[mackhiato]

|| studying (the subject of) you

¬ frat!sukuna x nerd!reader ¬

description -> there wasn't much you and frat boy!sukuna ryomen had in common...except your mutual disdain for partner projects. (un)luckily for the two of you, fate has a way of bringing together the seemingly incompatible. but as the project continues and studying sessions involve less and less studying, you both discover you're learning more about yourselves than the subject matter at hand...

word count -> 14.5k

cw -> yearning || mutual pining || like, medium burn? || eventual smut || drinking || smoking || cursing || mean sukuna (but only if you squint) || side frat!gojo x nerd!reader || jealousy || angst (it's getting serious) || resolved tension and feelings

part eight || part nine || part ten

Sukuna woke up with a pounding headache and a sickness in his stomach that a hangover couldn’t rival. 

He cast a sideways glance at the sunlight peaking through his blinds, a silver of the window visible, showcasing the outside world in a much better mood than he could hope to muster. His clothes from last night lay in the same pile he left them in when he stripped and climbed into bed, too drunk to do anything but lie there and let sleep overtake him. His mouth was dry, tasting of whatever liquor he’d mixed to get him in this state, but all he could remember was the feeling of you against him. 

For one brief, blissful moment, everything felt correct. Months of feelings captured when he let his instincts take over his restraint, taking two steps forward and fully falling into you, pressing his lips against yours in a feverish state. 

And you had responded in kind. He could still feel the way your nails dragged down the nape of his neck, fingers buried in his pinkish locks. He could still hear your body’s response, keening into him as if you two together were natural. His thigh between your leg, sliding in like a piece of a puzzle, your mouth slotted against his, his hands gripping your waist, and you, in the center of it all, so reactive and responsive to his movements.

And just as quickly as it came, it vanished. Fucked up by a drunken decision on a Sunday night that left him waking up in a bed that wasn’t his own with a girl who didn’t deserve to suffer the repercussions of his indecision and insecurity. 

Toji, ever the enabler, accompanied Sukuna and some of their other frat brothers to their favorite dive spot, where the drinks were cheap, and the bartenders poured heavy, especially for customers they knew whose pockets were deep and got deeper the more drinks they had.  Sukuna, by nature, was a favorite customer, only rivaled by Satoru, both of whom had closed shop one too many times.

It was late – too late to be drinking this much on a Sunday night, but Sukuna couldn’t bring himself to care as the bartender poured him another drink from the well. Toji, in a rare occurrence of rationality, cut himself off after the third drink. His eyes flicked over to the entrance of the bar, and they narrowed at what he saw. 

“You’ve got trouble headed your way.”

Sukuna’s head turned, and Uraume’s clipped bob entered his vision. He sighed, ambivalent about her arrival, turning back to his drink. “Whatever.”

“Haven’t you been dodging her texts?”

“Yup.”

Toji stared at him incredulously, shaking his head as he lifted his glass, downing the rest of the drink in one swallow. “You’re ridiculous.” He slid his glass against the bar top and reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out a few crumpled ones.

Sukuna side-eyed him. “Where’re you going?”

Toji glanced back at Uraume, who spotted both men at the bar and began to make her way over. “Away from whatever shitstorm of bad decisions you’re about to make.”

Just as quickly as Toji exited, Uraume entered, flicking her hair over her shoulder and ordering two shots. She placed one gingerly in front of Sukuna, saying, “You look like you need this.”

Sukuna was positively sure he didn’t, but couldn’t focus long enough to form a sentence to argue as he wrapped his fingers around the shot, lifting it in cheers and clinking glasses with her before tapping the bottom gently on the bar, tipping his head back to down the clear, burning liquid.

Uraume followed suit, stacking their glasses and looking over at Sukuna. “So. Why’re you here on a Sunday night?”

He scoffed at the attempt at small talk. “Could ask you the same thing.”

Uraume shrugged, her eyes trailing. “Probably the same as you. Looking for a distraction.”

A distraction. That’s exactly what it was. A distraction, and a hazy-headed decision that led to him abandoning Toji at the bar, and waking up in Uraume’s bed, back slick with sweat and regret as she slept soundlessly next to him. 

It was an asshole move, and he knew it. He knew as soon as he left the bar that he would regret it, but it wasn’t enough to get him to stop. He wasn’t sure why. He’d never been one to hesitate. And when it was offered up so casually, who was he to refuse when you and he had nothing tying you together? No loyalties, no pledges of abstinence or celibacy, no titles of girlfriend, boyfriend, or friends with benefits. Until last night, you hadn’t even kissed yet. 

And now? 

Sukuna wasn’t sure if he could even call you a friend.

All you had were close encounters and yearning glances from across rooms, hushed tones and subtle touches that lingered like the smell of your shampoo and the musk of his cologne. Momentary pleasure followed by a week of guilt, plaguing him like whatever sickness you had caught last week.

And just like that, his mind was back on you. You, and your dejected face as you watched the grimace form on his. The way you fought against your lower lip wobbling, your waterline dampening against your will. He wasn’t so bold or full of himself to declare your heart crushed, but he knows he saw something break behind your eyes, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to repair it. 

He reached for his phone, battery almost empty from last night’s negligence, and saw no response from you. He would’ve been embarrassed by the multiple texts going on unanswered with anyone else, but with you, he couldn’t give a damn. 

sukuna | I know I fucked up but please let me explain.

sukuna | I’m so fucking sorry. 

sukuna | Please let me talk to you.

sukuna | I regret hurting you but I don’t regret kissing you.

Timestamped at two in the morning; all left on delivered. He figured as much, considering how wounded you looked when you left him standing on the patio. He winced at the last text he sent, too drunk to come up with something better, something more soothing, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. Considering how hard he was when he felt you pressed up against him, he figured you knew it too.

He threw his arm over his eyes and groaned, feeling ill in more ways than one. It didn’t help that an unwelcome knock and entry of his white-haired friend timed itself so perfectly with his current state. 

Gojo bounded over, propping himself on Sukuna’s bed, irritably chipper. “Well, don’t you look positively sunshiney.”

Sukuna glared at him from beneath his comforter. “Get. Out.”

“Y’know, maybe, if you’d just taken my advice when I gave it to you weeks ago, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But here we are. Feelings, trampled on, numbers, blocked – ”

“She hasn’t blocked me. At least, yet. Semester’s not over, and we’re project partners. She can’t.”

“Oh, I think she has the license to kill you after what you put her through.” Gojo retorted, tone playful, but eyes serious. “You really hurt her last night.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Sukuna snapped, sitting up in his bed, a menacing tone lacing every word. “Get the fuck outta my face. Who are you to tell me that, anyway? Some idiot who’s taken her on one date?”

“Last time I checked, it’s one more than you’ve been on with her.”

Sukuna felt his fist twitch beside him. He only glared in response.

“I don’t know why you’re glowering at me. I’m not the one who fucked up. I’m not the one who wanted to have their cake and eat it too. I’m not the one who – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I got your point, dickhead. I know I fucked up.”

“At least you’re not totally dense.” Gojo eyed him up and down, judgment oozing from his gaze. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”

Sukuna exhaled, casting a sideways glance at his window, still obscured by his curtains, and yet the midday sun persisted, a sliver of light illuminating his room.

“She won’t even talk to me. What am I supposed to do?”

Gojo shrugged. “Dunno, but it better be something good.”

Sukuna’s scowl deepened. “You’ve butt your head in every part of this since the beginning, and now you decide to stop talking?”

“Yeah, I gave both of you my advice and look where that’s got us. Maybe if I shut up, it’ll encourage you two to sit and actually figure out what you both want. Y’know, communicate. Like adults do.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not laughing. You shouldn’t be either. You better come up with something that sweeps her off her feet before she decides I’m clearly the better option.”

“Gojo?”

“Yes?”

“Get the fuck out my room.”

|||

Utahime, Yuki, and Shoko both watched with concerned eyes as you recounted everything they had missed – from the sickness, to him hooking up with Uraume the following day, to the cold shoulder treatment and the kiss on the patio. You watched as their jaws dropped lower and lower, and despite your overwhelming sadness and anger at him, you felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you recounted your shared moment outside the party. 

“He did what?” Utahime leaned forward, flushed at your hushed retelling. “Oh, my God.”

Shoko placed her hand on your shoulder, nodding solemnly. “I am so proud of you. A lesser woman would have folded.”

“But I did fold! The fucking kiss, I – ” You buried your face in your hands. “I shouldn’t have kissed him.”

“Was it good?”

You flushed as Shoko and Utahime admonished Yuki’s question, but you felt heat rise to your cheeks from the answer that immediately popped into your brain. 

It was fucking amazing.

You weren’t totally inexperienced. You had had your fair share of kisses in your lifetime, but none were quite as passionate as what you experienced on the patio that night. 

Last night, after getting ice cream with Satoru and him dropping you off at your apartment, you laid in bed, wide awake, replaying what had transpired between you and Sukuna by the nanosecond, frame by frame. 

His heated gaze. His hands, so big and hungry as they gripped your hips, squeezing, kneading, as if he was trying to fuse your bodies into one. His mouth, setting the pace, insistent, not overpowering, sucking and nipping at your lips so gently, yet wanton lust bled through every breath. His chest pressed against yours, heart beating wildly, the two of you generating enough heat to warm a small village. That warmth pooled at your stomach, sinking lower and lower as you felt him drag your body over his thigh, thick and sinewy with muscle pressed against your core and overwhelming all of your senses, sending your brain into overdrive. 

You felt yourself get flustered thinking about it, and you hated yourself for reacting that way. 

“It doesn’t matter whether the kiss was good or not; what matters is that he hurt her.” Utahime pulled you into her, trying to comfort you as best she could, running a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

You mumbled out an empty thanks. It was nice to have friends who cared so much, but you could barely sort out your own feelings on the matter, let alone what you were going to do to proceed forward. 

It was Saturday morning, and you and Sukuna’s normally scheduled study session had been abandoned, considering last night's events. His unanswered texts and calls weighed heavily on your phone as you contemplated what you should do next. 

sukuna | i regret hurting you but i don’t regret kissing you.

You remember the sick, giddy feeling in your chest when you read that message when you woke up this morning. You wanted to scream, and cry, and berate him for making you feel so small, but you couldn’t help but crave his body on yours again, because as awful as you felt afterward, you didn’t regret it either.

He made you feel dirty, like someone to be used and disposed of – but that damn kiss…

Could it all have really meant nothing? Were you truly that simple, that one kiss could send you weak in the knees, abandoning your morals, what you stood for, ridding you of your self-confidence, for a man you’d only known for three months?

The logistics of it all sent your already reeling mind into a whirlwind. You didn’t understand how feelings could be so compartmentalized, for a guy to be able to kiss someone with that much fervor, knowing their date, who they’d slept with less than a week prior, was standing a couple of hundred feet away from them.

The hypocrisy almost made you want to reach out and apologize to Uraume, who was nothing but kind to you when she made small talk at the bar that night. Neither of you deserved this, but when whatever you and Sukuna have — or had — didn’t even have a label, what would you even apologize for? You knew they weren’t dating; nobody needed to tell you that the resident campus terror didn’t date, but you couldn’t help but feel like you owed her something, if not conciliation for the embarrassment of a night Friday was.

After Utahime, Shoko, and Yuki tired themselves out from their crusade against Sukuna they nobly took on for you, they left you to your own devices, both a blessing and a curse. The more you contemplated, the worse the knot in your stomach tightened.

You looked back on his text with disdain, your frown deepening as you read the messages over again. You shut your phone off, scooped up Miso, then locked yourself in your room, attempting to distract yourself from the horrors of yesterday. As the day went on and throughout the evening, while you tried to study, you kept hearing your phone buzz, and you got so fed up, you tossed it under your pillow, trying to force all your feelings down every time you saw his name pop up on your screen. 

However, the universe seemed insistent on reminding you of everything, as Miso started meowing incessantly, perched in the corner of your room. You tried to ignore her calls for attention, focusing on a student’s paper you had to finish grading this weekend, when her meows started turning to howls, you whipped around, scowling at your cat. “What?” You snapped. “What do you want?”

Her tail curled, and it was then you faltered, seeing what she was sitting on top of. 

Sukuna’s hoodie, still folded in the corner of your room, where you and he both left it the weekend you were sick. 

Your lip twitched, and you locked eyes with Miso, who only blinked innocently in response. You huffed. “Traitor.”

You were restless that night, tossing and turning, and replaying Friday night as if it was a movie being projected overhead, thoughts and feelings too vivid for comfort. You groaned, burying yourself in comforters and pillows, and tried to ignore the heat in your stomach at the thought of his hands on you again. 

The next morning brought about another flurry of texts. The unread messages from Sukuna were piling up, and you knew he realized you were adamant on ignoring him. You scrolled past, determined on not dealing with this problem until you had to, and instead went to see what Satoru had messaged you. 

satoru | you know he’s crashing out right

you | Good. 

you | He should be.

satoru | whew, icy

satoru | i love it

satoru | how long are you gonna ignore him for

you | Optimistically? Forever.

you | Realistically? Until class on Tuesday.

Satoru’s contact bubbled in and out of frame before he called, and you picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

“Just got tired of texting, and I wanted to hear your voice.” You heard a scuffle in the background as Gojo adjusted, then a door shut, presumably as he entered his bedroom. “How ya doin’, angel?”

You sighed. “Definitely better than Friday night. Thank you again for the ice cream.”

“Of course. Had to make sure my favorite girl was doing okay.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re laying it on thick, Satoru. I’m still not gonna sleep with you.”

“But wouldn’t it be such great revenge?” You could almost see Gojo’s maniacal grin through the phone as he joked. “He’d be so mad.”

“Well, he would have no moral high ground to stand on, considering what he did.” You picked at your nails, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear. 

“Yeah, well, he definitely knows he fucked up.”

“Please, he’s only upset that he got caught.” You scoffed, lips downturned into a pout.

“At least you know you mean something to him,” Satoru offered. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled. “He doesn’t care about me.”

“That’s not true.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Um, do you not remember what happened, or do you need a refresher?”

“Trust me, I remember. I just don’t think someone who ‘doesn’t care about you’ would be blowing up your phone and texting you nonstop for the past few days. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken your door down yet.”

“And how would you know about the texts?” You drawled out.

Gojo deadpanned through the phone. “Angel. I live with him. Trust me, I know.”

In truth, Satoru had never seen the degree of crash-out Sukuna was displaying. If they thought Sukuna’s bad mood a few weeks ago was dreadful, this mood swing sent the pledge class into hiding. When he wasn’t checking his phone every ten minutes, he was scowling at anyone who entered within a five-foot radius. Toji and Gojo were the only two who were able to enter his berth without losing their heads, and even then, Sukuna could only stand their presence for a few minutes before he stormed out, irritated at the knowing glances Toji and Gojo exchanged. On the bright side, probably stemming from the fear and exhaustion he’s seen in pledges’ frames, Gojo has never seen the frat house cleaner. 

A twisted part of you revelled in the fact that Sukuna was as affected as you were. You hummed in satisfaction, to which you heard Gojo chuckle. “Maybe send him a message, just so he knows you're alive. If not for yourself, for my sake. I can’t deal with this tantrum for much longer.”

“I refuse to apologize or be held responsible for the behavior of a man-child.” You sniped. “If he wants to talk to me, he’ll have to beg.”

You heard the smugness in Gojo’s tone. “Careful what you wish for.”

After getting off your call with him, you sat, contemplating his words as you read over your notes in preparation for your lectures on Monday. While you still hadn’t read any of the numerous texts Sukuna had sent, you thought about opening and responding countless times. You were sympathetic to the plight of innocent pledges, but you also knew your anger was justified. It was strange, knowing there was some care Sukuna had for you, even if all his recent actions couldn’t demonstrate it. But you think back to the soup he made, the few ice pops left in the freezer, the lattes that sat ready for every study session, and his stupid hoodie that still sat in the corner of your room. It couldn’t mean nothing, and you knew, deep down, it didn’t. 

But even then, you knew what you wanted. You couldn’t be with someone where the physicality of it all was easy, but the words and actions were too hard. Regardless of your feelings for him, you wanted somebody you wanted you just as much, if not more. Even at your most angry, you didn’t ever seriously consider hooking up with someone else, and not out of some misplaced loyalty to Sukuna – you just couldn’t understand how someone could claim to be so interested in one person and sleep with someone else in such a short time frame. It grated on your nerves how all-consuming your stupid little crush became. It wasn’t like you didn’t have other options, but when Sukuna was right there, with his coral hair that curled slightly when it was damp, and his tattoos that contrasted with his tanned skin, and his frustratingly handsome smile that he only showed when he was feeling vulnerable…how could you be interested in another person?

You knew Sukuna didn’t owe anything to you; the two of you were “just friends”, after all. But he had a way of making you feel like you were someone that mattered to him, someone that he cared for, and someone he potentially wanted more with. For one moment, the kiss made it all feel possible. 

But the platitudes you’ve heard so many times echoed through your head like chants in a temple. If he wanted to, he would. Actions speak louder than words.  Hymns you’ve used more times than you can count in feeble attempts to protect yourself, and look how that turned out.  You would think yourself into a stupor trying to parse his behavior like a psychologist, so you opted to stop thinking about it altogether. You would stop worrying about what would happen when you saw each other on campus, or how you would be civil enough to finish working on your project together. You decided to nip the problem in the bud, to stop this agonizing over a man who sent you into such a spiral. You opened your phone, scrolling past the number of texts he’d sent, and drafted one of your own. 

you | Good evening. I’m texting to let you know that I will be finishing the project on my own time and no longer require your assistance. Your work in certain sections is appreciated and will be acknowledged with your name on the final submission. There is no need to further communicate with me, so at your earliest convenience, please delete my number. Good luck with your future endeavors.

You scanned it one more time before nodding in satisfaction, sending the message, and tossing your phone to the side. Not two minutes later, your phone began to ring.

Sukuna’s contact took over your phone screen, and you watched as the rings ran out, sending him to voicemail. A text pinged at the top of your screen.

sukuna | pick up your damn phone

His call rang again, and this time, you rejected it, sending him straight to voicemail. Not to be deterred, he called again, and you huffed, angrily shooting him another text.

you | Leave me the fuck alone.

you | I’m trying to ignore you. 

sukuna | well you’re doing a great fucking job at that

you | I don’t know who you think you’re texting with that attitude, but it’s certainly not me.

you | Try that again.

sukuna | you’re not finishing this project by yourself

you | Watch me.

you | I’d rather chew glass than have to sit in your presence.

You waited for a text in response, but your messages sat unread. As the sun set on Sunday evening, and you prepared yourself for the long week ahead, you waited for another text from him to pop up on your screen, but nothing ever arrived. It wasn’t until the next morning, when you plopped yourself down in the first lecture of the day, that you opened your computer and saw an email waiting for you:

From: Yaga, Masamichi <[email protected]>

CC: Sukuna, Ryomen <[email protected]>

Re: Issues with Partner Project

To whom it may concern, 

It has come to my attention that there seems to be an inequitable distribution of work amongst this particular partner group. Normally, I would leave disagreements to be settled between students, given you are no longer in kindergarten, but considering the strange, and might I add surprising, nature of the request I received, I felt it necessary to weigh in.

