a/n: i almost snapped my back in half writing this chpt no kidding. but ooooooooo were getting somewhere guysusyssysyssss I wc: 8.8k.
taglist is always open, comment to be added! :]
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troubles. a ryomen sukuna x fem!reader uni!au ᝰ.ᐟ
chapter three: just dance- for the soul duh.
the first time you tutored sukuna didn't go as bad as you'd expected.
the third floor of the library feels like a held breath, it’s the kind of quiet that presses against your ears, where every movement feels too loud and too seen. you hear the faint sound of pages turning somewhere, alongside chairs scraping softly across the floor.
you sit at a long oak table near the windows, backpack at your feet, laptop open, notebook already filled with scribbled quotes and bullet points. you’ve been ready for ten minutes.
your phone screen lights up, 3:56 p.m, two minutes. two minutes till sukuna arrives, supposedly. you truly expect him to either be late, or not show up at all. at least that's what nobara has convinced you. your leg bounces beneath the table, a nervous habit you’ve never managed to shake. you press your palm flat against your thigh, signing it to stop, but it doesn’t.
it’s just tutoring, you tell yourself. you’re overthinking. except you can still remember the way he looked at you when he asked, how his voice dropped, how his eyes lingered a bit too long.
you swallow and glance toward the stairs for the tenth time, then your phone buzzes.
your heart does twenty backflips at the text, you lift your head and he’s already walking toward you. a dark hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. his hair is damp, and there’s a faint scent of clean soap when he stops in front of you.
he doesn’t smile, he just looks at you, it’s not rude, or careless, it’s just quiet, as if he's assessing you and everything in sight, like he’s taking in every detail he missed before.
“hi,” you answer, voice smaller than you expect.
he pulls out the chair across from you and sits, the table suddenly feels too narrow, the space between you too small, his knee brushes yours beneath the wood. neither of you moves. you open your notebook, grateful for something to focus on.
“so… um. what part are you stuck on?”
you give him a nervous laugh, “okay, then we’ll start at the beginning.”
you slide the book toward him, pointing to the first highlighted passage. you explain slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to scare him off. he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
his eyes aren’t on the page, they’re on you. you clear your throat, “this part is about—”
he blinks, “sorry. yeah.”
you pause, pressing your lips together, “you’re not listening.”
you tilt your head, a faint rosy color covering your cheeks, you’re skeptical, but then continue anyway. you talk about, symbolism, the way the author hides meaning between lines. your voice steadies the longer you speak.
he listens this time, really listens. but ever so often, you catch him watching you instead of the book. not in a way that feels gross, or uncomfortable, in a way that feels… heavy. a way that makes you shy.
your skin prickles under his gaze and you shift in your seat, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.
he finally looks back at the page, “so… it’s not just about the story.”
you smile softly, “it never is.”
and for a moment, neither of you speaks. the library hums around you, but it feels like the two of you are in your own quiet world.
the second time you meet sukuna feels different the moment you sit down. it’s still the third floor, still the same oak table, the same faint smell of old books and cleaning spray. but now, when you see him walking toward you, your chest doesn’t seize the way it did the first time. it just… tightens gently.
he looks more relaxed today, some dark blue hoodie, but his hair is dry, styled messily like he ran his hands through it too many times. he nods at you instead of hovering awkwardly. you catch a glimpse of the dark tattoos covering his fingers, and cant help but wonder where else he may have them. your mind turns into mush at the thought, you stare forward for a few seconds before he speaks.
he sits across from you, close enough that your knees brush almost again, immediately, you freeze. he doesn’t move away and neither do you. you pull out your notebook, pretending not to notice the way the contact sends a warm spark up your leg, it’s stupid, it shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does.
you start where you left off last time, flipping pages, pointing at notes. he listens better today, asks questions, actually follows your explanations, at one point he smiles, not the sharp, cocky grin you’ve seen on campus, something softer, something smaller, like it surprised him too. you practically look back at him with heart eyes–but only for a moment. you look away before he notices your glance.
midway through the session, he leans back in his chair, “can i ask you something?”
“why do you like this stuff?” he asks, “literature, all of it.”
you think for a moment, “because it lets you feel things without saying them.” you answer, “but honestly im thinking of switching to psych, i don’t really see much of a future in this.” you add on, you didn't want to bore him with an explanation, he wouldn't care about any of that, you think.
he hums in response. you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you when he does, the silence that follows isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, feels safe.
and truly, you didn't want the session to end. you wanted to stay, to explore what he's truly like, you wanted him to ask more, you wanted to know more. but it was probably for the best that he had to leave, you assert on that idea.
a couple weekends pass by, but this specific weekend passes silently, no texts from sukuna, except the day of the last session you had, planning the next, which happened to be today. your phone dings, snapping you out of your nerves, the text comes while you’re still packing up your bag after class, you already know it’s him.
you cant help but notice his texts got longer, yet he's still as dull as he used to be, you figured you'd get used to it.
a few hours pass and you find yourself right outside the cafe. its warm when you step inside, the cold air clinging to your jacket before melting away. the smell of espresso and sugar wraps around you immediately, sweet and comforting. fairy lights hang above the counter, casting a soft glow over the wooden tables, calm music hums quietly through the speakers. you can see a whole lot of students in here today, it usually isn't this crowded.
it feels like somewhere meant for conversations. you arrive early—of course you do—and pick a small table by the window. you take off your jacket, drape it over the chair, set your bag at your feet.
you smooth your sweater, once, then twice. get it together, you scold yourself. the bell above the door rings, you look up—and there he is. he pauses when he sees you, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. for a second, he just stands there, like he’s recalibrating.
then he walks over, and sits right next to you, oh.
