You've never been the sorcerer they sent in first.
Not because you couldn't handle yourself—you could, and anyone who quietly assumed otherwise or dared to question your abilities out loud learned quickly that a cursed tool in your hands ends a curse just as efficiently as any flashier technique. But what you could do from the sidelines was worth more than what you could do in the field.
Your technique, Senken—Foresight—let you see exactly one hour into any future you chose to look at. One hour, experienced in full, returned to you with perfect clarity: enough to map every outcome and prepare for it, enough to close every gap and ensure there wouldn't be any surprises, enough to bring sorcerers home who wouldn't have made it otherwise.
Now you're back in Tokyo for the first time in years. Geto Suguru, who you once shared a cafeteria table and four years of your life with, is on the official threat register. Shoko Ieiri is the only one from those years who still picks up when you call. And Satoru Gojo is alive and completely unreachable in the way that only people who've decided to grieve someone who isn't dead yet can be.
You've looked into the future a thousand times across your career. You've always known what was coming. Yet, no vision could've prepared you for what was waiting back in Tokyo.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ after three weeks of watching sukuna completely unravel over his feelings, you decide it’s time to put him out of his misery by kissing him.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, established friendship, first kiss together, sukuna is even more pathetic, mutual pining, reader has the upper hand, idiots in love, lots of kissing, sukuna is down horrendous for reader, longing.
part one.
three weeks had passed since that tuesday afternoon, and the thing about sukuna was that he was nothing if not stubbornly, infuriatingly predictable in his unpredictability.
he'd gone right back to flirting with you the very next day, like nothing had happened, like you hadn't watched his voice crack and his ears go pink and his entire carefully constructed confidence crumple like wet paper. he'd shown up at your usual coffee spot with that sharp grin and a comment about how you looked cute when you were sleep-deprived, and you'd blinked at him over your latte and said;
"cute enough to kiss?"
and sukuna had promptly choked on his own spit.
it was almost too easy, really, the way sukuna’s brain would short-circuit for a solid three seconds before he managed to pull himself together, the way his tattoos seemed to ripple with tension across his forearms as he scrambled for a response, the way his eyes would go just a little bit wide before he remembered to be annoying about it.
but he always recovered. that was the thing; sukuna would cough and sputter and glare at you like you'd personally offended his ancestors, and then he'd lean in close and say something like, "you wish, sweetheart", with that particular tilt to his mouth that was supposed to make you flustered.
except it didn't work anymore, because you'd seen the cracks in his armor now. you'd seen the way sukuna’s hand shook when he reached for his phone, the way sukuna had looked away first, the way sukuna had said please like it was a word he'd never learned how to use.
and you'd seen the way sukuna had started looking at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.
that was the part that stuck with you, honestly. the way you'd catch sukuna staring at you across the library table or from the other end of his worn-out couch, his expression soft and unguarded in a way he'd never let you see before that tuesday. the way he'd immediately look away the very second your gaze met his, his jaw tightening like he'd been caught doing something really embarrassing.
three weeks of this; sukuna flirting and panicking and flirting again, of you pushing just enough to make him squirm but not enough to break the careful dance you'd both settled into.
three weeks of both of you pretending that something fundamental hadn't shifted between you, that you hadn't accidentally kicked open a door sukuna had been trying to keep closed so freaking bad.
but today, you were done pretending.
today, you were going to kiss your flirty best friend, sukuna, and you were going to do it in a way that left absolutely no room for interpretation.
today, it was a saturday afternoon, the kind that felt lazy and golden and full of possibility, and you'd shown up at sukuna's apartment with a bag of takeout from that thai place he liked so much and the specific kind of determination that came from weeks of watching him flail.
sukuna opened the door looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, which was probably accurate given that it was almost two in the afternoon and he'd texted you at 4am about a dream he'd had where his stats professor turned into a sentient spreadsheet. sukuna's pink hair was messier than usual, sticking up in ways that shouldn't have been attractive but absolutely were, and he was wearing that faded black t-shirt that had a small hole near the collar and made his tattoos stand out even more against his skin.