I felt I made it very clear the fair division of work for this project was imperative to earning a passing mark. Regardless of each student’s writing proficiencies and varying levels of engagement in our sessions, it is required that both students’ work be evident in the final submission. Clear evidence of a single student’s handiwork will result in immediate failure for both group members. 

I hope the two of you can reach a consensus quickly, considering the final submission is due in just little over two weeks.

Best of luck, 

Prof. M. Yaga

You blinked. Surely, this could not be in response to the text you sent? 

But as you rechecked your inbox, you saw a post-script email, addressed only to you from Prof. Yaga:

You cannot complete this project by yourself, no matter how much you want to. I am expecting to be able to see your partner’s work evident in this submission. I would hate to fail such a talented student.

You saw red. Your nostrils flared. You felt your fingers twitch over the keys dangerously, and you fought the urge to send the most passive-aggressive email back to Sukuna. Instead, in a blind rage, you snatched your phone off the desk and marched outside the classroom, shoving through the double doors into the quietest part of the campus quad, dialing Sukuna’s number, ready to give him an earful. 

The line had just barely been picked up before you began yelling into the receiver.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you pig-headed, low-life, entitled piece of shit!” You hissed, not caring to police your tone in front of the few students milling about the grassy area. “You told on me? You tattled to our professor? Like a fucking child?” You laughed vindictively, no humor evident in your tone. “Are we in preschool? You can’t deal with the consequences of your own actions, like some spoiled brat? Oh, fuck you.” Your tone was frosted as you repeated yourself, insult after insult spewing from your mouth, built up anger for days now coming out like a geyser. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Sukuna remained silent, simply listening to your battering and berating of him with the smallest, smug grin on his face. Yeah, he was getting cursed within an inch of his life, and yeah, he could feel your vitriol spewing through his phone’s speakers. He knew your voice was loud enough through the receiver for his surrounding frat brothers, casually lounging on the sofa nearby, to hear your insults and throw worried glances back, wondering if this exchange was bordering on domestic abuse. But judgment be damned, he couldn’t care less. He was just glad to hear you talking to him, saying his name, and acknowledging his existence. The radio silence was eating him alive, and the anger in your tone told him that you still cared – he wouldn’t have known what to do if you were apathetic to it all.

He waited until you had tired yourself out, your heavy breathing coming through the receiver, before he responded. “I’m just trying to make sure I’m carrying my load of the work,” he responded, trying to keep his tone level. He knew that sensing a hint of mirth in his tone meant you would send him packing, and he was already in the dog house for the stunt he pulled last week.

“Oh, sure. You didn’t care about that at all when you suggested I do all the work a few months ago.” You responded snippily.

“That was then. Before I cared about you.”

Your lip twitched. “You mean before you cared about your grade in this class?”

“No, I mean you.” Sukuna ignored the shocked glances his frat brothers sent him, wondering if he was talking about the same person who was just cursing his bloodline for generations to come. “I care about you.”

You fought against the flutter in your chest, a flurried betrayal of wings battering against your ribs. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Sukuna responded firmly. “I’m gonna prove it to you, I’m serious about you.”

You exhaled. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.” 

“I already fucked it up once. I’m not gonna do it again.”

You frowned, not sure whether to trust his words. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sukuna hummed. “You’ll see it.”

You twisted your lips, partially stunned for words, partially refusing to say anything else lest you embarrass yourself. Sukuna took the opportunity to fill the silence you created. 

“Do you want to meet in the library later to finish up the conclusion? I’ll be free the rest of the day.”

“I have plans,” you cut out, lying through your teeth.

“Fine. We’ll plan around you. When are you free?”

“Never.”

“Hm. That’s not conducive at all. What about 7:00?”

“I’m going to a seminar called ‘go fuck yourself’.”

“Sounds stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Maybe you should go to a comeback seminar instead, do they have those?”

You scoffed. “Goodbye.” You pulled your phone away from your ear to hang up, but his voice called out before you could hit the end button. 

“The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can stop seeing me.”

You closed your eyes, sighing. You hated when he was right.

“I’ll see you at 7, then?”

“Whatever, fine.”

“See you then.” He hung up the phone, and you stared at the dark screen, apprehension painted across your face. You didn’t have time to be frustrated by his insistence, not when your lecture had started five minutes ago. You grumbled, heading back inside to prepare for class. 

Back at the frat house, Sukuna grabbed a hoodie, tossing it over his shoulder, and snatched his backpack resting on the floor nearby. He heard Gojo call back from the foyer. “Where are you going? You don’t have class until noon.”

Sukuna grunted in response. “Gotta see about a girl.”

He slammed the door on his way out, missing the knowing grin Gojo had on his face. 

|||

Sukuna sat as the population of the library dwindled down to a few straggling students, the mood somber as the lone souls sat scattered across the floors of the library, the mountain of work surrounding them dauntingly high. While the rest of the students’ faces were sullen, Sukuna’s eyebrow ticked up as the clock’s minute hand shifted forward another notch. 

8:09 PM.

No text. No call. 

He would laugh if he weren’t so irritated.

He knew what you were doing. He wasn’t surprised by it either. You were simply calling back to his ignorant actions when you first met – his egregiously late showing to the first study session you had together. One would argue it’s poetic justice, forcing him to taste his own medicine. He’d expected nothing less from you.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to show up as late as you did in his hoodie.

The shades might’ve been overkill, considering the sky was a deep shade of purplish black by the time you waltzed into the library, finally gracing him with your presence. The large frames covered your face, a difference compared to the glasses you normally wear – he missed the way those sat on your face.

You stalked toward your usual table, and Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek, neglecting to comment on how cute you looked when you attempted to be brooding. You paused as you came across the empty chair sitting beside him. He raised his eyebrow in response. “Nice to see you made your way here. Did you get lost?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you gazed past him, grimacing at the open chair next to him instead of across the table where it normally rested. You walked around his sitting figure, approaching the empty chair from behind and picking it up, trotting both the chair and you around to the other side of the table as Sukuna looked on in bewilderment. The four legs of the chair hit the library’s floor with a resounding thunk, and you plopped yourself down, folding your arms over your chest. He could feel your withering gaze, only concealed by the dark tint of your shades. 

Your head ticked slightly to the side. “Here now. Let’s get this over with.”

Sukuna blew out a breath. He knew you were going to make this difficult, but he wasn’t prepared for how difficult you were going to be. No sense in beating around the bush, especially if this is already how you were acting. “We should talk about last Friday.”

You shook your head. “No.”

“We need to talk about it.”

“We don’t need to do anything but finish this damn project. And if we’re not gonna do that, then you wasted both of our time.”

“Fine. Then I’ll talk, and you can listen.”

“I’m not gonna sit here and listen to the excuses you scrambled to make.” You grabbed your bag, beginning to stand and exit, before you felt Sukuna’s hand grip your forearm. You head whipped back to glare at him, voice low. “Let. Go.”

“Let me explain.” His grip was like a vice, and as his fingers twitched, you could feel the slight, frantic desperation seeping through the pads of his digits. His eyes were still the hard, fire-forged red they usually were, but the centers were warm, as if lightened by the vulnerability he only seemed to be able to show you. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Please.”

The word sounded strange coming from his mouth, like it had been years since he’d uttered it. Your eyes met, his studying your face for signs of flight. You felt your features soften against their will. You hated how an earnest look and a pleading tone from him made you feel so weak and pliable.

You yanked your arm from his grip, dropping your bag and pushing your shades up your face. You folded your arms back across your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together, feigning strength in a moment you felt so little. “Fine. Explain.”

He took in a breath before beginning to talk. “I know I hurt you last week, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t matter, or that it – the kiss, I mean – didn’t mean anything to me, because it did.”

You pursed your lips, not giving him an inch. He scratched the back of his neck and continued. 

“I did hook up with Uraume, and I’m not gonna make excuses for it. It was fucked. I know that. And it was more fucked that I kissed you like that. It wasn’t fair to either of you, but I wouldn’t take it back.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve made that extensively clear.” You took a deep inhale, attempting to regulate your nervous system, now firing on all cylinders. “What does it matter to you anyway? We don’t owe each other anything. We’re not together, and I thought we agreed — ” 

“I swear to God, if you say ‘to be friends’, I’m gonna lose my shit.” He laughed humorlessly, his eyes sparking as his fingers threaded more aggressively through his hair. “Are you serious? I don’t know how much more obvious I can be.” He scoffed before stepping closer to you, his scent invading your senses, your glasses the last line of defense against his proximity. His gaze was too strong, too charged, too heated for you to maintain focus. You shifted down, looking off to the side, but he shook his head. 

“Look at me.”

It was your turn to swallow. Time started to catch like molasses being poured out of a jar. 

“I am looking at you,” you said, your voice reduced to a whisper.

“No,” he shook his head as he reached up toward your face. You instinctively flinched back, but his touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the burning look in his eyes as he pulled your shades off, his gaze locking with yours as your neck tilted up to face him. “Look at me when I say this to you.”

You held your breath.

“I don’t wanna be your fucking friend.”

Exhale. Your chest rose and fell as his eyes flicked down to your mouth, slightly parted in surprise as his irises darkened. Flashes of the kiss ran across your mind like film strips in a projector, and you struggled to keep your breathing normal. 

“I want you.”

There it was. Out in the open now, undeniable, irrefutable, resistant to your self-convinced state of denial. You felt your arms squeeze tighter against your sides. “Then why did you – ”

He cut you off. “She asked me weeks ago. And I thought you – I thought it would be best if I back off when it didn’t seem like you were interested.”

He seemed to move impossibly closer as his voice fell to a hush, its deep rumble caressing your spine. 

“You set a boundary, and I wanted to respect that. I tried to. But – ” 

His fingers twitched beside him as he resisted reaching for you again. He blinked, trying not to lose himself in your wide eyes, his pupils slightly blown.

“I don’t think I can anymore.”

Your breath caught. You searched his face and were taken aback at the raw emotion behind his confession. For a moment, it felt like you were back on the balcony, cornered, pressed against a column, every nerve singing, lit on fire by the vigor in his tone and eyes. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you saw his eyes track it, as if he remembered how you tasted that night, the kiss sweet and fiery and intoxicating in ways that clearly left you both craving more. 

Your eyes fought to stay on his, and like he sensed your apprehension, he closed his, letting out a breath of frustration and control, taking a step back and breaking the charged sphere you two had entered. 

“Sorry. That wasn’t – I didn’t mean to say that. Fuck, I mean, I did, but not like that.” He palmed his forehead, his frustration with his own ineptitude that caused him to stumble over his own words. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with that. That’s not why I asked you to come.”

“So why did you ask me to come?” You could hear the exasperation in your tone, weariness pulling at your features as your frown deepened.

His shoulders slouched, mirroring your exhaustion. Such an intimidating figure, reduced to your whims. 

“To apologize. To say sorry to your face.”

“Well, you did that. Mission accomplished.” You twisted your mouth in vain attempts to stop the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

You couldn’t begin to say why you were getting emotional.

A confession, finally, begot by a night defined by drunken actions. Not how you wanted it, not how you planned, and very much not when you needed it to happen.

But was it too little, too late?

“Anything else?”

A pause.

“I needed to see if you’d give me another chance.”

“To do what?” Your facade crumbled with every earnest look he gave, his words like well-aimed arrows piercing your armor.

“Study with you.”

You exhaled shakily. He pressed forward.

“To let you know that I wanna be more than your project partner.”

Your hands flew up to your eyes, not being able to take the intensity of his look. Your fingers pressed into the sockets, as if trying to wipe him from your vision. “Sukuna, what are you doing?” You whispered.

A rhetorical question, asked from a place of denied delusion, your head spinning like you were wondering if the words coming out of his mouth were a figment of your traitorous imagination. 

He continued. “I’m done dancing around this with you. I had to tell you before you decided to never speak to me again.”

“So you’re telling me in the middle of the library?”

“Seemed kinda fitting, don’t you think?”

You shuddered out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “No. Fuck you. You don’t get to make jokes right now.”

“Sorry.” 

There wasn’t a hint of remorse in his tone.

You felt his hands curl around your wrist, hesitant, but tender as they pulled your palms gently down from your face, and you blinked back tears to focus on him.

“I’m not good at this. I haven’t done…this, before, but you make me wanna try. And I know I fucked things up before, but I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance like you did when we first met.” He paused, waiting for any sign of resistance or rejection before continuing. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been told I’m a pretty quick learner.”

This time, your laugh was watery, shock, humor, and disbelief all rolled together in a way that chimed in Sukuna’s ears. “Oh yeah? Who lied to you and said that?”

“Some girl who already called me out of my name, like, four hours ago.”

You shook your head slightly. “You deserved it.”

“Yeah, I did.” He didn’t try to put up a fight. “I’m sorry.”

His thumb caressed your inner palm before he pulled away entirely, shoving his hands into his pockets, afraid he would cross a line too soon after being granted the slightest bit of clemency from you. 

You both already missed each other’s touch. 

He gazed fondly at you while you fondled the slightly worn, frayed sleeves of his hoodie. He cocked his head to the side, gesturing to the table where his notes sat splayed open. “Help me draft the conclusion?”

You paused, thinking of how to respond, wiping your waterline dry from formed tears.

“Sukuna, I can’t give you an answer right now.”

“I’m not expecting you to.”

“I just need time to think. It’s just been, I don’t know, a lot, to say the least.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He’d lost track of the number of times he’d said it to you. More than he probably had throughout his college career, but he didn’t care. He’d say it a thousand times more, as many times as you needed to hear it before you’d believe him. 

“I know it’s late, but…” he trailed off, his head nodding over to the textbooks and readings, lying abandoned on the table, inanimate witnesses to a long-awaited confession. 

You stared at him before nodding, wordlessly following his lead and sitting down, beginning to pull out your laptop. The two of you worked quietly, burning the midnight oil as more students filtered out, and the two of you were left surrounded by the shelves of books and volumes of words left unspoken.

Well into your study session, you purposefully ignored looking at him when you asked your next question. “What would you have done if I refused to come?”

He paused, thinking of his answer. “Before getting on my hands and knees to beg? Maybe threatened to delete everything we worked on thus far.”

“Well, God forbid you do that. I still need to pass.” You raised an eyebrow as you considered his second statement. “So, is hands and knees begging still an option, or…?”

He snorted. “In your dreams, princess. Not since I know that you like me at least a little.”

“Shouldn’t that be more of an incentive? I thought princesses got what they wanted.”

He scratched his chin and looked up at you playfully. “Can’t pull out all the stops here. Week’s barely started. Besides, if you think I’m getting on my knees for you in the middle of the library, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

Your stomach flipped at the prospect of him doing anything else. “Oh, so there’s more?”

“As long as you want there to be.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure how to. And like a clairvoyant, he was already tuned to what you were thinking. 

“I don’t need you to tell me yes or no right now. But, I need to know there’s a chance. That I’m not sitting here, trying to convince you of something you don’t want.”

The silence rested heavy between you as the pads of your fingers pressed along the keys, their clacking puncturing each second as Sukuna waited patiently, hopefully, for an affirmation. 

You were gracious enough to give him one.

“I’m still wearing the hoodie, aren’t I?”

|||

“Is that him?” 

You walked patiently behind the mass of students exiting the classroom. The session passed slowly with anxious students asking as many questions as possible before the onslaught of exam season hit. Unfortunately for you, your partner TA was out sick for the day, meaning you were the only one fielding questions. You were already tired, and had another two classes to go before you could go back home and crawl into bed. You sighed as the mass trickled outside like water dripping from a leaky faucet – agonizingly slow.

“Yeah, I think it is!” A hushed, excited whisper came from the young sophomore standing in front of you, pointing at a figure standing across the hallway and giggling to her friend next to her. “He is so freaking hot.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. You couldn’t be sure who the girls were talking about, but you were certain it was some senior idiotic student athlete they had no business being interested in. As politely as you could, you began to shimmy past the two girls, rushing to make it to your next class across campus. “Excuse me,” you said, apologizing as you pushed past. 

You picked up your stride, dodging the students strolling through the hallway when your spine stiffened at the sound of your name being called.

Your entire face tightened. Of course, it wasn’t just any idiotic student athlete – it was yours. At least, your project partner.

You registered his voice faster than you wanted to, and your steps faltered before you picked them up again, this time faster than before. You heard the two underclassmen whisper in confusion, wondering why the campus’s notorious rake was chasing after their relatively unassuming TA, and you flushed, trying to escape before the gossip ring suffocated you.

You heard him curse before his footsteps quickened, and before you could protest, he was walking next you, stride by side. “You walk so damn fast,” He gruffed out. 

“Gotta get to class.” You hiked your bag higher on your shoulder, the computers and textbooks feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. 

His eyes took in your wince of pain at the weight of your bag. He held out his hand. “Let me.”

You balked, your hand tightening on the strap. He rolled his eyes at your apprehension. “Stop being dumb. Give me your bag.”

“I can carry it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that. Give it to me.”

“Once again, I’m fine.” You seethed, shouldering away from him.

“Your arm looks like it’s about to fall off.”

You scoffed. “You calling me weak?”

“Yes.” He took matters into his own hands, snatching the strap off your shoulder against your protests, and hiking it up on his. You had to admit, it was a funny sight to see, Sukuna with your ivory green bag hung over his shoulder, your charms and keychain dangling off it. He adjusted it a couple of times, clearly not expecting it to weigh as much as it did. “Where’s your next class?”

You raised your eyebrow. “You are not about to walk me to my next lecture. Are we fifteen?”

He sucked his teeth. “Well, I have your bag now, so I don’t know how you’ll attend class if I don’t.”

You rolled your tongue along your cheek. “You must be stupid if you think this is gonna make up for what you did.”

“And you must be more stupid if you think this is all I’m doing.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and stalking forward, refusing to face him or let him hear the fact that your heart skipped a beat. “Stupider. The phrase would be stupider.”

“That’s why I gotta keep hanging around you. You make me smarter.”

“That’s the only reason? Because I’m smart?”

He shrugged. “You’re not bad to look at either.”

You were irritated by how cloudy your demeanor was compared to Sukuna’s light, airy nature. He took his steps casually, but also cautiously, aware that you hadn’t totally forgiven him and trying not to push your boundaries too far. It was a delicate balance you both were traipsing between, with him trying to prove his feelings and you pretending not to be interested in his attempts. You knew it, and Sukuna basked in the light at the end of the tunnel – you were giving him a chance, and that was all he needed.

“So, this is your big plan, then?” You said, snark encompassing the curiosity in your tone. “The princess treatment?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it, then sure.” He glanced at you with the smallest smirk on his face, his dimples poking out and accentuating his face. 

“Knew you liked the nickname.”

You exhaled through your nose and faced forward, continuing to walk and deciding you were done speaking with him. 

You both ambled in silence, trekking through the middle of campus and collecting stares along the way. You knew Sukuna was used to the attention he received, but you surely weren’t.

He took in the anxiety on your face. “What?”

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Besides being unwillingly escorted to class? Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“Bullshit. It’s all over your face. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…” you hesitated, eyes flicking between the confused glances and lingering gazes. You pushed your frames up the bridge of your nose, the familiar motion soothing. “People are staring.”

He surveyed the area, onlookers whipping their heads away when they accidentally made eye contact. He scoffed. Pathetic. “Let them.”