“this okay?” he asks, gesturing around.
“yeah,” you say softly, “it’s… cozy.. more crowded than usual though”
his lips twitch upwards a bit, “yeah, dunno what the deal is, but i thought you’d like it.”
he glances toward the counter, then back at you, “i’m getting you something, what do you like here?”
your head shakes immediately, and you wave your hand around softly “oh- no no, you don’t have to.”
“i want to, as a thank you”
he raises a brow, that familiar look that says he’s already decided, “you’re not winning this.”
you sigh, defeated, “okay… i like the apple fritter.”
he nods once, then heads to the counter, you watch him while pretending not to. when he comes back, he's holding a tray, your fritter sits there, directly next to it is a cheesecake- strawberry at that. you smile a bit, not expecting someone like sukuna himself to enjoy something like a strawberry cheesecake, its too.. cute. he sets the plate in front of you like it’s something precious. your heart flips.
you break off a piece, smiling without thinking, his ears turn red. you don’t notice. he notices you smiling at his cheesecake though.
"whatchu laughing at?" he says, slightly pink.
"o-oh nothing, just didnt expect you to get that." you reply, blush intensifying at the way hes looking at you.
"its good, want some?" he scoops a bit up in his fork, holding it up.
"umm no, its okay." you say, slightly startled, "you're missing out" he replies. you just smile a bit. moments of comfort pass. you open your notebook, starting the lesson, unaware that he stopped listening a long time ago. because right now, all he wants is this moment, with you. the way his heart practically almost explodes at all the smiles you gave him today definitely doesn't go unnoticed to him.
you're study session goes smoothly, your almost done with todays material, when sukuna suddenly stops paying attention, instead he keeps looking out the window.
you’re mid-sentence, explaining something, your finger tapping lightly on the page. sukuna then he freezes. it’s subtle, barely there. his jaw tightens, his eyes flick—not to you, not to the door, but to the glass.
"so you're supposed to- oh, sukuna, you okay?" you ask noticing hes just staring out the window, you cant make out at what.
he’s not hearing a single word. outside, framed by the foggy window and neon reflection, are two tall silhouettes.
a white haired man you've seen around campus, isn't he on sukunas team, you think, all loose limbs and loud presence even from a distance, laughing at something, and beside him, a dark haired male, tied into a bun, he seems calm, unreadable, hands in his pockets.
they’re not looking in, they don’t see you, but sukuna sees them, and he can tell they want to come in. something in him snaps. he’s on his feet before you even finish your sentence. the chair scrapes back loudly, your heart jumps.
he grabs your wrist, not painful, but clearly urgent.
“we’re leaving, get your things.” he says.
your pulse spikes, “what? why?” you pack your things up like its muscle memory, fast, you didn't even notice you did. he doesn’t answer. just pulls you up, already moving, already walking toward the door like he’s afraid to slow down.
“sukuna, wait—what’s wrong?”
“can’t explain,” he mutters. “we just need to go. now.”
you glance back instinctively, confused, heart pounding. you don’t understand what’s happening, but the look on his face makes your stomach twist. it’s anger, mixed with something closer to panic.
the bell rings as he pushes the door open, cold air rushes in. the street noise crashes around you, he doesn’t stop walking. he turns the opposite direction of the window, long strides, jaw clenched, grip still firm around your wrist.
“you’re scaring me,” you say softly.
he exhales through his teeth. “fuck. i know, i’m sorry.” he finally slows a little, but he doesn’t let go.
you look back again, the two males are still outside the café, laughing, unaware.
“who are they?” you ask, you can see his shoulders tense.
“people i don’t want you around,” he says, voice low.
you look him dead in the eyes, your heart hammers. “why?”
he swallows, eyes forward. “because they don’t know how to shut the fuck up.”
and for the first time since you met him, you feel like you’ve stepped into something deeper than you expected, something messy.
you keep walking, he doesn’t stop until your lungs start burning and the city noise thins into something distant and hollow. you finally tug back, and instead of letting go, his grip changes. not your wrist anymore, but your hand. his fingers slide down like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, your heart stutters.
“sukuna,” you say softly, half-laughing, half-breathless, “what the hell is going on?”
he freezes, looks down at your hands, his thumb hooked around yours, knuckles brushing, skin warm. his eyes widen just a little. he lets go immediately, like he’s been burned.
“shit—” he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—”
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, even though your pulse is still going crazy, “just— you scared me a little.”
he swallows, “yeah. i’m not great at… not doing that," he huffs, “dragging people into my bullshit.”
you walk a few steps together again, slower now. the streetlights flicker on one by one, soft gold against the blue-dark sky.
“what do you mean they don’t shut up?” you ask.
he keeps walking, eyes fixed ahead, “i can’t explain.”
you frown, “that’s not an answer.”
he exhales, jaw tightening, “they’re just… not good people.”
“okay,” you say, “start explaining, because ‘they’re not good people is vague as hell.” you suddenly snap, but not really.
his eyes widen, attitude, he thinks, scoffing, “you want the long version or the one that keeps you from thinking i’m insane?”
he hesitates, jaw tight. “they don’t shut up, they never have, everything’s a joke, everything’s a fucking game, people are just… things to them.”
you glance at him, “even you?”
especially me, he thinks, but doesn’t say it.