"you brought food," sukuna said, his voice rough with sleep, and the way his eyes lit up made something warm curl in your chest. "i was about to text you to ask if you wanted to order something. i haven't eaten since, like, yesterday."
"that's disgusting," you said, stepping past him into the apartment. "and also incredibly on-brand for you."
sukuna made a little sound of protest that was mostly performative, shutting the door behind you and following you into the living room like a large, tattooed shadow.
the apartment was the same as always — slightly cluttered, faintly smelling like his cologne and whatever takeout containers he hadn't thrown out yet, with that old leather couch that had seen better decades and the coffee table covered in his notes and empty energy drink cans.
you set the takeout bags on the table and turned to face him, and of course, sukuna was already looking at you with that familiar, lazy amusement, like he was already gearing up to say something annoying.
"you know," sukuna said, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms shift, the dark lines of his tattoos pulling tight over bone and tendon. "you're kind of spoiling me. showing up with food, looking all—" sukuna gestured vaguely at you, his eyes dragging down and then back up in a way that was supposed to be teasing. "—like that. i might start expecting this."
"expecting what?" you asked, and you kept your voice light, casual, like you weren't about to completely upend both of your lives. "me bringing you food because you can't be bothered to feed yourself?"
"no," he said, and his grin sharpened, that particular tilt to his mouth that meant he was about to be a menace. "you showing up. looking good. being all—" he made another vague gesture, his fingers curling in the air like he was trying to grab the right word. "—you know. you."
and there it was, the thing that had changed, that you'd noticed more and more over the past few weeks.
sukuna had stopped simply saying you looked cute or making some comment about your outfit — the pink haired boy was getting softer, clumsier, like he was trying to say something real and didn't quite know how.
you could feel your stupid heart beating a little faster in your chest, but you kept your expression steady, and your posture easy. you'd been planning this for days now, running through it in your head again and again, trying to figure out the right moment and the right way to do it.
"you," you repeated, and you stepped closer to him, just one step, close enough that you could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed. "is that supposed to be a compliment, kuna? because it's kind of vague."
sukuna's eyebrows pulled together, just slightly, the way they always did when you deviated from your usual deflections. his arms were still crossed, but you could see the tension in his broads shoulders now, the way sukuna was holding himself just a little too still.
"it's not vague," he said, and his voice had dropped just a fraction, that roughness from sleep still clinging to the edges of it. "you know what i mean."
"do i?"
you took another step closer, and now you were close enough to see the way his pupils had dilated just slightly, the way his breath had caught in his throat. his tattoos seemed to darken against his skin in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, those familiar lines shifting as his muscles tensed.
"you're doing it again," sukuna said, and there it was, that slight crack in his voice, the one that had been appearing more and more often over the past few weeks. "the thing where you're—where you act like—"
"act like what?"
sukuna's arms uncrossed, and for a moment he looked like he didn't know what to do with them, his hands flexing at his sides before he shoved them into the pockets of his sweatpants. the gesture was almost defensive, and you could see the way his jaw worked as he ground his teeth together.
"act like you're going to—" he stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you know what. you know exactly what you're doing."
"do i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your gaze drop to his mouth for just a second before bringing it back to his eyes. "tell me, then. what am i doing?"
sukuna's breath hitched; you heard it, the way it caught in his chest and came out uneven, and you watched the flush start creeping up his neck in that splotchy pattern you'd become intimately familiar with over the past few weeks. it started at his collarbones, just visible above the collar of his t-shirt, and spread upward in patches that stained his skin pink.
"you're—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "you're trying to make me—i don't know what you're trying to make me do, but you're doing it on purpose."
"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile, just a small one, the same way you had three weeks ago. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."
sukuna's eyes went wide, and you could see the memory of that tuesday flickering across his flushed face — the way you'd leaned in, the way he'd frozen, the way he'd spent the rest of the evening in a daze, not flirting once, just staring at you when he thought you weren't looking.