“Not scared I’ll ruin your reputation?”

“Don’t really care, princess.”

He said it with such finality that it didn’t leave room for argument.

You bit your lip as you continued to walk. At what point was it cruel to let him do this? To pull him along on a string, to lead him on when you didn’t know if you could commit to him? You weren’t entirely sure what you were waiting on, if it was holding out to hear a magic phrase that could undo the mistakes that were made, or some grand, meaningful romantic gesture that seems to come out of the movies you’ve seen so many times with Shoko and Utahime. But was that not what had happened in the library yesterday? Maybe you were waiting for the hurt to stop feeling so fresh, for the cold delivery of Uraume’s words to stop feeling like it was a dagger, perfectly cut to the shape of your core, slicing through the emotions you had just begun to acknowledge. 

You hadn’t come to a conclusion by the time you reached the building for your next class, the familiarity of your classmates sporting various levels of emotion, from shock to surprise, from approval to downright confusion at Sukuna dropping you off at the front door.

He shouldered your bag off handing it to you by the strap. “I’ve got class at noon, so I can meet you in the caf around 1:30?”

You raised your eyebrow. “Who said I wanted to have lunch with you?”

He exhaled. “Ok. Let me rephrase. I’ll be free at 1:30, and I’d like to have lunch with you. Will you meet me in the caf?”

You waited a beat.

He flicked his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Please?”

You gave him a small smile. “See? Not so hard. Could do without the attitude, though.”

You took your bag from his hands, and he put his hands in his pockets. “So was that a yes for lunch?”

You shrugged. “If I feel like it.” You threw a wave over your shoulder as you stepped inside your senior seminar class, greeting your peers you’d been working with for the past few months. 

A nice girl, with whom you had been friendly all semester, glanced at you peculiarly. “Were you talking with Sukuna just now?”

You nodded, hoping that would be the end of the questioning.

“Are you guys, like, together?”

You let out a small laugh, opening up your laptop. “He wishes.”

You clicked open your texts to see that your group chat with your girlfriends had new messages to read. 

utahime | sho and i going off campus for lunch today! anyone want to join?

shoko | ramen shop nearby has an awesome lunch special that i wanna check out

yuki | i’d be down

yuki | can i bring cho?

shoko | NO

shoko | your bf cannot come everywhere with us yuki 

yuki | he’ll pay

shoko | …

shoko | ok this time i’ll allow it

Shoko emphasized your name in the chat.

shoko | are you coming or what?

you | I think I have lunch plans

utahime | you think???

shoko | with who?

shoko | who could be more important and interesting than us?

yuki | her boyf

you | Not my boyfriend

yuki | sorry, soon-to-be boyf

shoko | NOT HIM

utahime | i thought we were done with him

yuki | i thought so too

yuki | what could have possibly changed in two days?

shoko | to be fair a lot

shoko | it doesn’t take a long time with these two

To your chagrin, Yuki and Utahime both laughed at Shoko’s message.

you | shut up

you | idk 

you | He said please, I guess

yuki | oh wow, that’s actually a new one for him

utahime | the bar is in hell

yuki | wait i wanna lunch with you guys then

you | It wasn’t exactly an open invite

yuki | does it sound like i care?

yuki | not everyday you get to see sukuna groveling

utahime | wait so you said yes to lunch?

you | Not exactly

utahime | but you didn’t say no either?

you | Correct

shoko | should we unpack that orrrr

you | I’d actually rather not, thanks

With that, you exited the chat, putting your focus back on the lecturer, ignoring the way your stomach grumbled. 

|||

The campus’s cafeteria was alive with bustling students and raucous chatter, under and upperclassmen alike carrying trays of food through the long dining hall, searching for a place of respite to take twenty minutes to fuel themselves for the trek ahead. You weren’t sure how you were gonna find Sukuna in the mass of students, but you didn’t have to worry because his eyes found you first. He called out your name as he walked toward you.

“You came,” he said, slight surprise clear.

“I gotta eat.”

He hummed, following you to the line with a choice meal. You looked over your options and selected something new on the menu. Sukuna frowned as you reached for your order. “That looks like shit.”

“Sukuna! They can hear you.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure they agree with me. It looks like literal ass. Don’t get that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine. Then let me suggest. I don’t think you’ll like that one.”

“Well, good thing no one asked you what you were thinking.” You thanked the server as you took your food, heading toward the end of the aisle to pay.

He rolled his eyes at your retort, ordering and dragging his tray of food behind you. Once you got to the cashier to pay, you fumbled for your card, only for Sukuna to extend his, reaching across you to hand it to the worker. “I got it.”

You whipped over to glare at him. “You are not paying for my meal.”

You reached to pull his hand away from the register, but he dodged, shoulder-checking you out of the way and pushing you out of line. “Stop being difficult. It’s just lunch.”

The cashier’s nails clicked against the screen as she took his card, swiping it and handing it back to him. “Not to intrude, but it’s honestly the bare minimum.”

Sukuna looked at you pointedly. “See? Bare minimum.”

You deadpanned, your grip tightening on your tray, and you turned your back on him, pivoting on your heel, looking for a free table to eat at. You set toward one near the edge of the room and set your bag down on the ground nearby with a thunk, with Sukuna following suit, taking the seat next to you. As you sat in the chair, he eyed the distance you put between yourself and him, and with his free hand, he grabbed the support beam underneath your seat, pulling you closer to him, his bicep flexing and the chair making an ugly scraping noise along the linoleum floors. By the time he stopped, you could not only smell the lunch he’d ordered, but him, who smelt of rain and sandalwood and all-around just too damn good for it to be the middle of the day. You stiffened in your seat as your knees brushed each other underneath the table. “You’re in my space,” you grumbled, pulling your tray closer to your body.

“Cope.” He said, already beginning to fork food in his mouth, adamant on not moving any further away.

You fiddled with your utensils, staring down at your meal. “So, are you just gonna follow me around for the rest of the day?”

His shoulders went up and down. “Until you tell me to stop.” He looked up from his plate and locked eyes with you, his gaze serious with a touch of vulnerability. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

You broke your gaze first, staring down at your tray. You gnawed on the inside of your bottom lip, unsure how to answer. 

He chased your eyes, leaning down to find your gaze again. “Do you?”

You landed on the truth. “No,” you mumbled, voice low and soft.

Sukunua felt the tension leave his shoulders, anxiety dissipating off his frame. “Ok. So I’ll keep following you around, and you can keep pretending not to like it.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t like it.”

“Uh huh. Sure, princess.”

You couldn’t protest any further before Gojo and Toji arrive from behind, clapping Sukuna on his back. You saw him visibly tense, clearly irritated by the interruption. “What’s up, lovebirds?” Satoru chided, taking the seat next to you while Toji sat next to Sukuna. 

Sukuna scowled. “What do you want?”

“The team’s wondering why you’re not sitting with them.” Satoru winks at you. “We see why.”

Toji chuckled, thumping Gojo on the back of his head. “Stop flirting with her before he kills you.”

“He won’t kill me. Not as long as she tells him not to.” Gojo’s eyes found yours, humor dancing behind his pupils. “Tell him not to kill me.”

You smirked, tilting your head to the side to look at Sukuna, who was already giving you the deadest stare back. “Don’t,” he gruffed out.

“Please don’t kill him.”

“How about seriously maim or injure?”

“Please don’t do that either.” Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “He’s your friend, y’know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Gojo groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Ugh, you guys are disgusting. I miss when you hated each other.”

“Says they’re number one, certified wing man.” Toji cajoled, reaching to steal food off Sukuna’s plate, who immediately smacked his hand away aggressively. “You’re just mad she didn’t want you.” 

Gojo had flipped Toij off from across the table when you heard your name called, and you saw Yuki and Choso heading toward your group, their lunches in hand. It was almost as if you could see the dark cloud forming above Sukuna’s head as they dragged chairs up to your table, propping themselves across from you. 

Choso greeted his friends while Yuki said hello to you. She eyed the distance between you and Sukuna and nudged your leg with her foot underneath the table, her eyebrow flicking up, and a repressed smile causing an upturn in her mouth. You shook your head slightly, telling her to disengage.

You felt Sukuna’s eyes on you as you picked over your food. Yuki glanced between you and Sukuna and looked at your full plate of food. “Damn, is the lunch that bad?”

“It’s fine, I’m just not that hungry.” 

As if cued, your stomach grumbled, and you froze in embarrassment, giving her a sheepish grin. 

You felt Sukuna grunt beside you. “Told ya you wouldn’t like that shit.”

“It’s fine,” you insisted. “It could just use a little salt. And pepper. And flavor in general…” 

You trailed off, looking at Yuki bashfully. Sukuna nudged your tray forward away from you and almost imperceptively pushed his between to share. “Don’t eat that shit. Here.” He said, voice swallowed up by the conversation surrounding him. 

“I don’t wanna eat your food.”

“I’m not gonna finish it all anyway.”

A lie. You’ve seen him and his teammates inhale meals like they were professional bodybuilders, calories or recommended portion control be damned. He’d even requested double portions today to load up for a scrimmage later today. He would have finished the entire portion and yours easily. 

You stared at him, and he stared back, unwavering. Finally, you cracked, your hand gingerly reaching out to steal fries off his tray. You murmur a thanks, and he nods, turning back to Toji to join in whatever argument he’d started with Choso and Satoru. 

Whether or not your tablemates saw what just happened, they gave you the grace of ignoring it, but you couldn’t help but be suspicious of the tiny knowing smile on Yuki’s face. 

After the lunch hour was up, you stood to throw away your trash and walked back to the table to see Sukuna already standing with your bag. He looked up at you from his phone and asked where your next move class was. You went to respond before Yuki cut in. 

“Actually, loverboy, I’m gonna steal her away for a bit. I’ve been meaning to catch up with her, but she’s such a busy woman.” She patted you on the shoulder, a gleam in her eye telling you that you knew you were about to face a serious interrogation. 

Sukuna looked ready to protest, but Yuki silenced him with a wave of her hand. “You’re not bound by the hip. You won’t die if you’re separated for a few hours. You’ll be fine.” She snatched up your bag from his hands and held it to your chest. “She’ll catch up with you later.”

Yuki hooked her arm through yours and went to exit the cafeteria, shouting goodbyes to the boys you all left behind. 

As soon as you were out of earshot, Yuki’s arms shoved your side, sending you stumbling off course. “Um, hello? Lunch, carrying your bag? What did I miss?”

You raised your hand to your brow, trying to rub away the stress marks Yuki’s questioning was already forming. “Yuki, please - “

“No matter. I have the perfect place for you guys to hard launch to the rest of campus.”

“We’re not dating,” you mumbled, but Yuki barreled forward. 

“Sig Chi is throwing this Friday! We should definitely go, and I can get you on the list.”

“When has partying ever been the solution to something?”

“It’s always worked out for me,” Yuki shrugged. “But I digress. It’s kinda a joint thing, so most of the guys will be there. It’ll be fun, and it’s themed!”

“Oh joyous.”

Yuki pouted. “You used to be so much fun. What happened?”

“Well, the last time you invited me to a party, I ended the night crying in an ice cream shop.”

“Perf, then we can only go up from here!”

You rolled her eyes at her grating optimism. “What’s the theme?”

“Little White Lies.” You swore, her eyes sparkled as she shared the concept behind it.

“Y’know, for someone who claims to be so loosely associated with Greek life, you sure do love the social events.”

“Yeah, me and every other bitch. Trust me, I’ve seen half of those AGL’s drunk in a frat basement before. Everyone’s a hypocrite, I am just willing to own up to it.” She grabbed your arm, shaking you gently. “So, will you come? Pleeeaaaseeeee?”

You felt your extended eye roll turn into a long blink, and the next thing you knew, your eyesight was impaired by the lack of lighting in the frat house and the contents of your cup which sat drained quicker than you had anticipated. 

It had been a long week, to say the least. Your brain fired back and forth between options, and Sukuna wasn’t making it any easier on your part. The gestures seemed to only get more elaborate, from walking you to class, to showing up early to your seminar with your coffee order in hand, his bedhead still evident and voice still gruff from his body being up before his mind. It almost seemed the more you tried to dig your heels in the ground, the more determined Sukuna seemed to prove himself to you. You struggled with the position you were putting both of you in, but you also knew a sick truth: at any point, you could have told him to stop, and he would have, without hesitation. You never did, and he gave you the grace of not mentioning it.

The end of the semester project came and went, with the brief class presentations of findings showcasing the wide variety of students’ preparation and levels of understanding of the material they studied for weeks. You and Sukuna’s was concise and clean, as to the point like a needle in a sewing kit, topped off with a nod of approval from Prof. Yaga himself. At the end of class, he beckoned the two of you to his desk, staring at your approaching figures over the rims of his glasses. 

He folded his hands as he spoke. “Now, I won’t lie, I was worried about the contents and quality of your work, given the worrying email I received a few weeks prior.”

You braced for impact, but his next words threw you for a loop. 

“But I must admit, you two surprised me.”

You blinked. 

He continued. “Based on my preliminary readings and the presentation you all gave today, it seems like you both have a firm grasp on the material provided, and melded your writing voices and opinions together well to form one coherent sound.”

Sukuna stiffened. “Um, thank you?”

Yaga nodded, glancing between you two, the barest hint of a smile playing at his lips. 

“You work well together.”

You wanted to scream. If only.

The hell you went through this semester, and the hell you were going through this past week alone, was enough to drive you into a deep slumber akin to hibernation, not waking until the promised bright spring day of graduation warmed your face with its rays. You felt the silence between you two as you exited the classroom. You shrugged your back higher as you glanced over at him. The end of the semester, the end of the enforcement of being in each other’s presence, the realization of this potential ending stung like the cold bite of the late November winds, icy and bitter.

You hadn’t anticipated it being so anti-climactic.

“So,” you started. “It sounds like we did well.”

“Yup.”

“I’m glad. I was nervous there for a second.” You chuckled nervously. Why were you nervous? You couldn’t say as you kept talking. “I was worried our third argument was weaker than our first two, but that supporting source you found at the last second really helped bolster it.”

He crinkled his brows, looking sideways at you while keeping your pace with his hands in his pockets. He called out your name, but your words overwhelmed him. 

“I also thought we were gonna need another run through before presenting, but you’re a super solid presenter. I guess that comes with being in the business school, but you spoke really well, and you even added one of the facts that completely slipped my mind. Thanks for that, by the way.”

He called your name again, this time more forcefully. Your lips snapped shut. 

“What are you doing?”

You felt your mouth go dry. He reads you so easily now, so intimately, it’s chilling. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re rambling.”

“No, I’m not.”

He gave you a look. “We did fine. We did better than fine. Yaga’s such a hard ass that the review we got was practically glowing. You know this.”

You stayed silent. 

He asked again. “What’s wrong?”

A million answers ran through your head. A confession, an acceptance, a forgiveness you’d been ready to extend when you heard him apologize in the library, a prideful snark you couldn’t bear to let go of. You didn’t want this, whatever it was, to end. 

But why were you struggling so hard to just say that?

“Are you going to the party tomorrow?”

His eyes stared hard at you. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

A moment passed. You didn’t falter. He sighed softly, letting you get away with it.

“Sure, if you’re going.”

Your last conversation is why you couldn’t help but search for a particular pink head of hair in the crowd. You pulled at your tank top, crudely written words decorating its front in black ink while you rested your head against a wall, Yuki making conversation with a girl you weren’t familiar with. You trailed your eyes lazily over the throngs of people dancing, drinking, and laughing throughout the house. You felt a body slide next to your space against the wall. They took a sip of their drink before casting a sideways smirk at you. “Not your scene?”

You shrugged. “Just bored.”

“Maybe I can change that.” You caught a glance of his side profile, piercings adorning the crest of his ear, his hair cropped close to his head, plastered around his dome, not to be helped by the heat radiating off the bodies that surrounded them. Despite the feverish state of the room, this stranger felt inclined to move even closer to you. You pressed your body against the wall, in hopes its walls would concave and absorb you. 

You let out a puff of air in sardonic laughter. “I doubt that.”

“Yeah? Well, let me get you a drink.”

Your grip tightened over the mouth of the cup. “I’m good, actually.”

“Come on,” he dragged, his face getting closer, the liquor on his breath almost palpable. “It’s just one drink.”

You wrinkled your nose, using your knuckles to press against his chest. “Can you chill?”

His grin was slimy as it grew across his face, his hand locking yours against him, his grip like iron. You tugged your arm away, but his grip only tightened. “Don’t be such a - ”

“Hey.” That dark tone, you’d recognize it anywhere. Both you and the stranger’s heads whipped over to Sukuna, brooding in front of you, eyes cold and hard like concrete. The guys’ grip loosened just enough for you to rip your arm from his grasp. You gave him a disgusted look as you stepped away, Sukuna subtly stepped between, putting more distance between you two as he used his fingers to gently guide you behind him. He glanced down at you, the facade behind his eyes cracking softly as he scanned you over. 

“You ok?” He mumbled. 

You nodded back. “I’m fine.”

The guy’s grating voice chimed back in as he observed you two. “Ah, I see. You’re Sukuna’s new plaything. Heard rumors, but didn’t think it was true.” He took a step back, putting his hands up in signs of surrender. “My bad man, you got it.” He smirked as he eyed you up and down, still walking away.

You scowled as the party’s crowd absorbed him, and you glanced up at Sukuna to see his jaw clenched, a vein in the side of his head popping out. He met your gaze, his eyes serious. “I don’t call you a plaything. He’s just an asshole.”

“I figured.” Your eyes shot down to his thick, tanned arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still scanning to make sure he was truly gone. “When’d you get here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe five minutes ago?”

“Are you drinking?”

“Of course. Just went looking for you first.”

Your heart fluttered as you bit the inside of your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling. You held up your empty cup for him to take. 

“Top me off?”

He rolled his eyes, but took the cup from your hands, mumbling that he’d be right back. 

He gripped the top of your cup as he pushed his way through the swath of bodies, heading to the kitchen to pour you a new drink and himself a triple of whatever he got you. 

This past week consisted of Sukuna putting more effort into you than he had for most of his collegiate career. Early morning wake-ups to be waiting at the door of your classroom before you arrived, late nights walking you back from the library when you crammed for an important exam that had you stressed. A late-night run to the convenience store when you ran out of food for Miso, the suffering through your TA office hours listening to freshmen and sophomores ask the most moronic questions he’d ever heard, just to spend time with you. Snack breaks, coffee runs, and campus lunches sprinkled in between; he had never felt more out of his element. 

And yet, it felt natural. Not like work, and not like a burden, because he wanted to do it, and he wanted to do it for you. 

He slid through the contingent of frat men hovering around the bar area, searching for something sweet but not too strong that you typically get. He grabbed a handle and began to pour when he felt eyes on him. He glanced up, only for his face to fall when he saw who was smirking back at him. He grunted. “Naoya.”

“Ryomen.”

Sukuna went to reach for the nearest mixer, hoping his silence would be the end of the conversation. If he could only be so lucky. 

“Nice girl you got there. She’s pretty. Not your usual type, though.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, instead focusing on eyeing how much was going into your cup. You’d definitely already had some drinks in you, and he wanted to make sure you still had a good time while not getting you sick. 