“aren’t they on your team?” you ask.
he lets out a sharp breath, “only one of them, his names gojo, the albino looking freak, the other just… tags along, his names geto, he's so loud and messy, thinks he owns every room he walks into.”
you listen, laughing a teenie tiny bit, you wrinkle your nose, “sounds fun.”
he laughs once, bitter, “yeah, you could say that.”
you reach a small park before you realize it. the path opens up, trees framing the dim glow of streetlamps, the air feels cooler, calmer.
you stop, “did you mean to bring me here?”
he looks around, smiling, surprised, “no. i just… kept walking.”
you sit on the edge of the bench, tugging your jacket tighter, “so you dragged me into the night for no reason? im gonna tell on you" you joke, suddenly. you go red, too comfy y/n, chill.
he smirks faintly, relaxing you, “guess i owe you an apology for that too.”
you just smile at him, everything goes quiet, then he speaks again, quietly, “i don’t want them near you.”
your heart flips, “wha- whys that?”
“because they don’t know how to treat people like people,” he says, “and i don’t trust what they say, about anyone, especially you.”
you swallow, his words catching you off guard, “you barely know me.”
“yeah,” he admits, voice low. “that’s the fucked up part.”
the streetlight hums above you, and for a moment, neither of you moves, the park is exxtra quiet. streetlights glow around you. somewhere in the distance, a car passes, then everything settles again.
you're now sat on a bench beside him, hands tucked into your sleeves, knees drawn in slightly. the night is cool, but you don’t really feel it, all you can feel is him, his presence heavy beside you, the way his shoulder is just barely brushing yours, the way his large figure is practically a walking radiator.
you take a look at your phone, 8:07pm, you take that as your que to stand first, slowly, like your body is arguing with itself.
“it’s getting late,” you say softly, “i should probably go.”
he doesn’t answer right away, you're about to say goodbye when his hand catches yours, not tight or rough, just enough to stop you.
your breath stutters, oyu have no idea whats going on, at first insict you'd push his hand away but you dont move, “sukuna…”
he looks up at you like he’s trying to memorize your face.
you hesitate, then sit back down, but you’re closer now, closer than before, your knees almost touching, the proximity is killing you, creating an unbearable warmth in your throat and chest, both of your hands still connected. neither of you says anything. the silence stretches, it feels thick, and suffocating. what's he doing, you think.
his thumb moves without thinking, brushing over your knuckles. he stiffens like he realizes what he’s doing, but he doesn’t stop.
“i should walk you home,” he murmurs.
“you don’t have to.” you're internally screaming at this point.
your heart thumps. you look at him. he’s already looking at you. the moment feels fragile, like it's never going to happen again. he leans in before you can overthink it, not fast. you follow his movements, no one knows how this happened but suddenly your lips touch his. it’s soft and unsure, he freezes for half a second, then kisses you back.
still gentle and careful, like he’s terrified of doing it wrong. you pull back just enough to breathe and suddenly his hand comes to your face, warm against your cheek, and he kisses you again.
his hand comes up to your neck, warm and steady, thumb resting just under your jaw like he’s grounding himself there. it’s different this time, not hesitant. its slower but deeper, like he’s decided to feel it even if it ruins him.
you make a soft sound before you can stop yourself, barely louder than a breath, and he exhales against your mouth like it hits him straight in the chest.
the kiss isn’t rushed, his lips move against yours with more confidence now, like he’s learned the shape of you in seconds. your bodies lean in without permission, knees brushing, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.
he tilts his head, forehead brushing yours between kisses, breath uneven, like he’s fighting himself and losing. for a moment, everything else disappears, the park, the dark, the rules he keeps breaking in his head.
then he pulls back sharply like it hurts, his hand drops, his jaw clenches, his eyes don’t leave your face.
“fuck,” he mutters, “that’s— no. that’s wrong.” and the way he says it makes it sound like the lie of the century.
your heart drops, “what?”
he stands abruptly, pacing a step away like he’s trying to outrun himself.
“i shouldn’t have done that,” he says, “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t—”
he turns back to you, expression conflicted, almost pained.
“i’m not saying i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i just… shouldn’t.”
the air feels heavier now, after a beat, he exhales.
“i’m walking you home,” he says, voice steadier. “it’s too dark. i’m not leaving you alone.”
you nod, even though your chest feels tight.
the walk home is quiet in the worst, the city feels different now, everythings too still for what’s sitting in your chest. you walk beside him, close enough that your sleeves brush, but he doesn’t reach for you again. his hands stay buried in his pockets.
you blink a few times, once, twice-doesn’t help. your eyes burn anyway. you hate it. you hate that this is getting to you, hate that you barely know him and yet your throat feels tight like something important is slipping through your fingers.
he notices, of course he does. his steps slow just slightly, like he’s matching your pace without meaning to. his head turns a fraction, eyes flicking down to your face.
you shake your head immediately, too fast, “no.”
he stops walking, you almost bump into him.
“hey.” his voice is lower now, “look at me.”
you don’t want to, you really don’t, but you do anyway, and the second he sees your eyes, his jaw tightens.
“shit,” he mutters. “i didn’t—”
“i’m fine,” you say quickly, wiping at your cheek with your sleeve, “it’s stupid. just—ignore it.”
he exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s pissed at himself, “don’t do that.”
