➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader
[heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series
❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞
➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.
➴ wc ; 7.2k.
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon
The fire puts itself out when there’s nothing left for it to devour in the morning following the attack. It leaves behind an ash rain that coats the charred earth. With every pained sob, it coats your lungs and throat, bringing with it a bitter feeling like grains of sand in your breaths.
Your brain and body can’t seem to keep up with the world as your consciousness fades in and out through multiple days and nights.
Two things stay consistent through the waking moments.
Exhaustion. Your head aches from a lack of sleep. The pressure behind your eyes is unrelenting and you find yourself wanting to keep them closed once your tears finally stop. Yet your mind won’t let you, caught up on loss and grief. Your limbs don’t feel like they belong to you. You’re like a ghost within your own body and nothing feels real. How could it, without Saya?
The second consistency is that Sukuna is a constant worry. Your brain seems to concoct countless ways in which the world could tear him from you, thus tearing you from your fleeting moments of rest too.
When you wake in the remains of Saya’s home while your parents care for her mother every day, you shake in the night and crawl closer to your parents.
This house is a hole like that left in your heart.
You don’t want to be here anymore.
It’s a miracle your body carries on in the barely functioning state you’ve been living in leading up to Saya’s funeral.
After a long week of rebuilding and trying to pick up the pieces of a farming village whose crops were razed and a tense conversation with Zen’in sorcerers who no longer live up to tales you know now as fallacies, at last the village is able to put the time into the funeral that the fallen deserve.
Your mother dresses you. It’s nothing fancy. She tells you it’s a kimono that survived the fire.
It’s not.
It’s Saya’s.
And when you stand at the burial plot outside the village, it’s a weight on your shoulders you aren’t sure you can bear.
The tears come again. Warm down your cheeks, long before the ceremony even begins. It’s the first time your mother has left your side in the past week in order to help prepare a pyre, and your body protests being alone, dropping to your knees. Your limbs are cold, your chest hot. Pressure behind your eyes. Shallow breaths. Panic. The kind of thoughts reserved only for nightmares. Sobs choke you, sputtering past your lips as you try to keep them in when you hear footsteps behind you.
Wiping your eyes as you attempt to hold it together, you only fall further apart at the sight of striking red eyes that also bear the evidence of tears. Pallid, your friend stares as though he’s finally been given something to grasp. Like if he doesn’t let go, he might not crumble under the pressure he, too, feels.
For as sickly as he looks, hidden by that same straw hat from the week prior, he pushes himself to keep control. He doesn’t collapse beside you, he makes the effort to stay steady at your side as he lowers himself to his knees. You can’t be sure whether he’s trying to stay strong for you, or for himself. Neither answer is ideal.
You’re both far too young to be grappling with the weight of a loss so great.
He’s far too young to be holding up the blame, on top of that. But how could you possibly know that much when you have yet to witness the transgressions committed against such a young child?
For all the control Sukuna exhibits in spite of his own pain as he settles at your side, the moment you collapse against him, his reaction is immediate. Your remaining best friend’s muscles release as he falls into you as well. Neither of your pain is being shouldered alone for the first time in days.
You appreciate your parents for their support, but they’re not who you needed.
“My mom wouldn’t let me see you.” Your voice scrapes in the back of your throat, raw. With your ear against his shoulder, you hear his breath catch as he stifles a sob.
“I wasn’t allowed to leave,” he murmurs in a voice equally broken.
It’s the first time an admission from him has come so easily. There aren’t layers of protection under lock and key, he simply gives in. When you wipe your cheek and lift your head to stare at him, there’s a small scowl pulling at his features, his jaw set as he keeps his gaze down, avoiding your shocked expression.
“Why?”
For a beat, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even react. Then, like porcelain, he cracks. Small at first, a downward twitch of his lips. Then his chest heaves as everything hits like a wave.
His voice is barely a whisper. Had you not been leaning against him, you might have missed it. “It’s my fault.”
You shake your head, small and adamant. “No it’s not.”
His jaw shifts. The tension in his muscles rises under your grip.
“No it’s not, Ryo.” You give him a little shake that has him pulling away slightly with the faintest hint of that mildly irritated boy you’ve always known. The one who would butt heads with Saya at the first sign of a challenge.
He doesn’t fully pull away, though.
The breeze shifts. The clouds give way to the sun briefly enough to allow it to slant down over the both of you. It doesn’t feel like warmth bathing you in its gentle embrace like it might have a week ago.
It paints golden over the straw of his hat in a streak. When he glances up, the straw hat sitting atop his head slides back from where it unevenly sat, hanging by its string from his neck. His crimson gaze squints, blinking as the sun assaults the eyes that don’t sit over skin but rather the protrusion from his face. All four eyes respond in kind as he looks away, briefly focused on you before he finds the grass at his knees of interest.
The sun should feel like hope. Like an extension of the warmth it provides. Rather, it doesn’t sit right with you. Like an ill omen projecting a warning across your friend’s sanguine eyes that warns of a future not unlike your last week.
Dread sits at the pit of your stomach as you see something dark stir behind his eyes, but it disappears before you have time to think twice about it. The look he fixes you with next, his lower eyes shut once more, is simply tired.
“They were looking for something. Someone. One of the villagers told Murata-Sensei that they heard the sorcerers looking for a monster.”
Adamantly, you shake your head. You don’t even think twice about defying the omen that seems to write itself across your friend’s face. “So? You’re not a monster.”
He shifts an inch away from you. The ways in which he struggles are foreign and in spite of the fact that he seeks your comfort as much as you chase his, it’s a reminder that he’s alone in all of this. You’re his closest ally, the one person left that changed his outlook on the world, but at the end of the day, your story’s pages are brighter.
“I’m Ryomen Sukuna. From the stories.”
Your nose wrinkles at the concept. “Just because someone called you that after the story doesn’t mean you’re a monster.”
The disparity between you feels larger than ever for the little boy. He doesn’t blame you for not understanding. What child would assume the beast with hooked claws and jagged fangs was only a three-year-old child, now ten? You’re right to think otherwise.
Still, his chest draws in on itself for this is his burden to shoulder.
Alone.
“You’re right,” he murmurs, small. Your hands curl into the hemp fabric tied around his waist as he gives in, allowing you to hug him properly.
Alone, maybe. But he’ll bear that burden if he can keep your friendship.
The sound of footsteps has your friend scrambling to pull his hat back over his head as he glances cautiously over his shoulder. Your head pounds too steadily to make much of the noise or your friend shuffling. It’s not until you make out familiar voices that you wearily lift your head from Sukuna’s shoulder.
Murata shoots you a brief glance, alongside your mother. Saya’s mother and your father are too busy with preparation to pay you any mind. Imai and another villager’s gazes linger too long.
Sukuna ducks his head, curling into your embrace.
Silence permeates the air surrounding you both. Weary to your bones and both lacking in sleep, the shared embrace of being near someone who understands your pain– what remains of your trio– gives your body a chance to relax. Your nervous system stops firing constant concern to your brain, and with the thoughts of losing your closest friend coming to a halt, the breeze soothes you into rest.
It’s not sleep, but your muscles loosen enough to allow your body a chance to recover, even if only for a moment. Sukuna’s weight is heavy against your side, each of you contorted in a weird way as you sit in the grass, but it’s the most at ease you’ve felt in a week.
Sukuna is still here.
The thought loops until you can believe it. The feeling of his robes scratches at your fingers until you can ground yourself in that thought.
The world continues on around you, but you pay it no mind. Saya and her father’s bodies are among those being honored today. The adults are joined by more members of the village as a pyre is put together, wooden graves prepared to be added to the burial plot once the ceremony has ended.
It’s not a breeze or your friend shifting that brings you back to the present, but the natural murmuring of the village gathering around you.
Sukuna’s head falls forward when you lift yours, an inconvenienced expression gracing his features when he’s harshly awoken by your movement. It fades as his head whips around, taking in the sights of the whole village surrounding you both. He shifts, leaning on an upper arm as his hidden ones wrap tighter around his torso while he evaluates the gazes taking in the sight of you and a child they scarcely know.
Imai’s gaze sears his back like hot iron. His instincts tell him to run without so much as looking at the man. His body tells him that he doesn’t have the energy to give. His mind tells him that blood is the cost of living. Static brews in his chest, the sensation of power roiling within. His fingers twitch against the sparse grass, clenching as he leans on the ball of his palm.
But it all dissolves when you yawn and slump forward. His fists loosen, his gaze falls to the dirt, and he pulls his knees to his chest.
When half of the things that keep you going are ripped from your grasp, the last half becomes sacred. The same is true for the small child, who never truly knew how much he had to lose until it was gone. Now, he doesn’t dare risk what’s left.
After all, he has to remind himself he’s never acted out of anything but self defense.
He’s still a good person.
Right?
Your mother makes her way to your side, lifting you to your feet and beckoning Sukuna to follow upon noticing he’s more present than you are. He pushes off of the grand, brushing loose dirt and leaf litter from his palms and knees, but he doesn’t stray far. Murata already explained that with the shrine keeper being among those who’ve passed, the ceremony is his to carry out.
The open fields of the village don’t seem to carry sound as the small gathering quiets down with all preparations made. It’s as though the trees themselves have taken up the role of guards, preventing even the birds from making commentary.
If only they could have taken up that mantle prior to the attack and warned the village before it was too late.
You suck in a breath at the sight that faces you as you stand. A pyre made of stacked logs is ready to be lit, all greenery cleared from its immediate vicinity to prevent the spread of fire. Atop it lies those who were lost, wrapped in off-white hemp fabric and cord. The sight is enough to reignite the grief of the past week once more, the breath you took serving little use when you’re already struggling not to sob.
But it’s the fact that among those who were lost is a body smaller than the rest that strikes you through the very heart. It still doesn’t quite feel real, like some part of your brain is clinging to a fragile thread that this could all still be part of a nightmare.
Your friend sniffles beside you, shaking as he keeps his head lowered. You reach for his hand, squeezing it as your mother did for you. His face flicks briefly to you, revealing puffy cheeks, before he stares at the dry soil below his feet again.
Murata’s words echo across the fields that extend long past the trees. He doesn’t need to project his voice, for the silence of the lands speaks the volumes he doesn’t.
As the ceremony begins, Murata sullenly presents small statements about each individual. Although personal, his words are somewhat clipped. Without the traditions of the shrine keeper, he keeps things brief as he goes over their lives as though they weren’t family to many of the people standing here.
Your chest clenches, your lungs constricting as Saya’s name hangs in the air too close for you to grasp.
“Our time with young Saya was brief, but she affected many. I hope that we are able to come together and support her family and friends in their time of need.”
He speaks so practically that your skin crawls. Part of your world is gone and there’s so little to say. You know it’s simply the way Murata operates, but it feels so disconnected you can’t bear it. You don’t even realize how hard you’re squeezing Sukuna’s hand until he shuffles closer, the warmth of his shoulder bleeding through your robes.
It quells the way your body shakes, if only for a moment.
As Murata moves on to more traditional aspects of the funeral, your brain fills with fog. Your ears ring, your eyes water.
You feel sick again.
It’s not until smoke billows through the air when the pyre is lit that at last you’re present again. The sensation that feels not unlike your head being ready to burst is thrust aside harshly when fire warms your skin. You stand on edge at the sensation, too close in feeling to a mere week ago when you thought the fire might very well take you.
Recoiling away from the sensation, you hide behind your mother. Shielded from the heat, it’s the smoke that assaults your lungs next, but you refrain from coughing. Somehow, the pain of your throat allowing soot to drag through it makes you feel more alive than you have in weeks.
As the taste rots against your tongue, it leaves with it a sour reminder that this isn’t a nightmare after all. The sensation is too real, like being pinched, that you’re thrust very suddenly before the realization that the world is cruel. It takes and it so rarely gives back.
You hate it.
You hate that once smoke and embers is all that remains of the pyre, the village returns to normal. You hate that condolences are the most anyone seems to offer. You hate that you can hear Imai’s boys already back to playing while you’re forced to grapple with the loss of your dear friend.
It’s not fair.
The only people who linger are those who lost family and friends during the attack. A scarce group who choose to remain mostly silent, milling about the area where smoke looks harsh against the vibrant greenery it contrasts.
Your mother allows you the chance to grieve, unmoving as she lowers herself to the ground and cradles you close.
Sukuna remains nearby, huddled into himself with no one to offer the same support for him. The contrast of the fiery warmth to the early morning air that follows leaves him shivering. He casts a sidelong glance to your mother, edging closer, but she doesn’t acknowledge him.
Swallowing, his gaze finds the closest thing he’s ever found to familial warmth. Saya’s mother’s hair is done up in a low bun that sits between her shoulder blades. It’s more unkempt than usual, but Sukuna supposes that’s not unusual when his hair has been long flattened by natural oils, sweat, and a lack of keeping up with self-care in his current situation.
The first step he takes towards the woman is cautionary, but he gains confidence as he approaches her, addressing her quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He can’t possibly expect the look he receives when she faces him. He’s seen it before– some part of him is accustomed to it– but to see it from Saya’s mother? Such scorn feels unbefitting from her.
He’s lost. Like an animal tucking its tail between its legs, he shrinks under the intensity of her contempt. “Sorry will never be enough, Ryomen.”
He stumbles back a step, shoulders raised defensively as he holds his hands protectively in front of him. “I’m–”
What the hell can he ever say in reply to that?
He’s a child. In his ten short years on earth, nothing could prepare him for the one positive adult influence in his life to turn on him in such a way.
“Don’t,” she hisses, “don’t continue that.”
His jaw hangs ajar, puffy cheeks throbbing as the blanket of grief he’s already struggling with is doused in fear, too. “I didn’t–”
“Do you know what kind of bad luck you’ve wrought on us?”
His chest rises and falls too quickly, unable to tear his gaze from the disgust that sears his skin. He knows Murata is making a move to interrupt, but the man’s movements seem slower than Sukuna’s current reality.
Undeterred, the grieving widow continues. “My husband is dead because of you. Saya is dead,” she pauses, the words hanging in the air long enough that they feel like a slap to the face of the already-crying child. He flinches, wincing as his body protests the movement. “Because of you.”
There’s no static in his chest. Energy doesn’t move through his body like electricity. This isn’t a village of nobodies with pitchforks and fire ready to burn him.
This is the only adult who’s ever extended her motherly instincts to him without questioning anything. Her words take a shovel to whatever light is within him, burying it where he’s not sure he’ll ever find it. “I really didn’t–”
“I do not want to hear it, Ryomen,” she spits, her words far more formal than you’ve heard from her.
“Stop!” You cry out, the horror freezing you to the spot in your mother’s arms finally dissipating enough that you connect what’s going on.
Saya’s mother’s brow twitches as you pipe in. She visibly swallows, but her words are no kinder as she addresses you. “This is not your place, child.”
Murata finally reaches her side, attempting to calm her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That’s quite enough, this isn’t the time or–”
“I know they wanted you,” Saya’s mother ignores him, taking a step towards Sukuna that has the little boy stumbling as he trips over loose dirt in an effort to back away. You tear yourself from your mother’s grasp, your expression painted in equal pain as you steady your friend when he stumbles. You whine for her to stop through your own tears, but it’s no use. “I know it was you!” She cries scornfully over your protests.
Again, Sukuna stumbles, backing straight into you and tripping over your feet. You’re both sent toppling over into the dirt, his fall broken by you. Pushing up on your elbows, you don’t make a move to get up when Saya’s mother steps closer.
Murata shakes his head, interrupting with finality. “Enough.”
But Saya’s mother doesn’t listen.
“You did this! It’s all your fault!” She points her finger straight at the child. You can feel a subtle tremor move through him as he tries to insistently shake his head.
One way or the other, Murata’s had enough. His hand wraps around the woman’s wrist as he begins dragging her away from Sukuna, left with no options aside from this. Still, her cries echo through the trees and over the fields. The trees that stood as guardians now seem to push her voice inwards, like they want her words to haunt him.
“You killed her! You are a monster! You do not deserve this life!”
Your mother rounds the spot on the ground where you’ve toppled over, kneeling before each of you. Conflict breathes hesitation into her movement, her eyes flashing with something akin to uncertainty as she reaches out for not just you, but Sukuna too. You’re both dragged over ash-laden dirt into her arms, where she offers what little comfort she can.
Or, in Sukuna’s case, what little comfort she feels he deserves.
As his mind catches up to what’s happened, he shakes his head violently. “I didn’t do anything,” he insists, glancing up at your mother before staring pleadingly at you. He shifts, writhing in your mother’s grip as his fingers close around the material of your sleeves.
Your sleeves?
He blinks at the realization that the kimono you’re wearing isn’t yours at all. It’s Saya’s.
But your belongings burned to the ground.
So why does it still hurt?
His eyes burn, the lower pair blinking harshly against his best efforts to keep them shut when it feels like Saya is somehow here, placing the blame alongside her mother.
“I didn’t do it, I’m not a–” he chokes on the word ‘monster’. Would it be a lie to claim such a thing? He doesn’t want to be a fanged beast. He doesn’t want to be a story meant to scare children.
You pull him from his paranoia when you offer him real comfort, arms hugging him so tightly that he can feel your conviction through such a simple action. Or maybe you’re comforting yourself, but either way, his heart slows just enough to grasp at the frail footing that makes up his reality. He buries his face in your shoulder, and yours in his, all while your mother cradles you close.
“You’re not a monster,” you murmur into his shoulder, muffled by tears, sniffles, and fabrics. Your voice is so low he doubts your mother heard. “You’re my best friend.”
“I didn’t kill Saya,” he barely manages to push the words out between breaths.
“I know,” you murmur back, hugging him harder.
You believe him. It’s the one and only thing he clings to. His hope. His belief that the world isn’t all death, despair, and hatred.
But for how long can he keep the rest of the village at a distance when even the places he once considered safe exile him too?
The sun crosses the sky as you huddle into one another. Your mother is patient as the shadows you cast grow long. For all the time you’ve spent in the last week in and out of sleep and barely-awake states simply trying to make it to the next day, this is the closest you’ve come to rest. As minutes turn to hours, your heart finally manages to find a calm pace.
When your mother’s knees ache and her back begins to give out, once she’s certain your tears are dried and you’re both in a state where talking won’t feel like dragging your words through gravel, she finally speaks up. Her voice is hoarse from the day’s turmoil.
“Ryomen, why don’t we get you back to Murata-san’s? I think you both need some sleep,” she offers.
Sukuna still catches the way that kindness doesn’t easily roll off her tongue when it’s directed at him. He’ll take neutrality, but his heart pangs for what once was. He lifts his head from your shoulder, cheeks still puffy and exhaustion clear as day across his face. He yawns, casting his glance at you.
“Can she stay with Murata-sensei and I?”
You blearily stare up at your mother as well, whose lips press into a thin line. You find yourself yawning too, wiping at your eyes.
“No. We need to be with Saya’s mother.”
That stops you dead in your tracks. Your hands fall from your face as you vigorously shake your head. “I don’t wanna go back to their house,” you pull back from your mother’s grasp, remaining in her lap although you sit upright now. “What’s wrong with her? Why was she mean to Ryo?”
“Do not say that,” your mother reprimands you rather formally. Your shame is overshadowed by the need to do right by your friend.
“Why did she say that?” You ask again. “That was scary. And mean.”
With two pairs of wide eyes peering up at her looking for any sort of explanation, she sighs. At the end of the day, you don’t know better. You’re both just kids, and she’s forced to remind herself of such.
Running her tongue over her lower lip, she nods. “She lost her daughter and husband,” she explains. “She’s grieving.”
“So?” You speak up with that same boisterousness Saya always had. Sitting beside him in Saya’s kimono, Sukuna has to avert his gaze if he wants the weight in his chest to remain manageable. “We are too! I didn’t blame her!” You cry, one hand clinging to Sukuna’s sleeve, while the other points in the direction where you can make out the faintest of commotions still taking place.
Your mother nods slowly, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Everyone grieves differently.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” you mutter.