Naoya continued, unperturbed by his lack of response. “I thought you were fucking that girl on the swim team? The brunette, remember? Didn’t have much to work with, but she gave great head.”

Sukuna set the bottle down with a bit too much force, the glass clanking against the countertop. He clenched his teeth, reaching to pour himself another shot. 

“Or what about that cheerleader? She was a fucking dime, man. Too bad she was ran through. She’s fucked half of my chapter. Can’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

Sukuna refrained from mentioning how many girls had the displeasure of sleeping with Naoya by throwing the glass back, immediately reaching to pour another shot. 

Naoya slid a cup over, gesturing for him to pour him one too. Sukuna gave him the dirtiest glance and pulled himself back from spitting in his drink as Naoya’s voice droned on. “Nah, she must not run in any of those circles. I’ve never seen her before.” Naoya side-eyed him, a malicious grin evident. “Clearly, you went out of your way for this one. Had to have someone no one else has touched, right? Nice picking, though. She’s hot. Real nerdy type, and they’re always killers.”

Sukuna slid his drink back with so much force the liquor nearly sloshed from the cup. Naoya wrapped his hands around it, cheering to Sukuna before downing the contents. He shook his head, crumpling the cup and tossing it to the side haphazardly. It was then that Toji strolled into the kitchen, closely followed by Satoru, who immediately took note of the situation and glanced at Sukuna, trying to see if an intervention was needed. He shook his head imperceptively, telling them not to engage. They nodded back, grabbing beers from the fridge and greeting Naoya.

“Hey man, long time no see. Nice party.” Satoru said, ever trying to be the diplomat. He couldn’t figure out what they’d just walked into, but all he knew is Sukuna was maybe two shots away from causing a scene he knew their frat president would be livid about having to deal with. 

Naoya shrugged. “It’s whatever. The pledges are idiots. We lost most the decent crossbids to you, and the ones we got can’t throw for shit.” Naoya cocked his head toward Sukuna, who stared ahead at the wall, attempting to control his temper. “I was telling your pledge master that the girl he brought is hot as fuck. She looks like one of those types that’s all quiet and shit until you start fucking them, then they can’t shut up.”

Toji’s grip tightened around his beer bottle while Gojo’s back stiffened. He glanced between Sukuna and Naoya, the former not seeming to react to the latter’s comment. “Yo, dude, chill with that. You sound crazy.”

“I’m just saying. Let me know when you get bored with that, so I can show her a good time.” Naoya commented, clapping Sukuna on his shoulder. 

Toji chuckled mirthlessly. Gojo sighed. He could hear the discordant snapping of a violin string, the line too far crossed for Sukuna to pull himself back. And here he was, hoping for one drama free night.

Sukuna’s head turned ever so slightly to the side, glaring at Naoya from the corners of his eyes. “What?” His voice was low, barely legible over the sounds of the party, but anger radiating from his tone palpable enough to be felt around the room. 

“Lemme know when you’re done fucking her, so I can take her for a spin after.” Naoya looked at Sukuna’s reaction, his eyes blazing, and added, as if probing. “Unless you haven’t fucked her yet. Nerdy girls probably play hard to get. Typical. Just let me know and I can fuck her first, make it easier for you. Bitches like that need to be broken in, then they’re easy money - ”

To be honest, Sukuna would have been disgusted by Naoya talking about anyone like that. But because it was you, especially because it was you, he let pure, hot instinct take over, not caring about social consequences or fraternal relationships. He was graduating in a semester, and he’d been waiting to do this since he met Naoya during rush three years ago.

He didn’t even realize he’d thrown a punch until the crowd gasped and shouted in shock, Naoya’s hands flying to cover his face, his body staggering but not going down. Sukuna looked down at his own fist, knuckles already pulsing from the impact and starting to bruise. 

Huh, he thought to himself. Must’ve been that last shot. His punches normally were a lot stronger. 

Naoya wailed, blood spurting from his nose as his eyes found Sukuna’s in anger. “Jesus Christ, man, what the fuck was that?”

Sukuna shook out his hand, voice ice cold. “Do everyone a favor, and shut the fuck up and die.”

He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving a fuming Naoya behind with Satoru and Toji closely trailing. 

Gojo shook his head. “Prez is gonna kill you for that.”

“Yeah, well he can go eat shit. Everyone’s been wanting to do that since freshman year.” Sukuna glanced over at Toji as if waiting for a comment. 

Toji only shrugged. “Nice punch. Good swing. Needed more follow through.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. I’m ten shots deep.” He shook his friends on his shoulder, walking back around the house to find you. He stopped when he saw you on the porch with Yuki and Choso, your eyes glancing around as if searching for someone. He felt his cheek twitch before he stepped out into the chilly night, handing you your cup. “Here.”

You took it from his hands, whispering thanks. “What took you so long?”

“Got held up.”

Your face crinkled in confusion before you glanced back down at his hand, slightly smeared with blood. You looked back up, eyes slightly wide. “Is that yours?”

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

You exhaled, dropping the topic and raising the cup to your lips, taking a long sip. Sukuna’s eyes trailed down your neck, settling on your shirt as his eyes scanned the words on your chest. 

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Is that about me?” 

You smiled into the rim of your cup. “What, this?” You glanced down, tugging the end hem of your white tank, the neckline sliding down, just barely revealing the top of your lacy bra that sat underneath.

I Hate Him. Big, black swoopy letters in the same handwriting he’d been reading all semester. 

“Well, it’s not for Satoru.”

“Thank God for that,” Sukuna came forward, using his fingers and looping them into your belt strap, tugging you close to him. Your hips lurched forward, and the rest of your body followed suit, your wrist curling around your cup, its plastic shell being the only thing that separated your chests. “So,” his voice dropped down to a whisper, caressing your ears and gliding down your neck, encasing you two in an intimate moment, the surrounding party left behind. His thumb crept up, up, up, over the waistband of your jeans, the pad of his finger lighting a trail across your hip, where the tiniest sliver of skin was left exposed. His eyes flashed as he looked at you. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Any other moment, you would have been mortified to be caught in such a position, on the front porch of raging party in the background, but with you three, four, five drinks in, and the guy you’ve liked for weeks, whose mouth and eyes and body you couldn’t get out of your head since you kissed, standing mere inches in front of you, staring you down like you were the only person around clouded your judgement the way his maroon eyes were – to be frank, you couldn’t give a damn.

“Do you want to be forgiven?”

His response was immediate. Firm, but charged, like his words were aimed directly at your heart. “Yes. Please. Forgive me. I’m sorry.”

The grin that stretched along your face was cat-like. “I like when you beg.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it.” His tone went gruff, but the lilt in his smile gave him away, his canines glinting in the soft moonlight. 

His words dissipated, but his grin didn’t fade as he held your gaze, his thumb still gently brushing your hip. His eyes dipped down to your mouth until he dragged them back up again. His voice held a slight rasp as he started to speak. “Can I –  ”

“Yo, we should leave before Naoya finds you,” Toji’s deep voice cut through your moment as he appeared from the front door, bee-lining to his friend standing to the side of the porch. He eyed the distance between you two, and his lips quirked up into a smirk before continuing. “He’s not too happy.”

“Of course, he’s not happy, you broke his fucking nose,” Gojo came out after Toji, reaching to knock the back of Sukuna’s head before he tucked out of the way. 

The warmth of Sukuna’s hand left your side as he reached to push his friends away, and you maneuvered out of the scuffle to tell Yuki you were headed out. 

“But you just got here,” Yuki whined.

“Yeah, and now I’m just leaving.”

She groaned, but stood up. “Ok, let me walk you home.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s chill. Sukuna will.”

Yuki raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Oh, he will?”

“Stop it, it’s not like that.”

“Is it not?” She chided. “It’s ok, I can take a hint. We can debrief another time. But you kiss and make up, or whatever it is that you plan on doing.”

“I don’t plan on doing anything.” You protested.

“Oh, good, it’s much more fun when it’s a spur-of-the-moment type thing.” She nodded. “Do you need a condom?”

“Yuki, I’m walking away now. Good night.”

“Stay safe!” She called back, laughter obscuring her words. 

You walked back over to Sukuna, who leaned against the wall as Gojo and Toji bickered beside him. You sidled up next to him, wrapping your arms around his. He raised his brows in curiosity, but didn’t pull away.

“Walk me home?”

He nodded, barely bothering to say bye to his friends before walking down the steps with you, arms still linked, holding you close as the night air nipped at your exposed skin.

Your walk was largely quiet save for the crunching leaves underfoot and the brush of the wind against the bare tree branches, its bend filling the air with a late night whistle. 

You looked up at Sukuna to already find him gazing at you. “What is it?” He murmured. 

“You broke someone’s nose tonight?”

He sucked his teeth. “He was on some fuck shit. Trust me, he deserved it.”

“Was it that guy from earlier?”

“Doesn’t matter. He was spouting absolute bullshit.”

“About me?”

Sukuna didin’t answer, but his eyes gave him away.

“I hope you don’t get in too much trouble for that.”

“Oh, no, I definitely fucked it up, but I don’t really care. I’d do it again. Probably swing harder, too.” 

You chuckled, a small puff of air coming out from your warm breath. Autumn was well on her way out, and the crisp chill of winter was setting in, finals and the highly anticipated winter semester break looming overhead. You always found it funny how the shifting of the seasons was like the changing of the tides, and how your grasp on something so simple could slip and drop you in something wild and unpredictable. Autumn had shook the ground beneath you, causing your knees to buckle and head to spin, but with winter, and her frosty demeanor and ice below your feet, threatening to crack and cave causing you to slip, you found yourself ready, ready to shift your balance and take on the uncertainty in the storm, armed with a red hoodie that wasn’t yours.

As you approached your door, Sukuna stopped in front of you, the outside light shining through his tousled pink locks. He cleared his throat, somewhat nervously.

“So, about tonight…”

You hummed, telling him to continue.

“I don’t want to pressure you into an answer, and like I said before, whatever you give me, I can accept.”

You cocked your head to the side, a small smile on your face.

“I asked you if you could forgive me.”

You nodded, biting your lip. 

“...Can you?”

You turned to the door, sliding in the key and bumping it open with your hip, looking over your shoulder to face him. 

“Why don’t you come inside and find out?”

a/n: next chapter is pretty much just smut and i promise you will not have to wait a month and a half for it.

taglist (open!) : @timelylovergirl @ninnamanzo @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @amourarchive @minasuniverse @chimichangagirl @hannahzg8 @toytears @heartcandyslxt @dovewhisper @thejujvtsupost @feliaeae @hereforchifuyu @weirdnewbie @yummidumplingss @kur0mii3 @zeeseekay @haazelnuutloover @x-evieee-x @bonesbooksbelladonna @mimicryyyy @un-requ1ted @sevloraa @sukubusss @otherworldlymythharmony @ckilhj @winkii @ryosphere @keeperofhearts1 @fluerful @man1cslut @piercddprincess @sleepypandabea @idiotsandwich33 @sawamurawife

© 2026 mackhiato. All work belongs to @mackhiato. AI training is NOT authorized. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[belimah]

uncle suku / art by Jin

[belimah]

art by jtvll

[hinamie]

tiger lily

[planetsandmagic]

won't you dance with me, dear?

[to00fu]

i kinda gave up on the flowers. and everything

[simlishveeve]

where’s uncle sukuna

[hinamie]

starstruck !☆

[silence-caravan]

☆ The Stargirl ☆

I've seen people of Twitter dressing her up in cute little outfits and I just can't resist!

[planetsandmagic]

mama you're scaring me

[lacquerheadd]

the king pretty princess of curses

[mackhiato]

|| studying (the subject of) you

¬ frat!sukuna x nerd!reader ¬

description -> there wasn't much you and frat boy!sukuna ryomen had in common...except your mutual disdain for partner projects. (un)luckily for the two of you, fate has a way of bringing together the seemingly incompatible. but as the project continues and studying sessions involve less and less studying, you both discover you're learning more about yourselves than the subject matter at hand...

word count -> 10.2k

cw -> yearning || mutual pining || like, medium burn? || eventual smut || drinking || smoking || cursing || mean sukuna (but only if you squint) || side frat!gojo x nerd!reader || jealousy || slight angst (but like only a little) || slight angst (it's no longer minimal sorry)

part seven || part eight || part nine

You and Sukuna sat in his bedroom on the top floor of the frat house, textbooks open in between as you both attempted to study the words that ran meaninglessly across the pages, too distracted by each other’s presence to care about whatever assignment you should have been focusing on. 

With the library temporarily closed for renovations, and his frat brothers gaming on the TV downstairs in the living room, Sukuna offered his bedroom as a last place of refuge to get some work done, not realizing the future implications you, his ultimate distraction, in his haven, would have on his ability to focus.

He lay lazily on his side on top of his comforter while you took the desk, hunched as you poured over the text, your glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you scrunched your brows, eyes squinted in faux concentration. He watched you with a small smile on his face as you mouthed the words to what you were reading, desperately trying to keep your eyes on the pages in front of you instead of your partner behind. 

“Hey.” His baritone voice rumbled, smooth like a stone buried in a riverbed. You glanced up, mouth slightly parted as your wide, curious eyes met his. “C’mere.”

You tilted your head in confusion, but rose nonetheless, slowly coming to kneel on the edge of his bed, the mattress sucking you in as you tucked one foot underneath you. “What’s up?”

“Need help studying for physiology,” he started, pushing his pile of flashcards with sloppily drawn anatomic figures and terms on the back toward you. 

You shook your head, laughing slightly. “That is not what we are supposed to be doing. Besides, I didn’t take physio. I can’t help you with this.”

“Sure, you can. You’re a genius. Just quiz me on the muscle groups,” he offered, rolling off his side and closer to your seated figure.

Your mouth curled into a smile as you fingered through the cards, trying to parse through his scribbled notes. “Kuna, I can’t read these. Your handwriting’s horrible.”

He leaned close into you, looking over your shoulder at the notes he had taken, and ignored the way your body tensed as you felt his breath fan over your neck. “Huh. Yeah, it is pretty shit.” He turned to you, his eyes a deep, rusted shade of red. “Looks like we’ll need a new reference.”

You swallowed, but maintained eye contact, your voice shaking slightly at his proximity and intense gaze. “Okay then. What should we use?”

“Use me.”

Your eyes clouded over. “Use…you?”

He nodded, his voice like velvet. “Use me as a model.”

“You mean…like – ”

“My body, princess.” He finished your statement, cocking his head at your flustered state, biting back a grin.

You fought to keep your breathing steady. “And - you’re sure this will help you study?”

“Absolutely.”

You adjusted your position on the bed, Sukuna turning his back to you, and rested on your knees to better accommodate his frame. You licked your lips, trying to remain steady. “Ok. So, do you want me to just…point, and you tell me the muscle group?” You didn’t comment on how you wouldn’t know if he was right or wrong, too overwhelmed by the closeness and sheer absurdity of what you were doing. 

“How am I supposed to see what you’re pointing to?” He chuckled, purposefully leaning back onto his hands, flexing the muscles in his arms and invading your space even more. “You can touch me. Or am I that repulsive to you?”

You shook your head before you realized he couldn’t see you. “No. Not repulsive. Just…” Your eyes trailed over his backside, and you daintily fingered the short sleeve of his top. “Your shirt.”

“What about it?”

“It’s…in the way.”

He didn’t think twice before bringing his hands to his shirt’s bottom hem, pulling it over his head, leaving his tanned, inked back, sculpted, and hard from sinewy muscle on display to you. 

“Better?”

Your mouth was dry. “Mmhm.”

Your hands hovered over his skin, unsure, as if his sun-kissed figure was fire, heating the underside of your palm, tantalizing, taunting, dangerous. You shook slightly as the pads of your fingers ever so gently brushed over his shoulders, then down, down, down, the rippling peaks and valleys of his back, tracing the indent of his spine. 

You felt him inhale beneath you, the same way a flame does when it senses something nearby to consume. He hadn’t anticipated what your touch would finally feel like, bare skin against skin, ghosting over him so lightly, like feather kisses. He wasn’t used to such kindness in a touch, such fragility, such gentleness, and he couldn’t believe he was receiving it from you. 

He needed more. 

You weren’t even trying, and you were driving him crazy. His mind was blinking lights and flashing colors, a monster of a man reduced to his rudimentary abilities with one soft gaze from you. You hover, your scent, the way he felt your eyes on him – he wanted to devour you. Swallow you whole and leave nothing behind. Press into you and hold your hand as his teeth sank into your skin, your taste being the last thing on his tongue. He ground out your name, his voice almost wounded. 

You wet your lips. “Yeah?” 

“Stop being shy. Touch me.”

Your hands were hot as they brushed along his back, your feel of him more sure, more firm, more sensual. You spread your fingers across his expanse, your eyes serious as you asked for the names of the muscles you grazed. 

“What’s this?” Your finger traced the outline of a wing on the left side of his back, right by where his arm and shoulder connect. 

His voice was breathy, as light as his head felt. “Teres major.”

Your fingers sank, running down his lower back. “And this?” Your voice was low and rich, plucking his heartstrings like a bassist, strumming, eliciting a low, guttural groan from his chest.

“That’s – those are my lats. Latissimus dorsi.” He grunted out, breathless, trying to keep from slouching into your frame. He was worried he was already too far gone, his mind a mess, blood rushing from his head south. His fingers curled into the comforter, gripping it tightly to steady himself, tendons and veins taut in his forearms.  

Your hands receded, and he twitched, already missing the feeling of you on him. He tsked disapprovingly, and restrained himself from leaning back in search of you.  A quiet moment passed before he heard the rustle of his comforter, the sink of your weight inching closer to his. He felt your breath tickle the top of his back, edging so close to the nape of his neck, the heat of your body the only thing separating you two by mere centimeters, just enough to send him into delirium. 

“And, this?”

Your lips pressed right at the center junction where his neck met his upper back, not lingering, but long enough before you pulled away. His eyes fluttered shut as his body shuddered, so charged, so sensitive, he could feel the stain of gloss you left behind, taking your heat with you as you retreated. 

“What was that, Kuna?”

His eyes flashed open as he gasped, shooting up from his bed. He looked around, chest heaving as he took in his environment. 

Dark room. Curtains drawn. 

You, nowhere in sight. 

He’d had a fucking dream about you, like he was back in middle school.

He groaned as he fell back into his bed, his heels rubbing against his eyes, as if he was trying to wipe away the memories of his imagination. 

It’s too much. He wasn't himself, past the point of recognition, past the point of willful ignorance. And while he knew this was a problem he’d have to confront soon, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the bigger problem currently pressing against the seams of his boxers. 

The next morning, he could feel the restlessness from the previous night seeping into his bones as he trudged toward the gym with Toji. The grey, overcast morning encapsulated exactly how he was feeling, and Toji seemed determined to make his mood worse. 

“You look like shit,” he commented.

“I feel like shit,” Sukuna groaned back, wiping a hand down his face as if that would alleviate his fatigue. They swiped access into the campus gym and set their items in the locker room, the showers being practically empty on a Sunday morning. 

Sukuna stripped, putting on his athletic wear as Toji started talking again. “Late night?”

“Something like that.” 

“With that girl?”

