, but it was true.
The issue was everything around it. Your relationship was already strange enough, close in ways that were hard to explain and even harder to define. Sleeping in the same bed felt like one more step into territory neither of you seemed brave enough to name.
You needed a moment away from him before he opened his mouth again and made everything worse.
Grabbing your clothes and toiletries, you headed for the bathroom.
“I’m showering first,” you called over your shoulder.
Then you stepped inside and shut the door behind you.
You turned the shower on as hot as it would go, desperate to burn the thoughts right out of your head. When the water first hit your skin, you flinched, sucking in a sharp breath, but after a moment you forced yourself to stand still beneath it. Steam began to gather around you, fogging the glass and turning the bathroom hazy.
There was nothing inherently intimate about sharing a bed with someone. Not really.
You had slept in the same bed as Shoko plenty of times, and that had been completely platonic. You had even passed out on Geto’s bed while he laid down beside you playing video games. Sharing a bed with someone doesn’t have to mean anything.
The problem was that the person you were sharing one with was Satoru, and somehow he had a talent for making everything feel like something.
A glance held half a second too long. His hand brushing yours. A joke murmured too close to your ear. With him, even the smallest things had a way of feeling like more.
You exhaled heavily and tipped your face up into the stream of water, hoping it might clear your head. Unfortunately, it did not.
By the time you finally shut off the shower, the bathroom was thick with steam. You dried off, changed, and opened the door, sending a warm cloud spilling into the room with you.
“Jesus, woman,” Gojo said from somewhere near the bed. “I think the showers in hell are cooler.”
You waved him off as you stepped past him. “Yeah, yeah.”
He disappeared into the bathroom next, and you walked towards the bed. You were just about to climb in when the balcony caught your eye.
Fresh air. That sounded good. You crossed the room, slid the glass door open, and stepped outside.
The rain had softened to a fine mist, cool against your still-warm skin. Tokyo stretched out below you in glittering layers, streets shining with reflected neon, windows glowing from high-rise buildings, headlights drifting through the roads like tiny ribbons of light. From up here, the city almost looked peaceful.
You rested your hands on the railing and let yourself take it in.
You were not used to views like this. Most nights were spent at Jujutsu High, tucked away from the noise of the city, or running from one assignment to the next. Sometimes you forgot that a whole ordinary world existed outside of curses and missions and the constant threat of losing someone.
It made you wonder, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like if you had never become a sorcerer.
Maybe you would have gone to university like everyone else. Maybe you would have a regular job, a little apartment, and a partner. Maybe by now you would be married, or even have children of your own.
Instead, here you were, standing on a hotel balcony at night, trying to figure out what exactly you were with your stupid high school crush.
You were so lost in thought that the knock against the glass made you jump.
Turning around, you saw Gojo standing inside the room.
Half naked.
A towel hung low around his hips, and that was it.
For one horrible, terrible second, your brain simply stopped working.
Water still clung to his skin, catching the soft room light across the lines of his chest and stomach. His hair was damp and pushed messily back, exposing more of his face than usual. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for someone dressed so indecently in a shared hotel room.
You dragged your gaze upward with great effort and stepped back inside.
“Gojo,” you snapped, trying to sound annoyed instead of completely thrown off, “where the hell are your clothes?”
He looked down at himself as though he had only just noticed. “Don’t you know, sweetheart? I have to air-dry. Towels are just too rough on my baby-soft skin.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Do you wanna feel?”
“As if, princess. Go back into the bathroom and put some clothes on.”
He pouted but thankfully turned around and wandered back in anyway.
The second the bathroom door closed, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in.
You needed to collect yourself. Mentally. Spiritually. Possibly medically.
So, in the most dignified response available to you, you sprinted to the bed and buried yourself under the covers.
From what exactly were you hiding? You were not entirely sure.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened again. Gojo stepped out, thankfully dressed this time, and climbed into bed beside you with irritating ease, like the situation was perfectly normal.
“I hope you know I’m a cuddler,” he said.