“It was unkind,” your mother agrees, keeping that formal lilt you’re growing to hate that every adult around you seems to enjoy throwing around. You may be a child, but you aren’t completely naive to the way Sukuna is treated anymore. You’re equally aware of the fact that you, too, are treated differently for simply being his friend. It’s unfortunate that it took Saya’s mother’s vitriol to realize it, but life is cruel in the worst of ways.
You don’t know yet that there’s a word for the mistreatment of Sukuna, as it’s still lost on you just what makes him so different, but someday you’ll learn of the deeply-ingrained prejudice the world harbors for him.
In spite of her agreement with your statement, your mother gives no real explanation, leaving you grasping at threads in an attempt to piece together what happened. When she begins shuffling, she dismisses any questions by guiding you both to your feet so that she can stand. “Come. Like I said, Ryo needs to go home. You both need rest.” She reaches out to take your hands and although Sukuna allows her with a weary glance, you snatch your hand away before she can take it.
“No.”
In a warning tone, your mother says your name.
“No!” You repeat yourself with an adamant step back. Your eyes flicker between your mother and the direction where Saya’s mother disappeared. Finally, you look at Sukuna, your small hands clasping around the cord tied around your friend’s waist. Relief washes over his face in place of the hurt, and his entire demeanor seems to relax as you choose him. “I can’t leave Ryo.”
“Ryo needs sleep and so do you,” your mother sighs, her irritation growing by the second.
“I can’t sleep at Saya’s place,” you shake your head, stepping closer to Sukuna. “Everything reminds me of her. You keep making me wear her clothes and–” Emotions swell in your chest like a violent storm. Wind whips everything to and fro until there’s nothing discernable but a tangle of hurt, pain, and grief. All at once, it’s too much to bear and the storm brandishes its face in the form of tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t lose Ryo too,” you sniffle, barely keeping the floodgates at bay.
“I am sorry about your robes, but our home burned down in the fire. Ryo will be perfectly safe with–”
But no explanation will ever be enough when the damn robes you’re wearing and the house you’re forced to live in smells like Saya. It’s no place to heal and what are you meant to do if all that’s left of your friends are memories? Saya’s loss already feels impossible to bear, how are you meant to shoulder that without Sukuna? How are you meant to shoulder it doubly, alone, should something happen to him?
It’s that very thought that has your ears ringing and your mother’s words lost on you. The storm in your chest acts like water filling your lungs, threatening to pull you under and knock your lights out before ever giving you a chance to fight. You cling harder to Sukuna as your knees threaten to give out under the duress of emotions pressing down on you.
You’ve known the fear of your parents or the dark your whole life, but the fear of loss is new. It’s new and somehow more terrifying than anything you’ve yet to experience. Sukuna must be able to feel the weight you’re holding up just by clinging to the cord around his waist as he tries to hold you upright, wide tumultuous eyes looking to the adult near him for help.
But what help have adults ever been for the likes of a child like him?
Your mother sputters for words, using reason and logic to tell you why Saya’s mother is in the right. She spits out facts and evidence. That your house is gone. Your clothes are gone. She can’t leave either you or Saya’s mother when you both need her. Words fall from her mouth like she’s searching for any reason to keep you from Sukuna, but your sobs only intensify.
Logic. Sukuna internally scoffs at the mere thought, his brow knitting together as he comes to the conclusion that your mother is as useless as his sensei. You’re struggling to find breath and the best your own mother can offer is endless drivel that only tears Sukuna down, whether inadvertent or not.
So he does the only thing he knows how to do. In the pocket of woods where the three of you remain alone, two extra arms emerge from his sleeves, tight enough that the seams pull taut as he wraps you in a tight hug. If not to comfort you, what good is having four arms anyway?
In spite of the tears that still burn his own eyes, he holds you tightly, four hands bunching the kimono that smells too much of Saya to quell his own sorrows. It smells like a damn reminder of what hugs used to feel like.
The thought shakes his body in a small sob, before his tears finally break the dam and he’s crying too.
“Fine! Fine,” your mother concedes with wide eyes, holding her hands out in defeat as she’s left with two sobbing children and no reasonable solution set out for her. “We can see about you staying with Murata-san for a bit. Would that be acceptable?”
Acceptable. The formality irks you. Still, your heart slows its pace to something you might call reasonable, and through comfort that isn’t provided by your own blood, you manage to nod between hiccups.
You won’t realize it until long after a straw mat has been laid out a short distance from Sukuna’s. You won’t realize it until long after construction on your new home has begun and the village comes together to rebuild. You won’t realize it until the village’s smaller numbers mean less time isolated in the outer edge of the farmland and more time surrounded by people you scarcely know.
But that was the night that killed the childish wonder your friend once had.
–
It’s several fortnights before your home is ready once more. Given that there was extra space in both Murata’s and Saya’s mother’s homes, your home took the least priority over the others.
You hardly mind. You’re just grateful to have some of your own clothes once again. Wearing Saya’s old clothes dredges up painful memories, and Sukuna, who grows like a weed compared to you, has already given away a majority of the clothes that might fit you. You practically swim in anything borrowed from him.
In fact, by the time the first day you can sleep in your home comes to pass, you find yourself staring up at the thatch roof with your heart pounding unevenly. Is it the new environment that has you shifting, the new bed? Is it the roof that you’ve already spotted a hole in that will reveal its inadequacy come rain?
For all of your ideating, you know the truth.
What if something happens to Sukuna while you sleep just as it did to Saya?
With the moon now partially across the sky and your eyes still wide as though it were daylight, you slip from beneath your new quilts and carefully cross the room to the door. It glides open without protest, allowing you to slip away unheard.
The dirt and newly-growing grass underfoot is a stark contrast to everything new that adorns what should feel like home. You jog the short distance to Murata’s, creeping up to the door. Listening intently through the thin door for any noise, your fingers curl over the edge as you slowly push it open, using small fingers to lift the inner latch through the small gap in the door.
Moonlight floods the interior as you pad to the back, revealing the spot where your old bed still remains. It casts a long shadow where Sukuna is already sitting up staring at you, two wide eyes roused to wakefulness as you try to sneak in. That is, if he wasn’t already awake himself.
Once he’s face-to-face with the one person he associates with safety, a second pair of stark crimson eyes blink open. It’s that very stare that trails after you as you slip into the bed a short distance from him. He doesn’t say a word as you curl under the blankets and shut your eyes without a second thought.
He doesn’t need to. Over the course of the last few cycles of the moon, you’ve come to notice that Sukuna is quieter and more observant, but he’s also far more perceptive. You want to say you’ve developed a sort of language where the unspoken is understood between you, but it’s truthfully one-way. Sukuna is somewhat of a closed book, his walls holding far too strong as he refuses to let even you in.
But from the moment you walked in, he knew. He knows you fear the sound of flames. He knows the quiet looms over you like an ill omen. He knows that distance between you sounds more like danger and approaching sorcerers than the nothing that it should sound like.
He knows the Zen’in sorcerers are no longer heroes to you.
He sees it all. He feels it all too, as much as he keeps those secrets close.
The moon has traveled far enough to say an hour has gone by before he speaks.
“You can’t sleep either?”
He knows you’re still awake. You’re shuffling too much to be asleep.
“No,” you murmur, rolling over to face him. With your eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, you can make out the dark circles under his eyes. He seems more tired than you, even.
He nods, his gaze averting as though the straw hatch overhead is of sudden interest. “I’ve been getting good at archery.” He offers the thought casually like it might serve as a distraction, something to help you sleep.
Unfortunately, it does the opposite.
You sit upright, your gaze far brighter than the tired one that flooded with relief at the sight of your friend. “You haven’t taught me in a while.”
He shrugs. “Murata-sensei’s been busy. I haven’t been able to learn anything new.”
“I wanna practice too!” You insist, still hushed in an effort not to wake Sukuna’s guardian.
He peers at the frail wall that separates you both from the village leader, before pushing out from under his blankets. He pulls on the outer layer of his robes before returning to grab your forearm and drag you outside. He sneaks around the outer walls in order to grab both his old bow and Murata-sensei’s. In just the past year or so since he began teaching you the ropes here and there, he’s grown so significantly that he stands nearly a head over you and can already somewhat use his sensei’s bow as he comes to the man’s shoulders in height alone.
You, on the other hand, almost can use his old bow confidently.
With the bows slung over his shoulder like a sash and an ebira of arrows tucked under his arm, he leads the way into the forest, where you can talk without a hush.
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you find your anxiety growing the further you travel into the woods, regardless of the fact that he brought you north, rather than south where you were attacked from. His steps falter as you near the burial grounds, his body betraying him as he finds himself staring at the wooden planks emerging from the ground. His shoulders visibly fall as the hitch in his step brings him to a sudden halt.
You’ve spent so little time apart since the attack that you know he hasn’t visited. You have, twice now, with your mother. It doesn’t hurt any less each time. The remains of the pyre sit nearby too, which never fails to make your heart sink.
“Ryo?”
He blinks, looking back at you with two pairs of sanguine eyes. Storms brew behind them, tumultuous as his readiness to retreat to the woods the moment one of you doesn’t feel well.
“Have you visited her?”
His lips pull into a thin line, curling down at the edges. He doesn’t reply, fixing the burial site with a scowl instead. Grabbing the ebira from under his arm, you beckon him to take a seat before the wood where the dirt still seems as though it’s been recently disturbed.
His scowl is impenetrable, even as he takes a seat. He wears it like armor, as though it’s all that keeps the storm at bay.
The wood before you is plain, too much so for the little girl it means to represent. The only remnant of her is her name carved into the bowed wood.
“What’s the point of this?” Sukuna mutters under his breath, adjusting the way the bows sit across his chest now that he’s cross-legged on the packed dirt with you.
“Here,” you reach over for the bows, pulling them over his head and setting them aside with the ebira. “Sit on your knees.”
He follows suit without protest, though his expression remains hardened. Two of his hands sit in his lap, the others hidden beneath layers of cloth as he waits for your instruction.
“This is how you pay respects,” you explain, bowing your head. With a glance in your direction, Sukuna mirrors your display. “My mother likes to bring gifts as offerings as well,” you add. One pair of crimson eyes briefly flickers to you at the way you refer to your parent, more detached than he’s accustomed to. “She said it helps their spirits move on. That way–” Her mere name chokes you, but you press on. “Saya can be at peace.”
His heart hangs heavy at the explanation. He’s never thought of a spirit as something positive when the stories surrounding sorcerers so often depict cursed spirits. He’s never considered there are spirits that aren’t curses. The tight knit between his brows loosens as he bows further, his fingers clamping down on the material adorning his thighs. His lip quivers, giving in to everything he’s kept under wraps over the moon’s last couple of cycles, his shoulders shaking as he remains doubled over.
You shuffle closer, your warmth offering comfort as you suppress your own sniffles.
“If I had just–” It isn’t a sob that chokes him, but his bottled up frustrations. His knuckles are white under the sheer force with which he clenches them. “I could have done something if maybe–”
“It’s not your fault, Ryo,” you murmur, leaning against him with a sullen frown.
“Saya’s mother–”
“It doesn’t matter,” you shake your head adamantly. You know he feels the movement, rather than seeing it. Either way, it means something. “She was mean. I don’t know why.”
“Everyone looks at me weird.” His tone no longer carries sorrow, but malignance. You can sympathize with his frustration given how much time you’ve spent by his side lately. You have yet to understand where the disdain directed towards your friend comes from, but you’re no longer blinded by naivety towards it.
It’s not just Imai. Every time someone stops by Murata’s home, they eye Sukuna like something to be picked apart. Even your own flesh and blood doesn’t extend the kindness to him that they did to Saya.
The world feels several degrees colder.
“They’re wrong,” you declare adamantly. “All of them.”
He appreciates your kindness more than you could know. He holds your tenacity close, for he has none left himself.
Still, it still stands as a reminder that while he knows you’re more aware of the difference between Sukuna and the rest of the villagers, there’s dissonance in the way you both view the world. But the world will keep turning. And the child has to keep going. So he sucks in a breath and nods, tempering his grief in an effort to truly pay respect to Saya.
The moon grows closer to the horizon by the time you’re back on your feet. You already know you won’t get much sleep when your mother inevitably comes to reprimand you, but your mind is set on something else.
Sukuna pauses after pulling the bows over his head again, allowing them to hang from his shoulder. He holds the ebira in a hand, rolling one arrow between two fingers. Slowly, he leans over to settle the arrow at the base of the grave. You suck in a breath at the sight, somber with loss.
“An offering,” Sukuna echoes your explanation from earlier, like he’s internalizing it for himself. “To let her know her archers are protecting her spirit.”
You blink several times in an effort to keep your composure, nodding at last when Sukuna seeks your approval to leave. With one more glance back at the burial plot, you follow after your friend to practice archery until the sun kisses the horizon.
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon
➴ a/n ; we're baaack! ty as always for the love on this series <3 i also want to give a fair warning that the following chapters will deal with extremely dark content. while i don't want to spoil what will happen, please do read the warnings before diving in.
꒰melody꒱ asking boyfriend!choso to fuck your throat
mdni ꩜ smut, intimacy & aftercare. art by @/kanmi013
"I don't want to hurt you"
"You're not going to hurt me, Cho"
It was a little ridiculous to be debating right now, considering the position you were in – on your back, head slightly hanging off the edge of the mattress, and right in between your boyfriends thick thighs.
It's not like it was the first time you suggested something that made him red as a tomato. Actually, you would have thought we was used to it by now.
From above you, Choso's adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly, somewhere between hypnotised and worried. "What if you can't breathe?" he reasoned.
"I'll tap your leg if it's too much" you reassured.
Normally he was always happy to try whatever you suggested, but you could see why he was a little apprehensive about this one.
You could just about make out his handsome face in this awkward position, but once he started moving, you would be completely trapped under him... a thought you actually quite enjoyed.
Choso considered it for a moment longer, a hand lazily stroking his member just inches away from you – already suspiciously hard despite his hesitation.
It was like he was teasing you, having it so close but still so far. Was it so wrong to just want the love of your life to fuck your throat?!
"Ok…" Choso finally sighed reluctantly, but the way his cock twitched in his grasp was fooling no one. "Can you, um, open your mouth?"
You did.
"Fuck" Choso gasped immediately, throwing his head back in ecstasy despite not having even entered you yet.
You couldn't help a devilish smile, admiring how he bit his bottom lip above you with barely controlled lust. "Do you need a moment, Cho?" you teased.
"No! No" he quickly said, looking down at you again with a long exhale. "You look really good like that"
His dark eyes were locked on yours now, mesmerised. Despite how hard you wanted to tease him for getting so excited just looking at you, there was no denying he did the same to you.
Embarrassing, really. The way your thighs squeezed together at the sight of him alone.
"You look good too" you replied softly, feeling your own face grow hot.
"Yeah?" he smiled, beginning to stroke himself again. "You want me to fuck your throat?"
Fuck.
"Y–yeah" you swallowed hard, heart beginning to beat a little too fast inside your chest. "Please"
"Then be a good girl and open your mouth"
He didn't even have to ask you twice.
You willingly parted your lips, as drunk on him as he was drunk on you.
The minute Choso started to sink into your mouth your eyes began to water, hands coming to grab his thighs just to have something to hold on to.
It wasn't the most comfortable position to be taking him in, sure, but you were happy he agreed to try it. Even more so hearing the lewd sounds that were coming from his throat, like the sweetest melody.
"Just like that, baby" he groaned, sinking a little deeper. You so wished you could see what he looked like right now. "Doing so good for me"
You really wanted to please him, but you couldn't help the way you constricted around him as he reached deeper, exploring further than he ever had. "Still ok?" Choso asked, waiting for your struggled nod before continuing.
And then he really started moving. Shallow thrusts at first, in and out, in and out. Going deeper with each one, giving you time to adjust to his size.
"Taking me so fucking well" he panted. "Fuck, I can see it" his thumb slowly stroked the bulge on your neck, a tender caress despite how mean he moved now.
Deeper and deeper.
The heat between your legs was starting to get too much to ignore – your boyfriend driving you insane with nothing but his cock in your throat and his little groans and whimpers, as he fucked your face like he would your pussy.
Maybe you'd suggest filming it next time, just so you could admire his expressions.
Though you also enjoyed your imagination.
And as if just to empty all thoughts from your head, Choso pushed all the way in – you choked around him, struggling to accommodate him so deep, but when your boyfriend tried to move back and give you respite, your hands immediately brought his hips back towards you.
"Fuck– you feel so good" he gasped in surprise, mesmerised by how hard you tried for him, by how much you wanted this. "Hold it there for me baby, can you do that?"
You did – growing more and more used to the odd pressure, your face a mix of tears and spit, throat stretched beyond capacity.
"Ahhhh, such a good girl" he exhaled. "Can I–can I cum in your throat?" he asked a little shyly.
You tried your best to nod yes, despite not being able to move much.
Choso understood, moving his hips back again to shove himself back in, one more time, two times, and on the third – he sunk so deep you had no choice but swallow all he was giving you.
You loved it. Both the salty taste and how he moaned above you.
As soon as he was done, Choso removed himself, kneeling down next to your head. "Are you ok?" he asked hurriedly, wiping your face for you, using the towel he had left by the bed for this exact reason.
"Yes" you said, voice a little hoarse. "Did you enjoy it?" you smiled, while Choso brought two hands to your shoulders to help you sit up, treating you like you were precious.
"Yeah" he admitted with a blush on his cheeks. He passed you a glass of water, another precaution he had taken. "I…really did"
You took a slow sip, while his hands slowly rubbed your shoulders and neck, easing the tension you were just starting to feel from the odd position you had been in.
"Good" you leaned forward to kiss his nose then, just above his mark. "Sounded like you did" you teased, enjoying his little grimace.
He took the glass from you as you put your hands on the mattress to push yourself up, but before you could – Choso stopped you with two firm hands on your hips.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, positioning himself between your legs. "It's my turn to hear the sounds you make"
synopsis : you moved in for cheap rent, not to get passed around. but with four insanely hot men under same roof, it didn’t take long before things got messy. now you’re cockwarming nanami at midnight, riding gojo in the shower, bent over for geto before dinner, and getting your throat fucked by toji. college? peace? who needs it when you’re getting dicked down for good?
content warning : explicit sexual content, oral sex, p in v sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, possessive behavior, voyeurism, dom/sub dynamics, slight humiliation, dub-con, coercion, begging, power play, aftercare, light manipulation, mature readers only, mdni. this chapter is full of smut, it's prolly boring mehhh.. ⊙﹏⊙
a/n : this fic is very smut-heavy and most chapters contain multiple smut scenes. if that’s not something you’re comfortable reading, please feel free to skip this one *.✧ art by @/thatsallitchief
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Chapter 16
“…What’s your favorite color?”
You blinked, tilting your head to look up at him. “huh?”
You were still curled up in toji’s lap, legs stretched across the couch, the tv casting soft, flickering light over the room. He’d gone strangely quiet a while ago, like he was still turning over everything you’d said in his head. His hand moved lazily over your thigh, absentminded circles, slow and warm.
He cleared his throat, almost awkward. “color,” he muttered. “the one you like most.”
You tilted your head, confused but amused. “umm… I guess pink. or blue. oh—and cherry red too. why?”
He shrugged, looking away quickly. “just askin’. thought girls liked when guys remembered that kinda shit.”
Your heart fluttered unexpectedly.
Toji Fushiguro. Remembering colors. Is the world ending or what?
He looked a little uncomfortable, like he was pushing himself through unfamiliar territory and unsure if he was doing it right. But he wasn’t stopping.
“…What’s your favorite food?”
You gave him a squinty smile. “you sure have a lots of questions...”
He huffed. “answer the fuckin’ question.”
You giggled, hand covering your mouth. “okay, okay. I like pasta. all kinds.… especially alfredo.”
He grunted, his eyes anywhere but you. “noted.”
You were about to tease him again when another voice chimed in. Nanami had just stepped in from the balcony and now stood with his arms crossed, watching the two of you with a raised brow and a sly little smirk.