“Yes, alright?” Sukuna snapped, angrily shutting the door of his locker closed. “If something’s wrong with me, you can probably assume it has something to do with her.”

Toji just stared, nonplussed at Sukuna’s reaction. “Well, are you gonna do something about it?”

Sukuna scoffed in incredulity. “Are we actually gonna talk about this now?”

Toji shrugged. “Rather talk through this than whatever bullshit we normally talk about.” He rolled his eyes at Sukuna’s disgusted face. “Don’t make this more awkward than it has to be. You’re clearly going through it, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m living with a girl. So talk. Or don’t. Either way, stop being a bitch about it, because it’s really starting to piss me off.”

Sukuna grunted, grabbing his water bottle and heading into the main floor of the gym, finding a free bench and loading plate after plate on each side of the barbell, Toji helping silently as soft music played over the gym’s speakers. As Sukuna tucked himself under the bar, resting his back on the bench, he muttered to Toji as he leaned against the side of the rack. “It’s stupid.”

Toji shrugged. “Can’t be more stupid than how you’ve been acting.”

Sukuna’s hands dropped to his chest as he breathed out. “I don’t really know what to do with her.”

Toji raised his eyebrows, insinuating that he go on. 

“I think I like her. As more than a friend.”

“You think?” Toji grunted, coming to stand behind the bar. “I could’ve told you that. C’mon, start your set.” He hovered his hands under the bar, helping Sukuna start his first couple of reps. 

Sukuna grunted as he began pushing the weight above his chest. “She asked just to be friends, and I’m trying, but she drives me crazy. I’ve never done this before.”

“What, like someone?”

He exhaled as he re-racked the weight. “Not seriously.” 

“Just ask her out,” Toji said as they switched, Sukuna spotting him as he lifted the bar. “What’s the big deal?”

“I told you, she wants to be friends. Or go back to normal. Whatever that fuckin' means.”

“Damn. That sucks.” Toji huffed, pushing the weight back up and down. “When’d she say that?”

“After Halloween.”

“Oh, when you started getting real pissy. Makes sense.”

“Haven’t been pissy.” Sukuna watched Toji struggle with the weight for a second before helping him get the last rep up.

“Yeah, right, drama queen.” Toji wiped his hands on his shirt as he got up, taking a sip from his water bottle. “So, you told her you want to be something more, and she said no?”

“I haven’t told her anything.” He felt Toji’s hard stare on him as he leaned over the bar, his arms crossed. 

Toji scoffed. “Pussy.”

Sukuna’s head whipped over, his eyes blazing. “Oh, fuck off. This is why I don’t tell you shit.”

“You don’t tell me shit because you know I’m right.” Toji chided, rolling his neck. “Either grow a pair and actually ask her out, or put yourself out of your misery and get over it.”

“Oh, right, because it’s that easy. Ask her out, then do what?” Sukuna ran a hand through his hair. “Date her? I don’t know how to do that shit.”

“You didn’t know how to ride a bike either, but you learned.”

Sukuna paused. “It’s different. I don’t want my shit to affect her. She’s so…together. And deserves someone who can be more… I don’t know, together…with her.”

“Together, like who, Gojo?” Toji laughed at the withering gaze on his friend’s face. “Jesus, I was joking. Chill.”

Sukuna groaned, putting his face in his hands. “See what I mean? I’m a fucking mess. A jealous, stupid fucking mess. So jealous I was ready to wring Satoru’s neck when he asked her out the other week. She doesn’t want someone like that.”

“You don’t know that. You’re making that decision for her based on what you think.”

“What I know.”

“What you think you know.”

Sukuna scowled. “What’s your point here, exactly?”

“You don’t know what’s going on in her head, and you won’t until you ask.” Sukuna leaned up from the bar, letting Toji underneath as he began to spot him. Toji continued, saying, “I think you’re fucking yourself over by making assumptions that aren’t necessarily true.”

“It’s not an assumption to recognize that we’re just really different people.”

“Different people who constantly look like they want to fuck each other at any given moment.”

Sukuna let out a puff of air, ignoring Toji’s vulgar statement. “I don’t wanna mess anything up. It’s weird, but I like whatever we have, even if it’s a little fucked, and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Toji shook his head, reracking the weight. “Nah. I say ruin it.”

Sukuna damn near threw his water bottle at the smug man’s face, sucking his teeth at his insolence. “Have you listened to a damn thing I’ve said?”

“I am listening. And I’m telling you to ruin it. You’re fucking it up more by not doing anything.” Toji rose as he pushed Sukuna’s shoulder down, signaling him to do another set as he added more weight to both sides of the barbell. “I’m no genius, but any girl who is willingly spending that much time with you has to like you, at least a little.”

“We’re project partners; this is the definition of being forced to spend time together.”

“Listen, no one made you go over to her place after Halloween, just like no one made you spend hours at her apartment yesterday.” He paused as Sukuna sent him a questioning glare beneath the bar. “Don’t look at me like that. You weren’t in the house. I took a lucky guess. Besides, seems like she’s the only thing that gets your ass out of bed anymore.”

This time, the towel around Sukuna’s neck flew toward Toji’s face before he could register what he was doing. Toji batted it away with his hand, scowling. “Bitch all you want about it, you know it’s true.”

“Look, either suck it up, or don’t. Either face rejection or be a coward. But, please, do something, and free yourself from this torment, for my sake. I can’t keep watching you do this.”

Toji hadn’t put it gently, but he was right; whatever this was wasn’t sustainable. Sukuna knew sooner or later, he’d have to do something about this. He could only keep his head buried in the sand for so long. These feelings, however real or temporary they may be, were calling to be acknowledged, but if he was being honest, acknowledgement was the last thing on his mind.

He sighed, looking up at Toji. “Wanna get drunk tonight?”

Toji sighed, shaking his head. “Sure. But you’re buying.” 

|||

“Soup?” Yuki’s eyes popped out of her head when you recounted your previous week. After resting under Sukuna’s orders, you returned to your weekly Sunday session post the following weekend, feeling mostly back to normal. You weren’t sure if the rumbling in your stomach came from the nausea you had experienced previously or because of your crush that had escalated from ignored, to denied, to extreme, but either way, you started to worry that your distress had manifested to the sickest state you’d been in years. For extra precaution, you tried to keep a respectable distance while you helped walk students through problems, but Yuki didn’t seem to care for your attempts to maintain a healthy gap as she pulled you into a secluded corner of the room, prying everything out of you, from your date with Gojo to Sukuna’s surprise home visit last Saturday. 

“He made you soup?” Yuki clarified, speaking slowly, enunciating the question, shock and disbelief lacing her tone. “I’m gonna fuckin’ throw up. That’s adorable. Are you kidding me?”

“Yuki, please, don’t mention throwing up in my vicinity. I’m still slightly nauseous.” 

You woke up that evening to Sukuna gone, but a clean apartment in your wake, the leftover soup packaged in Tupperware in your fridge, and ice pops for your throat in the freezer. Your fever had finally broken, but your skin was sticky from the sweat you produced from the first soundless sleep you’ve had in days. 

You went to your phone to text a thanks to Sukuna, but your thumb slipped, dialing his number instead. Your eyes widened as his contact took up your entire screen, fumbling to press the end call button. “Shit, shit, shit, fuck – ”

“Hello?”

His voice was muffled, raspy, as if you had interrupted a good sleep. The deep vibrato sent a shiver down your spine. “Hi.” You gripped the phone against your ear, talking in a hushed tone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call.”

“‘ts fine. D’you need somethin’?” His voice was thick, yet warm, as if he were amused by your antics.

“I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for the soup and all.”

He hummed. “You feelin’ better?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My fever finally broke. So, feeling way better than before.”

“That’s good.”

The line went quiet before you inhaled. “Sorry, did I wake you? Was this a bad time?”

“Nah, you’re fine.”

 “Oh. Ok.”

The conversation lulled, but neither of you moved to hang up. You gnawed on your bottom lip, frantically looking for a conversation topic. You blurted something intelligible as he asked a question at the same time. 

“So how are you - ”

“Are you gonna - ”

You both paused, letting out small laughs. “Sorry,” you said. “You go first.”

“No, you go.”

And you did. You both talked, and talked, conversation topics ranging, voices hushed, as if you were scared of getting found out, as if a decibel more would startle you both out of a reverie.

You had made your way to your kitchen while still talking with Sukuna, the soft pads of your sock-clad feet fidgeting as you rested your hip against your oven, waiting for your kettle to whistle as you prepared a cup of tea. Your phone rested between your shoulder and ear as you continued talking. “So, question, I’ve been so curious about this.”

Sukuna hummed in response, prompting you to continue. 

“Has Toji actually done anything for the project? He’s never mentioned working on it once.”

Sukuna breathed out a laugh. “Trust me, he hasn’t done shit. I’d be surprised if he knew his partner’s name.”

You giggled, pouring yourself a cup and grabbing your bottle of honey. “I figured. Is he not concerned?”

“Well, not everyone gets stuck with a pain-in-the-ass control freak who threatens failing herself just to get her partner to do work, so he’s probably doing just fine.”

“Yeah, I suppose not everyone can be so lucky.” You feign a sigh, stirring the sweetener into your steeping tea. “It’s a shame there aren't more of me to go around.”

“The campus would implode if there were more of you wandering around. We’d have to construct a new classroom to fit another one of your big heads.”

You scoffed, sticking your tongue out. “You always this mean, or do I just get special treatment?”

“Would you be jealous if I said I treat everyone like this?”

“Yes. Exceedingly so.”

You felt him grin through the phone. “Then yeah, it’s just you.”

You migrated back to your bed, lying atop your comforter, your eyelids growing heavier by the passing minutes as your cup sat on your bedside table, now drained of its contents.

“You tired yet?” Sukuna asked, his voice lulling and slow.

You shook your head as you yawned. “Nuh uh. You sound sleepy, though.” 

“Well, it’s almost two in the morning, and I spent most of my day taking care of a big baby, so, yeah, I’m a little tired.”

“I did not ask you to do that,” you protested. 

“I know. I wanted to.”

You froze, then inhaled. “Sorry for keeping you on the phone for so long.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Ok. Well, I’ll let you go then. Talk soon?”

“Counting down the seconds, princess. Night.”

“Night,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Your memories of the late-night phone conversation almost made you wince as you responded to Yuki. “Yeah, he made me soup.”

“Well, don’t be shy now! Then what happened?” Yuki grabbed your arm, shaking it furiously, already on the edge of her seat. 

You blew out a breath. 

What happened next?

Things got…weird.

Weirder than normal, that’s for sure. 

After spending the rest of last weekend resting, recovering, and trying to catch up on work, you showed up to class on Tuesday and walked up the steps of your lecture hall to seat yourself in the back row with Sukuna and Toji. You bounded up, greeting them both. “Morning, guys.”

“Hey,” Toji responded. Sukuna’s head barely nodded in your direction. 

You stopped short, your eyes flicking between Sukuna’s tufts of pink hair and Toji, who sat next to him. He made eye contact with you and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “He’s being an idiot. You’re fine. Sit.”

Hesitantly, you took the last few steps up and gingerly sat next to Sukuna, both your bodies so tense and on edge it felt as though they were grating against each other. You unpacked your bag and paused before asking, your words stilted, careful. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“Fine.”

You took a deep, sharp breath. At this point, you couldn’t keep up with the mood swings he went through. You felt like you trekked through different climates with him every day, from scorching desert to freezing tundra; it was a toss-up on how he felt like treating you that day. It was exhausting, and the events of the past week had already worn you down. “Alright then,” you said, your voice crisp.

You turned your attention to the front, straining to hear the professor as you took notes, and tried not to look at Sukuna for the rest of the period, all cylinders firing in your mind. You felt Sukuna shifting constantly beside you, all of a sudden finding it impossible to get comfortable. After his elbow nudged you for the third time, you hissed. “Am I making you uncomfortable or something? What’s your deal?”

“It’s not you,” he grunted out, unwilling to offer you anything else. 

You couldn’t possibly fathom what happened between Saturday’s phone call and today that got Sukuna acting like a kicked dog, but whatever it was, you didn’t have the time or energy to help him work through his convoluted feelings. “Well, figure it out, because you’re pissing me off,” you grumbled back, nudging his elbow with your own. 

Thursday was no better. You took one look at his sullen frame and scoffed, traipsing your way back to your usual seat in the front, absolving yourself from dealing with his attitude. You felt his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, but still, no text of protest or inquiry of why you moved seats, which admittedly hurt more than you would like it to. 

“I don’t know. He’s been giving me the cold shoulder recently, and I cannot be bothered to run around campus begging him to tell me what’s wrong. I have more pride than that.” You answered truthfully, shrugging your shoulders at the reality of the predicament. “I like him. A lot, actually. More than I probably should, knowing everything about him, and I probably have for a while now. But I’m don’t wanna like people who won’t choose me. This runaround we’re doing is so beyond dumb. I’m not built for this.”

Yuki nudged your shoulder with hers, taking in the anxious debilitation around your eyes. “Well, at least you’ve come to your senses. If you took any longer, Sho and I were gonna start betting.” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait. Idea! You should come to my sorority’s date party this weekend. We’d have so much fun together, getting free drinks, making fun of people; you’d love it.”

“The one Gojo was telling me about?” You wrinkled your brows. “Hard pass. You know I won’t get along with anyone there.”

“It’s not about getting along with anyone; it’s about who you go with.” Yuki raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping you were understanding what she was insinuating. 

You weren’t. “And who am I supposed to be going with, pray tell? You and Choso, and be a third wheel all night? Spare me.”

“No, dummy, go with Sukuna! Get him to ask you!”

You gagged. “I’m not that desperate. Besides, I’m not in your sorority. I’m not even Greek life. Those girls would eat me alive.”

“Ugh, you talk about them like they’re all evil, but I’m there! They’re very nice when you give them a chance.”

“I am sure they are, but considering I would have no business being at their date party, I’m sure they’d be more than standoffish.”

“Did you miss what I suggested? Not if you went with Sukuna.”

“Oh, I didn’t miss it, just chose to ignore it.” You said flippantly, gently shouldering past Yuki to head over to a student with a hand in the air and confusion written all over their face. “I’m not about to beg a man to ask me to the dance. Who am I, Cinderella?”

Yuki rolled her eyes, following you as you tried to create space. “Ok, first of all, Cinderella did not beg. That’s like the whole point of the story. And secondly, you wouldn’t have to beg, just politely suggest semi-insistently. He’d probably love to take you.”

“If he'd love to take me, then he should ask.” You said pointedly, wanting to end the conversation. 

“Ok, well, the next time you see him, you should bring it up casually.”

“Yeah, maybe if he’s not acting like an ass.”

As the door to the building opened with a slight tinkle of a bell, you heard Yuji’s voice ring out across the hushed tones of the crowd.

“Sukuna? What’re you doing here?”

Sometimes, you wonder if words are prophetic. If the intention behind what you say and when you say it puts out action into the universe, spurs momentum beyond one’s control, sends paths colliding in places one could never assume, like your volunteer study sessions halfway across town from your university campus. Or maybe you were still feeling the effects of your sickness, your fever’s delayed effects causing hallucinations and vivid daydreams of your hulking project partner, pink hair tousled from the wind, tattoos and piercings factoring him as immediately out of place, hands shoved into pockets, and a scowl painted on his face as he’d rather be anywhere else than where he was currently. 

You almost laughed, your feelings echoing the sentiment on his face. 

“Jin asked me to pick you up. He got caught up with some stuff.”

You could feel Yuki’s maniacal grin boring into the back of your skull, but you refused to look back at her or Sukuna, your eyes dead focused on the calculus formulas swimming on the worksheet before you. You called out, your voice low but strained. “Sorry, what was your question again?”

“You’re early! We don’t finish the session until one, and I have, like, twelve problems left.” Yuji complained.

You hated how you were so used to Sukuna’s presence, like a radio frequency; your ears antennas, specially attuned to the sound of his voice. His crass voice prickled at the top of your spine. “Don’t care. I’ve got somewhere to be, and dropping you off is taking me out of my way. C’mon.”

“Alright, jeez, let me say bye to my tutors at least.”

Your spine stiffened, and you heard Yuji haphazardly shove his papers and books into his backpack, ambling over to you. He couldn’t get a word out before you heard your own name in Sukuna’s disbelieving tone.

You finally looked up, straightening your back to see Sukuna standing off, still near the door, his whole body tense when making eye contact with you. He opened his mouth, but the words stumbled out like he didn’t know what he was saying as he spoke. “What are you – I mean, do you, uh, you volunteer here?”

Your mouth felt dry as you answered. “Every Sunday.”

Yuki giggled from behind you as Yuji’s head whipped between you and Sukuna’s wooden frames. “Wait, how do you two know each other?”

Your eyes searched each other’s, trying to parse through what was hidden beneath the lies you continued to spin. 

“We’re friends.” You both responded, both voices coated in the sweet seduction, in syrupy sweetness of the delusions you feed into, spurred on by the narratives you chose to follow, no longer ignorant, now willingly obtuse. You both were suckers, caressing each other with padded lies and longing glances that dissolved until reaching the chewy center, both wanting to be stretched and swallowed. 

“They’re in the same class and are working on a project together,” Yuki clarified to the room of kids, now distracted by the handsome collegiate who, under the fluorescent lighting, did bear a striking resemblance to Yuji.

Yuji’s eyes widened. “He’s your project partner?”

Your eyes flicked from your student to Sukuna, horrified. “Wait, it’s not – ”

“The incompetent one?” Nobara added on, no longer pretending to do a semblance of work.

Megumi hummed beside her. “Yes, I remember her calling him ‘worse than Yuji’.”

You turned around to face your students sitting near Yuji, hissing, “Guys, shut up!” You waved your hands back and forth in an attempt to defend yourself, looking back at your smirking partner. “That was weeks ago, you’re so much better now, I swear.”

“You complained about me?” Sukuna's voice was snide, but the upturned corner of his mouth proved he found the whole situation amusing. “Well, now at least all the horrible things Yuji has said about his tutors make sense.”

You recoiled in offense while Yuji protested. “That is not true! I have never said anything bad about her in my life!”

Yuki took this moment to sweep into the conversation. “Actually, this is perfect timing, Sukuna.” You craned your neck around, shaking your head inconspicuously to stop Yuki, but she plowed ahead, either unaware or ignoring your vain attempts to stop her. “We were just talking about the date party this weekend.”

You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t stop your body from jerking back around, hungry for the look on his face. Your stomach turned when you saw his face fall, deep shadows cast across his sharp features. His voice was gruff, devoid of the playful tone he had once carried. “What about it?” 

“She was just telling me how fun it sounded.” Yuki insinuated in a sing-song voice. “And a little birdie told me you still need a date.”

“Yuki, please, enough,” You muttered, far past embarrassed. Your eyes stayed on Sukuna, who now couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, his eyes hard, staring at the tiled floors beneath his boots. 

“Yuki,” Sukuna started, but Yuki continued, not one to be admonished.

“Come on, we all know you want to take her anyway, so just – ”

“I can’t.” His voice was so sharp it felt like biting wind, the kind that pricks tears and causes teeth to chatter, cold and unforgiving.

“Why not?” Yuki bit back. 

You whispered, desperate not to hear the answer you knew would send you into a spiral. “Yuki, please.”