You turned onto your side to face him, ready with a retort. “I hope you know I’m a kicke—”
The word suddenly stuck in your throat. His face was much closer than you expected.
Close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your lips. Close enough to catch the clean mint of his toothpaste and the damp scent of soap still clinging to his skin. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the soft lamplight, were fixed on yours.
For once, he was not smiling. Your throat tightened.
You could have sworn he started to move closer.
Before your thoughts could catch up, you turned away, facing the other side of the bed. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you silently cursed your own cowardice.
“Goodnight,” you said quickly, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp.
Darkness filled the room.
“Goodnight,” he murmured behind you.
His voice was lower than usual, rough at the edges, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
This was going to be a very long night.
You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed sleep would come quickly. For a few minutes, nothing happened. The room stayed quiet except for the faint hush of rain against the balcony glass and the soft rhythm of your own breathing.
Eventually, you began to drift.
Then an arm slid around your waist.
You let out a small gasp as Gojo pulled you back against him, your body fitting into his perfectly like a missing piece of a puzzle. His arm settled lightly at your waist while his fingers began tracing slow, absent circles against your arm.
You held still until something in you finally snapped.
You turned around to face him, the movement bringing you even closer than before. His hand stayed at your waist, fingers now moving in gentle circles over the fabric of your shirt.
“Satoru…” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to say after that.
His gaze softened.
Slowly, he lifted one hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His thumb brushed lightly along your skin before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
He looked at you like he was waiting for you to stop him.
Then he leaned in.
His lips hovered just shy of yours, close enough that your breath caught.
“Can’t move away from me this time,” he murmured.
And then he kissed you.
It was soft at first, careful and hesitant. It was like he couldn’t believe that this was finally happening.
The second you kissed him back, he completely changed.
A low groan left him as he deepened the kiss, tongue intertwining with yours and his hand tightening slightly at your waist. Your fingers slid into his damp hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing harder, foreheads resting together in the dark.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough and unsteady. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. We can pretend it never happened.”
“Please, Toru,” you breathed. “Fuck—please don’t stop.”
That was all he needed.
He kissed you again, harder this time, hungrier, like the last thread of restraint had finally snapped. He pulled back only long enough to sit up, then lifted you with effortless ease and settled you onto his lap, your legs falling around his hips.
His mouth found yours again almost immediately.
He was intoxicating. Warm and overwhelming and far too good at making you forget every sensible thought you had tried to hold onto all night. Your hands slid over his shoulders as you grinded down on his hardening cock.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against your mouth.
His hands moved to your hips, helping you move against his cock as he kissed along your jaw, then lower, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. When he lingered at that one particular spot, you couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped out right beside his ear.
Satoru shuddered beneath you.
His restraint seemed to slip after that. His fingers found the hem of your top and pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere into the dark. His gaze dropped to your bare breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough with disbelief. When looking wasn’t enough anymore, he latches his mouth onto your tits, sucking and biting.
The stimulation from his assault on your boobs made you move faster against him as you whimpered, “Toru, please, I need more.”
“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice thick with desire, “how many times I’ve dreamed about this.”
Before you could respond to him, your phone started ringing from the bedside table.
The sudden sound cut sharply through the room, pulling you both back to reality. You glanced toward the bright screen and saw the name flashing across it.
Principal Yaga.
You reached for the phone, shooting Satoru an apologetic look as you answered. “Hello?”
His hand stilled at your waist, though his eyes stayed on you.
Yaga’s voice came through calm, but serious enough that your body tensed almost immediately. The curses you had been sent to investigate were no longer something that could wait until morning. Civilians were in immediate danger, and you needed to head out now.
Gojo was to remain at the hotel. If anything unnecessary delayed him, he could be late for tomorrow’s meeting with the higher-ups. And this one mattered more than usual. They would be discussing Yuji Itadori’s fate as Sukuna’s vessel.
By the time the call ended, the warmth of the moment had been gone.
You lowered the phone slowly.
“What is it?” Satoru asked, already reading the answer in your face.