“What’s this, toji?” Nanami asked, voice light with humor. “asking these kinda questions like a ten year old?”
Toji rolled his eyes and immediately growled, “shut the fuck up man.”
Nanami didn’t back down. “I mean, ‘favorite color’?” he mocked gently. “are you gonna ask her star sign next?”
Toji huffed through his nose and grumbled, “I dunno what the fuck to ask. dunno shit like this.”
Nanami shook his head, amused, and started walking past the couch. “you’re lucky she likes you,” he muttered. “anyone else would’ve laughed in your face.”
He paused at the hallway, glanced at you briefly. Checking, as always, if you were okay and then disappeared into his room with a soft chuckle.
The silence returned. TV kept playing, but neither of you were watching now.
You glanced up at Toji again. He still looked a bit annoyed, like he’d just been caught doing something embarrassing. But then his eyes softened slightly, settling on you. “pink, huh?”
You smiled, eyes bright with a soft sparkle, “yeah.”
“…Suits you,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
And then, a beat of silence, followed by a shift in the air. His hand on your thigh stilled… then gripped, jaw flexing slightly as he looked down at you, lips parting like he was about to say something and then hesitating.
“Toji?” you asked quietly.
He cleared his throat again. “uh… so… wanna fuck?”
You blinked. He blinked.
“…Shit,” he muttered, annoyed with himself, “I mean, wanna do it?”
The words dropped so bluntly it made your cheeks go hot. You stared at him wide-eyed, the plushie still crushed between your chests like a little chaperone. Your lips parted, but nothing came out for a moment. The air had turned thick. Ridiculously awkward and stupidly honest.
“… I don’t mind…” you began, voice soft, “… but…”
Toji tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, his hand still warm on your thigh.
“…My thighs hurt... from last night.”
His gaze darkened, not in a cruel way, more like a flicker of restraint. He blinked, processing, mind drifting straight back to last night's flashbacks… how he’d folded you in half, pounding that poor pussy into the mattress, hands gripping your thighs hard to keep you pinned right where he wanted.
Yeah… no fucking wonder you were sore as hell today.
“…So?” he asked slowly.
“So… not today..” you mumbled, shrinking into his chest slightly.
A few seconds passed. Then, a small grunt left his chest. Not frustrated. Just… accepting. “…fine,” he muttered. “I get it.”
You relaxed just a little. But then his hand slid a bit higher, fingers splaying wide. “…can I then just eat you out or something?”
“…What?”
“Come on,” he groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch like you were torturing him. “give me something. you’re in my fuckin’ lap with a plush and that shampoo smell and those little shorts—what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
You were crimson now, heat rushing all the way up your neck to your cheeks, burning so obvious it felt impossible to hide. “shut up toji—”
“I’ll be good,” he added quickly, half-lidded eyes and lips parted as he leaned down, nose brushing your neck. “no fingers if you don’t want. just… lemme taste you a bit. I’ll make it nice.”
You let out a small gasp, instinctively gripping the plush tighter. The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.
“Just wanna make you feel good,” he murmured. “promise I won’t even ask for anything back. you can sit on my face and use me if that’s what you want.”
You felt your thighs clench on it's own. “but....”
He smirked against your skin, like he already knew he had you. “…come on, princess,” he whispered. “let me have a taste.”
Your heart was racing. Toji’s breath ghosted over your neck, each exhale making your skin bloom with heat. He hadn’t moved further, was just waiting, like a predator with patience. You could feel the tension in him, the tight coil of restraint as he tried to hold himself back.
“Come on, doll,” he muttered again. “I’ll be gentle. promise.”
You didn’t know how his voice could make your knees weak even when you were sitting down. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, and he noticed. Of course he did.
A smirk crept onto his lips. “that a yes?”
You swallowed hard. “o-okay. just… just that.”
His eyes snapped to yours, hungry and bright, like you’d just given him permission to devour you whole.
“fuck,” he muttered, shifting you in his lap like nothing. “c'mere.”
Before you could even register what was happening, he was laying you back on the couch, moving the plushie aside carefully, almost comically gently, then tossing it onto the armrest as if he's clearing space for a feast.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, legs squeezed shut as you fidgeted with the hem of your shorts. Toji knelt between your thighs, big paws already sliding up your calves, then your knees, pushing them apart slowly.
“I'm just gonna take a look,” he said. “relax. lemme see you.”
You bit your lip, whole face on fire. You were still sore, body was still tender. But that didn't stop your arousal from pooling thick and hot between your legs the moment he pulled your shorts down slowly, dragging the fabric past your hips like he was unwrapping the softest, sweetest thing he’d ever touched.
He whistled low under his breath when he saw your damp panties. “shit, baby. these already wet?”
You covered your face with both hands, too mortified to answer. He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss your inner thigh, soft and slow.
“So cute when you're shy,” he murmured, kissing higher, just beside the damp spot on your panties. “makes me wanna ruin you.”
You thighs twitched when his stubble scraped your skin lightly. His hands were splayed on your hips now, firm and grounding, and then slowly, he hooked his thumbs under your underwear and dragged them down. You felt the cold air kiss your bare heat and squeezed your eyes shut harder.
Toji exhaled deeply like a starving man. “look at this fuckin’ pussy. all soft and glowin' for me.”
You squirmed beneath him, but he held you still with a growl. “uh-uh. don’t run from me now. you said yes. I’m taking my time.”
He lowered himself slowly, shoulders pressing your thighs apart wider until he was face-to-face with your most sensitive spot. You felt his breath first. Hot, heavy, then the warm, slow drag of his tongue right through your folds.
Your back arched off the couch with a cry, hands flying up to grip the cushion. “t-toji—!”
“Shh,” he murmured against you, tongue dipping lower to tease your fluttering hole before dragging up to flick over your clit. “I got you, pretty girl. just feel it.”
And god, you sure as fuck felt it.
Toji didn’t eat cunt. He devoured it. Licking you like it's syrup, savoring every slick, sweet part of you, groaning into it like you were the best thing he’d had in years. His tongue circled your clit in slow, relentless laps, then dipped lower again, teasing you open.
You covered your face again, overwhelmed by everything. You tried to close your legs once, but he wasn't having it.
“Spread,” he ordered, pulling your thighs open wider. You squeaked, body obeying instantly despite your embarrassment.
“That’s it,” he said approvingly, “just like that. pretty pussy needs room to breathe.”
He slid his tongue lower again, teasing your entrance with the flat of it, then pushed just a little in. You cried out at the sensation, toes curling. It was too much. Too good. Too Toji.
He kept going, switching it up every few minutes, sucking softly on your clit, then dragging his tongue flat and slow, then flicking fast and relentless.
You panted, voice small and high. “t-toji, I—I think I’m gonna—!”
“Yeah?” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “then do it. come on, baby. make a mess.”
He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, hard. That broke you. Body snapping like a bowstring, hips jerking up against his face as you came with a cry, legs trembling uncontrollably. Fingers dug into the couch cushions, eyes squeezed shut as heat exploded behind your ribs.
Toji didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, gentle and teasing now, until you whined and pushed weakly at his head. He pulled back with a low groan, lips and chin glistening. “fuck, that was pretty.”
You face was burning with embarrassment, chest still rising and falling quickly. He leaned over you, smirking down at your fucked out state.
“Wanna sit on my face next?” he asked, voice low and smug. “bet you’d look so cute grinding down, making a mess all over me.”
You shook your head rapidly, face hidden in your hands.
“No? not yet?” he teased, brushing a finger lightly over your still-sensitive clit, making you jolt. “that’s fine. I’ll just keep eating till you beg for it.”
He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, then moved up to your belly, planting slow kisses there too. “good girl,” he murmured, voice softer now. “you taste so fuckin’ good, you don’t even know.”
You peeked at him from behind your fingers, face warm and heart fluttering. He wasn’t letting you go. And honestly… you didn’t want him to.
***
Toji hadn’t moved.
He was still between your thighs, spreading slow, wet kisses up your inner thighs like he didn’t want to let your taste go just yet. The aftershocks of your orgasm lingering in your legs, tummy and your fluttering cunt.
But you could feel it. The way his hands kept sliding up. The way his breathing stayed heavy. The way he looked at you, like he was still starving. That he wanted more.
“Toji…” you whispered, voice small.
He lifted his head, eyes dark, lips shining. “yeah?”
“My legs... still hurt a little…”
“I know,” he said softly, kissing your hip. “I know, baby. I heard you.”
Then his hand slid lower, fingers ghosting over your inner lips, brushing over your clit so lightly you gasped.
“But your pussy’s still crying f'me,” he murmured, watching the way your body reacted. “slicked up so fuckin’ pretty. she doesn’t look like she's had enough.”
“Toji—” you whined, trying to sit up, but he only chuckled and pressed a hand flat on your lower belly.
“Let me make it up to you,” he said, leaning closer, lips brushing over the curve of your thigh. “gonna be nice this time. swear.”
You gave him a look, wobbly and unsure, but your hips were tilting just slightly up. “nice?” you breathed, skeptical.
Toji grinned, teeth flashing. “nice enough you’ll forget you were ever sore.”
Then he leaned down and spat on your pussy, the hot wet sound so nasty it made you gasp. He smirked up at you. “that too mean?”
You nodded too fast, the heat in your core instantly returning, flaring hot.
“Gonna be sweet, promise,” he said, slipping two thick fingers into your soaked, twitching hole. “sweet and slow.”
You cried out softly, slick walls clenching down at the sudden stretch. He groaned low, eyes locked on where his fingers disappeared inside you.
“Fuck,” he muttered, “still so fuckin' tight even after last night. thought I loosened you up enough.”
He started pumping them. Lazy, deep thrusts, curling just slightly. Your hips rolling against his hand before you could stop yourself. Toji leaned closer, licking a slow stripe up your folds, his tongue meeting the motion of his fingers.
“See?” he said raspily. “she's askin' for it.”
You mewled, being overwhelmed to the limit. It was too much. His mouth, fingers, voice. It was all too much. You tried to protest, tried to warn him—“t-toji, I-I can’t—!”
“You can,” he growled low. “and you will. cum f'me, baby. not stopping till you do.”
Toji was man of his word.
He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue swirling while his fingers kept that steady thrust, fucking up into you like he knew exactly where your weak spots were. You couldn’t stop crying out, hands gripping his hair now, body arching into his mouth like a wave crashing over rocks.
“Too much—” you whimpered, “feels too good—!”
He didn’t stop. Not when you begged. Definitely not until you came again, harder as you sobbed his name.
“That’s it,” he groaned against you, licking you through the mess. “so fuckin’ hot when you cum like that.”
You lay there boneless, cunt twitching around his fingers still buried deep inside you.
Then — oh god, here it is.
Heavy weight of his cock, thick and burning, resting against your thigh. You opened your eyes weakly, catching him grinding against your leg.
“Toji—”
He paused, his pupils blown wide. “can I?”
You hesitated, breath shaky. “toji… but…”
“Gonna be gentle,” he promised, “just a little. yeah?”
And somehow, despite your sore legs and sensitive cunt, you nodded. He moved quickly, hands lifting your hips, guiding himself to your hole, thick head rubbing through your soaked folds.
Then slowly, he pushed in. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, his size stretching you open inch by inch. He groaned above you, jaw clenched like he was holding back a growl.
“Shit, baby… so tight… she's chokin' me.”
Your walls clenched helplessly, fluttering from overstimulation, but the slide of him inside you felt perfect. He bottomed out with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.
“Just a few pumps,” he whispered. “need to feel you.”
You nodded, tears stinging your lashes, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he started to move. Slow and deep thrusts, each one making your back arch.n He was groaning in your ear, filthy praises spilling from his lips.
“You take me so well… even after all that, still fuckin’ greedy, huh?” You whined, nails digging into his back.
“Pussy’s a slut for me,” he growled, fucking a little deeper now, “she’s never had enough. and you, act all shy, all sweet... then you cream all over my cock like a little cumdump.”
Your moan caught in your throat, heat flooding through you again. You couldn’t even answer, all you could do was hold onto him, let him ruin you slowly.
“Wanna fill you up,” he grunted, thrusts growing heavier. “wanna see it leakin' out when I’m done—wanna fuck it back in.”
You were close, even though you thought you couldn’t possibly come again. “toji—m'gonna..!”
“Come with me. fuckin’ milk me.”
And you did listen to him.
You shattered around him, eyes rolling back, cry muffled in his shoulder as he spilled deep inside you with a rough groan, hips grinding into yours as he emptied everything he had.
You were both shaking, soaked in sweat and slick. He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed buried in you, breathing hard, whispering against your skin.
“Good girl. did so fuckin’ good.”
Your head was spinning. Couldn’t feel your legs. Thighs were sticky. Cunt was throbbing. You were sore all over. But you had a smile on your face.
Because somehow, even in his messiest state, Toji still made you feel like you were the only thing he craved.
His forehead was resting against yours, his palm cupping your jaw, holding you there like the delicate thing you are.
“You okay, baby?”
You nodded, still too dazed to speak, your arms wrapped around his neck. His heart was pounding hard. He hadn’t moved, like he couldn’t bring himself to.
***
“Ooh?”
He froze, you froze. Both of you suddenly remembering the fact that you were literally butt fucking naked on the couch, and you happen to have other roommates. Surprise.
You blinked up, heart stuttering in your chest as Gojo’s tall frame appeared from his room, a half empty bottle in his hand, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
“Well well well,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “thought you went all soft with that plushie thing earlier. look at you now.. still buried in her like a goddamn caveman.”
Toji groaned, pressing his face into your neck, like if he ignored Gojo long enough, he’d disappear. “shut the fuck up, brat.”
Gojo laughed. “what? I’m just saying. It was kinda sweet, you know? thought I was witnessing character development. but nah. you still couldn’t keep it in your pants.”
You groaned softly, turning your face into Toji’s shoulder, with burning cheeks.
Toji just growled at the man. “so fuckin’ annoying.”
Gojo took a sip from his bottle, then started walking off, only to stop mid-step when Toji added, almost casually: “hey. don’t sneak into her room tonight. I’m sleepin’ there.”
Gojo choked on his water. “excuse me???” he gasped, turning back around. “no fuckin' way. I’m the one who cuddles her. right, princess?”
His eyes landed on you, sparkling, mischievous and waiting. You looked down, squirming slightly in Toji’s hold, unable to meet his gaze.
“…Right?”
You didn’t answer.
“Woah.” Gojo placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “betrayal. actual betrayal.”
“She’s mine,” Toji grunted, pulling you closer. “go fuck yourself.”
Gojo raised an eyebrow. “that’s not very sweet of you.”
“I don’t do sweet,” Toji snapped. “I do her.”
You made a choked sound, smacking a weak hand against his shoulder.
Gojo rolled his eyes, grinning. “fine, fine. I see how it is.”
He turned, tossing the empty bottle in the kitchen bin on his way out. But just before he disappeared down the hall, he glanced back and added:
“Better hold her tight, Toji. I’m still the king of cuddles in this house.”
Toji flipped him off without lifting his head. Gojo grinned and walked away, humming. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, hands still tangled in Toji’s dark hair. He finally lifted his head and looked down at you. “still wanna sleep with me?”
You nodded, eyes dropping for a second as a small, embarrassed smile tugged at your lips.
“…Even if I don’t cuddle much?”
“You’re warm.”
He huffed a short laugh, kissed your nose, and stayed right there, still buried inside you, like he had nowhere else to be. Then he finally murmured against your temple, voice low and husky, “so… sleep?”
You gave him a tiny nod, face still hot from all the teasing. He exhaled, muttered a gruff “’kay,” then shifted with barely any effort, scooping you up into his arms. You clung to his neck instinctively, as he carried you out of the living room, down the hall, and into your bedroom. He lowered you onto the bed gently, then kicked off his pants and crawled in right after you, trying his best to “cuddle,” even if he looked like he had no damn idea what he was doing. One of his arms slung over your waist. His face pressed into the back of your neck.
It was... nice. Sweet, even. Until you remembered.
“W-wait!” you gasped, squirming out of his grasp.
Toji sat up instantly, annoyed. “what?”
“I need to shower,” you mumbled, slipping off the bed and grabbing your towel. “just… just a minute. I’ll be quick!”
He watched you disappear into the bathroom, grumbling something under his breath.
Toji waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
At twenty-five, he got up. At thirty, he walked around the room, muttering, “the fuck is she doing, growing new skin?”
He stood outside the bathroom door and tried the knob. Locked.
“Hey,” he called, voice playful but rough. “you good in there?”
“Y-yeah!” you shouted back over the water. “don’t come in!”
“Why not?” he drawled. “Is there any damn thing I haven't seen?”
You nearly slipped trying to answer, “please, just—just give me a minute!”
He groaned dramatically and leaned against the wall. “you said a minute. It’s been a hundred.”
“Go wait on the bed!” you whined.
Toji grunted and dragged himself back to the bed, collapsing on it with a thud, staring up at the ceiling like a man enduring the greatest trial of his life.
Time crawled. Forty minutes. Then finally—fuckin' finally—the bathroom door creaked open. Toji turned his head and his soul almost left his body.
You walked in, skin dewy and flushed from the hot water, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, smelling like heaven. The sweet scent of your shampoo and body wash had his head spinning. A towel was wrapped around your body, but barely. Bare legs. Collarbones glistening. Droplets still sliding down your thighs.
Toji didn’t say anything. But the thick, stiff tent in the boxers he was still wearing said plenty.
Your eyes flicked down and saw the scene before you, curling your fingers into the edge of your towel.
He exhaled slowly. “you did that on purpose.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yeah, you did,” he said, sitting up, his eyes dragging down your soaked, barely-covered body like it was torture. “knew you were in there forever for a reason.”
You looked away embarassed. “I was just washing my hair…”
“Uh-huh.”
He moved closer, eyes fixed on where the towel dipped between your breasts. “you smell good. look even better.”
“Toji—”
“Still sore?”
You nodded slowly. He leaned in, breathing against your neck. “I’ll be gentle.”
He looked at you, lips brushing your ear. “you’re gonna let me fuck you in nothing but that towel?”
You whispered, “m-maybe…”
Toji didn’t even wait for a full yes. He pulled you closer as his hands slid around your thighs, gripping them as he looked up at you like he was about to ruin you all over again.
***
The towel slipped just a bit when he yanked you down into his lap, your bare thighs straddling him, damp skin sticking to his. Toji didn’t bother taking it off.
His big hands just gripped your hips and dragged the fabric slightly upward, bunching it around your waist as he pressed your chest against his, groaning low at the damp heat trapped between you both. He didn’t need to see everything, just having you wrapped in that soft cotton, flushed and squirmy and wide-eyed, was enough to get his cock twitching again.
“You’ve got no damn idea how fuckin’ hot this is,” he muttered, rutting up once between your legs, letting you feel just how hard he was for you. “wrapped up all sweet like that, smellin’ so good, actin’ all shy…”
You whined, shifting a little from the sore ache on your legs.
“My girl's hurtin', yeah?” he asked, tilting his head.
You nodded quickly as he leaned back against the headboard, staring at you with half-lidded eyes.
“Tojiiii,” you whispered, holding the towel against your chest with trembling hands as he kept your hips in place, dragging you gently across his lap in a slow grind, the thick shape of his cock pressing against your folds through the fabric of his boxers.
“Want me to stop?” he asked, sliding one hand under the towel just enough to stroke the crease of your inner thigh.
“… I do,” you whispered. “It’s… too much.”
Toji stilled. He looked down at where your bodies met, how your towel was bunched up around your hips, how your chest was rising and falling fast under it.
After a pause, he let out a long breath and mumbled, “sure you can’t go one more?”
You shook your head. “… can't feel my legs…”
He huffed softly, followed by a kiss in the neck. “fine,” he murmured, hands still roaming, slipping up and under the towel to palm your ass. “but you’re sleeping in this towel.”
Your eyes widened. “In this…?”
He grinned lazily, nipping your ear. “just like this. and I’m gonna keep touching you, ‘kay?”