Sukuna’s lips were pressed thin as he burrowed his fists deeper into his jacket pockets. He turned away, adamant on not meeting your eyes, not bearing to see the hurt look on your face.

“I’m already going with somebody else.”

There it was. You winced, closing your eyes as if that would prevent the words from seeping in. The awkward silence that filled the room was suffocating as your students shifted their attention away from the train wreck of an interaction, hastily fumbling to pretend they weren’t listening. 

Disgust and anger filled Yuki’s expression. “Since when?” She spat out.

His voice was hard like nails on bricks. “Does it matter? I can’t take her.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Your voice was cold and detached, outside of yourself.  “Besides, I have plans then anyway.”

A lie, of course. Bold-faced and brazen. But this bitter green monster of jealousy had overtaken the typically rational control of your mind, now spitting out whatever you knew could strike back and defend yourself most effectively. Another lie tumbled from your lips faster than you could think of the ramifications.

“Gojo asked me, so I’m probably gonna go with him.”

Yuki’s eyebrows raised as Sukuna’s eyes frosted over. Their voices sounded at the same time, one of incredulity, another of cold rage.

“What?” “What?”

Yuji and Nobara gaped at you, mouths falling open in shock. “Satoru already asked you?” Yuji pursed his lips while Nobara nodded in approval at the date you’d managed to snag for yourself. 

She leaned over, whispering to Megumi. “See, aren’t you glad we came today? We would’ve missed this.”

You shrugged in hopes you came off as nonchalant as you were trying to be. “Yeah. So. I guess we’ll see you both there.”

A line of electricity tied your and Sukuna’s gazes together as you looked up at him, a thumping, neon green to his blood red. The tendons in his neck were taut, his jaw tight, a vein pulsing on his temple.

Yuki could not contain her laughter as she bellowed out, running her hands down her face in happy disbelief at what you just said. “Oh, my God, I am so unbelievably excited for this weekend, you have no idea.”

“Yeah, me too.” Your voice was clipped, not an ounce of earnestness behind it. “Have fun with your date.”

Sukuna couldn’t even muster up the energy to repeat back your congenial lie. “Yuji. Let’s go.” His tone left no room for arguing; his back was already turned from the crowd of high schoolers watching him retreat.

Yuji pulled his strap over his shoulder, grumbling as he said bye to his friends and you. You muttered a goodbye, turning back to your student’s work as you heard the door open and close, the jingling bell out of place in the tense environment.  

“You fucking liar.” Yuki sneered, poking your shoulder with her pointer finger. “Satoru did not ask you to that party.”

Nobara gasped. “You’re joking!”

Yuki turned to face her, almost as if she had forgotten the rest of the students were there. “Kukisagi, focus on your work.”

Nobara grumbled as she rested her head in her palm. “But this is so much more interesting.”

You were too distracted fumbling through your purse to chastise either Nobara or Yuki, searching for your phone to choke down your pride and text Satoru probably one of the most embarrassing requests of your life.

| Hey. I need a favor. 

| A big, astronomical one.

Gojo’s response was almost immediate. 

| those are my favorite kind

| what’s up?

| I need you to take me to the date party on Friday.

| B AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

| Gojo, I’m serious.

| i know you are, that’s why i’m laughing

| Satoru please

You heard Yuki snort from behind you. “So much for not begging a man to ask.”

| I’m desparate and stupid and lied and I need to you be amazing and do me this huge favor

| you are sick in the head

| do you have plans on wednesday

| why?

| because you’ll need a dress and i’ll need concealer for this black eye your friend is about to give me

|||

You were too many drinks in as you stumbled into the Uber from Yuki’s place, dress too short, heels too high, head too fuzzy, judgment too impaired. You shoved yourself between your date, Satoru, and Yuki in the backseat, Choso in front. Gojo’s long limbs tangled with yours as he shimmied into the seat behind the passenger’s side, your arms interlinked. 

“You okay, angel?” He purred, his voice pitched low. You nodded, too inebriated to respond properly. 

You hadn’t meant to get this drunk. Really, a slight buzz is what you were going for. But the nerves of being around girls who would immediately recognize you as an outsider, on the arms of one of the most eligible men on campus, and seeing your project partner wrapped up with some other girl, combined with Gojo and Yuki’s incessant calls for shot after shot, left your head feeling light and your words slightly slurred. 

Yuki adjusted the shooters she had hidden in her purse and boots and turned to you, eyes glassy. “I’m sooo happy you decided to come!” She pressed her cheek against yours. “We’re gonna have the best time, I promise.”

You smiled weakly. You felt Gojo's hand grip yours and squeeze it gently. You turned to him, his eyes even brighter from the drunk glow. “I’ll be with you all night. It’ll be fine.”

“Thanks again for taking me, even though I forced you to.” 

“Nah, it’s chill. Honestly, it’s nice not to have any pressure to do something after the party.”

“Thanks for the dress, too.” You mumbled, fingers lifting the hem that brushed your thighs. It was nice, much too nice for the night you weren’t fully prepared to have.

Gojo shook his head, brushing off your thanks. “Red looks good on you.”

“Well, I hope it does, since you forced me to get it.” You adjusted the strap that started to slip off your shoulder during the shuffle to get in the backseat. 

As the car lurched forward, you felt your head loll to the side, resting on Gojo’s shoulder. “Am I being dumb?”

“Oh, absolutely. But I am so entertained, so please, continue.”

You stuck out your tongue at his joke. “Oh, whatever.”

“You don’t have to talk to him tonight.”

“I won’t.” 

It was a promise you knew you weren’t going to keep. You knew as soon as you stepped through the double doors of the manor where the party was held. You knew as soon as you heard your heels click across the pristine hardwood floor. You knew when you felt Gojo’s large hand flex against your hip as you entered the foray, the girl's eyes sizing you up as you stepped forward by his side. 

And you knew as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

Sleek, pressed black button-up shirt rolled up his taut forearms, inky bands of black circling the tendons and disappearing underneath the fabric, stretched, but not bursting, over his frame. Nice black slacks, polished shoes, the unmistakable glint of his silver jewelry on his face. 

He looked devastatingly handsome. 

And some other girl had her arm linked with his. 

You felt your heart flutter, and you cursed it for doing so. Gojo looked down at you, following your gaze and tsked. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

“I don’t think you’ve blinked since we came in. I’m scared you’ll start drooling.”

You glared at your date. “I’m not drooling. Shut up. Let’s get a drink.”

You refused to make eye contact as you maneuvered through the crowd, heading to the makeshift bar set up in the foyer, ready to pour yourself a drink strong enough to make a sailor sing. But while your eyes adamantly fought to stay off Sukuna’s frame, he let his drunkenly roll over yours. It felt like heat simmered off your skin, and he could feel it radiating from across the room. The straps of the dress were thin, sparkly lines seemingly painted over your collarbones and dipping down the curve of your back. The crimson red fabric kissing the frame of your body, brushing the tops of your thighs, accentuating the curves and contours of your body – he felt starved. 

He swallowed. 

Uraume looked up at him and matched his gaze. Her eyebrow twitched up in recognition of your glasses from the photo on his phone from Halloween. “Let’s go say hi.”

Sukuna’s head tilted down slowly, the alcohol and absurdity of the statement slowing his reaction. “What?”

“To Gojo and his date. Let’s say hi and get a drink.”

“I don’t need a drink.”

“Well, I do.”

He felt his own grip on his cup tighten as he watched Gojo whisper something in your ear. You keeled over in laughter, and he couldn’t tell if the sound was ringing through the hall or just in his ears. 

“Sure. Let’s say hey.”

You felt his approach before you saw him, your body reacting against your will, tensing as his pink hair entered your periphery. You felt a woman’s polished nails brush your arm while the hair on your neck stood up as his figure brushed past yours, his scent following him like a curse. You looked over to the girl who introduced herself as Uraume. You said your name back, words feeling empty as she attempted to make conversation while you were distracted, watching Sukuna roughly pull Gojo away, yearning to hear their exchanged words. 

Sukuna fought the urge to address you, beelining for Gojo, a half-assed attempt to maintain a shred of his dignity. He grabbed Gojo’s forearm, pulling him away from both their dates, his voice strained as he tried to keep himself together. “What are you playing at?”

Satoru took a big swig of his drink, concealing his grin behind the lip of the cup. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Sukuna exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Why’d you ask her?”

Satoru’s eyebrow flew up. “Uh, because you didn’t? Haven’t we sung this song before?”

Sukuna’s blinks felt long and slow as he pulled his thoughts together, words escaping him as he tried to choke down his anger. “You told me I couldn’t. I asked you months ago, and you told me no.”

Satoru’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion before he barked out a laugh. “You were talking about her? Even back then?” He shook his head in disbelief, Sukuna’s confession alluding to how long he’s truly been acting so foolishly. “Since when do you listen to me, anyway?” 

Gojo scoffed before continuing. “I don’t know how many times or in how many different ways we can tell you to stop being dumb, but it’s getting exhausting.” Gojo, despite his level of drunkenness, focused his gaze on Sukuna’s, eyes serious. 

Sukuna couldn’t help the way his eyes dragged over to you again, your figure leaning in to hear Uraume’s words. Gojo’s sharp tongue forced him to look away. 

“You fucked up when you didn’t say anything in the library, and you fucked it up more last weekend. Just do everyone a favor and try not to fuck anything else up tonight.” Gojo walked away from Sukuna, his hand back on your waist, pulling you away from Uraume toward a group congregating near the side of the room, thick cushioned chairs arranged to maximize socialbility.

Sukuna followed, taking his place by Uraume, his voice colder as he swallowed the rest of his drink, at the ready to pour another. “You wanna join them?”

Uraume snorted. “And do what, play Truth or Dare?”

“Beats standing here.”

He felt Uraume’s eyes gloss over his face inquisitively. “Alright. I’ll bite. We can go over there, but we’re gonna get sucked into whatever stupid game our president suggested they’re playing, and I’m not playing by myself.”

A heavy-handed pour later, Sukuna found himself sitting beside his date, you and Gojo across in the circular formation, drinks flowing and laughs chiming through the social circle as Yuki cleared her throat, catching everyone’s attention with a flash of her blonde hair. “Ok, Miss Prez wants us to play a game.”

He felt Uraume roll her eyes and look up to him expectantly, as if to say, “Told you so.” His eyes were still on you as you adjusted the hem of your dress, fighting the urge to show how nervous you were. 

You mumbled, your voice only loud enough for Gojo to hear. “A game? Are we in middle school?”

“Yes, this is a date party.” Gojo teased, nudging you with his shoulder. “Just go with it. It’ll be chill.”

You took another sip of your drink as you listened to the guest go around, a strange, convoluted mix of Truth or Dare, combined with Put a Finger Down and Never Have I Ever, the game at its core reaching into the soul of the player, getting them to confess their most embarrassing moments while keeping the drinks going, sentences getting more slurred by the second. You giggled as Satoru told an elaborate, exaggerated story about getting caught by the father of the girl he was seeing in high school and running out of the house, his pants falling between his legs as he ran down the street.

A girl’s voice chimed out over the laughs from Gojo’s story, calling for a shot for every single body someone had. You grimaced, looking at Satoru. “That would genuinely kill you.”

Gojo chuckled, not denying your statement. “How about, put a finger down for every person you’ve fucked in this room?”

You snorted. “Is that any better? I’m sitting amongst half of your scorned lovers.”

Gojo grinned. “Just trying to catch you up to the rest of us, angel.” He jokingly grabbed your hand, pushing one of your fingers down. “C’mon, don’t be shy. We’ve all done it.”

Despite his fibbing nature, you blushed as the girls cooed around you. “Satoru, stop it.” You shoved him off of you, a smile still on your face. “You wish. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Yeah? Tell that to him.” Satoru cocked his head forward, and you turned, seeing that Sukuna had excused himself from the circle, already halfway toward the door to step out to the patio area. Gojo sighed. “Such a drama queen.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not being any dumber than the two of you.” Gojo rolled his eyes, taking the drink out of your hand. “Go. Lick his wounds, or whatever else you all do.”

“Satoru!”

“Just go.” He pushed you off him toward the door that Sukuna had just walked out of. “I already know you want to, so go.”

You stumbled forward, wrapping your arms around your front as you glanced over your shoulder back at Gojo, who gestured you forward with his hands, turning back to the group with an ever charming smile on his face, distracting the crowd from your absence, regardless of whether they noticed. 

You pushed the door forward and stepped out into the chilly air, Sukuna’s back toward you as he stood facing the inky, starry night. The sound of the door clicking shut and the click of your heels alerted him to your presence, his head twitching slightly to the left. You stopped as you stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and staring straight ahead. 

Neither of you said anything as you shifted your weight onto the balls of each of your feet. You saw him take a sip from your peripheral vision and cleared your throat, tired of the quiet between you two.

“It’s not true, by the way.”

Silence.

“I haven’t hooked up with Satoru, I mean. He was just, I dunno, teasing, I guess.”

“Right. And why would I care?”

You couldn’t control the scowl that painted your face as you turned to face him. “Stop being a dick. You clearly care.”

“I’m not bein’ a dick. Just don’t know why you’re telling me worthless information.”

“You stormed out in the middle of the game like a child, and you expect me to believe you don’t care?” You spat. “You can’t even look at me.”

It was then that Sukuna’s head whipped down toward you, eyes ignited, silver jewelry glinting. “Trust me, princess, I’ve been looking at you all night.”

The intensity of his gaze made you pause; his eyes locked with yours, deep, stormy red. You breathed in, not to be deterred from your tirade. “You have a date. One you asked out tonight, mind you. And you’re looking at me?”

“We both know she’s not the one I wanted to go with.”

You weren't prepared for Sukuna's attacks back. Ruthless, forward, and honest. Your defenses were down, and you felt like you were scrambling to get your bearings, losing in a game where you didn't even know the rules. You swallowed. “You’re being mean. Stop it.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“No, you’re being mean. You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.”

“You know I do.”

You paused, your breath shuddering as you tried to wrap your head around what he just admitted. But once Sukuna started, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t control anything: his thoughts, his actions, his words around you. You nullified and lit up his senses simultaneously, like some sort of sick dog collar; he was on your leash, and when you pulled, he followed. 

“Why him?”

“Stop. Sukuna, please.”

“Why him?” He repeated, stepping closer to you. His cologne, his scent washed over you, your head dizzy at his proximity and the liquor running through your veins.

“If it bothered you so much, you should’ve asked me.” You couldn’t brace yourself for any more of this conversation turned confessional. His eyes were too earnest, his body too close for you to think straight. You staggered back, turning your body to walk back toward the door when his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in your tracks.

“Would you have said yes?”

Your voice cracked. “What?”

“I need to know. If I had asked, would you have said yes?”

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t even know why you were crying -  maybe it was the muddled emotions finally making themselves known, or the combination of liquor and unresolved weeks of denied tension festering in the pit of your stomach, but you couldn’t keep it in anymore, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Of course I would’ve said yes, you idiot!” You bashed your fists against his chest, not knowing if you were trying to push him away or pull him in. 

It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to process, or think about what you had said, or what you had wanted, because the next thing you knew, your back was pressed against a pillar, Sukuna’s hands were circling your wrists, and his lips were pressed against yours. 

It wasn’t gentle or slow, but desperate, pleading, as though he tried to push everything he couldn’t say into you through this kiss. You felt your brain short-circuit before jolting into action, your arms going to wrap around his neck, tugging him in, down into you, deepening what you felt you both had been waiting for. His hands dropped immediately, grabbing you by the waist and drawing you flush against his chest. It was like a game of tug of war, his desperate pulls for your bodies to be closer and his hungry kisses pushing you back into the foundation behind you, clawing for more in attempts to steal the very breath from your lungs. 

You gasped into his mouth as his fingers squeezed the skin on your hips, lifting you against the smooth, cool pillar as he wedged his knee between your thighs, devouring your hitched breath like they were nectar. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, as if you could try to pull him any closer, your fingers threaded through the baby hairs on the nape of his neck. You felt his groan rumble in his chest as he inadvertently slid your core against his thigh, his muscles thick and taut beneath the dress pants as his cloying grabs pushed the fabric of your dress higher and higher up your waist. 

“Kuna,” you pleaded, not knowing what you were asking for; stop, keep going, you couldn’t tell. You dragged your hands down his chest, fingers gripping the front in an attempt to ground yourself. Your eyes fluttered shut as he took the opportunity to kiss his way down your neck, nibbling at the sensitive part at the junction of your ear and jaw. “Kuna, please.”

His breath was hot as he pressed his lips against your throat, a small whimper escaping your mouth. “You drive me crazy, y’know that?”

You felt his sharp canines drag against your jugular, and you moaned. “Kuna, I - ”

His lips muttered against your skin. “Tell me what you want, because I want it too. I need to hear you say it.”

You panted, your entire body on fire, senses blazing as you felt his hand trail down under your thigh, pulling your leg up and pushing you impossibly closer. You felt your grip in his hair tighten as you felt him pressing against you, and your mind went blank, too overcome by what was happening. 

“Kuna, I – ”

Your eyes shot open as you heard the back door creak on its hinges, and an inquiring voice calling for the man whose name just fell breathlessly from your lips. You stiffened and pushed him away, swiftly pulling your dress back down and pulling up the strap that had slid off your shoulder, hoping your hair wasn’t too mussed to be obvious what had just transpired. 

Uraume rounded the corner behind the pillar, wide eyes immediately locking in on both your winded states, chests heaving, clothes wrinkled, eyes clouded, both of you clearly still affected by what had happened. Her head cocked to the side as she eyed Sukuna up and down, but his eyes never left yours, guiltily, as if watching for your reaction. You stood frozen, not knowing whether to apologize or wait to be reprimanded, your pupils blown as you watched Sukuna’s date size you both up. 

After moments of agonizing silence, she let out a small huff, shaking her head. “Figures. If you weren’t interested, you should’ve just said that when I asked.” She fiddled with her purse, reaching for something small and metallic, tossing it at Sukuna’s chest. It reflected the moonlight as it sailed toward him, and he caught it in his palm, grimacing as he opened his hand, revealing a watch. You glanced down at it and back up at Uraume.

“You left that at mine last Sunday. Been meaning to return it.” Her tone wasn’t cold or menacing or vindictive, just tactical and honest as she crossed her arms, eyes hard as they flicked back and forth between you two. “Guess we both look dumb now, don’t we?”

You couldn’t tell if her last comment was directed at you or him as she walked off, her heels sharp against the paved ground. You felt Sukuna’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t see anything as your vision began to blur, the timelines merging in your head as you fought the sob that threatened to wrack your body. 

Last Sunday, he was with her. Last Sunday, the day after you were sick, when he had come over, caring, or pretending to, as sickness wracked your body. Last Saturday, when you fell asleep, his warm, velvet eyes were the last thing you saw before fatigue took over. Last Saturday, when you all talked on the phone for hours about nothing, his voice was comforting you like the blankets you shrouded yourself in all weekend. Last weekend, when you could finally admit to yourself that what was between you, this pseudo-friendship, meant much more than you had ever intended it to, while clearly it meant nothing to him at all. 

Sukuna whispered your name, his voice hoarse. “Wait.”