“pretend you’re not hurt.”
you look away, “i said i’m fine.”
he watches you for a second longer, then nods once, like he knows pushing will only make it worse. he starts walking again, slower now. closer. your building comes into view too fast, you wish it wouldn’t. the silence stretches again, thicker this time, wrapped in everything unsaid. you reach the entrance, fingers curling around your keys, he stops beside you but doesn’t move closer.
“listen,” he says. his voice is steady, but there’s something strained underneath, “i need to say this.”
he continues before you can interrupt.
“i’m sorry, about the kiss, about everything tonight.”
you shake your head, “it’s okay.”
“no,” he says immediately, way firmer, “it’s not.”
you swallow, “why are you acting like i did something wrong?”
his eyes widen slightly, “you didn’t.”
“then what is this?” your voice cracks despite your best effort, “because it feels like i fucked something up.”
he steps back half a step, like the thought hurts him, “don’t think like that.”
he hesitates, looks past you, at the door, the hallway behind it, anywhere but your face.
“we shouldn’t do this,” he says finally, “we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
the words hit harder than you expect.
his jaw clenches, “i’m not good- im not good at this- my crowd isn’t good, this whole thing— it’s not something you should be anywhere near, im not someone you should be anywhere near.”
your chest tightens, “so that’s it?”
“yeah.” his dryness stings you.
you laugh weakly, because if you don’t you’ll cry harder, “wow, okay. that’s… sudden.”
“did i make you uncomfortable?” you ask quietly.
he looks back at you immediately, you cant quite read his expression anymore, “no.”
“did i read things wrong?”
“then why does it feel like you’re punishing me for something?”
he closes his eyes for a brief second, when he opens them, there’s resolve there. cold- cold resolve.
“i don’t need your help anymore,” he says bluntly, “with class, or anything.”
your breath catches, that one hurts, more than the rest.
he nods once biting his lip, “yeah.”
your eyes blur again, you don’t bother wiping them this time.
“okay,” you say, voice shaking. “if that’s what you want.”
he watches the tears fall like it’s costing him something, like every one is carving into him, but he doesn’t take it back. doesn’t soften.
“take care,” he says quietly.
you don’t answer, you turn, unlock the door, step inside and slam it shut behind you. the sound echoes down the hall. you lean back against the door immediately, chest heaving, hands trembling as the tears finally spill over. it feels stupid, and so so dramatic.
you barely know him, how could you let a couple study sessions and a few days of texting affect you this much, you scold yourself through sobs. get it together. this is nothing. you’ve had worse. he’s just a guy. but your chest doesn’t listen.
and somewhere outside, on the other side of that door, sukuna stands there for a long moment, listening to you cry, before forcing himself to leave.
weeks blur together in the way they only ever do when you’re tired and pretending you’re not. finals week creeps in like a threat you saw coming and still weren’t ready for, your calendar is a mess of red circles and highlighted deadlines. aaaaand sukuna doesn’t exist anymore- at least, not in the way he used to.
he’s still there, physically, you see him in class, slouched back in his chair like he owns the place, legs stretched out, jaw sharp and unreadable, but his eyes never find yours. not once.
not when you walk in, not when you sit down, not even when the professor drones on about themes and symbolism and the kind of shit you usually love but can’t seem to focus on anymore.
it’s like you’re invisible, and god, it hurts more than you want to admit. you try to tell yourself it’s fine, that it makes sense, that this is what he said he wanted. but knowing that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see him laughs quietly at something someone whispers to him around campus, or when he packs up his bag without looking in your direction.
you feel stupid for watching him at all. you hate yourself for it.
he used you, he just wanted help, he got what he needed and dipped., classic sukuna. all these thoughts linger, and hurt much more than you'd anticipated.
you hear it between lines of conversation, in half-jokes and casual comments, in the way people talk about him like he’s a known quantity, a walking, talking red flag with a pretty face.
and maybe they’re right, maybe that’s all he is.
you sit in the library one night, surrounded by open books and color-coded notes, and finally let the thoughts settle in fully. it makes too much sense. the timing, the way he pulled away so abruptly, the way he said he didn’t need your help anymore, like you were just a means to an end. like he was good at his craft.
you swallow hard and keep reading, even though the words blur together, still—you can’t shake it, that look in his eyes.
the night at the park replays in your head when you least expect it. when you’re brushing your teeth, when you’re staring at the ceiling at three in the morning. he didn’t look smug, he didn’t look satisfied. he looked… sad. like he was making a choice he hated. you brushed it all off as delusion.
but if it was all fake, if he really was just like everyone says—then why did his voice shake when he apologized? why did he look like he was bracing for impact when he told you it was over?
you hate that you’re still giving him the benefit of the doubt, you hate that you’re still thinking about him at all.
finals week grinds you down to your bones. you spend hours hunched over your desk, typing and deleting and typing again. sometimes you catch yourself wondering if he’s struggling too, then you shut that thought down immediately.
in class, the distance between you feels deliberate. he sits farther back now, you sit closer to the front. the professor hands out final instructions and your stomach twists, but not just because of the exam. you sneak a glance at him once-just once.
he’s staring at his desk, jaw clenched, tapping his pen like he’s barely holding still. for half a second, his eyes lift—and you think, maybe—but he looks away before you can meet his gaze.
by the time finals week reaches its peak, you’re exhausted in every sense of the word, mentally fried. you lie in bed one night, notes scattered around you, phone face-down on the mattress.
you don’t expect a notification, you don’t expect anything from him anymore, but you still think about him. a small thing you can’t stop noticing during finals week is that neither of you ever blocked the other on instagram.