You blinked up at him, confused but flustered. “… okay.”
That was all he needed. He didn’t undress you. Didn’t even slide the towel down. Just slipped his hand beneath it again, fingers dragging over your thighs, your hips, the backs of your knees. Everywhere but where you needed him. You could feel his cock twitch under you as he touched and groped you.
“Not fuckin’ you, but I’mma make you feel me, princess.” Toji’s hands were everywhere. Palming your waist, stroking your back, kneading your thighs. Never dipping low enough to relieve the ache that was steadily growing again. The towel clung to your damp skin, heat building under it like a secret he wasn’t letting you share. You whined, thighs twitching from how slick you’d gotten, the teasing unbearable. “t… toji..”
His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh again. “yeah, baby?”
You squirmed. Couldn’t even look at him. “mhmm…”
“Tell me,” he whispered, lips brushing your temple. “what does my pretty girl want.. hmm?”
Instead of words, your trembling fingers reached down and caught his wrist, dragging it lower, under the towel, until his palm slid between your legs. Bare, soaked and throbbing. His sharp inhale cut through the silence like a blade.
He groaned, voice husky. “making demands now, are we?” You shook your head, face burning all over.
“Damn, so wet already,” he muttered, sliding his other hand up to your chest. “sure you’re sore, baby? I can just—fuck—I’ll go slow. real slow.”
You moaned again when his head dipped, lips latching onto your breast through the towel at first, warm breath seeping through the damp cloth. He nuzzled, then tugged it down enough to expose you, licking a slow stripe over your nipple before sucking hard.
Your back arched into his mouth, fingers threading into his dark hair.
He didn’t stop rubbing you. Fingers slow and thick between your legs, slipping through your slick folds without pressing too deep. One long stroke. Then another. All while his mouth was on your tits.
“Such a sweet thing,” he murmured, flicking his tongue over your nipple again before giving it a wet kiss. “too sweet for me. gonna keep you like this every fuckin’ night if I can.”
Your legs were shaking around his hand, toes curling as Toji kept dragging his fingers through your slick folds. Slow, barely-there touches that made your hips buck against him in desperation.
You couldn’t take it anymore. With shaky fingers, you reached for his crotch, brushing against the thick bulge straining in his boxers. He tensed, then let out a soft, amused grunt.
“The hell is this?” he muttered, tilting his head and looking at you with a lazy smirk. “you touchin’ me now, doll?”
You were too flustered to speak, just nodded quickly, clutching him tighter.
He raised an eyebrow, still rubbing you with maddening slowness. “want it that bad?”
You nodded again, biting your lip.
“Nah. words. say it.”
You gulped hard. “… want it… down… there.”
Toji’s smirk stretched wider, hand stalling just enough to drive you insane. “‘down there’? really?” he chuckled lowly, “you know I don’t play that game, princess. say it properly.”
Your voice was a whisper, almost pleading. “your… your cock…”
Toji hissed through his teeth, his hand squeezing your thigh hard. “that’s more like it. say it again. tell me what you want.”
You blinked up at him, heart beating too loud for your own good. “I want… your cock.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, lips brushing your cheek but not kissing yet.
“Why?” he asked quietly, fingers resuming their gentle circles on your folds. “tell me why you want it.”
“I… I don’t know…” you murmured helplessly, arching into his hand.
He growled, too demanding. “say why.”
You swallowed, shaking in his arms. “to… to feel good…”
“Mmm. so my cock makes you feel good?” he said with a cocky grin, rubbing tighter circles on your clit.
You nodded, barely holding back a sob. “y-yes…”
He laughed, voice thick with pride. “shit, baby. you really want it so bad, huh?”
You moaned softly as his fingers rubbed harder, lips ghosting over your collarbone while he whispered more filth. “all soft and sore... still beggin’ for it. fuckin’ precious.”
“Wanna feel full, yeah?” he whispered, slipping his fingers out for a moment, just long enough to tug his boxers down, his cock springing free, thick, heavy, and hard.
Your eyes widened, practically drooling at the sight.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. missed this, didn’t you?” he teased, rubbing the tip along your soaked hole.
He didn’t slip it off the towel, just pushed it up, exposing what he needed. Maybe he liked it like that, how pretty you looked wrapped in nothing but a towel and desperation.
“… Toji, please…”
“Please what?”
You looked away, breathless. “please… need it…”
How could he even ignore when his pretty girl was asking for it like this?
He pressed in slowly, filling you inch by inch, hand gripping the back of your neck as he buried his cock deep inside, making you moan out loud despite everything.
“Damn, baby,” he groaned, forehead pressed against yours again. “still so fuckin’ tight…”
He started to move. Slow and deep at first, then faster as your body responded to him like it always did, eager and hungry, completely his.
You were completely lost in him, eyes rolling back, taking it so well it made something mean flicker in him. He pulled away all at once, leaving you empty, and the whine that slipped from your lips only made him smirk. Then he gave you just the tip. Pressing it in, stretching you open just enough to feel it, then pulling out again with a soft, wet drag that made you whine again. He did it again, slower this time, lips grazing your ear.
“Feel that?” he whispered. “that’s what you get for being a fuckin' cock tease. just the tip.”
You tried to roll your hips, to chase more, but he gripped them tightly, holding you still. “nuh-uh. not till you beg.”
“I—I’m begging,” you gasped, tears welling in your eyes from the ache and heat. “please, toji.”
He gave a soft, mocking pout. “aww, want the whole thing now? thought you were hurtin', baby.”
“I… I am… but I want it… still want it,” you admitted it quietly, the heat rising all the way to your ears
He pressed the tip in again, making you twitch. “then take it. my cock makes you feel good? take it yourself.”
Your fingers curled around the base of his thick shaft, trying so hard to guide him in. Your hands were shaky, grip too slippery, everything too soaked and sticky. You missed once, then twice, whining in frustration.
Toji just laughed low. “… so cute,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “can’t even put it in… too fucked out already?”
You nodded weakly, lips trembling. “I-I can’t…”
“Of course you can’t,” he murmured all smug, hand coming up to squeeze your tits, thumb rubbing your nipple before he ducked down to suck it slowly. “that’s why you’ve got me, yeah?”
With no more warning, he gripped your hips and slowly pushed himself inside, all of him this time. You let out a broken cry as he stretched you full, deep, thick—too much and still just right. He stayed there for a second, breathing against your throat.
“Fuck, you take me so good,” he growled. “so fuckin' easy.”
You were clinging to his shoulders when he started moving again—deep, slow thrusts that made the towel shift slightly with every roll of his hips. One hand on your thigh while the other returned to your chest, mouth at your ear.
“Feel how deep I go, baby?” he whispered, “you were beggin’ for this… right ? now you’ve got it. In this sweet little pussy. so tight, fuck—this hole was made for me.”
You moaned, gasping for breath, nails digging into his arms.
“That’s right,” he went on, thrusting deeper. “you don’t need anyone else, do you? just me. only me.” His hand slid back down, rubbing circles around your clit again while he moved inside you. “gonna keep you like this all night... stuffed full and fucked out.”
You could barely answer. Body was on fire, every nerve lit up from his voice, the filthy words spilling into your ear like a spell you couldn’t break.
And him, satisfied with the way you squirmed and whined, just kept fucking you slow. Loving every second of your soft cries and shaking body under him.
Toji was maddeningly slow. Too slow. Every deep, dragging thrust felt like a punishment, like he was doing it on purpose just to feel every inch of you squeeze around him. His voice, on the other hand, didn’t match the tenderness of his pace.
“Look at ya,” he grunted in your ear, “cryin’ like a little girl… didn’t even fuck you rough yet, and you’re already gone’.”
You were. Tears rolled down your cheeks, the pressure building again and again with every pump of his cock inside you. Body limp, barely able to respond anymore except for the little gasps, the twitching legs, and the way your pussy clenched helplessly around him.
Toji stayed buried deep, holding your thighs open as he moved in that unbearable, torturous pace. His forehead rested against yours, and he watched you through half-lidded eyes—sweaty, flushed, absolutely ruined.
“Can’t even beg anymore, yeah?” he whispered, smirking at the way your lips parted in a silent moan. “fucked dumb and all.”
He shifted just enough to roll his hips a little deeper, making you jerk under him with a soft cry that barely made it past your throat.
“You’re milking me,” he grunted in a strained voice. “gonna cum, baby. fill you up good, yeah?”
You gave a tiny nod—more like a twitch—and then you went still. Right as he buried himself to the hilt, groaning low in your ear as he came, you passed out.
Your eyes fluttered closed, body went slack onto his shoulders, chest rising and falling in soft, uneven breaths. Toji stayed like that for a moment, cock still buried inside, your breath ghosting over his neck.
He held you carefully in his arms, before shifting just enough to lay you back against the bed like something soft he didn’t want to break.
“…Shit,” he muttered, looking down at your passed-out face, hair clinging to your forehead. He let out a low chuckle, rubbing his thumb over your cheek gently. “guess that was too much, huh?”
Carefully, he pulled out, hissing under his breath at the wet sound. He kissed your temple, the only thing he knew how to do without thinking.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then he dropped back against the bed, dragging your exhausted body with him, tucking you into his chest, where you belonged. Your quiet breathing against slowly lulled him to sleep, with the faintest, satisfied smile still resting on his lips.
to be continued in the next chapter
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It's your ten year high school reunion and there's just one person you're don't want to see, your first love - Satoru Gojo. He was the football captain, you were the cheerleader, it was that high school love that consumed you, only for it to all fall apart when Satoru broke your heart. Even after all these years, you still resent him for it, you hate him, in fact - so how do you two end up in the backseat of his sports car!?
˚⊹♡ pairings- ex bf! gojo x reader
˚⊹♡warnings- a little angsty, past emotions, high school sweethearts, you were a cheer captain and he was an allstar player, flashbacks, idiots in love, insecurities, teasing, mutual pining, longing, oral ( f receiving) fingering, squirting, riding him in the backseat, love confessions, happy ending <3
this one just randomly popped into my head out of nowhere, comments/rbs always appreciated if you enjoy! Wc- 7.3k
Art creds right here!
Ten years - it's been ten years since you saw him, your first love, your first kiss, the first everything.
High school reunion and truly the two of you look the same, he's a little buffer, his shoulders are broader, perhaps his jaw has sharpened ever so slightly - but it's undeniably him and you. Satoru Gojo - the top football player in the school and you - the pretty cheerleader who was always with him.
On him, near him, on top of him in the front seat of his sports car, smacking your head and giggling as he fucked up into you, stretching you out on his cock. He'd been sweet that first time, even as you all snuck around and parked in the middle of nowhere, even with the cramped confines.
Yet he'd been there - kissing you deep, messy and slow, pumping you up and down that veiny length as you took more and more from him, kissing you with his tongue ring clicking against your teeth. You'd whined out, desperately arching for more, shattering and fluttering your eyes shut.
The memories heat you up as you stand there across from him, trembling with your thighs pressed together, nails pressing into your palms, seeing him catching up with all his friends. He'd gone to university, but you'd gone out of state, and that was when it had all fallen apart.
The pain is there, lingering, eating at you - yet those feelings linger, the first love, the youth you all had where you couldn't get enough of each other, just for it all to end.
When those eerie blue eyes catch you across the room, however, he's not smirking, not laughing and shoving his friends, no he's got them locked on you now. Suguru and Nanami pause, peering over at you, then at each other, as you turn and rush to grab a drink.
You can't even stand to be in the same room with him after ten years.
You run into Shoko and Utahime, they give you a hug and the three of you throw back a shot, laughing a bit as you catch up with them.
“You two together, hmm?” Your lips twitch up in amusement, they look at each other and then kiss. “Stop that, you’re making me jealous!”
“Have you decided to stop being into men?”
“No I wish,” you pout and lean back, letting Shoko grab you another shot. “It’s been nothing but hell.”
“Another shithead?” Utahime asks, frowning a bit.
“Yeah, but it was three years…” You shake your head. “I shouldn’t talk about it, I’ll cry again, and I am not crying with Gojo at this party.”
“Ah, Gojo,” Utahime makes Shoko laugh. “What, I can’t stand him!”
“He’s not that bad, just an idiot,” she grabs her pack of cigarettes and starts smacking them on her palm, raising a dark brow as you look over at him, turning quickly when he catches you staring.
“You still have it bad, all these years, sweets?”
“No! Shoko!” You cover your face and shake your head. “Never again, I haven’t even spoken to him.”
“In ten years?” Shoko asks, surprise clear on her features.
“No, I’ve not even been in the country for five years, but he never reached out to me, and neither did I, aside from when his parents were sick and it was on the news. I did write to him, but he just… hearted it. I’m sure he had a lot going on.”
And that fucking hurt, that you couldn’t even comfort him, that you knew he faced a fuck ton of responsibilities now. Yet all these years Satoru hearted one of your photos, and reacted to the only message you sent – you swear the heart must have been a misclick, too.
It hurts so bad, that you were too stubborn to reach out in the darkest times, that he wouldn’t leave your memories. Sure – it faded, you went and got your master’s degree, you went abroad, now you’re back home, though, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d run into him somewhere. Yet, Satoru had been doing a lot of traveling himself this past year.
You’d know, you stalked his IG.
How pathetic after a decade to still want to know about him, but there was nothing to be done – since the breakup you’ve been even more so thinking of him.
Of how nothing ever felt like him touching you, him inside you, him looking at you the way he did. Yet it’s always overshadowed by the fact that you never heard him say those words, just three words that you craved so badly as a young girl. Even now, the words that spill from your lips never feel the same as that confession.
“He takes care of the company now, I think that’s hard for him.”
“He’s still just a dick,” Utahime says to Shoko, she laughs and shakes her head at her. “Sorry, but he is.”
“You two always hated each other,” you muse, peeking again to see him walking over. “Shit!”
“I’m… gonna smoke,” you gasp and Shoko grabs Utahime. “Outside… bye, baby!”
“You brats!” You hiss as they laugh and rush out, you tense as you smell his goddamn cologne the closer he gets.
Bergamot.
It was so distinctly him – even when he had none of it on, his smell on clean skin just did something – especially with raging hormones as a teenager. You clench your thighs just inhaling him, trying to ignore his very presence, but he’s already standing next to you, murmuring your name.
“Gojo.” He raises a brow, he’s just gotten hotter, his jaw is so cut it’s unfair, his blue eyes peeking at you.
Suddenly you’re nervous, tugging at your dress – you’re not eighteen anymore, your tits don’t sit up quite like they did, your hips widened, you’re just… different. And Satoru looks the same, if not more cut.
You become conscious of everything, almost holding your breath as he takes you in, smiling at you. His girl you’d seen him with was a fucking actress, you’re just a small town girl, nothing glamorous. Surely he wanted-
Why do you care what he wants?
Why is he sending you spiraling just coming near you?
“What do you want?” He sighs at that, the cocky grin off his face, easing back when you push at his chest just a bit, hand pausing before you tug it back, staring down into your drink.
“That’s the greeting I get, sweetheart? After a decade?”
“Should just smack you.”
“I’d probably like it,” you snort and roll your eyes, making his tentative little smile come back, sitting next to you. “Can’t I get a hi?”
“Hi,” you narrow your eyes now. “And bye.”
“God you’re mean,” he leans close, lips brushing against your ear, your heart hammers in your chest. “It’s hot on you.”
“You’re so full of it,” you lean back and sip your drink, narrowing your eyes at him. “As if you don’t have a girlfriend or five.”
“Yeah, no,” you raise a brow. “I was engaged, but that was over as of… let’s see,” he calculates in his head. “A month now.”
“Oh,” you frown, looking down at your own finger, the little change of color where the band once was. “Me too, but like two months.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you shrug a bit, seeing his eyes dart to your finger.
“He fucked my former best friend – and she got pregnant.”
“What!?”
“Yeah,” you throw back the rest of your wine, shaking your head. “Go ahead, laugh at it.”
“Why would I fucking do that?” You look at him and feel your heart pound in your chest at his face, at how he looks at you in that moment.
Fuck you missed him, didn’t you?
“You were mean then,” you whisper, and he falters, looking down, hurt clear on his features. “So mean to me at the end.”
“I know that,” it kills him to think of then, how upset he had been that you weren’t going to his university, the sheer upset of you moving, the fear of how desperately in love he was already.
He never even got to tell you.
His parents were pushing him to marry even back then, and it was anyone but you – a pretty middle class girl wasn’t up to ‘their standard’. It had killed him to try to keep up with that, but even so he never wanted to lose you – though he was scared shitless by what he felt for you, by the sheer obsession he had.
Even ten years ago he was searching for you, pictures of you where you’d moved, trying to keep tabs – fuck, last year he saw you with that fiance and almost got sick from it. His fiance was just someone his parents pushed enough, and with him having to take over their place soon, he’d gone along with it.
It’s not like he could ever love anyone after you.
There was nothing like what he felt, countless women underneath him, on top of him, bent over with their asses arched, but nothing came close to the breathless way he held you, how your lips brushed together. He wondered often if it was because you were his first love, you were so many of his firsts, no he wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t do all the things you two did before you.
Before that it was awkward, fumbling around, he’d usually been so nervous he’d let the girls take the lead, but everything about you made him want to – the way you fell apart when he learned to eat pussy with every flick of his tongue on you. You didn’t know that, of course, he ended up being sort of a prodigy at it rather quickly.
Satoru may have been a jock, but he was also very much a nerd at heart, so he studied it all extensively – porn wasn’t even for jerking his cock, it was to learn how to make you squirt. It was to make his girlfriend feel good.
Satoru was good at making you cum.
Yet he failed in so many other areas of your relationship – royally failed, especially that day you said good bye at the airport, and he was so very fucking hurt by you. It rushes through his head – and is if he is on the same wavelength –you say it softly.
“That day at the airport, I can’t forget that,” you shake your head. “Call me petty, a ten year long grudge holder, I agree.”
“You’re not…” He trails off then, cupping your face in a way he shouldn’t.
How does Satoru remember your scent still? After a decade it’s as vivid as ever, the scent that if he even caught a whiff of it he’d search for you, even now.
That’s what scared him the most – how obsessed he was then.
How hopeless in love he was, and scared of getting hurt – only to hurt you.
*****
Ten years ago
You were trembling, tears streaming down your face – you get it, why Satoru didn’t think long distance could work, some fucking promise to be friends, but staring at him now has you furious. You see him holding back, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re happy I’m going far away,” you whisper, clutching your luggage as he glares.
“I’m not fucking happy, what?”
“You are,” you laugh then, swiping at your cheeks, hating those trails that revealed just how upset you were. “Why’d you take me here? To make the break up more permanent?”
“I don’t want to…” He didn’t want to lose you, it’s on the tip of his dumb ass eighteen your old brain to say it.
– I don’t want to lose you. –
Yet those words never spill – he just cups your face, thumb brushing a tear away, looking into the face of the girl he’s terrified of. He’s scared to feel it all, to lose you to someone, to be put under all that pressure to marry and cause you more pain. Then he didn’t truly know how to handle it.
“Wanted to feel better by saying goodbye?”
“We were friends for years before this,” he desperately cups your face, leaning low as the rush of people walk past you all, headed toward their flight, and the attendant is making her announcements. “I just want what’s best for you, how would us being across the country ever going to be okay?”
“I’d have made it work,” you had shut your eyes, tugged him close by his letterman’s jacket, the one you used to wear all the time after you both went on dates. He’d wrap it all around your shoulders, enveloping you in that scent, the warmth. Now it’s a cruel joke to have it underneath your fingers.
“I’m your first boyfriend, what if you…” He had swallowed down that bile in his throat at the thought. “What if you regret only being with me, what if you wanted more experience?”
“You think that?” You asked, lost in his eyes, unsure how he thinks you’d ever want a boy but him. “No, I-”
‘Boarding flight 111 now, five minutes to board.’