You pushed yourself off the pillar, turning your face away so he couldn’t see how easily he broke you apart. 

You knew. Deep down, you knew. You couldn’t believe you had fallen for something so truly simple, so stupid, so archaic and ancient a story it had been told time and time again. You couldn’t stand to think of the pitying looks and knowing glances those girls would give you as you walked inside, your eyes red, mascara running, and chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Played again by the infamous player. A silly, stupid girl, another victim of charm and deceit. You wished you could laugh instead of crying. 

“Fuck you.” You bit out, eyes squinted as you willed the tears away. You whipped around, stalking toward the door Uraume had just exited from. 

“Wait, stop.” Sukuna’s voice ground out as he reached for you again, but this time, you had the sense to pull away.

“Don’t touch me!” You hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip.

“Just – listen to me, I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to explain anything!” You shouted, practically hysterical, before you remembered yourself. You shuddered as you took a breath, attempting to ground yourself amidst the fury you felt. “You’re a liar.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me.” You pointed a manicured finger at his chest, and his lips pressed into a thin line as you continued. “You pretended to care about me when you don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself.” You angrily swiped at the wetness on your cheeks, embarrassed that he’s seeing you in this state. “I cannot believe I let myself think for one second you could actually – ” you shook your head, laughing at the idea you couldn’t even begin to let out. You stoned your face, wrapping yourself in steel armor, putting the guards back up that you should have never let down. 

He took another step forward as you stepped back again. You tried to ignore the wounded look that crossed over his face.

“You’re exactly what everyone says you are.” You whispered out, your words like needles driving into his skin.

He shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that. It’s not true. Please. Listen to me.”

“Sukuna, don’t.” You brought your hand up, palms facing him as you continued to back away. “Just leave me alone.”

You turned away from him, walking through the rest of the party looking for a familiar face to let them know you were leaving. Gaggles of girls and their dates passed in front of you like a maze, and you stumbled through blindly, searching for any sense of cognizance. You wiped away another stray tear as you walked into a body, mumbling out an apology over your shoulder. 

You felt a pair of hands wrap around your arms, and you looked up, Satoru’s blue eyes concerned as he studied your face. You hoped you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt as his thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away another tear. 

Gojo sucked his teeth. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“Did you know?”

His eyes didn’t turn from yours. “He should have stayed away from you. You’re too good for him.”

You winced, leaning forward, pressing your forehead against Gojo’s chest. “I’m such an idiot.”

Gojo pulled you closer, his hand gingerly holding the back of your head. “You’re not an idiot. He’s the idiot, I promise.” You felt Gojo pull away as you sniffled. “You wanna get outta here?”

“I don’t wanna cause a scene,” you mumbled. 

“Too late for that.” Gojo joked, rubbing the sides of your arms, chilled from the night air. “Wanna get some ice cream? It’s getting lame here anyway.”

You nodded, too tired to do anything else, as Satoru quickly and diplomatically said goodbyes, making their way outside, waiting for the hailed car to arrive. Gojo sat down on the porch steps outside the manor, and gently laid his jacket on the ground, allowing you to sit down and rest your body weight against him as your head hung on his shoulder. 

“What flavor are you gonna get?” Gojo asked, a feeble attempt to get your mind off what had just happened. He laced his fingers with yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I definitely want something sweet, like strawberry.”

You sniffed, trying to stabilize your wavering voice. “Nothing too sweet. Maybe a coffee flavour, or something.”

Gojo grimaced. “Gross. Don’t get that. Then I can’t have any.”

You turned to him, eyelids heavy. “Why not?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I hate coffee. Can’t stand the taste.”

You blinked. “What?”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “I know, everyone thinks I’m crazy. But it’s too bitter, no matter how much sugar they put into it. Can’t stand the stuff.”

“You…don’t drink lattes? At all?”

“I’ll chug a Red Bull before I ever fix my mouth to order a latte.” Gojo stuck his tongue out, faux gagging. “So please, get another flavor so I can steal some.”

You tuned out Gojo’s prattling on about flavors, your eyes vacant as the memory of hazelnut and vanilla filled your senses. 

You felt another tear, traitorously, roll down your cheek. 

taglist (open!) : @timelylovergirl @ninnamanzo @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @amourarchive @minasuniverse @chimichangagirl @hannahzg8 @toytears @heartcandyslxt @dovewhisper @thejujvtsupost @feliaeae @hereforchifuyu @weirdnewbie @yummidumplingss @kur0mii3 @zeeseekay @haazelnuutloover @x-evieee-x @bonesbooksbelladonna @mimicryyyy @un-requ1ted @sevloraa @sukubusss @otherworldlymythharmony @ckilhj @winkii @ryosphere @keeperofhearts1 @fluerful @man1cslut @piercddprincess @sleepypandabea @idiotsandwich33

a/n: please put down the pitchforks!! i promise this is the worst it gets!! there is romance to come!! trust me the next couple chapters feature pining and groveling sukuna and it will be delicious. also shoutout to y'all for commenting on this bc istg it truly motivates me to finish this story lol, which i will do!! much love <333

© 2026 mackhiato. All work belongs to @mackhiato. AI training is NOT authorized. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[darksinnn]

[insaneption]

his little smile <3

[towazai]

lil uraume crying im so fucking done

[gabbyp09]

[rambld]

just a peek — a sukuna ryomen fic

pairing: fratboy!sukuna x reader

synopsis: in which sukuna decides to be a good co-host and talk to the quiet girl at the party

contains: fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and drugs, tattoos and piercings, little bit of masochism, use of pet names, protected sex (for once), reader is a little shit, fingering, thigh riding, cumming in boxers, a sprinkle of crack, sukuna's ooc,

words: 7.3k (someone teach me how to write drabbles)

note: was supposed to write another caleb fic but this fucker got to me

It's no secret that anything consumed in excess is bad for you.

Sukuna never thought that would apply to parties. Everyone in their early twenties can relate to it feeling like the end all, be all of their lives. That if they don't make the most of it, this freedom will slip through their fingers like sand within an hourglass.

He was the kind of guy who thought he knew it all despite just how young he was. When his dad would tell him that he'd grow tired of the constant night outs, alcohol and weed, he brushed it off, chalking it up to the old man's age muddling his memories.

And yet, now, as he stood by the keg, sounds, voices and smoke intruding his senses, a throb blooming at the back of his skull from all the noise pollution, he hates to admit that his father may have, kind of, sort of been right.

The red cup in his hand is sweating, contents that were once refreshingly cold now room temperature from his neglect, nothing more than a prop to the statue he makes up as he oversees the familiar and unfamiliar faces crowding the frat house.

Freshmen are easy to spot, fidgety, people-pleasers about to commit the same stupid mistakes he watched his peers make in that year in an attempt to fit in and gain the approval of the acquaintances whose opinions won't matter after graduation. Stale beer wafts through the air no matter how much they deep clean this place as if the sticky floors are soaked with it and the only way to get rid of the smell would require for the floorboards to be replaced.

The bass of the music is a second heartbeat in his chest but it pounds in his head, spurring on the migraine forming there. Carefree laughter evolves into angry shouts when shoulders are checked, the clink of bottles set his teeth on edge, some guys are belting to a song and missing the actual lyrics entirely.

The red and green strobe lights paint faces, creating a sea of waving silhouettes but the brightness has him shutting his eyes or squinting to lessen their blaze. Someone stumbles in their drunken stupor and drops their drink, the liquid splashing offensively close to Sukuna's sneakers and they blubber apologies before scurrying off.

Warm and damp, the air clings to his skin, filled with the pungent stench of blunts, perspiration and strong cologne.

Too much. All of it is way too much yet, at the same, time not enough.

Sukuna wants a change of scenery, something to sink his teeth into to bring back the heady rush that usually swirls in his chest at these ragers.

But he can't find the motivation to seek it out.

He's contemplating taking out his phone and dialing his older brother, Jin, to ask if he could come crash over at his place for the night. With how much fun everyone else is having, he doubts he could sleep through it in his bedroom upstairs. Besides, he's begrudgingly missing his nephew, the little squirt always clinging to him and asking to play some ball.

Tapping his pockets to retrieve it, he almost takes it out when something catches his eye.

Correction: someone.

Having done away with the oversized tees and baggy jeans you wear to class as well as your spectacles, you're standing in a corner and chatting, unenthusiastically with a guy who can't take the hint in your slightly turned away body and wandering gaze. It's not a surprise when you're wearing that low-cut top that hugs your waist, your bra making your tits sit pretty and form-fitting flared jeans with heels. The ponytails and buns are gone too, letting your luscious, glossy hair flow down your back and bounce with your nods and laughter.

Amused, he watches as you try and fail to end the conversation, eyes searching for one of the friends you undoubtedly came with who got swallowed in the chaos of it all.

Sukuna forgets about his migraine and sleepover plans as he makes his way over, smoothing his hands over his football shirt as he does.

You spot him first, that pink hair and tall figure unmistakable, head lifting as your eyes light up at the chance to escape. He bites back a chuckle at your eagerness, schooling his features into the permanent scowl he's always sporting.

The guy notices your attention is elsewhere and follows your gaze, brows furrowed then springing up when he sees who's the source of your distraction. Sukuna doesn't have to say a word for him to drop his head and remove himself from the spot beside you, letting him take it easily.

A grateful smile graces your lips. “Thanks, I don't know how many times I had to say that I prefer my own company before he got the gist.”

Sukuna hums at that, eyes narrowing playfully. “Really? Couldn't you just tell him flat out like you always do?”

He knows you're straightforward, confrontational at its finest. Hell, he experienced it first hand when he and Toji were whispering too loudly for it to be considered that at all and cracking jokes behind you in the lecture hall at the start of the year.

You let it go on for a whole ten minutes before turning around once the professor excused himself to the bathroom. Slamming your hand down on the mahogany desk, you startled the two men, glowering at them.

“How about we save the hookup debriefing and locker room gossip for after class, boys?” you asked—no—instructed with a tight smile that had Toji's brows high and Sukuna speechless for a moment.

Toji was the first to apologise, smiling charmingly and apologetic. “Sorry,” he knew your name as he used it then, “we got too excited. We'll continue once class is over.”

Your eyes flickered between the two young men, unnervingly silent until Sukuna gave a conceding nod which satisfied you so you faced forward again and sat back down.

He wouldn't have believed you were capable of such assertiveness had he not experienced it that day. Even after that, you hardly spoke to them, ever attentive to the lessons being taught and quiet unless you had a question.

Lifting a shoulder, you wrinkle your nose in disagreement. “Nah, I didn't wanna cause unnecessary drama.” Heaven knows how easily that would escalate at a time like this when tensions were high.

“I see. Well, I would've kicked him out before he started shit,” he assures you.

Rolling your eyes, you arch a brow at him. “Yeah, right. You'd be happy if the opportunity to fight presented itself.”

The mischievous borderline malicious grin he flashes you in response confirms that statement.

Boredom that had settled in the marrow of your bones seeps out of you with every word you say to him. He's quite the entertaining conversationalist so the nods and smiles you give him aren't forced out of politeness. You don't have the urge to excuse yourself like you did with the guy from earlier and even laugh when he tells you about the time Toji had put on a stray red lacy thong instead of his briefs when getting up for an early morning meeting, heavily hungover.

“Bet it complemented your eyes,” you giggle as his ruby red eyes widen, the whites of them clear as day.

He nudges you with his shoulder, fighting off a humorous smile with the downturn of his lips as he tries to frown.

“You think you're funny, huh?”

Sobering up, the mirth on your face is unwavering. “Hilarious, actually. You walked into that one by telling me the colour.”

He opens his mouth to argue then shrugs because you have a point.

You talk, really talk, for the first time outside of greetings in class or in passing on campus. Slowly, Sukuna starts feeling like he's where he's supposed to be rather than a fish out of water tonight.

Both of you shit on these parties together despite Sukuna co-hosting many of them. You're smart, witty and opinionated as you warm up to him. It's not like the flirty and teasing chats he has with girls on the couch or behind the stairs before he takes them away for the night nor loud and boisterous like the conversations he has with his friends.

Though, with the way you catch his gaze dip then slowly come back to your face, you know he's checking you out. You can't be fussed up about it because you're certainly not complaining about the way his pierced nipples poke through the shirt straining across his chest, arms bulging when he gestures with his hands.

And perhaps it's the late hour that has your tête-à-tête straying into less than private territory when he brings up his tattoos.

Sukuna wears his ink like the art was invented because the creator had him as the muse. The dark bands around his wrists pop out against his tanned skin and the designs on his face add to his intimidating appeal rather than ruin it. He's one of the first people you think actually pulls off face tattoos.

Maybe it's the unnecessarily strong punch you drank earlier to loosen up but you find yourself reaching for his big wrist.

Eyes wide, you look up to see how he took that unsolicited touch but he only smiles gently and holds it out of you to inspect. You're discussing his tattoos after all, he's not a stranger to a bit of show and tell.

Fingers flexing around his wrist, his steady pulse beneath the pad of your thumb, you bring it up to look at the artwork. There's no missed spots, the golden brown skin pitch black, a light dusting of hair on his arm.

Whistling low, your gaze flickers back to him and your heart lurches as you find him watching you rather than his arm, an unreadable look on his face.

Clearing your throat, you end the brief staring contest and speak, “These are blacked out. How long did it take?”

“A couple of sessions.”

“It must've hurt a lot, especially here since the skin is thinner, right?” your thumb rubs circles into his skin as if to confirm your words.

Tucking his lips into his mouth, he bites the inside of his cheek then gives an affirmative nod.

“Yeah, it did. But after frequenting the tattoo shop, you kind of get used to it, you know?”

A little laugh escapes you at that. “You can say that again.”

Surprise flickers in his crimson irises at that as he reluctantly slips his wrist out of your loosening hold, not wanting to make it awkward or make you uncomfortable if he left it there longer than you wanted.

“Huh? You get it? Wait—” His gaze roams over you, half to search for any signs of ink and half to snag a glimpse of your body once more. “Do you mean period cramps? Heard they're a bitch.”

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a smile, you shake your head and breathe out a chuckle when his lips part.

“They do hurt and yeah, that probably contributes to my high pain tolerance but I meant tattoos,” you clarify.

He blinks once then twice then thrice, unable to wrap his head around the concept of you taking a needle to your skin and inking it.

“As in, you've heard from others or you have your own?”

Scoffing, you cast him a dry look. “I have my own. One actually.”

Once again, his eyes drop, flitting up and down, coming back to yours, cheek lifting in a scrunch like he's malfunctioning, pulling a laugh from you.

The man racks his brain for what you could possibly have on your body. Some cute cartoon animal, a piece of patchwork, maybe some positive affirmation or the date your childhood dog died. Whatever it is, it's definitely small or else his observant eyes would've spotted it before.

However, you do cover up a lot. He thought you were just conservative and dressed modestly up until tonight. The idea of you doing it to keep something under wraps never crossed his mind but now it does, insistent and inquisitive and he wants to ask about it but doesn't want to pry.

Taking a step closer, the blasting music and chatter dull as your warmth and feminine scent wash over him, reeling him back in from his racing thoughts.

“Would you like to see it?”

Gulping, Sukuna stares at you like you caught him stealing a cookie from the jar. His stomach churns when you cock your head to the side, eyes taking in his coral pink hair, face-framing tattoos and sharp features like you appreciate what you see before coming back to those red, red eyes, patient.

The lighthearted air between you is now tinged with something else, playful on the surface but an unassuming fool could dip their toes into the seemingly shallow water and get pulled in by the current, flailing as they drown and sink to their untimely end.

Sukuna is all too willing to be that fool now as he agrees, nosiness winning over his common sense.

Glancing over your shoulder, he nods towards the staircase casually. You appear to hesitate, no doubt understanding the implications of going up to a guy's room with him.

But that's not the case here. You just want privacy and that happens to be available in his quarters.

Moving through the crowd, your hands almost brush his one, shoulders grazing but neither of you pull away. Sukuna leads, carving out a path in the cramped hallway so it's clear for you. When you reach the steps, he gestures for you to go first.

The further you go upstairs, down the halls and turning corners, the music dulls. Despite the breed of males that inhabits this place, the air up here smells like laundry detergent and soap with only a hint of old wood and beer.

His room isn't as different as the ones you passed—bed, bay window, desk littered with textbooks and a closet. Though unlike the others, this has its own bathroom. You get a glimpse of his life from the band posters on the wall, sports gear, a few figurines and even picture frames of his family, two of them sharing the signature pink hair of his.

The door shuts behind him as you're doing a little tour of his room from where you're standing in the middle of it, rendering the weekly chaos downstairs into a distant thrum that feels farther away than you actually are. Inside here, everything feels calmer in the dimly-lit, masculine scented, personal sanctuary.

“So,” he starts as he takes a seat on the edge of his bed, watching you with amused expectancy and a dash of skepticism. “I doubt you're the type of girl that would come upstairs with me for the usual reasons. Let's get to it then.”

Finding his impatience entertaining you prolong it as you saunter over to him, standing before him and looking down as his sitting position puts you above him.

“What if I did come here for the usual reasons?” you ask in a scandalous whisper.

He visibly swallows as if your admission threw him off his game. But he admittedly gains it back quickly and offers a crooked smirk.

“Didn't know you saw me that way but if that's what you want, I hope you know how I do these things,” he reminds you, not wanting you to go in blind and risk getting hurt.

Sukuna's reputation to hump and dump is notorious on campus. He's too preoccupied with his academics, athletics and social life to entertain the responsibilities of having a girlfriend. So he indulges in casual sex, putting it all out there to ensure the girls know what they're getting into. He's a one-and-done type of man, never bedding the same girl twice to prevent them from feeling special.

“Oh, I know,” you assure him in a murmur. Arms slinking around his stiffening shoulders, fingers lacing at the back of his neck, you lean in, cleavage distractingly close to his face.

His eyes traitorously fall on them, the swells satisfyingly round and perky, and he's close enough to mar your smooth, supple skin with the sharp indent of his teeth. Running his tongue over his canines as they tingle at the thought, he meets your eyes again, more than willing to take you now and get his mouth of those tits you've been hiding under all those layers of cloth—

But you're laughing and pulling away, highly humored by your little stunt that had fooled him as his face drops into a grouchy frown. Though to you, it looks like he's pouting.

“Sorry, but you made that too easy,” you say through giggles.

You're such a sly minx, he thinks with the shake of his head, half-hard and a little frustrated.

Putting some distance between you, you stand far enough that he has a chance to breathe in air that isn't you and close enough that he can watch as you give him your back and tie up your hair. It looks so soft and silky, he wonders how it'd feel on his hands, would his raking fingers get caught on knots and tangled or would the strands let them seep through like water?

Chastising himself in his mind, he focuses on what you're doing once more.

When you reach behind you, grasping the fabric of your tee at your upper back and crumpling it in your hands, slowly pulling it up, his mind blanks.

You're not wearing a bra, no sign of the straps or clasp on your bare back.

Inch by inch, the coils of a creature on the left side of your back are revealed to him, his eyes working to absorb it all and guess what it could be before you reveal it.

He's glad he didn't bet on it being small because holy fucking shit.

You don't stop lifting your top once you reach your shoulder, turning so you're facing him at a three-quarter angle as you pull the fabric off the left side of your chest, above your heart.