"that's not—" sukuna started, and then his voice cracked, and the sound of it made something in your chest ache. "you can't just—that's not fair. you can't just do that and then act like nothing happened."
"i'm not acting like nothing happened," you said.
you reached out, slowly enough that sukuna could stop you if he wanted to, and let your fingers brush against his wrist. the skin there was warm, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips, and you felt the way he shuddered at the contact.
"i'm acting like something did happen. something that changed things. something we've both been pretending didn't happen for three weeks."
sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been your name or might have been a prayer. his pulse was hammering under your fingers, fast and uneven, and you could see the way his chest was rising and falling too quickly, like he'd just run up several flights of stairs.
"i—" he started, and then he stopped, and his free hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, the movement jerky and nervous. "you're serious. you're actually—this isn't a joke?"
"no," you said, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, close enough that you could smell his cologne and something underneath it that was simply him. "it's not a joke. it was never a joke."
sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the war going on behind them, the part of him that wanted to deflect and the part of him that wanted to just let go. his jaw worked, his throat moved, and his huge hand came up from his neck to hover near your face, not quite touching, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he made contact.
"you're serious," sukuna said again, and his voice was so quiet, so fragile, nothing like the sharp confidence he usually wore. "you're not—you're not just messing with me?"
"i'm not messing with you," you said, and you lifted your other hand to cup his jaw, your palm warm against the stubble there. his skin was hot, his pulse fluttering under your thumb where it rested near his ear, and you watched his eyes flutter closed for just a second before they opened again. "i'm not. i want to kiss you, kuna. i've wanted to kiss you for a while now."
the sound sukuna made was something between a whine and a groan, and his hand finally made contact with your face, his fingers splaying against your cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. his palm was warm and slightly rough, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the way they shook against your skin.
"you can't just say that," sukuna said, and his voice was wrecked, completely destroyed, like you'd reached into his chest and pulled out something he'd been trying to hide. "you can't just say that and expect me to—i've been—do you have any idea how long i've—"
"how long you've what?" you asked, and you let your thumb trace along his jaw, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch. "how long you've wanted to kiss me?"
sukuna's eyes were bright, almost too bright, and his blush had spread to his cheeks now, staining them pink in a way that made him look younger, softer, nothing like the sharp and untouchable figure he pretended to be.
"yes," he said, and the word came out rough and raw, like it had been scraped out of him. "yes, okay? i've wanted—i've wanted to kiss you for years, and you—you just sat there on my couch like it was nothing, like you didn't—"
"like i didn't know?" you finished, and you leaned in, your forehead almost touching his, close enough that your breath mixed with his. "i knew. i just didn't—i wasn't ready. and then that tuesday, when you—when you looked at me like that, i thought maybe you were ready too."
sukuna's hand on your cheek tightened, just slightly, and his other hand came up to grip your hip, his rough fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he was desperately anchoring himself. sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the fear there, the uncertainty, the desperate hope he was trying and failing to hide.
"i'm scared," he said, and his voice broke on the last word, splintering in a way that made your heart ache. "i'm scared that this is—that i'm going to—"
"you're not going to mess this up," you said, and you leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his. "you're not. i'm right here. i'm not going anywhere."
and then you closed the distance, and you kissed him.
it was soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his, testing, asking. sukuna's mouth was warm and slightly chapped, and you could feel the way his breath caught against your skin, the way his hand on your hip tightened convulsively. the kiss was tentative, almost shyly so, and you could feel the tension in sukuna, the way he was holding himself back like he was afraid of breaking something.
but then you pulled back just enough to breathe, and you looked at him, and the expression on sukuna's face literally made your heart stutter.