You sat back slightly. “The curses are an immediate threat. Yaga wants me to go now instead of waiting until morning.”
His brows drew together. “Fine. Let’s go.”
You hesitated. “He said you need to stay here.”
Satoru’s expression flattened. “That’s ridiculous. It’ll be faster if I come with you.”
Normally, you would have agreed. Normally, having Satoru beside you would make any mission simpler, quicker, safer.
But this was not just any meeting tomorrow.
“It’s about Yuji,” you said quietly. “The higher-ups are discussing what happens to him.”
That made him pause.
You could see the argument still sitting on his tongue. The instinct to ignore orders, to follow you anyway, to make sure nothing touched you while he was around. But Yuji was his student. His well-being came first, and both of you knew it.
Satoru looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
Then he exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”
You gave him a small, grateful nod and slipped off his lap, reaching for
your clothes. The room felt colder as you dressed in a hurry, the quiet between you now laced with disappointment.
Once you were ready, you turned back toward him.
He was sitting on the bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.
You stepped close, leaned down, and kissed him. It was soft, lingering just long enough to promise that this was not over.
“I’ll be back,” you murmured.
His eyes stayed on yours. “You’d better be.”
With that, you turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind you.
a/n: i decided to change the format from "headcannon" style to full fic style, so if you notice a difference from the previous parts, that's why. but if you liked the previous style also let me know! enjoy!
Three days.
It had been three days since you spoke to frat! Sukuna, and after that, it's been radio silence.
You obviously didn't expect some grand dinner at an expensive restaurant, for fucks sake, you just met the guy!
But you thought you'd at least get a text.
The first three days were the worst; you doubted whether he was ever even interested. You were stalking his profile multiple times a day, looking for anything that might explain this. You would also meticulously stalk yourself to see if there was maybe a really ugly picture of you, and he decided that was it for him.
But then five days passed, and instead of confusion (and you had to admit, a slight sadness), you were just angry.
"So he stalked me all around campus, then asked for my Instagram, then came up to me, and asked me if I wanted to "give him a chance"!"
"I told you from the start he wasn't being serious," your friend quipped.
"Okay, but what could have possibly changed from that day? He was literally laughing at my jokes!"
"He probably realised it won't be as easy as he thought to get into your pants."
As much as you hoped that wasn't true, your friend had a point. At the end of the day, he really was just a horny frat guy.
So then a week passes, and you're over it. You stop looking through his profile, stop mentioning him to your friends, and stop looking for him in every room you enter.
Just like that, what you thought would be something fun and exciting was over. And plus, you had better things to do.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Frat! Sukuna was spiraling.
He knew it had been too long. For God's sake, he let a week pass, seven whole fucking days.
He wanted to bash his head into a wall and knock some sense into himself.
Every single day, he practiced what he would text you.
"hey, let's grab lunch." No, too casual.
"hello, would you like to get some lunch with me?" Nope, who was he, Nanami?
"your hair smelled really good that day, lunch?" The fuck was wrong with him?
He knew you were probably confused, especially since he was the one who had basically begged for a chance. And now he was ghosting you. Not purposely, of course; he just couldn't shake off his nerves. No woman had ever made him this nervous, and the worst part, he barely knew you.
But he knew if he let this go on any longer, he'd ruin the one chance he got at something good. So he swallowed his ego and knocked on Gojo's door.
Most of Gojo's advice consisted of "just text her dumbass, it's not hard!", but of course, he wouldn't understand. To be fair, Sukuna didn't understand any of this himself. If he told himself a few months ago he would be nervous texting a girl, he could have laughed in his own face.
"What are you so scared of anyway?" Gojo asked, sprawled sideways on his bed.
"I don't know, man, I just-" he stopped himself, he was not about to get vulnerable (a word that made him shudder) with this idiot, "- never mind, I'll figure it out."
"Okay, wait! I'll help. You being this fucking miserable is a problem for all of us," Gojo remarks, probably referring to the lack of Sukuna's contribution to the frat this past week.