You curse, turning to leave when he slams his lips down on yours, and for just a moment you’re done for, you’re melting in his arms, hands slipping up his chest as he presses you right against one of the pillars, uncaring of who walked by. You meet his kisses, exhaling and letting his tongue slide in, the familiar barbell dancing on the roof of your mouth.
His hands are firm on your waist, pulling back and looking down at you. “I’m doing this for you.”
You glare then, shoving at him. “For me!? Leaving me?”
“You’re the one leaving!”
“No, I’m going to college, you’re the one who won’t try! I can’t believe I let you kiss me again!” you rush off and he grabs your wrist, you jerk back and glare up at him again. “I’m done. Satoru, just let me go – don’t hurt me more.”
“I don’t want you to-”
“You don’t know what you want,” he lets your wrist go, his own eyes glazing over with emotion, pretty even under the harsh lights of the airport. “You don’t get to tell me what I’ll want in the future, you don’t get to decide that for me, and you sure don’t get to tell me that this is ‘for my own good’. It hurts, and you have to deal with that.”
“Please, just,” you can’t. You can’t fall into his arms, how would you let him go? “Just keep talking to me, keep-”
“It’ll kill me,” you stepped forward and tiptoed then, kissing his lips softly, tasting the salt of both your tears. “It’ll kill me to have to talk to you when I can’t have you.”
“Sweetheart-”
“I love you,” he faltered then, you’d not said it because he hadn’t, but there was no stopping it now. “I’ll miss you, Toru.”
You rushed off before he could say anything, tears hot down your cheeks, Satoru had rushed to catch you, but you were…
Gone.
*****
“I shouldn’t have broken up with you,” you pause, leaning back in shock. “Though now you’re probably glad I did.”
“You… you’re… saying sorry?”
“Is it so surprising?” He rubs the back of his neck, you’re in shock clearly. “Guess so, I wasn’t one to admit I was wrong then.”
“Why do you say you shouldn’t have?” He sips his own drink, eyes shutting for a moment. “You feel bad how it happened?”
No, Satoru knows he’ll never feel that way about anyone – and a decade of loneliness has only made him regret that shit more. He could have three babies with you by now, have given you anything you wanted – he stalks your pages, he knows you work constantly, and he loves that. But another part of him wishes you didn’t have to, that you were taken care of.
You’d probably smack him and call him a misogynist for that shit, and he loves that about you.
He still loves that girl from high school, the woman sitting here with her face just a bit more defined, with her tits so soft and pretty looking, hips he bets would feel so good to grab as he bent her over. Thighs that he has to touch, they just look too smooth with whatever shimmery lotion you put on them.
He gives into the urge, fingertips brushing on your skin, eliciting a shaky little breath from your lips, your eyes catching each other. “Yeah, you could say I feel bad about how I did it. I never said…”
He’s not really gonna apologize is he?
“Shh,” you put a finger to his lips, he smirks a bit. “Don’t make me like you, Toru.”
“Toru, fuck, been forever since I heard that,” he grins all dopey and cute, taking your wrist in his hand, long fingers wrapping it. He presses a little kiss to your fingers, a gesture he used to do forever ago, pausing as it feels too natural.
“I don’t want to like you.” He nods a bit, thumb brushing over your knuckles, eyeing the place where that ring was.
“He was an idiot.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d know, I’m a big fucking idiot,” you laugh a bit, nodding. “Don’t agree with me!? Brat.”
“Well, you are,” you sigh then, he nips your finger hard with his sharp ass teeth, and Shoko and Utahime walk back in, watching you both.
You have the eyes of your entire graduating class on you both.
Satoru and you, the perfect couple – that perky cheerleader and the star player, voted in the yearbook to be the best couple in fact, most popular, the best looking, you name it. You and Satoru won so many they had to give them to other people – and all for what?
To hate looking at your yearbook?
To look at how happy you were?
“Do you ever wonder…” He eases your hand down now, but he doesn’t let it go. “If it was just the first love, the hormones, the high school puppy love?”
“Puppy love…” You’ve never even heard him say that word – love. Though he means it differently, it gets you. “I guess everyone’s first love is kind of epic.”
“Nah, not really,” he sips on his drink, a little droplet clinging to his lips, one of his thighs brushing against yours and you barely hold back a gasp at the contact. “I haven’t found many people that had… what we did.”
“A toxic ass relationship, nasty breakup?”
“That was some of it,” he admits, heart racing like he’s some inexperienced boy and not a grown man – you just make him feel that way.
“Yes I wonder,” you sigh, admitting it finally. “I wonder if it was hyped up in my head, if the nostalgia and the… pain of you breaking up mess with me more. All the what ifs.”
“I hurt you.” It’s a quiet little statement.
“You hurt me, and I hated you,” he looks down where your hand brushes on his thigh, covering it with his huge one. “You were a dick.”
“I know, I just-” you lean forward and kiss him before you can stop yourself, making him tense up, his hand on the small of your back tugging close as he relaxes into it, exhaling against your lips. You pull back with a little dazed look, lips glossy. “What did I do to deserve that?”
“I was trying to see if that’s what it was,” you whisper softly. “Puppy love.”
“Ah,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again, your earrings fall back, brushing the side of your neck as he tugs you close until your ass is half off that barstool. “We should see, yeah? If it’s just nostalgia.”
“Yeah just for um… closure,” he laughs a bit, and you glare. “Closure and I’m horny and single.”
“I’ll take it,” fuck he’d take any of you. “For true nostalgia we should…”
He’s kissing down the side of your neck, your eyes flutter closed as his mouth leaves a wet trail, his tongue flicking over your racing pulse. You cling so tightly, it’s hard to let go, whining out and arching your hips, thankful there is loud music reverberating all over.
Satoru heard it, though, leaking pre and pulsing from your taste, your scent, the softness of your skin.
Fuck he can’t ever do this and hope to be ‘normal’.
But there was no way he didn’t take one night with you.
“Should what?” You murmur, biting down on your lip when he gently nips behind your ear, your nails cling to his jacket tightly.
“For old times sake, I’d say we go to my car,” you laugh then, shaking your head as he pulls back, kissing your lips again. “Lemme drink your pretty little cunt up again, finger you till you squirt all over my new seats.”
Fuck.
Fuck him, really.
“In your car? Are we in high school?” He looks around and you laugh then, shaking your head. “Fine, but I’m not as flexible, I haven’t tumbled since college.”
“I bet you still are,” he teases. “Used to fold you right in-”
“Now.”
“Now?” You hop down with his help, turning and just walking. “Wait!”
It’s moments and you all are devouring each other, stumbling against the cool brick wall outside as the night air brushes against your skin, you’re shivering as he walks you to his car – by walking, that meant him carrying your ass, cock pressing your needy cunt as your thighs wrap his hips.
The car is nicer than his in high school – a fancy ass Audi – you aren’t one to know anything about cars, but the damn thing looked like it was exactly what Satoru would drive. The expensive leather hits your senses as he slides you in, your mouths are all over each other, needy and desperate.
"Missed this," you almost don’t believe it, that he ever could, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before trailing his mouth down your jaw. "Missed you."
“You don’t…”
“No?” You sigh, shaking your head as Satoru shifts, maneuvering you both until you're lying back across the wide seats, his body covering yours, an even heavier weight than you remembered, pinning you down with his hand on your wrists, his mouth claiming yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.
It's a tight fit even with how surprisingly big the interior is, the cramped space reminding you of every stolen moment you had in his old car, sneaking before curfew, fuck you two would ditch school and go drive in that car, you’d lay your feet in his lap and just let him drive you around with the tops down. The memory of his smile, of his laugh, of his kisses all come together as he captures your very breath.
This isn't the sweet, messy kissing of teenage versions of you and Satoru – this is pent up need, a decade of frustration poured into a single, desperate kiss, his hands all over you, huge palms taking you over. Satoru’s tongue is delving in and out of the hot recesses of your mouth, tongue gliding right along yours, the click of his tongue ring against your teeth shooting every bit of memory back.
God you remember when he pierced it.
You remember him buying that vibrating tongue ring so he could eat your pussy out – and oh, he did it every time he could, no one has made you feel that way since, no one could figure your body out like him. The nostalgia hits as much as the need, the pleasure, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders over his dress shirt.
“Need more,” you whisper out, pausing then as he looks at you under his lashes. “Just tonight, right?”
He doesn’t say anything – as if he’d take only one night and be fine with that.
"Fuck, I've thought about this so often it’s pathetic," he laughs out without humor, hands slipping up your hips and bunching that little dress up your hips.
“You thought of me?” You ask, and he stares at you then – swollen lips all pretty and glossy in the night, ruining him.
You don’t think he remembers?
You don’t think he regrets it all?
He kisses you softer, nipping a plump lower lip between his sharp teeth, drinking up your little gasp. "Thought about this mouth, this body, the way you used to squirt all over me."
“Satoru…” You shake your head, moaning softly when he tugs your neckline down, hands squishing your pretty tits. “You don’t mean it.”
“No?” You shake your head, eyes rolling back in your skull when his tongue swirls around your nipple ever so slowly, tongue ring flicking that sensitive peak. “You think I forgot you, huh?”
“I know you did, ah!” His fingers find you, sliding your panties aside and swiping up and down in that mess. “Toru…”
“God please,” he’s plunging them inside you, she clamps right down, spasming as he finds that spot he remembers in those tacky walls, watching your face as he presses over and over. “Call me that again.”
“Sh-should call you dickhead,” he laughs breathlessly, curving those fingers again so that your head smacks back, almost hitting the handle in the car door, he kisses your lips as he fucks his fingers into you, the stretch making you ache. “Ngh!”
“Tight as ever, god, how…” he marvels as he plays with your cunt, all pretense gone when he looks down at you, breaking the kiss, breathless from you. “I’ve thought of you an embarrassing amount of times.”
“Don’t say it,” you sniffle just a bit. “I can’t handle it.”
“The truth?”
“I can’t believe you thought of me too…” You trail off, emotional even as you are soaking wet and needy, Satoru keeps kissing down, lower, lower, feeling his breath against your skin makes you jolt. “You didn’t.”
“I did, sweetheart, I missed this so much, the sounds you make… how soaking wet you got,” he’s running his thumb on your clit, gauging your reaction, shoving your thighs even higher. “How pretty you looked when you fell apart f’me.”
“You can’t remember,” he sighs and watches you get closer, getting you so, so close until he knows it’s not enough. He’s shoving you up, damn near folding you in half. “Ah! Toru I can’t bend like that?!”
“No?” he murmurs, big hands gripping your thighs bruisingly, pushing them up and apart, you blink a bit, gasping when he’s licking the trails of slick from your inner thigh, inhaling your cunt and bumping your clit affectionately almost. “God, your scent drives me fucking crazy, why do you have to smell s’good?”
“Do I? I – ah! Satoru, what are you…" He places an open mouthed kiss on your messy, dripping entrance, peeking up at you. “You’re um…”
“I’m starving,” he teases softly, kissing it again, you feel that pleasure shoot up your body until you’re dizzy, weak from it, so exposed to him when he tugs those panties further aside, on one side of those puffy lips. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“No…”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen alot,” you glare and he chuckles, resting his hands on those knees and flicking his tongue to gather the drops of arousal falling down between your slit. “What, ya jealous?”
“No!?” Yes.
“No?”
“No,” he smirks just a bit and then he folds you in half, those broad shoulders pressing against the backs of your thighs, forcing your knees to your chest, your dress hopelessly shoved up.
“See? Still a cheerleader,” you want to laugh but you’re smushed.
“I so am not, ah!” You're completely exposed to him then, utterly vulnerable in a way that makes you nervous.
“Relax,” he says then, softly, peeking up at you and kissing your inner thigh. “If you want me to stop, just tell me. It was enough I got to kiss you again.”
You falter, that boy you fell in love with – the sweet, nerdy one? The jock who was also an entire nerd? Goofy and yet ultimately serious Satoru Gojo, leaning his head against your inner knee, nuzzling you damn near. You’re weak then, as every feeling you’ve shoved down for over a third of your life comes back full force.
“We can go back in, or just look at the stars,” he eases up, and sees how nervous you are. “You’re so beautiful, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not in high school now,” you whisper, he eases up your body then, brushing your cheek and shaking his head.
“Neither am I, sweetheart.”
“Yet you look even better-”
“You’re even sexier, even prettier than the first time I saw you,” you kiss him again, lost in his every kiss, his every touch, afraid that he’ll just disappear, clinging to him so tightly you don’t know if you can ever let go. “You are.”
“You haven’t seen me all naked…”
“I wanna,” he grins and you giggle, even as he’s kissing up your cheeks. “I wanna see every part of you.”
God you can’t take it – it feels just like that first date all over again. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he slides your dress up and off you then, breath catching as he takes in your body – you’ve only gotten sexier, it’s so evident when he just looks down at you, folded in half in his damn car and the prettiest thing he’s seen.
You cover yourself a bit then ease your hands off, breasts rising and falling as Satoru looks at you, his gaze heating you up before his fingers can touch. “You’re seeing all of me.”
“I am,” he grips a tit and squishes it in his hand, that familiar barbell flicking an areola, having your back arch in the cramped confines of the car, still humming softly underneath you. “Is it bad if I say I jerked it to your IG?”
“Satoru!” He’s chuckling now, grinning all big as you smack at him. “We were having a touching moment!?”
“Yeah I know,” he’s back down between your thighs, shoving them high and sighing.
“Did you really?” His lips curve up in amusement, watching your slick pussy drip down.
“You love that, huh?”
“No!?”
Yes.
“How often?” He’s laughing now.
“I’m not tellin’ ya, no way.”
“Hmmph,” he’s too gone then, every bit of this moment the very thing he’s searched for.
He could have had it.
He’ll think of that later, the hot regret of letting you go, of being young and dumb and then too fucking stubborn, for now you’re his, underneath him, looking up in that way that you used to – like he was the very stars in the sky. The ones peppering the sky overhead and shining through that little sky light in his car, illuminating your pretty body for his gaze.
“A lot. Happy?” He whispers, you just bite your lip, not answering, letting his lips graze your entrance once more.
“Satoru!” Your eyes roll back in your skull, pleasure shooting as the tip of that tongue swirls your clit lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world.
"Look at this pretty little cunt," he breathes out softly, feeling your slick coat his tongue, lapping another filthy stripe achingly slow. "Still so fucking perfect.”
“You d-don’t have to…”
“S’perfect,” he whispers, holding back what he truly wants to say.
Mine.
You’re not his, he can’t get possessive and psychotic, even when faced with your winking hole and the soft give of your thighs underneath his fingertips. He buries his face in you, his mouth hot and messy as it drinks up every bit of those juices your pussy is pouring, lavving a broad, flat stripe up your slit and slurping you up, eliciting the prettiest whines for his ears.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he whispers, flicking his tongue on your clit and groaning as he parts those lips. “She’s jumpin’ all around, fuck… look at her.”
You cry out, your fingers tangling in the soft white strands of Satoru’s hair, only for him to place them on your thighs, looking at you in that way only Satoru Gojo can.
“Hold ‘em up f’me,” he’s slurring, mouth just full of that messy cunt, swallowing it as he watches you do just that. “Good girl.”
Fuck him.
Fuck him truly and completely, for what those damn words do to you, how they have you a needy mess for him. He groans at the sight of your manicured nails pressing on the back of your thighs, the vibrations rushing on your pretty pussy, and then his tongue is inside you, fucking your hole as if he’s never forgotten how.
“Toru!” You’re quivering, thighs threatening to close, he groans, that barbell smacking your spongy spot over and over, with the same intensity he used to use with his cock.
Your first time with him flits through your mind, he’d made sure to lick your pussy for thirty minutes, even then he’d been worried he’d hurt you – even then he’d eased into you, watching your every movement. That Satoru and this one merge – the jock and the cheerleader now groan business people.
But you’re still just the two of you.
He's lavishing every crevice, every bit of your cunt like it’s worship – his tongue, his lips, the sharp edge of those fangs of his scraping against your clit just making you scream out, weak from it. He bites it again, groaning as your juices spill over his mouth, his chin, down his neck.
Satoru wants to drown in you.
"You like that, huh?" he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin glistening embarrassingly with how much you’re gushing. He swirls two fingers down it, raising a thin white brow. "Like me eating this pussy?”
“Yes… ah!” He’s curving his fingers up, rutting his cock along the leather seats, dying to bury it inside you.
“Missed this, didn't you? Missed my tongue on you?"
You can only nod quickly and let out a pathetic little moan, wishing you could play coy or tease – but how can you, when he’s taking you over. One hand pumping fingers into you, his tongue finding your clit again, sucking it into his mouth with a mean little hum, and the cold metal of his tongue ring just flicking.
“Toru! I’m so… I’m…”
He pulls back and sighs.
You’re so beautiful like this.
“Cum for me,” he says softly, curving up one more time, and you shatter for him, peak crashing into you so hard you see stars – ones that aren’t the ones hanging in the sky. No, they’re right behind your eyelids, pussy spasming as moans escape those lips that hold you in that kiss.
Satoru eases back, curving his fingers a few more times, every slide sensitive. “Please…”
“Please what, baby?” He whispers – he hadn’t called you that since the last time you saw him, brushing your hair back and kissing you, your juices spilling into your own mouth with a push of his tongue.
“Need you.”
“I’m here-”
“Need more,” he pauses, blushing a bit and making you giggle. “What, you think I don’t want more?”
“I didn’t know,” he trails off now, sitting up and dragging you on his lap, undoing his zipper as you’re on your knees, head smacking the ceiling, Satoru chuckles and puts his hand right over it, sighing. “You want my cock inside you?”
“You’re such a jerk,” he grins now, running his hands down your waist. “You gonna make me say it?”
“Nah but it’d be fun to hear,” he frees his cock, watching the blush dance across your cheeks when faced with his pearly pink cock, thick and veiny, leaking all that white. You gather some and swirl it on your thumb, sucking it off. “God…”
It’s moments when he’s got you positioned on his cock, slamming you down in one mean stroke, filling you so full you feel him everywhere – in your stomach, so fucking deep your cervix hurts. But fuck you want it, you want more, but he holds you down for a moment, hands brutal on your hips.
“Fuck, don’t move yet,” he barely bites out those words, looking up at you underneath that fringe of lashes, breaths coming in short pants, fogging up all the car windows. “Please, baby. Hold on a sec.”
“Feel good, Toru?” You tease, he glares and bites your shoulder. “Ah! Sharp t-teeth…”
“Jus’ stay here for a minute,” he’s mumbling against your skin, exhaling at the feeling of your pussy wrapping around his cock. “You’re so warm, so tight… god you feel s’good…”
You’re holding there, cunt gripping him so tight he’s gonna bust, and he was not doing that after ten damn years. He has stamina now, he can’t bust inside you in one minute – has it even been a minute!?
“Wanna move, please,” you’re damn near whining, wriggling as he pins you even more firmly. “Toru!”
“You’re bratty still,” he murmurs, lifting you up and slamming you back down, that mess of slick pouring all over. “You want me to cum in three pumps?”
You blush then, realizing that one key thing – he’d never cum inside you, the two of you were careful to make sure it never happened. “I um… inside me?”
“Only if you wanted… god imagine breeding your cunt,” you suck in a breath as his hands press into your hips. “Breedable fucking hips, bet you’d have so many babies for me.”
“Babies!?”
“God yes, bet you’d give me three, hah…” he’s fucking lost it now, fucking up into your cunt, your head smacks his ceiling, your hand up to brace yourself as he begins to move, feet planted on the floor of the car, cock gliding in and out of your mess even faster. “Sorry baby.”
“Sorry? You’re psychotic, j-just once,” he holds you down and runs his thumb on your clit then, watching your eyes flutter closed as you cum again, this time milking him. “Ngh!”
“So beautiful, fuck,” he’s looking right at you with those blue eyes, your arms wrap his neck, letting him lift you up and down him, huge hands just using you, you’re quivering around him, cunt squelching in the backseat of that car, his lips slamming on yours and drinking down your whines.