sukuna's eyes were wide, his pupils blown so dark you could barely see the red of his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, wet from the earlier kiss. sukuna's blush had spread down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and his breathing was fast and uneven, his chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
"was that—" he started, and his voice came out as barely a whisper, cracked and fragile. "did you—"
"yes," you said, and you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face, so warm and so genuine. "that was real. that was me kissing you."
sukuna made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his hand on your cheek pulled you back in, and this time the kiss was not soft.
this time, it was desperate.
sukuna’s mouth was hungry against yours, like he'd been starving for this for long years and had finally been given permission to eat. his lips moved against yours with a kind of frantic urgency, and his huge hand slid from your cheek into your hair, his long fingers tangling in the strands and pulling you even closer. his other hand was still on your hip, his grip almost bruising, and you could feel the way sukuna’s whole body was trembling against you.
he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word from the past three weeks into the press of his lips.
sukuna’s warm tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking, and you opened for him, and the sound he made when he tasted you was something you'd never forget — a low, desperate sound that vibrated against your mouth and made your knees feel oh so weak.
you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands finding his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was barely holding himself together. his tattoos shifted under your palms as he moved, those familiar dark lines stretching and pulling over warm skin, and you could feel his pulse hammering under your fingertips.
when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, and sukuna's eyes were squeezed shut like he was trying to process what the actual hell had just happened.
his chest was heaving, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and his hands were still in your hair and on your hip, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.
"that," sukuna said, and his voice was hoarse, wrecked, completely destroyed. "that was—"
"good?" you offered, and you were smiling, you couldn't help it, the way his whole body was trembling against yours.
"good," he repeated, and he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob, somewhere in between. "good doesn't even—i've been wanting that for—and you just—"
sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed, and there was something raw and open in his expression that he'd never let you see before.
"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for that."
"tell me," you said, and you reached up to brush a strand of pink hair from his forehead, feeling the way he leaned into your touch. "tell me how long."
sukuna's lips curved into a smile that was soft and almost shy, absolutely nothing like the sharp grins he usually wore. his blush was still adorably staining his cheeks, and his ears were pink, and he looked so vulnerable and so open that it made something in your chest ache.
"too long," sukuna said, his voice still rough, still fragile. "longer than i want to admit. years, maybe. i don't—i really didn't know how to tell you, and i didn't want to mess things up, and then that tuesday—"
"that tuesday," you repeated, and you laughed, soft and warm. "you were so pathetic. your voice cracked."
"shut up," sukuna said, but he was laughing too, his body shaking against yours. "i was caught off guard. you never—you never do that."
"maybe i should do it more often," you said, and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the way he melted into you. "maybe i should kiss you more often."
sukuna's breath hitched, and his hand in your hair tightened, and he turned his head to catch your mouth with his, this kiss slower than the last, deeper, like he was trying to savor it. his lips moved against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your heart swell, and his tongue was tracing your lower lip gently before pulling back.
"yeah," he said against your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper. "yeah, you should. you really, really should."
and you did.
you kissed sukuna until the takeout got cold, kissed him until the afternoon light shifted into evening, kissed him until he was a trembling, blushing mess in his own living room, his tattoos warm and familiar under your hands and his heart racing against your chest.
sukuna was still pathetic, still whining and blushing and falling apart every time you touched him, and you loved it.
you loved him, you realized, and you'd probably loved him for a little while now, even before that tuesday, even before everything changed.
and from the way sukuna was looking at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed and his mouth curved into that soft, shy smile — he loved you too.
"so," he said finally, his voice still hoarse, his hand still tangled in your hair. "does this mean you're my—like, you're—"
"yes," you said, and you kissed the corner of sukuna’s mouth again, just because you could. "i'm your something. we can figure out the labels later."
sukuna made a sound that was almost a whine, and he pulled you closer to him, burying his blushing face deep in your neck and mumbling something you couldn't quite hear but you were pretty sure was 'finally'.
and you laughed, warm and happy, and held him, and the evening light filtered through his windows and painted the room in shades of gold and pink.
three weeks of pretending had led to this, and it had been more than worth it.