it’s stupid, almost embarrassing how often you notice it. how his username still sits there in your following list like a loose thread you’re afraid to pull. you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that people forget to unfollow all the time. but then he posts something.
a photo dump on his story, locker room mirror, a blurry group shot with someone’s arm slung over his shoulder. he looks the same, unreadable. it makes your chest ache in that quiet, dull way.
you don’t tap forward right away. you stare at the corner of the screen, at his icon glowing, and you hate that part of you that still wants to know. you’re still just sitting there with notes spread out in front of you and a final you haven’t studied enough for.
later that night, you post something too. nothing sad, just your desk, coffee gone cold, a single line about finals killing you.
minutes pass, then his name appears at the bottom. viewed. no message or reaction. just that silent little confirmation that he’s still there watching, choosing not to say anything, it keeps happening like that, like whatever existed got paused instead of ended.
the last day of finals feels unreal.
you sit on the cold steps outside the humanities building with yuji, nobara, and megumi, your backpack slumped at your feet, legs pulled in close. the air is sharp but clean, winter teasing at the edges of the afternoon. people are everywhere, laughing too loud, crying openly, pacing while rereading notes like it’ll change something now.
it’s over, almost. your brain feels like mush. your body feels hollowed out.
no one mentions his name, that’s how you know they know.
yuji sits closest to you, shoulder brushing yours every so often when he laughs at something nobara says. it’s not accidental, none of it is. he’s been like this for weeks now, closer, quieter, more careful. like he’s guarding something that already got hurt once.
nobara’s softer too, in her own way. she’s still loud, still opinionated, still calling professors assholes under her breath, but she checks in on you with looks instead of words, passes you snacks without comment, nudges you when you zone out.
megumi sits just a little apart, hands tucked into his sleeves. he doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s always directed at you. asks if you slept, ate, if your exam went okay. simple things-grounding things. you hate that they can tell, you hate that it shows.
“okay but tell me why that final was actually criminal,” nobara says, breaking the quiet, “bro pulled half those questions out of his ass.”
they all laugh, and for a second, it almost feels normal. almost. then you feel it, that shift in the air. nobara’s voice cuts off mid-sentence, yuji stiffens beside you, megumi’s gaze lifts, sharp and immediate.
you follow their line of sight before you even realize you’re doing it, gojo satoru is walking toward you. tall, loud, sunglasses on even though it’s cloudy, hands shoved into his pockets like he owns the ground beneath his feet. beside him is a black-haired guy you’ve seen around campus before—older-looking, sharp-eyed, always hovering at gojo’s side. same guy from outside the cafe, geto, you think. someone once mentioned his name in passing.
they’re laughing about something, your stomach drops. nobara leans in close, lips brushing your ear, “ugh. here comes the stuck-up bitch.”
you snort despite yourself.
“i fucking hate his face,” she mutters. “like genuinely, it offends me.”
yuji glances between you and them, jaw tightening, “don’t engage,” he says quietly, “whatever they say, just ignore it.”
he doesn’t look at you, his eyes stay locked on gojo, who’s now unmistakably heading in your direction, “just—y/n, trust me.”
they slow as they reach the steps, gojo’s smile widens when he spots your group, too wide, like he’s been looking for you specifically.
“well, well,” gojo says, voice obnoxiously bright, “if it isnt little yuji"
nobara rolls her eyes so hard it’s impressive, geto chuckles under his breath, eyes flicking over all of you before lingering on you just a second longer than necessary. you shift uncomfortably. gojo’s gaze lands on you fully now, sharp in a way that makes your skin crawl.
“hey,” he says, casual, “you’re y/n, right?”
yuji’s hand tightens into a fist.
“figured,” gojo says, “you’re kinda hard to miss these days.”
nobara immediately leans forward. “okay, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
gojo grins, “relax. just saying, word travels fast.”
“say what you came to say,” he snaps, “or leave.”
gojo raises his hands mockingly, “damn, touchy is this a generational thing.”
geto finally speaks, “we were just curious.”
about what? you want to ask. about who? but something tells you you already know the answer.
gojo tilts his head, studying you again, “how’d your literature final go?” your chest tightens.
“good,” he hums, “would’ve been awkward if someone bombed after all that… extra help.”
yuji’s jaw clenches, “shut the fuck up.”
nobara’s already on her feet now too, “yeah, actually, shut the fuck up. you don’t get to say shit.”
gojo’s smile falters for just a second before snapping back into place, “woah guys calm down, tooooo defensive.”
geto’s eyes narrow, “we’re not here to start something.”
“then leave,” megumi says flatly.
gojo looks between all of you, then back to you, his expression shifts, something calculating sliding into place.
“tell sukuna i said congrats,” he says lightly, “finals and all.”
your heart sinks, you don’t respond, you don’t have to. yuji steps forward, fully blocking you from view, “don’t talk about him, and don’t talk to her.”
gojo stares at him for a long moment, then laughs, “damn, guess we struck a nerve.”
they turn away, footsteps retreating down the path. the sound of their footsteps should’ve been the end of it, it isn’t. gojo stops halfway down the path and turns back around like he forgot something important.
“actually,” he says, clapping his hands together once, loud, “i’m here to talk to y/n.”
nobara stiffens immediately, “the fuck you are.”
yuji’s shoulders tense beside you, “keep walking.”
gojo ignores them both, eyes locking onto you like you’re the only person there, “relaxxxx, it’s nothing serious.” he smiles, “i was just wondering,” he continues, voice light, almost bored, “if you noticed how shitty sukuna’s been playing lately.”