A dragon's piercing gaze finds him almost accusingly, body dipping across your collarbone and over your shoulder, slithering down your back in wispy, inky, immaculate lines and scales. It's smoky as if the majestic creature of myth imbued itself in your skin with the remnants of its firebreathing and you became its vessel.

Its body winds down your back in impossibly intricate, elegant loops, ink sharpening and fading in all the right places to give the illusion that it was a phantom but also physical, the warm lighting of his bedroom casting the perfect glow to it all.

He's drinking it all it like an critique at a museum as it's one of the most unique ones he's ever seen, gaze roving the expanse of your body from your collarbone to your upper back and lower where the reptilian body meanders and ducks beneath the denim of your jeans, cutting off his admiration abruptly.

“It's…” he begins then trails off, not wanting to do injustice to the work of art he's been blessed with by trying to describe it in words that could never entirely capture its beauty.

You don't wait for him to continue anyway, his eyes bulging when your thumb hooks into the waistband of your jeans—and your panties apparently—tugging down, down down.

As if sensing his turmoil, you glance over your shoulder, a gleam in your gaze that's not from his night lamp as you huff an amused breath at the panicked look on his face. His face burns as he knows he probably looks like a prepubescent boy seeing his first pair of boobs in a magazine.

“Relax, big guy. I'm not stripping for you. You wanna see the whole thing, right?” You arch a brow in question.

He nods once. You've already gone this far, might as well show him the entire piece so he doesn't have to let it trouble him at night—which it will regardless.

The globe of your plump ass has heat coiling in his stomach that's got nothing to do with the dragon and everything to do with you.

You pull your bottoms down a fraction more, stopping mid-thigh where he finally sees the tip of the dragon's tail and the action is so visceral that Sukuna feels it like you've tugged at his cock.

“There,” you say, a little breathless. “That's all of it.”

Holding your top to your chest and your jeans low on your thigh so your left side is fully revealed to him, you let him get a good look at the tattoo.

It's odd, really. You don't show this to many people, only best friends and close family like your siblings and cousins. But something, maybe your pride, wanted him to see it too. To show the guy who thinks he's big and bad that you aren't what he assumes you are.

And boy, does that click in Sukuna's brain now as he ogles unabashedly while you occupy yourself with scanning his room, pretending you don't feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

The dragon's alive and moving, he thinks, with the way your breaths make it rise and fall, your twists at the waist to look at him to see if he's done and you could drape a curtain over this masterpiece, probably never planning to let him see it again.

Each time he blinks, he sees the sinuous and unbroken creature behind his eyelids, a white outline against the darkness like the colour inverted. He hopes it's there every time he closes them like this secret of yours imprinted on him.

“Cool, right?” you ask with a knowing smile as if you're all too aware that his admiration is steadily descending into arousal. Or maybe you don't and that's just his perverted mind projecting its dreams.

Still quite stunned, his gaze cuts to yours.

“Mhm,” he hums, not trusting the dryness in his throat to add to his boyish reaction and he knows that the blush up to his hairline is nearly as pink as his hair. “Very fucking cool.”

His gaze is so dark and piercing, the colour of red wine and dizzying you a little like a few glasses of the liquor would. There's no alcohol or drug to blame as he didn't have anything tonight. If he's drunk on anything, it's you.

It's disorienting, being watched so intently by him, but you find your bearings by reminding yourself that everyone you show reacts like this. Just with more awe, less intensity and no lust(?) but that's just who Sukuna is, what makes people want to run to him and run away at the same time.

“Guess you were right, this looks like it hurt a lot too,” he breaks the silence thankfully.

“It did at first, felt raw like I scratched my skin too hard or burned myself when he began shading it but then…it felt warm,” you tell him quietly as you mull over the memories of the sessions it took to get this tattooed.

The needle was a hot, vibrating blade at first, dragging and scraping at your skin over and over again. It made your jaw clench, muscles tense. But then, after a few minutes, the familiarity blunted the sharp edges of the pain, morphing into heat and pressure, the buzz making your focus drift in and out.

And then, in a weird way, it became soothing, vibrations hypnotic in their rhythm, pain softening into a balmy, heady hum that had you putting the headrest of the leather seat to good use as your eyes drifted shut.

“You'd fall asleep during sessions?” Sukuna blurts after you told him. “Damn, your tolerance is up there with mine,” he muses like he's impressed, like he's jotting that down for future reference.

Realization dawns on you that you've been standing here nearly half-naked during this entire discussion. Heat creeps up your face despite this being the result of your boldness.

As you move to make yourself decent again by pulling up your jeans and putting on your top, a heavy, rough hand stops you as it grasps your wrist.

It drops the moment you look at him, strong hand moving to the side of his neck to knead the imaginary stiffness out of it. “Sorry, I shouldn't have.”

“You're good.”

Sukuna's trying to come off as casual and is unsuccessful, chewing on the words he wants to say, the sight oddly endearing as he meets your gaze.

“Can I…can I touch you?” he asks then understands his slip up. “Your tattoo, I mean. Obviously.”

Your face warms as you repeat, “Obviously.”

His hands raise in a placating manner.

“Only if you're comfortable, of course. I'm not gonna be one of those bitter assholes if you decline,” he reassures you.

Chuckling, you shake your head.

“No, it's okay. Really. I just realised that since I'm already showing you something I don't show off easily that I might as well let you touch it.”

Relief relaxes and softens his features, heart stuttering in your chest as he smiles at you. The softness matches the colour of his hair and is fluffy as it probably is.

Sukuna, you come to find out, meant what he said the first time when he wanted to touch you.

That's why your face is buried in his pillow now, the plush cushion bearing the brunt of your moans as he barrels his cock into you with aggressive thrusts. The bed frame swayed so much that you were blabbering in worry about it possibly being on the verge of breaking. If it did, Sukuna would just take you on the floor like an animal and order another bed tomorrow. No biggie.

It's not rough the entire time though, he alternates from slow strokes that threaten to pull you under, deeper ones that let the feverish itch inside you linger for a second when he pulls back, tip squeezed by your pussy so it can't escape like the rest of him has before he's pushing forward and a relieved, wanton moan escapes you accompanied by the gravely groan from him as he melts into your snuggly cunt, gooey walls sucking him in to mold around him as his cock pulses within like it's been tucked away for bed and its breaths are evening out.

Big, callous hands trace down the damp skin of your back, touch reverent, fingers sticking to your skin slightly as they trace drown your ink, following every line all the way down to your thigh where the caresses grow greedy as his palm cups a handful of your ass, jiggling it with an appreciative grunt before landing a stinging slap to it that has you clenching around him a you squeak out a whimper.

The noise tickles his brain so he does it again and again until your skin is growing raw and burning but it doesn't stop you from arching your back until there's a fold at your waist, pushing into his mean palm for more. He's not surprised in the slightest given how you'd grown flustered while reminiscing about getting your tattoo earlier and sheepishly admitting that you liked the pain.

And now you came to the perfect man to feed into all your wants and desires that may seem crazy to others but make him look at you like you're the love of his life.

Sukuna's been chasing that high since that night, no one's made him come as hard, as much or as often as you did that night. He's convinced you had cocaine or an aphrodisiac lining your walls with how you fucked like rabbits that night. He'd been the one to ask for a break more often than you did, panting that it was too much as he slumped against his headboard, hand over his face while you cooed, straddling him and assuring him that he could take it.

Murmurs of encouragement and whispers of praise filled his ear as your lips brushed at the shell while you bounced on his lap, slow at first so he wouldn't feel the nag of overstimulation. He was flabbergasted at how you'd be up and ready for another round in two minutes tops, almost considered recruiting his friends to help take care of your insatiable libido that coated his thighs, used condoms in the trashcan near his bed, some on the floor beside it when his aim that grew sloppy from exhaustion. At least then he could catch a breather and recharge before dealing with you again.

Fuck, he needed to go to the gym more than three times a week now if a quiet, sweet girl like you was tuckering him out like this.

Wait, though. Why was he planning to accommodate you as if that night would happen again?

That's not a part of his strict sex rules—it's a one and done policy after all.

And when he confides in his teammates in the locker room while “gossiping” as you eloquently put it, leaving out your name because he didn't need them flocking to you after seeing the state you left him in, they give him the same answer.

Be short with her. Act nonchalant. Pretend you don't care.

Chicks dig that, they said.

Mind you, none of these guys have stellar track records when it comes to any sort of relationship.

Since they were just confirming what he already believed was the solution, he nodded along and agreed. Why should he fuck you again? He could just act like an asshole everyone thought he was and if that repelled you then you clearly weren't meant to be the person he broke his rule for.

That doesn't explain the ache in his heart when he thinks about you too much, his cock completely forgotten like it didn't affect his feelings at all when it came to you. Showed him that it wasn't just lust leaving him this lost. He brushes girls off and turns them down when they try to get in his pants, suddenly not up for it anymore.

He's outside the house you share with a few other girls, blaring his horn like a maniac, music blasting and rattling your windows, to get your attention when he starts coming over for tutoring as per the favor your professor asked you.

You're not stupid and neither is Sukuna so you knew that this tutoring business had an ulterior motive but you played along to see if he'd come clean.

Obviously, he didn't because he thought he was oh so fucking slick. A genius as he acted clueless when answering the simplest of questions with the dumbest answers that tore away your usual patience and had you insulting his intelligence, telling him football must've concussed him.

He gets this dreamy look when you scold him like it's all he's ever wanted but you assume he's daydreaming about the parties he's going to throw and girls he's going to sleep with.

Sukuna doesn't try to make a move on you during and outside your tutoring sessions, just brings you food, drinks and plays video games with you. So you just treat him as a friend at this point. When you don't attempt to flirt or check him out in those deadly gray sweats and snug white tee combos he wears so he can stretch and show off the deep V disappearing into the waistband of his pants, he starts pulling away.

He couldn't just slut himself out for nothing.

Unfazed as ever, you cut your losses and move on to the next guy. Sukuna sees you hanging out with Satoru and Suguru, two guys in his social circle who are known for threesomes and stomach acid rises up his throat at the thought of you having that kind of fun with them.

Seeing you sit with them on the couch at a party, letting Suguru cup your cheeks, lips parted in a pucker so he can blow a plume of smoke into it, the giggles spilling out of you licked away by his swiping tongue as he kisses you twists the man's stomach. Satoru complains before tugging you onto his lap and smearing that stupid gloss of his on your lips, pushing up his glasses when it disrupts him, has Sukuna crushing the solo cup in his hand, drink splattering on the girl clinging to his arm.

“I don't like dancing around a topic or dropping hints and waiting for someone to catch them. It's cowardly and a waste of time. If you want something, you ask, make it clear and leave no room for doubt,” you had told him at the party where everything changed. “If you can't do that then don't bother at all.”

The man can't see anything that's clearer than him scaling up the side of your house under the cover of night, hoisting himself up on the balcony you'd sat with him on during breaks when you tutored him.

He's incredibly stealthy about it too, having ensured your neighbors were asleep and your housemates retired before becoming a damn burglar.

You're reading on your bed, comfortable in a pair of panties and a sleep shirt, when the curtains stir and it's not from the wind as a shadow darken the floor that was bathed in moonlight.

The scream ready in your throat is silenced as a familiar grip clasps around your neck, mouth coming down on yours, spicy masculine scent washing over you, calming you embarrassingly fast.

Sukuna's sporting an angry red handprint with all five fingers accounted for a few moments later as he has you sprawled out between his thighs, back to his chest as he glances down the line of your body, past your perky breasts that are rising up and down with your choppy breaths, down the softness of your tummy to where his fingers are pumping rhythmically.

The glistening, webby slick on his fingers catches the fairy lights in your room as he works them in and out of you, head resting on your shoulder, lips brushing your ear and stirring the hair there.

“I was an asshole,” he whispers earnestly, keeping it down like you told him to because your housemates are asleep.

Lifting his head to meet your gaze in the reflection of the mirror he has you facing, his eyes search yours. “Forgive me?”

Despite the daze you were in, you didn't dignify that with a response, selfishly wringing him out for your benefit.

True, he didn't do anything seriously damaging and you never expected much from him after that night but you were going to take advantage of this anyway.

Bracketed by his meaty thighs, you could hear the thud of his heartbeat and how his breathing hitches when your pussy flutters around his deft fingers, gurgling from your wetness with each push in.

You'd kept your shirt on out of spite but he had no qualms skating the palm of his free hand under the hem, groping at the fat of your breasts and pinching at your nipples, his cock kicking in his pants against your lower back, wanting the attention you refuse to give it.

“Still mad, pretty girl?” he croons as you drowsily glare at him before your face twists when his fingers stroke deeper, curling and delving.

Whimpers and gasps that were stuck in your throat out of spite are drawn out when he prods at the swelling spongy spot inside you, your legs twitching, hips lifting for more and less of his touch.

“Not too loud now, baby. Can't disturb your housemates, hmm?” For a guy who's allegedly apologetic, he sure is taunting.

His wrist twists so that his fingers are still nestled inside you while he strums your clit, rubbing it and grinding the pad of his thumb against it just right.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you barely muffle the strangled sound that rips from your throat, brows bowing, eyes glazed with desirous heat from how fucking good he finger-fucked you.

“You're fucking beautiful like this,” he whispers, reiterating his compliment for the umpteenth time like he can't get over it. He must be intoxicated by the pleasure he's giving you.

Seeing you bare faced, hair a mess and dressed haphazardly in the comfort of your bedroom itched the right part of his brain as he was getting a peek into your private life and what it'd look like if he shared that kind of domesticity with you.

A sense of deja vu flashes behind your eyelids as you remember being in a very familiar position that night when he held you up in front of his bathroom mirror so you could witness how his slick cock disappeared into your glistening cunt through blurry eyes, watching his own expression contort into something awestruck as he kept you suspended like it was nothing while fucking into you.

He's got that wistful look in his hooded eyes again, marveling at your form in the mirror, crowded by him, fitting between his legs so perfectly.

Eyelids growing heavier, you hold his gaze in the reflection, half-lidded with your eyelashes fluttering from each heady drip in your stomach, pooling and rising steadily as the early signs that the wave of your orgasm was coming. Arousal flushes your face, baby hairs sticking to your forehead.

When the eye contact becomes too much, you drop your gaze to where he's making you feel so good, wet lips parting on a silent moan. Your back arches off his firm chest, cunt squeezing his fingers so tight that he couldn't move them as you came, tingles spreading from your pussy all the way up to your chest, making you feel lightheaded.

It's then and there that Sukuna decides to coax more out of you, kisses and apologies dotting the side of your neck and face as he does.

Even now as you let him strip off his shirt and jeans, settling against your headboard in just his socks, boxers and tank top, he takes it. When you straddle one of his thighs rather than the bulge of his cock tightening his boxers, he takes it.

Lowering yourself onto his thigh, the muscle flexing under you, Sukuna groans as your slippery folds part, your clit beating against his skin. The glides are so easy with how you're dripping, smearing your slick all over his thigh as his cock throbs painfully, a damp patch growing bigger on the front of his underwear.

Each rock of your hips had it jerking like you were grinding on it instead of his thigh. This wasn't actual sex yet it felt more intense and he was afraid he'd need no stimulation to finish.

Gripping his shoulders, you ground yourself on the broad, bulky expanse of his thigh, cute little hitches disrupting your approving hums when he intentionally flexes it and your clit catches.

The orgasms from earlier left you drenched so you had to shift this way and that so you didn't slide off, squeezing his thigh between yours until you nearly cramped. Fortunately after some frustrated huffs during your trial and error, you found the position that made your stomach constantly flip.

Leaning close, your lips brush his jaw. “You're being so good for me, huh? You must be really sorry.”

“I am,” he grits out because isn't that what he's been saying this whole time?

Having you so close and not being inside you was torture that he would endure until you relented. With a smile against his cheek, you nip at this jaw before pulling back and chasing your pleasure once more.

With your breasts bouncing in his face, he glances up for permission and you nod. Then he's leaning forward, lips closing around your clothed nipple, saliva soaking the fabric as he bites at it, nuzzling his face in the softness of them.

A full body shudder wracks through you as your release bubbles in your lower belly, your hands fisting his tank top as you rasp out a fucked out little, “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Sukuna lets himself be used like a toy or a pillow to get you off on, moving at a sporadic pace until your hips stutter and you shiver, head dropping into the crook of his neck when you come with pulses against his thigh, cunt desperately milking the air, hot puffs of breath dampening his already dewy skin.

His head hits your cushioned headboard with a thud, his groan long and wrecked as he feels his cock pulse sharply, spurts of cum soiling his boxers. You pull back, hazy eyes narrowed.

“Did you just—?”

“Cum untouched? Yeah,” he finishes for you, literally and figuratively.

A few minutes later, after you give him wet wipes to clean up, you watch as he gets ready to leave, about to put his jeans and t-shirt back on when you grab his arm and stop him.

His maroon eyes find yours, hopeful.

“I'm ready to accept your apology.”

A grin breaks out on his face and he ducks his head, ready to kiss you.

You press your palm to his lips.

“On one condition.”

That condition entails him leaving the house through the front door rather than climbing out your windows.

You don't even let him change before ushering him out.

Sukuna never turns down dares so his head is held high and proud as he stalks down the stairs and through the hallway in just his boxers and tank top—jeans, belt and shirt balled in his arm as he keeps his steps light, not putting any lights on since everyone's asleep.

Luck being on his side is a thought that has him preening until he passes the kitchen and a spoon clatters to the tiled floor.

Jolting, Sukuna turns to see three girls in the kitchen, a ball of clothing shielding his crotch. One sitting on the island, the other at the opened fridge and another standing with a pudding cup in hand, spoon missing.

All of them are gaping at him, eyes wide and blushing, frozen in their spots. Two are in charcoal face masks while the third has what he thinks is hair removal cream on her upper lip.

He lets out a smooth chuckle that sounds a little shaky as he bows his head. “Evening, ladies. Sorry for the intrusion, I'm on my way out.”

To his surprise, they don't scream and call the cops but instead grin and cheer for him like he's a stripper.

Basking in the attention like the cocky bastard he is, he does a spin for them, showing off his muscles before bowing and taking his leave.

You watch him from your balcony as he walks to his truck all suave and smug. When he looks back and smirks, you roll your eyes.

“I'm taking you out tomorrow. Wear something cute,” he calls out as he climbs it and drives off, bass vibrating through the whole neighborhood, his stealth completely forgotten.

When he picks you up the next day for your date and kisses you stupid, biting your bottom lip harshly that you almost think he drew blood before he pulls back and pecks your cheek so tenderly that your heartbeat slows for a second too long, syrupy and sweet, you're taken aback.

“That's for making me the laughing stock of your house yesterday, you brat,” he grumbles playfully as if he didn't bring them all flowers as an apology for his indecency last night.

“Aww, but you looked so sexy like that. Gave them a show and all,” you coo, pinching his cheek.

“Don't test me, woman,” he warns but there's no ill intent behind him as he takes your hand from his face and lightly bites your finger tips.

After that, he courts you properly, asks to be your boyfriend a month later when his team wins a match and parades you around campus like you're his trophy.

No one would believe that this was the same guy who swore off dating for years.

note: wrote this after watching this video so it's probably rushed lmao