synopsis. satoru is a bonafide genius. he’s got the perfect transcript and ten-year plan to prove it. he knows how to keep his head down and avoid the chaos his twin thrives in. so when the unofficial frat princess sets her sights on him, he knows there’s a catch. he just doesn’t figure out what it is until he’s already fallen for her
pairing. nerd! satoru gojo x popular! fem! reader. ✶ contents. sfw! college + gojo twins au ⇢ fratjo’s called souta. romcom-esque meet cute. except it’s actually a meet embarrassing + satoru runs a strict program. cw. profanities as usual ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
in the grand scheme of things, this bet would be a piece of cake if your so-called friends had just let you do your thing. alas, every time you’d so much as tried to drift towards satoru’s corner of the room, they would block your path with flimsy excuses.
shoko needed help finding her phone; which was in her pocket the whole time.
utahime suddenly needed your help touching up her makeup.
and suguru just flat-out stood in front of you, arms crossed and expression grim. he’d also refused to answer your plethora of questions about satoru in an attempt to deter you from going through with this and lengthening his own life span.
by the end of the night, you’d managed to catch exactly zero moments alone with satoru. he’d left the party early, of course. probably to go study or do something that’s equally as boring. which was a shame because you’d thought of the perfect pick up line and everything.
( ‘according to newton’s law of universal gravitation, if i’m attracted to you then you’re attracted to me’. okay . . you didn’t actually think of it. you’d found it after searching up ‘nerdy pick up lines’ on google and you were certain it would’ve worked on him. maybe
shoko strongly felt otherwise and murmured something about how you should ask him to share his electrons with you instead, so you could finally have a stable relationship. how rude ?? )
so far you’ve had no luck with satoru, and suguru is determined to make sure things stay that way. unfortunately for him, you aren’t going to back down that easily. you know exactly how to get him to stop intercepting your every move: bribery.
instead of nursing your hangover in the comfort of your dorm room, you drag yourself out of bed and trudge to the cafe near campus. it has a partnership with jujutsu tech so you get discounts, which is a bonus. the pastries are great, which is another. plus, suguru is a complete and utter sucker for their vanilla bean cold brews – a fact you’re fully prepared to exploit.
so here you are, standing by the counter waiting for your order, one hand pressed to your throbbing temple while the other scrolls aimlessly through your phone.
the cafe is quiet for late morning – save for the soft hum of espresso machines, the murmurs of students half-heartedly revising for finals, and the clatter of dainty mugs against saucers. rays of sunlight shroud the cafe in a soft, hazy glow. the scent of roasted coffee beans and warm golden pastries lingers in the air, rich and soothing in a way that almost makes your hangover feel bearable. almost.
your head is pounding – a direct result of your questionable life choices – and you can still taste the ghost of last night’s cheap vodka on your tongue. every time you close your eyes you see the image of toji’s smug grin as he’d paraded his new sorority girl around the party.
you push the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. you’re halfway through reading shoko and utahime’s texts about how you’re definitely going to lose this bet and how they’ve started their own bet on how many days it’ll take you to give up, when something catches the corner of your eye. you look up. and there he is in the corner of the cafe, satoru gojo.
he sits by the window, surrounded by what can only be described as a fortress of textbooks. the titles alone make your head hurt. he’s hunched over his laptop, shoulders curved inward in concentration, fingers flying across the keyboard with a speed that’s almost inhuman. a pair of navy blue noise cancelling headphones are clamped over his ears, shutting out the rest of the cafe entirely.
he somehow looks even more intense than he did at the party last night. he’s like a different species to you, one that doesn’t belong in the wild of a psi bau rager™. he belongs here, in this quiet, sun-drenched corner, surrounded by books.
every now and then he pauses, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with an irritated flick before returning to whatever it is he’s typing. the mellow sunlight filters through the strands of his pale hair, turning them almost silver, and frames his pretty features in a mellow glow.