“because,” he adds, tilting his head, “he’s been off, hella distracted. too sloppy, and i’m thinking—” his gaze flicks over you slowly, deliberately “—it might be because he got bored.”
nobara snaps, “don’t you fucking—”
“of her,” gojo finishes, smiling, “no offense of course.”
it feels like the air gets punched out of your lungs. you don’t say anything. you can’t, your throat closes up, body freezing like if you don’t move maybe this won’t be happening.
gojo keeps going. “i mean, come on,” he says, shrugging, “classic him, right? finds a pretty thing, plays nice, gets what he wants, drops it when it stops being fun.”
yuji steps forward, “shut the fuck up gojo.”
geto shifts uncomfortably beside gojo, but doesn’t intervene.
gojo chuckles, “what? am i wrong?” he looks back at you. “you kinda fell right into it, just his type... quiet... sweet... easy to impress.”
“you’re just mad because he’s playing like shit,” gojo adds casually, “and yeah, i’ll say it—you probably fucked up his head, messed with his rhythm. coaches are already on his ass.”
he smirks, “so congrats, guess you were useful for something.”
that’s when it hits. tears well up, fast and hot, betraying you before you can stop them. you stare at the ground, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“toy,” gojo says, almost thoughtfully, “that’s what you were. he has a habit of breaking those, sorry princess.”
yuji loses it, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts, voice cracking with anger. “don’t talk about her like that, don’t talk about anyone like that.”
gojo raises an eyebrow. “damn, relax.”
“no,” yuji snaps, stepping closer, “you don’t get to say shit about her or my brother, ever.”
nobara moves to your side, “say one more word and i swear to god—”
gojo holds up his hands, amused. “okay, okay, everyone chill.”
he takes a step back, eyes still on you.
“anyway,” he says lightly, “i just thought you should know. don’t blame yourself too much. this is just who he is.”
and with that, he turns and walks away, geto following without a word. the world feels too loud after, too much.
nobara immediately turns to you, “hey. hey—are you okay?”
you nod, it’s automatic. yuji’s breathing hard, fists clenched, staring after gojo like he wants to chase him down and break something.
you don’t cry openly, not yet. but inside, something settles. now you understand, now you really understand why sukuna didn’t want you near them, because they knew, because they all knew, because he didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.
and as much as it hurts, the worst part is the thought you can’t push away—maybe everything they said was true.
only when they’re gone does your body start shaking, nobara swears under her breath, “i fucking hate him.”
yuji exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair, “i’m sorry.”
you look up at him. “for what?”
“for not stopping this sooner.”
the apartment is too quiet when yuji gets home. the lights are off, a faint sound coming from sukuna's room.
he drops his bag by the door harder than necessary, shoes kicked off with a sharp flick of his foot. his chest is tight, jaw clenched so hard it almost hurts, the image won’t leave his head, your face, crumpling in on itself, the way you tried not to cry and still did anyway, and the agitating sound of gojo’s voice. yuji then storms down the hallway.
sukuna’s door is open, of course it is. he’s sprawled on his bed, one arm behind his head, phone discarded somewhere on the mattress like he’s been staring at the ceiling for hours.
“we need to talk,” yuji says.
sukuna doesn’t look at him, “not now.”
“now,” yuji snaps, “or i’m gonna lose my shit.” sukuna just sighs.
“get up,” yuji says from the doorway.
sukuna doesn’t move, “fuck off.”
“i’m not doing this tonight,” yuji snaps, “sit the fuck up ryo.”
that does it, sukuna pushes himself upright, eyes already narrowed, “what’s your problem?”
yuji laughs, but there’s no humor in it, “you.”
“what the fuck is wrong with you?”
yuji laughs, but it’s bitter, like it scrapes his throat on the way out, “you don’t get to ask that.”
yuji steps fully into the room, the doorframe at his back like a barricade, he doesn’t shut the door, just stands there, arms loose at his sides, jaw tight enough to crack, “i warned you.”
sukuna’s brows knit, irritation flaring hot and fast, “fuck are you on about- about what?”
“about y/n,” yuji says flatly, “i told you not to fuck with her.”
something ugly coils in sukuna’s chest, “i didn’t.”
yuji’s eyes flash. “don’t fucking lie to me ryo.”
“i’m not lying,” sukuna snaps, standing now, anger rising to meet yuji’s, “i did nothing wrong- fucks' the issue anyway?”
yuji shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping right in front of him, “she was crying today, in front of everyone.”
the words don’t just land, they sink and sukuna freezes mid-breath. the room goes quiet except for the distant noise of traffic outside.
“gojo,” yuji continues, voice climbing despite himself, “that fucker walked right up to her and ran his mouth, said you got bored of her, said she fucked up your playing, called her your toy.”
something dark flashes behind sukuna’s eyes, something feral and immediate, his hands curl into fists without him noticing.
“he made her cry,” yuji says, quieter now but sharper, “right there- and she didn’t even defend herself.”
sukuna stands so fast the bed creaks violently behind him.
“that piece of shit,” he growls, “i’ll fucking—”
“don’t,” yuji cuts in hard, “don’t make threats, explain.”
sukuna turns away, breath heavy, teeth grinding so hard his jaw aches, every step feels like pressure building with nowhere to go. he sees it too clearly, your face folding in on itself, eyes shining, mouth trembling while you force yourself to stay still. the same way you looked that night. you hate making scenes, you’d rather break quietly than give them the satisfaction. he knows that.
his chest tightens painfully.