You hear the faint noises of the party with your ringing ears, his thumb brushing faster, your tits bouncing right in his face. “Breed k-kink tracks for you…”
He chuckles, grinning up at you, painting those pretty patterns until you’re overstimulated, thighs twitching on either side of his hips, the open leather belt pressing on your heated skin. His lips are swollen when his tongue runs across them, as if to catch any lingering juices he can, his brows drawing together as he gets closer, cheeks flushed pink in the dark.
“Should I pump you full? Hmm?” Your answer is to roll your hips, making his own eyes shut, those fluffy lashes sweeping across his cheeks. He’s pinning you down, slipping that thumb in between your lips and letting you suck as his cock twitches. “I used to jerk it to your cheer pictures b-before we w-went out…”
“Toru, you freak,” you’re breathless, struggling to take that stretch, whining out as his veiny length brushes your walls, white pre kissin’ your cute little cervix with every pump. “You did?”
“Yeah,” he’s full of confessions, you guess, but that one has you blushing, even mid fuck, giggling a bit until he slams hard, your head falling back. “You love it.”
“Cum inside,” he moans – you don’t have to tell him twice – cock pumping your hole full, so much your walls are just coated, those puffy ropes flooding you. “Ah!”
You’ve never been so full, his warmth rushing in hot and sticky as you kiss him desperately, needy, shaking as your teeth click together, your mouths messy and dripping saliva. It’s filthy, the sounds of your whines mixing with the squishing and clicking of his cock pumping impossibly more, his moans filling your mouth, tongues dancing along each other as his cock keeps twitching.
“F-fuck…” He’s whimpering in your ear as he holds you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapping your waist as he bucks his hips up and fucks more cum inside you. “God I love you.”
“Wha-? Huh?” You must be fucked out and hearing shit, you barely blink any sense into yourself, as he pulls back, looking at you and sighing.
“I should have said it then, not let you leave thinking…” He swallows now, cupping your face with one hand, thumb slipping across your cheek reverently. “That I didn’t.”
“You can’t… I didn’t… you…” You’re trembling now as it all hits, breaths mingling as you hardly hold back. “You did then?”
“Of course I fucking loved you, how couldn’t I?” You kiss him then, tears slipping down between your mouths, salty on his tongue as his hand slips up the curve of your spine, the two of your hearts racing in your own ears. “I never stopped.”
“Don’t say that…” You pull back now, hands on his wrists. “That’s impossible, it’s been t-ten years and… you don’t know me now, and…”
“Do you still love me?” He asks, voice breaking, still intimately joined with you, easing you off and eyeing the mess that pours, sighing. “Fuck I shouldn’t ask that.”
“Yes,” he blinks a bit, looking up in shock as you go back to sitting on his lap, cunt pouring him right back down on his cock. “I never stopped loving you, even though I hated you, too. I hated you so much for so long… but I never quit loving you, Satoru.”
“I hated me too, s’okay,” you shake your head. “I did, for being so dumb. For letting you go – pushing you away.”
“We were so young, Toru… so young.”
“There was all that time we could have had this,” he sighs now, nose brushing yours, looking into your eyes with utter devotion. “I can’t let you go again. I can’t let this be once, this? I’ve never felt anything close to you.”
“I know…” you’re kissing again, forgetting about anything else, and soon you’re in Satoru’s pretty penthouse, fucked out after he’d lifted you right up on that glass, so many stories up.
After he’d ate his cum out of you, and you’d lapped your pussy off – after your friends started texting you both, making sure you’re all right since you two had disappeared. After Satoru orders you food, and the two of you are laughing in bed, and you’re in one of his big shirts, does he bring out that jacket, making you pause.
“Toru…”
“This was yours,” he exhales and throws it over your shoulders, tugging the lapels closed and kissing your head. You’re all flushed and pretty, your hair a tangled mess, that mascara long gone, swallowed by that letterman’s jacket. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
“I get to keep it this time?” You tease, but the emotions are rushing still, tummy fluttering as you toy with the snaps, the familiar scent bringing you right back.
There are nights when I convince myself that grief must have a limit, that sorrow should eventually grow exhausted from feeding on the same body for years, but mine never does. It lingers inside me like winter trapped beneath skin, quiet and patient and cruel, turning every soft thing unbearable to hold for too long. Even friendship feels frightening sometimes because love in any form has always felt temporary in my hands, as though the universe created me specifically to witness tenderness without ever truly keeping it.
How much sorrow can I take before my heart finally breaks like you aimed?
I have spent most of my life feeling adjacent to people rather than belonging to them. Sitting beside happiness instead of inside it. Watching others become loved so naturally while I stood there wondering what invisible flaw inside me kept making affection slip through my fingers like water. Maybe some people are born with homes inside them and others are only passing through.
Up above the suburbs, the rain used to fall so heavily against my window that I swore the universe itself was mourning with me. I would stare at the ceiling until dawn with his voice still trapped somewhere inside my ribs, wondering if grief could physically rot a person from the inside out. Perhaps it can. Perhaps that is why my chest always feels hollow now.
Satoru would never hurt you.
Satoru hurt you.
I would trade anything for certainty. For one pair of hands that would reach for me without hesitation. For one love untouched by games or timing or fear. I think people underestimate how humiliating loneliness becomes after a certain point, how it changes shape until even kindness begins to feel suspicious. Friends tell me I am beautiful, talented, easy to adore, but if that were true then why have I always felt so profoundly difficult to keep?
How much sorrow can I take before I stop mistaking abandonment for fate?
Sometimes I still remember his eyes too vividly. Blue sapphires from another planet, cold enough to freeze entire galaxies and yet somehow warm whenever they looked at me. I think the universe should feel ashamed for creating something that beautiful only to place it so briefly inside my life. There are people who survive natural disasters with less damage than what loving him did to me.
Do you ever think about me when you cannot sleep?
Do your hands ever reach across empty sheets searching for something that you can no longer amuse?
My stupid gifts. Are they hidden somewhere inside drawers he never opens anymore, or were they thrown away carelessly with receipts and packaging and yesterday’s inconveniences? Does he remember the sound of my laugh? The way I always stole the marshmallows from his desserts first? The way my fingers curled around the sleeve of his jacket whenever crowds became too overwhelming?
Or was I only memorable to myself?
I mourn not only the love we had, but the version of us that never survived long enough to exist. The mornings we never reached. The apartment we never ruined together. The future that still visits me sometimes in dreams cruel enough to feel real for several seconds after waking. I envy the woman who will someday stand beside him publicly without fear, who will touch his face without grief sitting between her fingers, who will hear him say I love you and never question whether there are ghosts hidden beneath the words.
But calmer than envy is the humiliation of realizing I would still choose him again.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Was anything that came from your mouth true, or was I only another game you learned too late how to stop playing?
Because if you had heard the voice of my heart the very first moment I looked at you, maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe you would have understood that I loved you with a sincerity so frightening it made me feel skinless. Maybe you would have realized sooner that I would have followed you anywhere. That I already had.
Your touch felt like a corpse dragged gently back to life. Every kiss from you rearranged something holy inside me. And that is the tragedy of it all, I think. You taught me how alive love could make a person moments before becoming the reason I no longer know how to survive it.
How much sorrow can I take before loving you becomes my only remaining shape?
There are days I genuinely believe I was built incorrectly for this world, too tender in places where others learned survival, too willing to hand people knives and pray they choose not to use them. Loving someone should not feel like standing barefoot inside a burning cathedral begging God to finally look your way, and yet that is exactly what loving you became.
A thousand fires would not compare to the shame of still wanting you afterward.
And perhaps that is the cruelest part of grief. Not that it hurts, but that eventually it becomes familiar enough to sleep beside. Familiar enough that you start arranging your life around its existence. Feeding it. Watering it. Carrying it carefully from room to room like something precious.
Like love itself never left!
So many more bonus chapters are lined up for you guys! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. 💚
tags: modern AU, Sukuna x f!Reader, Sukuna's pov, graphic designer!Reader, tired girl x tired man, Sukuna's soft and quiet, reader's a bit of a yapper, reader exhaustion realism, quiet intimacy, slow burn, slice-of-life, minimal dialogue, subtle yearning, emotional restraint | wc: 900
← Week Six ◦ Week Seven ◦ Week Eight →
Masterlist ◦ start from reader POV ◦ ao3
important: this is sukuna’s pov of thursdays. for the best experience, read the full reader pov story first (weeks 1–31), then come back to this version.
this side is meant to answer questions, but only after you know the whole story.
The week at the garage kept up its usual relentless rhythm, keeping him from fully relaxing. The jobs came in steadily: brake repairs, alignments, and a few oil leaks that seemed simple until the seals turned out to be old and brittle. Nothing was outright disastrous, but everything took a bit longer than expected. A stripped thread here, a seized bolt there—those little under-the-hood setbacks that turn a three-hour job into four and a half without causing panic. He worked late into Wednesday, finally finding a stubborn misfire that had been hiding, but once the bay lights went out, it was all finished.
The work itself doesn’t bother him, as it rarely does. What lingers is the repetition of it—the quiet expectation that he’ll always know what to do next, that he’ll have the answer ready before anyone finishes their question. He’s used to this role, but he still resents the client side of the business, so by Thursday, a faint heaviness begins to cloud his eyes.
Gym sessions had taken the expected hit from the longer hours, with only three completed since last week. Wednesday was skipped entirely because of that misfire, leaving a faint itch of guilt, but he convinced himself he would make up for it later. Tonight, for example. After all, he always hits the gym after the groceries.
Once he’s thoroughly cleaned his hands with paste, he locks the garage and jumps straight into the Jeep. By nine, the store’s lot is almost deserted, just the way he likes it.
The harsh fluorescent lights inside greet him with their usual sterile buzz, pressing against his temples after a long day. He picks up a basket instead of a cart, knowing he won’t need much, and follows the same path he’s taken every Thursday for months, because efficiency has long since become both a habit and second nature.
When he reaches the noodle aisle, you’re already there, facing away from him and examining the array of packaging on the shelves. He could go around you and keep his distance like he always does when someone takes up the space he needs, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks beside you until you reach an udon display, where he pauses to grab his favorite brand, just as you pause a step away to reach for some soba.
For a brief moment, your hands move nearly in sync. But when he glances sideways, he sees your movements are slower than usual, like there’s resistance, and your hand hovers over the packaging, as if even small choices require more effort than you can muster. When you notice him and look in his direction, even your eyes seem half-lidded and lack their usual brightness.
Last week, he remembers, you already seemed tired, but it was nothing compared to how exhausted you look now. It’s like you’re underwater, and everything takes longer to get done.
“Long week?” he asks, and his voice comes out low and hoarse after an almost silent day.
The question slips out before he decides whether to keep it to himself. It’s not pity; it’s that he gets it. That’s the same hollowed-out expression he’s seen in the cracked mirror in the garage bathroom after too many fourteen-hour days spent bent over stubborn engines.
He knows what that kind of exhaustion does, how it narrows everything down to the next small task because anything larger would feel impossible, and how it makes even a simple breath feel like a chore. Seeing you like this just cuts right through his typical 'don't care' attitude.
You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if you had more energy to spare.
“The longest.” Your voice sounds absolutely worn down and raw, and whatever softness you carried when you spoke to him over the past few weeks is gone tonight.
He also recognizes that tone all too well; it’s the sound of someone who’s already spent everything they had and kept going anyway.
“Almost over,” he says after a moment, because that’s usually how it works. Weeks end, jobs get finished, and engines that refuse to cooperate eventually give in.
You nod, and your posture shifts subtly, though he can’t quite identify what it is or how to name it.
The two of you walk down the aisle side by side in silence. He adjusts his pace without consciously deciding to, matching the slower rhythm of your steps so there’s no awkward overtaking and no need to break the quiet that has settled between you.
He’s used to a presence that demands something—conversation, reaction, attention. You don’t demand anything at all; you simply walk beside him, picking up items without comment. He realizes he doesn’t mind the quiet of your company.
At the end of the aisle, he gives you a brief nod, then turns toward the drinks as you head toward the snacks. When he’s done, he pays at the register, loads the bags into the passenger seat of the Jeep, and drives home with the faint itch of a missed workout still on his mind, though now dulled by the simple fact that he’ll be under the barbell soon enough.
warnings - [mdni] sexual content | sexual language | angst | yearning!gojo
series masterlist | prologue | one | two | three
wc - 10k
☀︎
“fuck, fuck, y’feel so good…” satoru groaned against the sensitive skin of your neck as you whimpered softly, thighs trembling as they bracketed his moving hips, “so good for me, baby.”
you could barely comprehend his words, skin buzzing with the heat he radiated, with the intensity of the emotions he dragged out of you kicking and screaming.
and that was the point.
his hands were just as skilled, just as sure as they dragged along your skin like he knew you better than he should. his mouth followed, warm and relentless as he traced the line of your jaw, movements never stilling, pulling noises and whimpers out of you that you refused to give anywhere else.
it was all too easy to let go when you were with him. as much as you hated to admit it, he made things go quiet in a way you needed more than you let on.
you were sure your mind hadn’t been quiet since you were younger, so unfathomably loud, it bordered on unbearable.
satoru gojo made things go still in a way that felt almost artificial. like someone had flicked a switch off somewhere deep in your mind.
cockdrunk? possibly.
but something in you knew it was something more visceral you didn’t know how to name. frankly, you didn’t really care to.
he was enough. the quiet was enough.
and fuck, did he know how to make it all go quiet.
“satoru!” you cried out with a low whimper as your legs kicked once in overstimulation as you all but toppled over the edge, head thrown back in pleasure, the menace above you groaning with a soft grin. the little shit.
satoru prided himself on knowing women, of course he did. he would have to be stupid not to with the experience he had. but something about you was different.
maybe it was because he’d never had a steady fuck, but at times, he didn’t know where you ended and he began. satoru acknowledged that it was a problem when he started noticing things he hadn't before.
like the clench of your jaw when you were overstimulated, the adorable way your eyes would grow all big and teary when you were close and his favorite thing of all, the way your legs kicked when you just felt too fucking good.
he found himself chasing those little kicks, going harder and faster until he felt you kick against him with that tiny throaty whimper in the back of your throat. fuck, it was an art.
and you knew it too, what with the way he grew impossibly harder whenever your legs pushed out. a menace, really.
“i know, baby, i know…” satoru soothed against your neck, voice low and amused like he lived for the dragging torture of it all, hands tightening on your hips as you bucked below him, “there she is, c’mon, baby, look at you…”
you exhaled softly, whimpered maybe, fingers pressing into his abdomen as his thrusts slowed to a low grind allowing you both to ride out the wave of euphoria, now all too familiar, even comforting. you liked the aftermath, basked in the floaty feeling you couldn’t control.
you could tell satoru was already gazing down at you, his large hand caressing the soft skin of your side, slow and deliberate as you tried to catch your breath.
yes, the quiet. that was the sole reason you decided to push aside geto’s words from the other night.
if this is bored then god help us when he's actually invested.
you allowed yourself a day to dwell on his words, to spiral into a pit of what if’s before you willed yourself not to run. every ounce of you wanted to flee.
fuck, the mere thought of satoru caring for you in that way made you shiver in protest. god forbid.
one day. you let one day pass before you decided that suguru had to be mistaken.
how could someone like the notoriously noncommital satoru gojo go from what you knew him to be to something so completely out of character in the short time you knew him?
it was simply not possible.
so you let it go because frankly, the sex was all too good for you to throw it all away because of a throw away comment that very possibly meant nothing.
“good job, trouble.” satoru muttered breathlessly as your eyes finally met his own, the man holding his palm towards you in a boyish attempt to high-five you, a lopsided grin on his face.
you huffed softly, hand still warm against his abdomen as you pushed gently, eyes blank with a nonchalance that irked the white-haired frat boy to no end.
“get off me, gojo.”
he was still inside you, half throbbing despite having finished twice inside you.
and you could feel it. which is why you so desperately needed the man to get off, his weight pressing against your smaller form.
it was like a timer started the moment you came down from the high he placed you in. every second following the moment you grew coherent and aware were seconds you were allowing him to be with you, to touch and feel and see you because you wanted to. you allowed him to.
and that was the last thing you wanted, those damned lines blurred anymore than they already were.
satoru rolled his eyes gently, hand dropping as his eyes shifted down, hips beginning to pull out of you, but your eyes remained on him.
him and that damned kicked puppy look he always got when you dismissed his attempts to make whatever this was into something softer than the transactional agreement you’d agreed on.
you noticed everything about him, unfortunately, ever the observer you were.
the slight clench of his jaw, the way his nostrils flared just barely, the tension that dragged him back down from whatever cloud he always seemed to float on after sex.
you waited for that familiar tug beneath your ribs, that pull to soften and let him blur the lines just a little more.
the feeling never came. and the second he pulled out, you were quick to swing your legs over the side of the bed and walk towards his en suite without sparing him a glance.
still, you could feel his stare on the expanse of your back, every single time you walked away from him.
you knew it without turning your head, the weight of his gaze settling somewhere, uncomfortable and heavy in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
you hated it. despised it, even.
you especially hated when he looked at you like you were something to figure out, when his stark blue gaze met yours and you could tell-
sometimes i wanna break open your skull and read all your thoughts.
you remember almost physically recoiling when he’d uttered that late one night. it wasn’t out of fear, either, but because you felt the collision of his sincerity.
the memory of him, his eyes, all earnest beneath the light, it felt dangerously close to being seen.
it made your throat tighten just the slightest bit.
exposed vulnerability never integrated too well with you.
and your response was predicted, rooted in both irritation at his persistence and the urge to evade any possibility of the conversation growing any more serious than it already was.
don’t make it weird, gojo.
and what followed is what always treaded on the heels of your unrelenting nature.
that same dampened smile that was not as bright as his usual cocky grin. a smile smaller than usual but still there for you anyway.
after a quick shower, you stepped back into his room, steam still clinging to your skin as you tightened the towel around yourself.
satoru was sprawled across the bed, one arm tucked beneath his head while the other rested low against his stomach, eyes already fixed on you the second you’d emerged.
“already?” his voice came, softer now, as you began collecting your clothes from the carpeted floor, the towel tight around you.
“yeah.” you answered lowly, eyes downcast as you began pulling up your underwear.
a beat passed, “stay a bit.”
you resisted the urge to sigh.
stay? why would you?
but you paused just enough for him to notice, sitting up as you began pulling on the rest of your clothes as if his words hadn’t even registered.
“well, don’t get too excited.” satoru grinned gently, a smile you could see right through but ignored all the same. “here...”
satoru leaned over his bed to the little mini fridge, puling out two chilled bottles and tossing one towards you lazily.
“thanks.” you stated as he hummed gently, chugging his own down while watching you over the rim as you sipped yours, eyes remaining on him and his the same. eyes meeting somewhere you both couldn’t name.
“what are you doing tonight?” satoru questioned as you fixed up your tousled hair in the mirror, eyes drifting to him as he sat up, forearms resting against his knees, gaze softer than you liked.
“chilling, why?”
satoru grinned, “there’s a-”
“party?” you deadpanned, turning to face the grinning man as he crossed his arms.
satoru lips twitched, “ugh, you're obsessed with me.”
you rolled your eyes once, despite that strange tension that still lingered beneath everything.
subtle and easy to ignore, especially for you, but there nonetheless.
a week had passed since that conversation with suguru and despite only avoiding satoru for a day, something had shifted afterward, just a bit.
maybe you were colder now, or maybe you were simply paying attention to things you didn’t before.
either way, satoru noticed too.
because despite your distance, despite the walls and avoidance and clipped responses, you still came whenever he called.
“not a party this time," satoru promised with a smirk, "we’re all goin’ to a bar tonight.”
you hummed before turning to face him, “how grown of you.”
he huffed out a laugh, “shut up.”
you simply shook your head, taking another sip of water as he continued watching you from the bed, “you should come.”
your eyes flicked to him instantly and you resisted the urge to scoff.
absolutely not.
you and frat parties were already enough of a social nightmare, but voluntarily accompanying satoru and his friends to a crowded bar sounded like genuine psychological warfare.