you find yourself staring longer than you mean to. he’s so . . . focused. so unbothered. he’s living in a completely different world, a world of equations and theories and things you can’t even begin to understand, and he doesn’t seem to care that anyone else exists. it’s a level of self-assurance you’ve never encountered before. completely unlike the guys you usually date, who are all desperate for validation.
your name is called from the counter and you step forward automatically, grabbing the drinks – a disgustingly large black coffee for suguru and a ridiculously sweet caramel latte for yourself – without taking your eyes off satoru. he still hasn’t looked up. not once. if he isn’t going to notice you . . . you’ll just have to make him.
you stand there in the middle of the cafe for a moment, pondering. a smile slowly tugs at the corners of your lips. this is perfect. he’s completely unsuspecting, a perfect target. you can do this. you can totally do this.
you adjust your grip on the drinks and start walking towards his table, a plan forming in your mind. something that will force him to look at you, to see you.
closer now, you notice the faint crease between his brows as he reads something on his screen. you can also hear the faint rhythm of what sounds suspiciously like minecraft music seeping from his headphones. you have to suppress a giggle. of course he listens to video game music.
you’re practically hovering over him and he’s still oblivious to you, lost in his own little world.
you take one final step past his chair and let your foot catch the leg of it. your body lurches forward and your latte slips in your hand, a perfect arch of creamy coffee flying directly towards his laptop.
“oh my–” the gasp leaves your lips right on cue. a wave of caramel latte, complete with extra whipped cream, splashes across his table, narrowly missing his textbooks. you didn’t mean to spill that much. a few drops, maybe, to create a moment, a reason to talk. well shit.
to his credit, satoru reacts faster than you expect him to. his arm shoots out, shielding his keyboard as your drink splashes on the table, dangerously close to his belongings. the minecraft music in his headphones cuts off as he yanks them down around his neck, his head snapping up. his eyes, a startlingly bright blue, lock onto yours, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. they’re even more intense up close and are currently filled with a flicker of annoyance.
“careful,” he frowns. you feel your morale sink ever so slightly. that. . . was not the reaction you were expecting. no flustered stammering or no immediate concern for your well-being. he immediately begins inspecting his laptop to check for damages, his brow furrowed in concentration, long fingers carefully wiping away the droplets of coffee from the sleek black casing.
“i’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting down suguru’s coffee and what’s left of yours on the sticky table. you grab a handful of napkins from the nearby dispenser and start dabbing at the lukewarm droplets, feeling your heat rise to your cheeks. this is not going according to plan. at all.
“it’s alright, it’s just coffee,” he finally looks up again, his bright blue eyes focused in a way that makes you feel like you’re being scrutinized under a microscope. it’s unnerving but he’s not angry, not really. you think ?
“i’m such a klutz honestly,” you sigh, trying to recover with a charmingly self-deprecating smile, one that usually works on guys. “i’m literally a natural disaster, i could’ve ruined your textbooks.”
his expression doesn’t change in the slightest. “technically,” he says after a beat of silence, his devoid of any emotion, “that would be more of an anthropogenic accident.”
“. . . what ?” you blink, momentarily stunned. did this guy just correct your metaphor ? who does that ?
“you’re a human,” he explains, as if that isn’t the most obvious thing in the world, “natural disasters occur without human intervention. what you’re describing is an accident caused by human error.”
silence settles between you as satoru watches you clean the table. you wish the earth would soften, open up and swallow you whole. but it doesn’t. you just stand there, dabbing at a sticky table with a handful of napkins, feeling like a complete and utter idiot.
“if you hold your cup closer to the middle,” he offers, tone still matter-of-fact, “it stabilizes the center of gravity.”
“huh ?” you’re completely bewildered by the peculiarity of this cursed interaction. this was not supposed to happen. you were supposed to have a cute, flirty meet-cute, not a freaking physics lesson.