Gojo sits up on his bed. "Okay, so what do you want with this girl? Because if it's just a fuck, I'm telling you, man, she is not giving that to you."
"No! Why does everyone keep saying that? I don't care about that," but Gojo lifts a sceptical eyebrow, "with her. With other girls yea sure, but it's different with her."
"And what's so different about her?"
The way she's never missed a lecture, or the way she laughs like she means it instead of performing. Or maybe how she doesn't dress for attention, but to feel good about herself. Her different colored cardigans, her loose, flowy skirts, her hair done differently every day. Perhaps it was the kind smiles she gave her friends, or the enthusiastic waves as she walked around campus. Or maybe in some fucked up way, it was how she didn't seem to care all that much about Sukuna, which is something he wasn't used to. Her attention was something he had to earn.
But he said none of that to Gojo and settled with, "She's sweet."
"She's sweet? That's it?"
Sukuna shrugged, really not wanting to get into this, "Just give me some advice, or I'm leaving."
Gojo runs a hand across his pale hair, "You could just show up to her dorm with food, show her you're sorry for ghosting her, and tell her the truth that you were nervous, girls love that."
"I'm not nervous, dumbass," blatant lie.
"Whatever you say, man, just do something, or someone else will. She seems like the type of girl who gets people's attention without trying. That's dangerous."
Yes, very dangerous. Sukuna's entire being was in danger, all because of a crush.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
A typical Friday afternoon for you meant studying the past week's material. It didn't mean going out and partying and hooking up with strangers.
You were in your favorite sweat suit, a warm cup of tea on your desk, along with notes and everything else you'd need for a night of revising.
You started not that long ago, just getting into your flow, when you hear a knock on your door.
9:30 PM, the clock read, it was too early for your roommate to be back.
You begrudgingly get up, annoyed you had to leave such a comfortable position. You put on your pastel bunny slippers and go to open the door.
The last, and you mean the absolute last thing you expected, was to see Ryomen standing there. He was in sweats and a hoodie (typical, but something he managed to pull off too well), and in one hand was a bag of what you assumed was food, in the other a bag of drinks.
"Hope you weren't busy."
"What the fuck are you doing here?" It came out more aggressively than you wanted, but he deserved that.
He looked embarrassed.
"I know I should have texted you or something-", he started, clearly uncomfortable, "- but I-", he stopped mid-sentence.
"You what? Decided you'd rather mess with another girl?"
"No! I was just-" he looked like he was physically struggling to get his words out, but the borderline livid look on your face made him blurt out the rest, "-I was fucking nervous."
What?
A towering six feet and three inches, shoulders so broad you couldn't see behind him, a man who could control a room by simply being in it, was nervous. Nervous to text you. A girl who kept to herself and her friends, who always had a book in her bag, whether she read it or not, someone who didn't have enough time to think about dating. And yet he was nervous to text you.
For some reason, this made you smile. Did you have Ryomen Sukuna in the palm of your hand? It was time to find out.
But before you could say something smug about it, you realised something," Wait, you remembered where my dorm was?"
At this, he falters.
"I wrote it in my notes," he mumbles.
"You know that's incredibly creepy, right?" you retort.
"Or it just means I wanted to see you again."
You stare at him, very close to shutting the door on his face, until you realize just how hungry you were.
"What's in the bag?" his face visibly lights up when you say that. Strange. His usual stoic demeanor is slowly slipping.
"Fried chicken, but uh- I got veggie noodles in case you don't eat meat, I wasn't sure, but then I didn't know if you liked it spicy or not, so I got both and-," he's rambling. The tops of his ears are turning pink, and he's rambling to you about how he bought six different things because he wasn't sure what you'd like.
"Ryomen," he stops, eyes meeting yours, "Come inside."
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Frat! Sukuna was not a weirdo.
He didn't get excited at the prospect of seeing what the inside of your dorm room looked like. He didn't get sweaty palms because a girl invited him in; that's happened countless times before. And he definitely didn't notice a pile of fresh laundry on your couch, with a pretty pink lace bra sitting teasingly on the top.