“should i?” you deadpanned, words smothered in a lack of enthusiasm satoru caught, “no thanks.”
his grin widened immediately like he’d expected the answer before the thought had even entered his brain, “y’didn’t even think about it!”
“i did,” you replied flatly, reaching for your bag by the door, "thought about it very quickly.”
“c’mon,” he dragged out, a pout practically painting his lips and though you didn’t particularly dwell over him, it was nice to see him more like himself, “it’ll be fun.”
you scoffed softly, “we have very different definitions of fun, gojo.”
“ouch,” gojo gasped, hand pressing to his chest in mock offense, “real judgemental from someone who was screaming my name not even thirty minutes ago.”
you merely shot him a look and he laughed then, properly this time.
god, he had a nice laugh.
you hated that too.
“just think about it,” he stated after a moment, quieter now, “don’t gotta say yes now.”
“i’m probably not going, gojo.”
his eyes brightened, “probably?”
you rolled your eyes. of course he’d latch onto that word alone.
“don’t start.”
“that sounds better than no to me,” he grinned before finally relenting with a shake of his head, “m’just sayin’. could be nice.”
there it was again. that softness he kept trying to slip between the cracks of your arrangement like he was hoping you wouldn’t notice. you noticed everything.
which is exactly why he wouldn't be seeing you tonight.
“a lotta things could be nice,” you huffed as you placed the strap of your bag on your shoulder, “bye, gojo.”
he watched you walk out of his room, the door shutting behind you and exhaled slowly through his nose.
something was off.
he didn’t know what exactly but he felt it every tine you looked at him now. as if you ever looked at him with anything but that bluntness in your gaze, but it just seemed more prominent now.
you used to soften, at least just after sex. his truth serum dick window.
a mere fifteen to twenty minutes where your head was still fuzzy in a cloud of euphoria, he could talk to you about practically anything, ask you about anything.
now, even after sex, you stiffened when he got too close to whatever invisible line you kept drawn between you both.
and fuck, he hated that line. and he hated how aware of it he’d become.
before you, satoru never really cared whether people stayed or left.
girls came and went in an endless rotation of fucks, they were merely a blur in his mind, faces and names fading into the background of frat parties and bad decisions, only temporary fun.
satoru liked people, he knew them well. he was charming to a fault, able to present himself in any way he needed to to get his way.
but he never needed them.
not his fuckass family, not even his frat.
but you?
well, he didn’t know if needed was the right word. but you were different in the worst possible way.
you stayed in his head, fucked with him all the fucking time.
he’d be in class thinking about the way your nose scrunched when you were annoyed. he’d be at practice remembering some comment you’d muttered three nights ago.
his fifteen minute window post-sex allowed him to collect little memories and information about you that he cherished more than he liked to admit.
it was pathetic. worse, it was new.
satoru gojo had never been this guy before.
the kind of man who waited around for texts or replayed conversations trying to figure out what shifted. or the kind to stare at his ceiling at two in the morning wondering where someone was or whether they got home safe.
he’d especially never been the kind of idiot who wanted to know someone this badly.
because that was it, really.
it wasn’t just sex, he wasn’t sure it ever was. he wanted to know things,
he wanted to know why your mood shifted whenever he asked about family, why you always looked half-ready to run, why you never stayed the night, why you looked at him sometimes like caring about you was the worst thing he could possibly do.
and every time he tried getting closer, you shut another door in his face.
still, he kept trying. like a fucking idiot.
satoru dropped back against his pillows with a groan, dragging both his hands down his face.
this was so unfair.
of all the people he could’ve ended up wanting like this, of all the girls on campus who would've gladly fallen into his arms without making him work for every microscopic inch…
he had to feel these emotions for the first time towards the one girl who treated vulnerability like a disease.
he was absolutely fucked.
☀︎
the bar was loud in the way only campus bars could be, all sticky floors and the music too heavy and laughter bled into shouting until everything became one overwhelming blur of bodies and alcohol.
satoru usually loved this bar, he thrived in these very environments.
he loved the noise, the attention, the easy feeling of walking into a room and knowing people would gravitate toward him without him having to try.
tonight, though, something felt off.
“for the last fuckin’ time,” shoko graoned from beside him, cigarette balaced lazily between her fingers despite the bartender glaring daggers her way, “stop looking at the door then checking your phone then looking at the door then checking your phone then-”
“shut up.” satoru muttered with a huff, leaning back against the booth as his eyes wandered over the sea of people.
some of the boys were playing pool with a group of girls while the other half were drunkenly playing darts which would end with sukuna pulling a dart out of choso’s arm. again.
utahime leaned against the counter beside her with a sigh, “what are you waiting for, satoru? your pretty biker?”
satoru instantly glared at her, “i was checking the time.”
“you checked the time four times in one minute.” shoko deadpaned, sharing a glance with utahime that screamed this guy’s pathetic.
satoru scoffed, “time changes.”
“ugh, you’re so embarrassing…” utahime muttered into her drink as satoru ignored them both, though his jaw tightened slightly as his knee bounced beneath the counter.
he felt so fucking stupid. why did he think probably meant anything other than absolutely fucking not.
it was you. of course you weren’t coming.
still, some stupid part of him kept glancing toward the entrance anyway, half expecting to see you walk in with that bored expression on your utterly pretty face, as if you hadn't occupied his every waking thought for the past six hours.
“seriously, though, what the hell’s wrong with you lately?” shoko leaned forward, eyeing him carefully, “you’ve been off.”
“i haven’t been off-”
“you’ve been off.” choso stated as he took a seat by hime, rubbing his bicep where satoru could see a little scratch from the dart, eyes downcast as he grabbed a nacho from the plate.
satoru scoffed, “the hell do you know-”
“you got rejected or somethin’?” choso continued through a mouthful of cheesy nachos making shoko grimace as satoru’s jaw clenched, opening his mouth to speak-
“he absolutely got rejected,” suguru breathed out, taking a seat beside shoko breathlessly, “repeatedly, actually. at his own accord-”
“shut the fuck up.” satoru practically growled, leg kicking against suguru’s shin as he groaned at the impact.
“so this really is all about that girl-”
“the biker chick?” sukuna walked towards them then, choso moving to allow the vice president to sit beside him, “ah yeah, he’s down catastrophic.”
the table then got into a discussion about who was down worse, sukuna or satoru.
satoru didn’t hear a thing, the group dissolving into discussion and teasing and laughter while satoru leaned back against the booth with an irritated sigh, fingers twitching toward his phone before stopping himself.
he really needed to get a fucking grip. he was satoru fucking gojo.
girls practically fell at his feet, he was absolute royalty.
he wasn’t supposed to be the one sitting in a bar feeling badly because one emotionally constipated girl hadn't show up.
“another round?” suguru asked, already signaling the bartender for more.
“fuckin’ please.” satoru muttered instantly and maybe that was his first mistake.
because one round turned into three surprisingly quick, then four, and suddenly, the buzzing beneath his skin dulled just enough for him to stop checking the entrance every five seconds.
it was around one in the morning when a familiar dark-haired girl slid into the empty spot beside him.
emi. her sultry almond eyes were the same, all manipulation and false affection.
she laughed at everything he said, touched his arm too much, leaned into his space just enough to have him leaning back into her.
the past few weeks, girls’ advances weren’t quite met back with enthusiasm by the frat president, because he already had his fix.
this time, though, he didn’t stop her.
“missed you, toru…” she stated lowly, hands resting against his thigh as his head leaned back against the booth, those very eyes drifting between her eyes and hands.
“yeah?” satoru lowly stated, voice all husky and deep, hazy from the plethora of drinks.
it felt good to be wanted. and fuck, did emi want him.
everyone knew that much.
his mind couldn’t help but drift to you for a moment, of course it did.
you wanted him when you needed him, but you didn’t just want him like he wanted you. you didn’t want him all the time.
and that was what you’d agreed on, so why was it such a big deal now?
maybe he needed this, to stop acting insane over a girl who couldn’t give a fuck less what he was doing.
your deal didn’t include exclusivity or not to sleep with other people. it was just to keep each other in the loop if you did.
fuck, satoru felt his stomach churn at the prospect of you with another man.
he pushed that thought away before it could fully consume him, just as emi leaned closer, breath tickling the skin of his neck, right over the little mark you’d left on his jaw this morning.
he wore it like a badge of honor, like a goddamn idiot.
“we had a lotta fun, remember, babe?” she stated more than asked, grinning all nice like and satoru smirked drunkenly, her face a bit blurry but still visually appealing enough to have him leaning in just a bit.
“oh, i know.”
she giggled at that, her other hand moving to rest on his chest.
shoko and utahime had already gone back home an hour ago, sukuna as well.
the rest of the boys were scattered around the bar and suguru kept his eyes on his snow-haired friend where he stood across the room.
their eyes met for half a second and suguru’s expression shifted instantly. don’t.
satoru looked away first.
why shouldn’t he?
just because this uncharacteristic version of himself was amusing to suguru? it was hell.
granted, suguru, as well as his entire frat hated emi’s guts. for many reasons.
before he could even attempt to recall those very reasons, emi was kissing him, quick and needy.
satoru kissed her back, hands by his sides but lips moving against hers like muscle memory had taken over.
it felt different. he was waiting for that shot of electricity up his spine that he’d grown accustomed to. for that feral need to touch to come over him.
the girl practically climbed atop his lap, hands still by his sides as she cupped his jaw, lips moving messily and eagerly over him, no rhyme or rhythm.
“ugh, you’re so hot-” she moaned before she pressed herself against him once more, satoru growing stiffer instead of melting by the second.
just enough time passed for him to realize that this felt absolutely nothing like kissing you. you and your pillowy soft lips, the soft sounds that came from somewhere deep in your throat, as if they clawed their way out, despite your best efforts to keep them at bay.
you and the honeyed way you said his name, his actual name.
satoru. the word left you rarely but so fucking devastatingly, your gentle hands and your pretty body that fit against his like fate itself intervened when placing you in his path.
you were so fucking addicting, even having a pretty girl on his lap did nothing for him.
what the fuck were you doing to him?
satoru pulled away then, lips all swollen as he looked to the side, eyes still hazy but mind more sober.
emi began peppering kisses down his jaw, his neck, until he pressed a hand to her shoulder.
“stop,” satoru stated, gently maneuvering her away from him to the seat once more, “m’not into this.”
emi scoffed instantly, eyes firing up in that familiar way he remembered, “not into this?! oh please, you were obsessed with me!”
satoru almost wanted to laugh.
emi was the obsessed one, following him around since freshman year.
she was the head girl of kappa kappa gamma, and you could tell with a glance that she wasn’t used to hearing the word no. which is probably why she was so enamored with satoru.
she came back after the summer of their first year looking good. she’d gotten her tits done, that was a given. all of campus were talking about it at the time. he’s sure something else had changed but either way, she looked good.
so he fucked her.
aside from you, she was his most steady fuck, on and off all of sophmore year.
they were never exclusive or anything and he still slept with other girls if he pleased, but he knew she was there if he needed a quick fix.
until she started acting just a bit too crazy and satoru cut her off. she’d been obsessed with him since then.
satoru almost wanted to laugh, karma really was a bitch because this time around, with you, he was the fucking crazy one.
oh please, you were obsessed with me!
satoru wanted to laugh at that too.
if he was obsessed with her then what was it that he felt for you?
did he fucking worship you? was that it?
if obsession was emi than you must have been driving him to insanity.
satoru couldn’t recall what had taken place after that, all he knew was that choso and sugugu were pulling the short-haired girl off of him and pulling him up, his long arms dangling over each of their shoulders.
“c’mon, mr president, lets take you home.” choso stated, blunt resting between his lips as they walked him towards the door, satoru leaning his head against his shoulder in imbalance.
fuck, he’d wished you’d just shown up.
☀︎
“should we call someone?” oscar questioned, eyes squinted as he tilted his head.
you hummed from your place beside him, your own eyes widened, “like who?”
the little boy shifted, knees digging into the couch as one arm rested around your shoulder, small fingers fidgeting with the ends of your hair gently, “i don’t know, like, the pope?”
you scoffed, “what would the pope do, oz?”
“something! i’ve never seen this before!”
your little brother’s eyes that mirrored your own was filled with genuine concern, yours equally so.
it was comical the way both your heads tilted in sync as you watched the scene before you-
“y’know i can hear your stupid asses, right?” the eldest of your two younger brothers muttered without looking up from the worksheet in front of him, pen tapping aggressively against the paper.
sonny, who was hunched over the dining room table, a pen in hand as he did…homework. voluntarily.
“language, asshole!” you scolded as oscar huffed gently.
“grandma says if you swear too much, your hair falls out!” oscar informed, face serious and eyes wide.
sonny finally looked up then, “grandma also said that stupid drawing you brought home was like picasso’s.”
“sonny!” you scolded, hand moving to oscar’s back as he gaped at his older brother.
“this is why grandma says you’re a delinquent!”
“spell delinquent-”
“okay, enough.” you shushed them both as you stood up, moving towards sonny who was hunched over his algebra homework, “you feeling okay, kid?”
sonny scoffed gently, “yes, i’m fine, mom.”
you crossed your arms, “you sure?”
sonnu huffed, slamming his pen down as his eyes met yours, “yes, i’m sure, what is up with you?”
you shrugged gently, “i don’t know. i just thought the day i see you doing homework, i’d also see pigs in the sky.”
sonny rolled his eyes as oscar padded over, moving to stand beside you, mirroring your crossed arms.
you resisted the urge to smile, a little mini you.
“is this because grandma took your xbox?”
realization dawned on you as you laughed softly, “ahh, this makes sense now.”
sonny merely met your eyes with a blank stare, “she said if i failed another test, she’s selling it.”
you pulled out the chair across from him as oscar followed beside you.
you glanced at the paper to see two bolded words atop that made you gasp softly, “this is extra credit.”
sonny’s jaw clenched as oscar giggled softly, “sun’s a nerd!”
you giggled gently along with him, eyes racking over your brother’s red cheeks.
“shut UP.” sonny hissed, lunging for the eight year old boy who darted behind you instantly, laughing hysterically.
another soft laugh left you as oscar clutched at the back of your shirt, “okay, settle down, einstein.”
sonny huffed as he relented, sitting back down with his arms crossed.
you softened then, a small smile playing on your lips as a sense of gentle relief filled you.
you often worried about sonny more than you did oscar, more than your grandma.
he wasn’t a delinquent, as your grandma often exaggerated, but he was somewhat troubled. something you didn’t blame him for being, especially as you played a part.
you leaving for college only worsened his misbehavior, something you couldn't help but still carried the guilt of.
“why are you doing extra credit, sun?”
sonny shifted in his seat, eyes still blazing, “for extra credit. it’s in the name, dumbass.”
“that’s a chunk of hair gone!” oscar stated as he munched on the cut up fruit on the table.
sonny glared at the little boy before gazing back up at you, your eyes soft, familiar and gentle enough to have his shoulders dropping, “i like my xbox.”
your head tilted back in laughter as the boy huffed, “will you help me or not?”
you tried to keep your smile at bay, truly, you did.
but sony looked so genuinely irritated by all of this that another round of laughter bubbled out before you could stop it, oscar quick to follow as sonny huffed, gathering his things as if he was about to make a run for it.
“no, no, i’m sorry! i’ll help!” you grinned, relenting as the boy glared at you but remained put, allowing you to slide the paper over to you and oscar’s side.
both of you huddled over the paper, your youngest brother merely copying your movements because god knows, he knew fuck all about algebra.
“okay,” you muttered, scanning the page, “what the fuck is this?”
“language!” oscar yelled as you patted his back gently, eyes still squinting over the page.
“let me get this straight, you can do that whole organic chemistry shit but you can’t do algebra?”
you scoffed, "i haven’t done algebra since freaking high school! there’s a reason i chose science, idiot!”
sonny scoffed, “right, i’m the idiot.”
sonny then proceeded to go into this whole story about this one guy in his class, oscar nodding along like his older brother’s words were gospel. something in your chest loosened just a little.
it was all so achingly familiar, so heartbreakingly nostalgic.
the noise and bickering, oscar attached to your side and sonny pretending like he didn’t care whether you came home or not despite hovering around you the second you walked through the door.
you knew what role you occupied here, something your poor grandma couldn’t replicate which is why sonny gives her such a hard time.
sometimes it felt like you’d skipped being a teenager entirely and maybe that was why people like satoru made you itch beneath your skin.
he made things easier, softer in a way you weren’t familiar with.
you hated it.
☀︎
the second the train doors opened, rain slammed into you sideways.
hard and violent enough that people exiting beside you immediately cursed under their breaths, some scrambling to pull jackets over their heads as thunder cracked overhead.
you paused beneath the station awning with a frustrated sigh, arms crossing over your sweater clad body, completely void of a proper jacket. you had forgotten it home at your grandma’s.
fuck, your apartment was a thirty minute walk which was usually fine, except it was fucking freezing and probably bound to storm soon.
you pulled out your phone, opening your messages quickly and scrolling through until you found luna’s number, going to press on her contact name before your screen went black.
“oh, fuck off.” you muttered as your head tilted back against the cold bricks, eyes shutting in absolute disbelief. just your fucking luck.
“lady, it’s about to storm, you should get going. all outgoing trains are cancelled.” a man with a navy vest stated, the pin at his chest indicating his place as one of the train staff.
“right. thanks.” you stated before he nodded, walking away as you looked ahead at the heavy rain.
another crash of thunder echoed overhead, rainwater splashing violently against the pavement while people rushed towards cars and buses around you.
you narrowed your eyes at the black sky before sighing. fuck it.
hugging yourself tightly, you stepped out into the rain.
ten minutes later, you deeply regretted every decision that had led you to this point.
you knew it was gonna rain and still decided to come back to campus because of your stupid lab tomorrow morning that you truly afforded to miss.
your shoes squelched with every miserable step, jeans soaked through entirely while freezing rainwater clung to your lashes, tote bag barely hanging onto your shoulder.
the wind nearly knocked you off your feet as you swayed with every huge gust, another crack of thunder splitting overhead.
“you look fuckin’ homeless.”
you stopped walking instantly, a black truck crawled alongside the curb beside you, window rolled down just enough to reveal sukuna’s unimpressed face beneath the glow of passing streetlights.
you stared at him blankly, “good to see you too.”
sukuna’s lip twitched, “get in the truck.”
you resisted the urge to scoff, “said the kidnapper.”
you turned on your feet, continuing your dreadful walk and after a mere ten seconds, sukuna’s truck followed, “get in the truck.”
“i’m good.”
“you are visibly not good, stupid.”
your jaw clenched, turning to face the pink haired vice president, “please don’t be so convincing.”
the rain came in sheets as you squinted once more, continuing your walk before sukuna scoffed, truck slowly moving beside you, “look, i’d like nothin’ more than to leave your ass freezin’ out here but my girl told me that people have this thing called a conscience, so.”
you shivered, “god bless your girlfriend’s patience.”
another gust of wind hit you directly then and you physically recoiled.
sukuna noticed instantly, “get. in.”
“you’re such a-”
a bike whirled passed then, right over a puddle that ended up flooding the front of you completely and your jaw clenched so tight, your molars hurt.
you could practically feel the smirk on the vice president’s face, “i imagine you’re coming in then.”
no words left you as you climbed into the passenger seat of his truck, warmth hitting you instantly, you almost moaned in appreciation.
sukuna snorted beside you as you slammed the door shut, “fuckin’ pathetic.”
“fuck you.”
you shoved your wet hair away from your face while he pulled back onto the main road, windshield wipers fighting for their lives against the storm outside.
for a minute, silence settled between you outside the low hum of the engine.
“why are you even walking in this weather?” sukuna scoffed after a moment.
“just decided to take a nice stroll.” you stated emotionlessly, eyes trained on the blur of cars outside before glancing at the man, “train.”
“your survival instincts are ass.”
you rolled your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, “i’m well aware.”