“the middle,” he repeats patiently, gesturing towards your half-empty latte “gripping it higher makes it more liable to tipping. lower your grip, closer to the center of mass, and you’ll have more control.”
you stare at him. for a split second you think he’s joking. his expression says he’s absolutely not. he looks like he’s about to tell you to read a book because your stupid is showing
“. . . right,” you say slowly, feeling completely out of your depth. you’ve never been so thoroughly derailed in your life.
he sets his laptop back on the table once he’s positive his work is no longer endangered, his movements precise and economical.
“you won’t have as many accidents that way,” he murmurs, already turning his attention back to his screen, effectively dismissing you. you press the napkin flat against the table one last time, feeling utterly defeated.
“i’ll. . uhh. .keep that in mind,” you mumble, backing away from his table.
he nods, barely acknowledging you, and closes his laptop with a decisive click. he slips it, alongside his textbooks, into his bag before standing.
“sorry again,” you try one last time, desperate for some kind of. . .anything. but he’s already slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“it’s no problem,” he says politely as he steps around you, “i have to go anyway.” he gives you a brief, impersonal nod before walking out the cafe without another word. the bell above the door jingles softly behind him. and just like that he’s gone.
you stand there in the middle of the cafe completely dumbfounded. the interaction lasted less than ten minutes and meant absolutely nothing to him. he didn’t even ask for your name. he didn’t even smile at you.
satoru is proving to be a difficult target. he really isn’t making this easy for you. you pick up your drinks again – carefully from the middle this time – and head toward the door. holy. fucking. airball. this is a million times harder than you’d anticipated.
“there’s no way you spilled your coffee on purpose” suguru splutters, clutching his stomach where he lies sprawled across his unmade bed. his body shaking with laughter as you recount the series of unfortunate events you’d endured this morning.
“i did ! and maybe i’ve watched too many movies but i thought he would at least help me clean it up or crack a joke or something. but no !” you lament, flopping onto a bean bag chair with a dramatic sigh. “all he did was give me a physics lesson. that was so freaking humiliating i’m never going back to the cafe again.”
shoko, who’s perched on the edge of suguru’s desk, wipes a tear from her eyes. “fuck, i wish i could’ve seen it.”
“shut up,” you grumble, burying your face in a pillow. “i lost so much aura and i’m starting to realize that this is genuinely impossible. he’s like a robot.”
“he’s not a robot,” suguru laughs, “you can’t just stumble into his life and expect him to be completely obsessed with you. you’ve gotta speak his language first.”
“and what language is that ? fucking javascript ??”
“ha, you’re funny,” suguru finally sits up and runs a hand through his messy hair. “you just need a legit reason to be around him. one that appeals to his genius brain.”
“like what ?” you sigh, lifting your head to look at him. “we have literally nothing in common, i fear. and he clearly isn’t big on conversations. . so unless i resort to contacting an etsy witch he’s not gonna give me the time of day”
“or just ask him to tutor you” shoko quips, eyes lighting up as she lights her cigarette, ignoring suguru’s protests about her smoking in his room.
you groan, sinking further into the bean bag. “in what ? we have absolutely zero classles together.”
“exactly !” she grins, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “because he’s in the honors college and he’s so wrapped up in his own world, he probably has no clue what you’re majoring in. so you tell him you’re struggling in something that’s a piece of cake to him–”
“why the hell are you helping her ??” suguru interjects, shooting her a well-meaning glare
“i bet utahime that she’d at least last a week” she shrugs, “i’m sitting on a decent pay day here”
“i hate all of you” you scoff. “and that’s not even going to work anyway, i’m pre-law and he’s into engineering and other confusing stem stuff that i wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.”
“well, tough luck,” shoko murmurs, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “if you plan on asking for help in any other courses you might as well admit defeat right now and swear off men for the rest of college.”
“so what ? do i just pretend to be a stem major to trick him into spending time with me ?” you ask, the idea sounding more and more absurd the more you think about it. how would you even pull that off . . .?