“he fucking lied,” sukuna says finally, voice low and vibrating with rage, “all of its bullshit yuu.”
yuji scoffs, “convince me.”
sukuna stops dead and turns around, really looks at him this time. “i haven’t touched anyone,” sukuna says, every word is deliberate, “haven’t flirted. haven’t fucked. haven’t even looked twice at anyone since the first day i saw her- damn it every girl thats tried to reach outs been blocked, every single one yuu.”
yuji blinks, thrown. “…what?”
“i swear it,” sukuna snaps, “on whatever the fuck you want.”
yuji stares, trying to reconcile that with everything he’s heard, “then why does everyone think—”
“because gojo wanted them to,” sukuna interrupts, “he’s been tryna get me off the team for weeks, hates that i don’t kiss his ass, hates that i don’t laugh at his jokes. this?” he gestures sharply, “this was just another way to fuck with me.”
yuji’s anger wavers, confusion seeping through, “you’re serious.”
silence stretches between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“then why,” yuji asks slowly, carefully, “did you cut her off?”
sukuna’s shoulders tense like he’s been struck. “…because i’m an idiot.”
yuji doesn’t laugh this time.
“i didn’t use her,” sukuna continues, voice rough, “i got scared, i saw where this was going and i panicked, i thought if i walked away first, she wouldn’t get dragged into my mess, she's too fucking perfect bro.” he asserts.
“congrats,” yuji snaps, “you hurt her anyway.”
the words hit harder than yelling ever could. sukuna flinches visibly, hand flexing at his side like he wants to grab onto something solid, “i know.”
“no,” yuji says, stepping closer, “you don’t get to just say that, you don’t get to decide what protects her.”
sukuna drags a hand down his face, “i thought—”
“you thought you knew better,” yuji cuts in, “you thought disappearing was somehow noble.”
sukuna looks away, “i thought it was safer.”
“for who?” yuji demands, “because it sure as hell wasn’t for her.”
another flash, you standing there today, nodding when nobara asks if you’re okay, lying with your whole face. it makes him feel sick.
“i wanted to keep her away from them,” sukuna mutters, “from the shit people say, form what everyone knows, from me.”
yuji laughs again, sharp and hollow, “and instead you handed her to them.”
sukuna’s chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.
“do you know what she said?” yuji continues. “nothing. she didn’t fight back. she just stood there and took it, like maybe she already believed it.”
that’s what breaks him. the idea that you might think gojo was right. that you might replay every moment with him and decide it was all fake, that you might blame yourself for trusting him.
“i should’ve been there,” sukuna says hoarsely.
“yeah,” yuji agrees, “you should’ve.”
they stand there, facing each other, both breathing hard, anger turning into something heavier.
“i want to end him,” sukuna says suddenly, raw and honest, “im gonna shut him the fuck up forever."
“he made her cry,” sukuna snarls, “because of me.”
“because of lies,” yuji corrects.
sukuna swallows, “i can’t stand the thought of her thinking i treated her like that.”
"yet you're the one who walked away ryo," yuji’s voice softens despite himself, “then don’t let her.”
“she won’t listen to me.”
“she will,” yuji says firmly, “maybe not right away- but she will.”
sukuna shakes his head, “she shouldn’t have to.”
“but she deserves the truth,” yuji replies, “not silence, not rumors.”
sukuna exhales shakily, pressing his palms into his eyes like he’s trying to erase the image of you crying, “i thought leaving would make it easier.”
“for you,” yuji says gently.
yuji studies him for a long moment, “you care about her.”
it isn’t a question. sukuna doesn’t answer right away.
then, quietly “…yeah. more than i wanted to.”
“then stop running,” yuji says.
sukuna nods once, slow and heavy, “i’ll talk to her.”
and for the first time since everything fell apart, the anger in sukuna’s chest shifts, not forgiven, but aimed. not at you. god- never at you.
winter break hits like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding. finals end, and for the first time in weeks you wake up without the immediate urge to scream into a pillow. you sleep in, you eat real meals, you almost—almost—forget how heavy everything felt near the end of the semester. almost.
so when yuji texts the group chat—
—you laugh. genuinely. and for a few seconds, it feels normal again, then the second thought hits. sukuna lives there, fuuuuck.
your thumb hovers over the phone longer than necessary, you stare at yuji’s name, then at the ceiling, then back at the phone like it might change its mind and tell you never mind, plans canceled, false alarm. you haven’t seen sukuna since finals week, not really, not properly. just passing shadows, the way his shoulder would disappear around a corner before you could look up, the way he never sat where you could see him.
you consider making up an excuse, a headache, a family thing, literally anything, but you’re tired of hiding. tired of letting the thought of him decide what rooms you’re allowed to be in.
yuji’s house is waaay louder than you remember. the moment the door opens, you’re hit with warmth, noise, and the unmistakable smell of something fried. yuji practically bounces in place when he sees you, grinning so wide it should be illegal.
“you made it!” he says, "i got chinese." he smiles bright
“barely made it,” you joke, slipping your shoes off.
nobara appears behind him, already holding a drink, “she survived finals, she can survive this.”
megumi gives you a small nod from the couch, “hey.”
there’s no immediate sign of sukuna, your shoulders loosen a fraction. yuji launches into host mode immediately, snacks shoved into your hands, coat taken. it’s chaotic in the way that only yuji can manage, disorganized but somehow welcoming. then yuji claps his hands together like a cartoon character with an idea.