To be honest, he didn't think you'd let him in; he was entirely prepared to have the door shut on his face.
Your apartment is very you. It's cute and cozy and decorated with trinkets everywhere. You have no overhead lights on, just lamps and fairy lights. It was so different from the frat house, which was usually very loud and very messy.
You lead him to your small, round dining table in the corner of the kitchen, which only has two chairs. Before you sit down, though, you point a finger at his chest, "If you try anything, I will let your entire frat know that you were nervous to see me."
"I-," he truly was at a loss for words, "I won't try anything, I promise, I just wanna eat with you."
"Good."
You take the bags from him and start unpacking the food, your face growing happier and happier with each new food item. You had to give it to him; he knew the way to a girl's heart.
As you settle down in the chair, Sukuna watches you. The way your hair softly falls around your face, or how your delicate and small hands unpack the food. He truly doesn't understand how you already have him under your shoe. If it were any other girl, he might have slowly slid a hand across her waist, led her to the couch for a night of who knows what. But with you, he was fine if he got to spend the next hour just watching you eat the food he got you.
It all felt very strange to him.
"So, are you gonna explain why you ghosted me?"
That breaks him out of his trance. He settles on the chair opposite you, grabbing food of his own.
"I told you already... I didn't know how to talk to you."
This makes you giggle, a sound he wants to savor, one he wants to hear you make again and again, along with a few others.
"I still don't get it, you're not a mega-virgin or something, what about me makes you so nervous?"
No, he definitely wasn't a mega-virgin, he was the opposite of that. He could make girls nervous simply by staring at them.
So what made him so nervous around you? Deep down, he knew. You challenged a part of him no one else had. You made him put down all his desires and schoolboy lust. You didn't give in easily. And slowly, over the past few months, he realized he had started changing his behavior to get a chance to talk to you.
He couldn't admit that to you, though, he'd definitely scare you off.
"You seem sweet," is what he said.
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, mouth full of chicken. When you finish swallowing, you still don't say anything.
Eventually, a comfortable rhythm settles between you two. One of eating and talking. Conversation flows from one thing to another — classes, exams coming up, random drama happening on campus, what books you're currently into, how much time he spent in the gym this week. Before you knew it, 3 hours had passed, and the food was long gone. The only thing left to keep you two full were the words being exchanged.
You didn't think he could be such a good listener, but every time you were speaking, he'd watch you with such an intense gaze you'd have to look away.
The conversation finally found a pause when you yawned around 12:30 AM, a soft tiredness coating you. It made you look more real, and Sukuna couldn't help admiring your natural beauty. The way you didn't care that you had no makeup on right now, or that your hair was not done properly.
"My roommate will be back soon," you say.
"Yea, it's late," he says back.
A beat.
"I'll text you."
At this, you smile, "I've realised not to keep my expectations high with you."
He gets up, "I'll make it up to you again next time."
"And who said there would be a next time?"
You walk him to the elevator. You both felt warm and fulfilled, neither of you had a night like this in a long time.
"I promise, I'll text you," he says again.
You smile as he enters the elevator, "Goodnight, Ryomen."
Fuck. Every time you say his name it does some weird shit to his heart, a feeling like it skipping a beat.
"Night."
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Both of you were back in bed, moonlight filtering in through the blinds. It felt so odd that you could feel so comforted around someone so different. It was terrifying, and yet, it made you both smile to yourselves.
You knew to be careful, that all of this could come crashing down, but you couldn't help feel the flicker of hope in your chest.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
a/n: part 5 soon, be patient! also, i use the em-dash on my OWN, there is no use of ai in any of my work!
a/n june 4: update coming soon! i've been very busy with class but i will get to it soon. also like i mentioned tag list is CLOSED! love u guys thanks for the support <3
TAG LIST CLOSED
masterlist
this is my original work, no ai used. please do not claim as your own. - @maroonskiesfrvr 2026
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.
“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??
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
discoholicmusic