“you from the city too?” sukuna questioned as you glanced over at him once more, his hand clutching the steering wheel, forearms thick and littered with tattoos.
one stood out, a small pair of angel wings on his hand. it was pretty.
“yeah.” you stated simply. the last thing you wanted was to have small talk when you were soaking wet with rain water.
you knew sukuna understood that, the silence enveloping you both, a mutual understanding settling between you.
if it was fucking satoru here, he’d properly yap your ear off about god knows what. you’d shush him over and over and he’d still find the energy to talk.
he’d properly distract you from the wet cold feeling against you, though. he was funny when he wanted to be. he’d also be able to keep you warm because you didn’t mind when he touched you, unlike other people, men especially.
you even flinched when luna hugged you.
the last time you’d seen satoru was two days ago, the same morning he’d asked you to come to the bar with his friends. and he hadn’t texted you since then which was strange for him.
you appreciated the space, though. but it made it evidently clear that you were growing used to the annoyance that was satoru gojo.
yu wondered what he was doing. surely no party was happening in the midst of a storm, but you wouldn’t completely put it past him.
if anything, he’d make a theme of it all.
as if sukuna could read your mind, the familiar strip of greek row came into view and your stomach churned, “why are we here?”
sukuna hummed, “because i dnon’t know where the fuck you live and the frat was only ten minutes away. i’m not driving in a storm, dipshit.”
your jaw clenched alongside your fists, “i didn’t fucking tell you to drive in the storm, did i, asshole? you’re the one who pestered me-”
“spell pestered-”
“i’m gonna-”
sukuna was already climbing out of the truck, the vehicle shutting off, the warmth being stripped away from you as you shivered almost instantly.
“your choice, grumpy,” sukuna stated as he walked towards the frat, glancing at you over his shoulder, "either make the walk or come in.”
with that, he began walked down the pathway to the house as you jumped out of the truck, genuinely contemplating for a moment.
either you go home which was twenty minutes away or go in and leave your pride right here.
fuck, you pride was still on the steps of that goddamn train station.
rain was soaking you all over again during the short sprint toward the front door.
“asshole.” you stated as sukuna smirked.
“witch.” he replied as you huffed.
music and shouting echoed faintly inside once sukuna shoved the door open, warmth flooding over you once more as you shivered still, teeth chattering just the slightest bit.
you had to be on the verge of hypothermia.
the living room was crowded with frat boys sprawled across the couches and the carpeted floor, yelling over a cod match playing loudly on the tv, four boys taking a hold of their own controllers.
and you hated the way your eyes seeked him out almost instantly, eyes racking over the faceless boys before settling on the one face that no one could really miss.
satoru was stretched across the couch in grey sweats and a black compression shirt, controller loose in one hand while he laughed at something choso said beside him.
“hands off my shit, assholes.” sukuna glared at the two pledges who had sukuna’s switch in their hands, their eyes instantly widening. you would bet on the fact that they had shit themselves right then and there.
sukuna’s booming voice had satoru glancing up and his gaze almost instantly flickered to you. you, you, you.
everything stopped, really and truly, satoru felt the moment shift.
his grin vanished instantly, and he could swear he was hallucinating.
the situation didn’t even register. why would you be here? why would you be with the likes of ryomen sukuna of all people?
though his mind embarrassingly often conjured up thoughts of you, the flushing of your cheeks, the softness of your hair, the way your lashes fluttered, he was still struck every single time he saw you.
“hey.” the word left you then and he physically gulped.
his heart stilled momentarily and he knew he wasn’t going crazy then. this was no hallucination.
he could recall how soft your voice was, how gentle and calming despite your usual blunt nature but the underlying emotion, the shaky breath, the subtle depth he couldn’t conjure up. not in with his greatest efforts.
he knows because he’s tried.
“what the fuck?”
you barely had time to react before he was standing before you, making it to you in three long strides, controller abandoned and game forgotten.
his eyes flicked over to sukuna, eyes unusually heated, “why the fuck-”
sukuna was quick to interrupt him, “found your girl wanderin’ the streets like a wet cat.”
with that, the pink-haired frat boy made his way up to his room, allowing satoru to glare at him momentarily before deciding he had more important things to deal with.
his eyes dragged over you rapidly like he was checking for injuries.
you blinked once, eyes tinted a slight blue making his heart clench, “he’s insufferable.”
satoru couldn’t stop the grin that split his lips then, eyes racking over the pretty expanse of your face, heart clenching in appreciation. he fucking missed you.
“yeah, that’s sukuna for ya.”
you merely hummed, a shiver taking over as satoru tutted once, hands reaching out and brushing over your soaked sleeves.
“hell, you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.” you muttered through chattering teeth.
“you’re shivering.”
“that’s how cold works, gojo.”
his hands clenched at the name, huffing as he dragged you toward the stairs by your hand and you’d usually hate this, but you so desperately ached for the warmth you knew he could provide.
you needed a bath and a change of clothes yesterday.
the familiar expanse of his room was warm as he shoved the door open, immediately moving around the space while you hovered awkwardly near the entrance dripping rainwater on the floor.
“go shower,” satoru instantly began moving around the room, “i’ll get you a change of clothes.”
you blinked, swallowing down the urge to flee at the obvious concern in his tone.
a part of you wanted to make up an excuse and just go home, storm be damned.
except he looked so utterly real.
you never thought you’d envy satoru gojo, not in the slightest.
alas, here you were.
you desperately wanted to know how he did it. how he didn’t shy away from anything remotely out of his depth. how he was so unapologetically him in the most admirable way possible.
ugh, did you admire satoru of all people?
yes, you admired his ability to never run.
you wished you could be that brave.
“what are you doing?” satoru stood there, a hoodie and plaid pajama pants in his hands.
“what?” you uttered dumbly as the man scoffed.
“you’re soaked.”
“observant.”
satoru shot you a look before handing you the clothes and a soft grey towel, “smartass.”
you shook your head, eyes looking up at him in a way that made his ribs thump uncomfortably.
god, you couldn’t be real.
the way your lips were plump from your biting, cheeks flushed with the cold, eyes big and trusting in a way he hadn’t expected, the way your soaked tresses framed your pretty face.
you made him feel so much, he could barely stand.
“they won’t fit you, but whatever…” he breathed out, as if someone had stolen it right from his lungs.
your gaze lingered on him longer than it ever had before because beneath all the attitude, he seemed worried. for you.
please, no no no no.
“thanks.” you muttered quietly, eyes finally glancing away towards the clothes in hand, taking ahold of them before moving towards the bathroom.
you didn’t miss the way his expression had softened. dangerously so.
☀︎
by the time you’d stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, the storm had somehow gotten worse.
rain hammered violently against the windows while thunder rattled the room itself.
your damp hair clung to your skin under the large hoodie that had engulfed you entirely, his plaid pants being held up by your hair tie that had knotted the extra fabric.
satoru looked up from his phone the second you’d emerged, visibly freezing.
his eyes dragged over you slowly.
his clothes had swallowed you adorably, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower this time and his chest physically ached in a way that had his jaw clenching.
something shifted in his ace instantly, something devastatingly soft.
“what.” you demanded more than asked, shifting from one foot to the other.
satoru blinked once before shrugging, “nothing.”
you glanced towards the window as lightning flashed outside, “storm’s bad.”
“yeah,” satoru muttered, eyes still fixed on you, “road’s are fucked.”
you reached for your phone instinctively before remembering your earlier issue.
“can i use your charger?”
“yea-”
as if the world had it out for you, you specifically, darkness enveloped you whole then.
the light of the bathroom shut completely, the soft sound of his mini fridge stalling and everything went dark.
you couldn’t help the slight terror that brushed over you for a moment, “satoru?!”
“m’here, baby, c’mere.”
you felt a brush of something against your sleeve and you immediately followed his voice, huddling close as you heard the chaos of the boys downstairs.
“fucking fuck,” satoru cursed as he let oit a breath, arm around your shoulders as he gently maneuvered you to take a seat on the edge of his bed, “m’gonna grab some candles. wait here, okay?”
“where else would i go, gojo?”
the man simply ignored your words, feeling his way through the darkness for his phone before finding it by the edge of his desk.
he turned the flash on, glancing at you once before making his way out of the room.
ten minutes later, the entirety of satoru’s room was littered with candles, setting the room aglow, a soft yellow and orange tone that flickered against the walls and ceiling.
it should’ve felt eerie but instead, it felt strangely warm.
it was intimate in a way that made something beneath your ribs tighten.
satoru dripped back onto the floor beside the bed with a dramatic sigh, long legs stretched out in front of him as rain battered violently against the windows.
“well,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “this is romantic.”
you started blankly at the man, “for who?”
“me,” he answered instantly, grinning obnoxiously, “you’re in my clothes. power’s out. surrounded by candlelight…this should be our first date.”
you couldn’t help the tilt of your lips at his utter ridiculousness.
“there it is,” he grinned softly, “like striking gold. every time.”
your brows furrowed, “what?”
“that tiny smile.”
“i’m not smiling.” you scoffed instantly, almost offended at the very prospect.
“okay, trouble, whatever you say.”
you rolled your eyes once, huffing gently as your eyes roamed around his room.
it looked different in candlelight, softer and more boyish.
the pictures of him and his friends littered across his room in little glimpses of his life that you never really cared to ask about. it all seemed more endearing under the glow.
silence settled between you both, comfortable, which somehow felt more dangerous than the flirting.
your gaze drifted towards the mini fridge by his desk, “you got anything to drink?”
“mhm,” satoru pushed himself up immediately before crouching beside it, “cherry coke, perhaps?"
your brows furrowed, “how do you-”
“you told me.”
how did he seem to continuously gather this information about you when you had no recollection of telling him about it?
you loved cherry coke, it was an absolute god send.
there was something so achingly nostalgic and delicious about it.
“fuck…” satoru muttered as he reached into the fridge.
“what?”
he turned slowly, holding up a single can of diet cherry coke. one.
“it’s mine.” you stated with a furrow in your brow as satoru grinned menacingly.
“hmm, i dunno…” he muttered, allowing the door of the fridge to shut as he made his way back over, sitting back down with the coke in hand, “y’know, you really put me on these. having one doesn’t sound so bad right now.”
you glared at him, jaw clenching just a bit as you eyed the can in his hand, “give it, gojo.”
satoru’s eyes brightened, “alright, yeah, i will...if you agree to play a game with me.”
your eyes narrowed at the man, distrusting but also contemplative.
you really wanted a cherry coke right now.
“what game?”
and you could physically see the shift in his gaze, the way his blue eyes had been overcome with something dangerous, borderlining on menacing as he leaned back on the side of the bed, one knee bent lazily.
“truth or strip.”
you stared at him blankly, “are you twelve?”
satoru shrugged with a hum, eyes glancing down to the can in hand, long fingers cracking open the can with menacing cruelty, “i’ll just take my drink then.”
you narrowed your eyes at him as he lofted the can to his lips, the soft fizz from the inside mocking you as he took a sip.
“fine.”
satoru pulled the can away from his lips, a smirk painting his features as his head tilted at you, tonguing the inside of his cheek just the slightest bit.
“good girl,” he stated with a grin before sitting up properly, “rules of the game. each of us gets to ask a question in turns. about anything and everything. and the other has to be honest. if you’re not, you lose. if you don’t wanna answer a question, strip one item of clothing.”
your brows furrowed, “and how will we know if the other is lying?”
satoru smirked, “because i pinky promise i won’t lie.”
you rolled your eyes at the mocking tone of his words, his pinky held out as you eyed him with mild irritation.
you clasped your finger around his anyways, “fine. give me the coke.”
just like that, the can of coke was in your hands and you were in satoru’s.
☀︎
“how is beautiful boy your favorite movie? it’s so depressing!” satoru argued as he laid on his back on the floor while you remained in a criss cross position across from him.
satoru was now shirtless and you were missing both of your socks which he claimed was cheating.
“gojo, you cannot argue and ask more questions about every single answer i give you.” you stated for what might possibly be the fifth time.
satoru huffed gently, head turning to glance up at you, “you’re a sociopath.”
you merely rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your coke as you glanced at his bare chest and abs where the candlelight flickered nicely. he looked good.
“your turn, trouble.”
you hummed before glancing around his room, as if it would magically conjure up some questions to ask.
your eyes fell upon a picture of a younger satoru gojo beside an older woman with the same striking blue eyes and stark white hair.
“are you close with your parents?”
a lame question, really, but this was hard for you.
you hated receiving questions, let alone asking them.
and to be completely honest, you didn't really care to. you didn’t need to know satoru like that, you knew enough. you knew what you needed to know.
except, something came over satoru then, in a way you’d never seen before. his eyes, usually expressive and carrying his emotions like a blanket, grew blank in a way that was all too familiar to you.
you watched him for a moment, the way his eyes casted over with something you couldn’t name, his jaw clenching along with it.
“my mom, yeah.”
his voice carried a heaviness you never really found with satoru, something so utterly different than his usual light-heartedness.
his eyes didn’t meet yours and silence followed.
again, you didn't really want to particularly pry so you let it go. but you did store away that little piece of information away.
stupid damn game.
“my turn,” as if a switch flipped, he was grinning again, the cloudiness in his gaze dwindling as he looked up at you, “why do you go back to the city so often?”
your heart thumped once, hand tightening against the drink in your hand.
you had your pants and hoodie left, meaning only two more questions you could dodge. fuck.
“i visit my brothers.” you answered simply, taking a sip of your drink as satoru watched you like he couch read your very thoughts as they conjured up.
you think it was his eyes, they were always way too intense for possibly anyone he was speaking to.
“are you close with them-”
“again with the follow up questions, gojo.” you stated in irritation as you traced the rim of the can in hand, satoru sitting up and leaning against the bedframe beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
and you didn’t know if it was the heat of him beside you or the candlelit room that made you stupidly utter, “have you ever been in love?”
satoru paused, head leaning back against the bed, tilted to the side so he gazed upon the side of your face. you looked up slowly, eyes meeting his and his breath hitched.
satoru pondered it for a moment. had he been in love? no.
mostly because he never gave anyone the chance.
“no, i don’t think i have…” satoru muttered, breath fanning the softness of your face. he was so close, “don’t think i ever wanted someone long enough.”
fair enough. you simply hummed in understanding as you took a sip of your coke.
“right back at ya.” satoru whispered as you swallowed softly.
have you ever been in love?
“umm, no.” you replied with a small shrug, “no, i don’t think i have.”
satoru wasn’t surprised, “why?”
this time, you merely shot him a glare at his question and he smirked softly, though there was no teasing beneath it.
you were aware of the subtle shift, of the tension that had been building since he suggested this stupid game. you ignored it.
“why are you not close with your dad?”
really, it didn’t matter if he answered or not but you knew this had to be a touchy subject based on his previous answer, so there was a higher likelihood of him stripping.
satoru’s jaw clenched once before he began tugging his sweats off, now only in his black briefs.
“why do you always rush away after sex?” he questioned as you paused momentarily.
and just like that, you were shrugging his hoodie up and over your head, except you weren’t wearing a bra because it was currently damp with rain and drying on his bathtub.
your forearm spread over your tits as satoru watched you like something holy, as if he hadn’t seen you topless multiple times beforehand.
still, his jaw clenched with effort, eyes gazing upon familiar exposed skin, beauty marks littering here and there, little constellations he’d traced with his tongue more times than he could count.
under the soft glow of the candles, you looked impossibly pretty, it made him instantly strain against his boxers. fuck, you were gonna make him insane.
“nothin’ i haven’t seen before, baby…” satoru drawled lowly, eyes hooded and tracing your skin as you huffed gently.
you could tell he was growing aroused, the game coming to a close sooner than you’d anticipated. you recognized the look in his eyes, the half lidded nature, the baby that only left him during sex.
“my turn,” you muttered, eyes trained on him and his never left yours, “why do you always try to make things weird?”
satoru groaned lowly as he immediately began shrugging off his briefs, as if he hadn’t even registered the question, but merely wanted to get naked for you.
and naked, he was.
satoru gojo completely bare and exposed beneath the warm glow of candlelight was honestly a ridiculous sight. ridiculous because truly, no one should be able to look that good.
his snowy locks were messy from his tugging, ocean eyes dark and heavy as they traced over you slowly. the bar skin of your stomach, your wide eyes, every miniscule expression that you tried so desperately to suppress. like he wanted to commit it all to memory.
you swallowed softly and satoru watched with a heavy gaze, “your turn.”
you had expected satoru to say hell with the game and pull you into him, however, you underestimated just how much satoru wanted to know. just how badly he needed to know more.
“tell me more about your brothers.”
“that’s not a question.”
“can you tell me more about your brothers?”
you glared at the man, “that doesn’t count.”
satoru scoffed instantly, “yes, it does.”
you huffed gently, shuffling onto your feet, standing before the man as he looked up at you with eyes so utterly devoted, filled with desire you could barely comprehend.
in one smooth motion, you tugged at your hair tie by your hip, allowing the plaid pants to pool at your feet, standing completely bare in front of a man who looked hungry.
“fuckin’ hell, baby…”
satoru was quick to tug you down onto the carpeted floor, your hair fanning around you in a halo that revealed you as the angel you surely had to be.
the rain tapped against the window in harsh motions as your chest heaved, satoru hovering above you, breathing uneven as his lips brushed against yours.
you were so fucking beautiful.
“game over, huh,” satoru’s lips met yours with fervor then, slotting against your own as you moaned into him, back arching as your breasts brushed against his chest.
his tongue swept across your bottom lip before nibbling gently, causing a low whimper to escape the back of your throat making satoru groan against you.
you pressed against his chest gently as he conceded, allowing you to catch your breath while he pressed wet kisses down the expanse of your jaw to the sensitive skin beneath your ear.
“you make me fuckin’ insane, y’know that?” satoru muttered breathlessly as you nodded against him mindlessly making him smirk just a bit at how dumb you’d already gotten, high off of him and him alone.
fuck, he was only getting started.
☀︎
the room smelled faintly of rain and the sandalwood candle that was slowly melting beside the bed.
your heartbeat was still erratic as your head rested against satoru’s chest while his fingers dragged lazily up and down your spine, as if coaxing you back down.
it was all comfortable, too comfortable.
this was the part where you’d usually begin coming to your senses and getting dressed, except there was a whole storm outside, meaning you had nowhere to go.
you stared blankly at the light dancing across the ceiling while satoru played absentmindedly with the ends of your damp hair.
you felt the rising urge to panic, to flee, to run, but where would you go?
you were trapped.
“you okay?” satoru muttered eventually, voice rough with exhaustion as you hummed once, “alright…m’gonna shower before the hot water disappears.”
you merely shifted away from him as he made his way into the bathroom without a word, the sound of the shower starting moments later.
then silence settled over the room once more.
when he showered is when you’d usually make your escape.
you exhaled slowly before sitting up, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself.
you swung your legs over the side of the bed, yawning gently as you made your way to the fridge by his desk, desperate for something to soothe your hoarse throat from earlier.
the little fridge hummed softly when you opened it and your eyes immediately landed on it.
a can of diet cherry coke.
cold condensation clung to the red aluminum beneath the dim candlelight.
you stared at it blankly for a moment. then the other one tucked behind it. and another behind that.
that little shit.
a laugh almost escaped you then, quiet and disbelieving, a realization settling beneath your ribs.
he’d fucking played you. just to play a stupid game.
your fingers brushed against the cold can thoughtfully as the shower continued running in the next room.
fair fucking play.
☀︎
a/n - such a long time coming omg! this chapter is more world building than plot but more plot will comeee! i lowk shortened it cuz i hate when a chapter feels packed so :( anyways ch5 next weeek
I finished the Suguru piece inspired by @feyrinnn Runaway hehe
perma tags: @feyrinnn @man1cslut @pipsypie
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Suguru isn’t the only one with a praise kink, go ahead and show my likes,comments, and reblogs some love :3
artist notes: I spent over 30 hours on this and took some questionable creative liberties so here we are T.T (also I’ve earned a mandatory hand study because his hands in this actually scare me.) ok byeeeee