“okay, important announcement.”
nobara squints at him, “if this is another ‘who can eat the most in ten minutes’ thing, i’m opting out.”
“worse,” yuji says cheerfully, “just dance.”
megumi groans, “absolutely not- please yuji”
nobara’s eyes light up, “absolutely yes.”
before anyone can protest, yuji is already dragging furniture around, hooking something up to the tv. the familiar loading screen appears, bright and aggressively cheerful.
you snort, “yuji, it’s winter break, not a punishment.”
“wrong,” yuji says, handing nobara a controller, “it’s a celebration.”
nobara cracks her knuckles, “i was born for this.”
megumi sinks deeper into the couch, “i’m judging both of you.”
“good,” yuji says. “judgment fuels me.”
you sit beside megumi, legs tucked under you, watching as the two of them argue over song choices like it’s a matter of life and death. nobara refuses anything older than five years. yuji insists on something “iconic.” they settle on that one justin bieber song, that power.
the music starts. the dancing well.. it’s… bad- like, impressively bad. yuji is all enthusiasm and zero rhythm, limbs flailing with complete confidence. nobara is sharp and aggressive, dancing like she’s fighting the air. you laugh, you actually laugh, head tipping back, stomach hurting, megumi snorts.
"megs- what the f-fuck am i watching." you say unable to contain your laughter, “he dances like he’s being electrocuted,” megumi mutters.
yuji spins at the wrong time and nearly wipes out, “i heard that!”
“you were meant to,” nobara says without missing a beat.
they play another round. then another. at some point yuji’s shirt rides up and nobara screams about “visual crimes.” someone knocks over a bowl of chips, no one cares.
it feels… good, super easy. you forget to be nervous, forget to scan the room. you’re just there, with your friends laughing. after a while, your laughter settles into that warm, fuzzy hum that comes with being comfortable. you shift on the couch, stretching.
“i need the bathroom,” you announce casually, standing up. “before yuji’s dancing kills me for real.”
yuji points down the hall without looking away from the screen, “second door on the left! don’t open the first one, that’s—”
“none of my business,” you finish, “got it.” you wave him off.
you head down the hallway, the noise fading behind you. the house feels quieter back here, the air cooler. you find the bathroom easily, flick on the light, and lock the door. you lean against the sink for a second longer than necessary. you didn’t think about sukuna for almost an hour. the realization is strange, relieving, and honestly sad.
you wash your hands, splash some water on your face, and take a breath, it’s fine, you tell yourself, you’re fine.
when you open the door—you nearly run straight into a tall figure.
your breath catches so hard it physically hurts. its him. sukuna stands there like he’s been carved out of the hallway itself, broad shoulders blocking half the light, expression unreadable. his hairs damp like he just showered.
for a second, neither of you move. then, awkwardly, he steps back to give you space.
your brain short-circuits, a thousand responses crash into each other, none of them make it to your mouth in time.
“h-hi sukuna,” you manage.
the silence stretches- then gojo’s voice crashes into your head. got bored of her, his toy. reminders of the past you wish you could fix.
your eyes slide past him, down the hallway, anywhere but his face. something sharp twists in your chest, you cant tell if its hurt, anger, humiliation, all tangled together.
you step around him, putting distance where there used to be none.
“the bathroom’s free,” you say. that’s it.
you walk past him like he’s just another person in the house, and fuck—he feels it. he turns slightly, watching your back retreat toward the living room, the stiffness in your shoulders, the way your steps are faster than before.
shit. the word hits him hard. she’s mad. and that scares him.
“wait,” he says, sharper than he means to, reaching out without thinking.
his hand closes around your wrist, you stop at the sudden contact. slowly, you turn back to face him, eyes flashing now, something wounded and furious sitting right behind them, his grip loosens immediately.
“we need to talk,” he says, voice urgent, “please.”
you laugh, but there’s no humor in it, none at all.
“talk?” you repeat, “about what, sukuna?”
“no,” you cut in, pulling your wrist out of his hand, “we don’t have anything to talk about.”
his chest tightens, “that’s not—”
“you’ve already said enough,” you continue, voice shaking now despite your effort to keep it steady, “you made it pretty clear what you think of me.”
his eyes widen slightly, “what are you talking about?”
you shake your head, disbelief mixing with anger, “don’t.”
“just don’t,” you snap, “i’m not doing this.”
he steps closer, frustration bleeding through the cracks now, “i never said—”
“you don’t have to,” you say, voice breaking just a little, “your silence did it for you.”
that lands hard. he opens his mouth—ready to deny it, explain it, fix it, but you’re already turning away.
“leave me alone,” you say quietly, “you already did enough.”
and then you walk away. he stands there in the hallway, frozen, the echo of your footsteps fading into laughter that suddenly sounds wrong, fake. his hand hangs uselessly at his side, fingers curling slowly. fuck, he thinks.
when you return to the living room, yuji immediately yells, “SHE LIVES!”
“barely,” you say, dropping back onto the couch, “i almost got taken out by secondhand embarrassment.”
nobara bows dramatically, “you’re welcome.”
you glance toward the hallway once more. sukuna doesn’t come out. the night continues, the laughter resumes, and even though something inside you feels newly unsettled, you let yourself stay. just for tonight.
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omgomgomgomggmgdd sukunas prob gna become a yearner or sum shit ngl. mwah mwah to all, i hope u enjoy this chapter :)
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