“if you’re actually gonna go through with this nonsense,” suguru sighs, flopping back onto his bed, “you might as well fully commit to the bit. what’s one more lie on top of this whole clusterfuck ?”
you frown at him, but he’s right. if you want to get satoru to fall in love with you, then you’ll have to go about this properly. you chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, you can’t think of any alternatives that would result in satoru really noticing you. so, reluctantly, you settle on the only option you have:
you’ll fake being a struggling physics major and hope he doesn’t see right through you.
the concept of reshaping yourself entirely to catch the attention of someone who’s practically a stranger sounds absurd the more you think about it. but it’s a little too late to back down now. the bet is made, the stakes are set, and your pride is on the line.
“fine,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “i’ll do it. but you two,” you point at shoko and suguru, “if i go down, i’m taking you with me.”
suguru groans, dragging a hand over his face. “i knew i should’ve just walked the other way freshman year”
“it’s wayyy too late for that,” you grin, “now, tell me everything you know about physics, shoko, i need to sound convincing. oh and i’ll probably need to borrow your textbooks too. . . how heavy are they ?”
a wry smile spreads across shoko’s lips. “heavy enough to knock satoru out with, if you need a backup plan.”
“don’t give her any more ideas,” suguru pales visibly, his hazel eyes wide with horror that seems a little too genuine for your liking. just how little does he think of you ?
“hey, i got you coffee,” you pout, gesturing to the forgotten cup on his nightstand. “you’re supposed to be helping me now.”
“me . . help you . .? y’know souta’s room is right across the hallway,” suguru points out, his voice dropping to a whisper. “if he gets me in my sleep, what use will coffee be to me ?”
“he’s not actually going to kill you,” you wave your hand dismissively. “c’mon, shoko let’s ditch the drama queen. i wanna go look at your textbooks.”
with a solid plan in hand, you’re starting to feel a little more confident about winning satoru over.
you’re smart. you can totally fake your way through physics tutoring. sure, it’ll be boring. mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly boring. but it’s just a bunch of laws and formulas, right ? it’s not like you have to actually do anything except pretend to understand it. plus, you’re a fast learner. what could possibly go wrong ?
masterlist day zero ⇆ day one
── .✦ mimi’s notes: ^ the answer to that question is everything !! i mean what’s newton’s third law of motion ? don’t be deceived ( like nerdjo ) i hate physics passionately
SYNOPSIS ⋮ You know for a fact that you’re not supposed to be fucking the leading candidate for California’s Senate. You were hired to save his campaign, not ride him. Now, as his crisis manager, you’re stuck trying to keep him electable while pretending there’s nothing going on between the two of you. Which would be a lot easier if the damn audio never leaked.
PAIRING ⋮ senator!satoru gojo x campaign manager!reader
WARNINGS ⋮ 18+ smut, political drama, power imbalance, manipulation, blackmail gojo is kind of a jerk, sex scandals, smear campaign
TAGLIST ⋮ OPEN
author's note ⋮ i just started watching scandal so this is somewhat inspired by the show. this is my first fic! please bear with me as i do not work within politics, journalism, or campaign crisis. feel free to correct me if anything is wrong (spelling/grammar or politics wise!). a lot of liberties are taken for the sake of the plot. comments, reblogs, and dms are appreciated! here’s a little excerpt for you to enjoy ♡
Sex with Satoru Gojo was good, but keeping your career was better.
With a sigh, you reach off of the side of the bed, feeling around until your hand finds the cool surface of your MacBook on the floor before dragging it up.
While your laptop turns on, you listen in on the sound of drawers opening and then closing in bathroom. It’s all very casual, domestic, even. Like you and him have something more than this messy sexcapade going on. For a second, you almost feel as if you aren’t swamped in work, and there isn’t a statewide campaign broadcast waiting for him in two days.
The distant footsteps from the bathroom grow louder. Lately, you’ve been able to hear him before you see him.
“Morning.” Satoru greets. You look up from your laptop, intentionally finding his face. He stands, leaned against the doorway, towel hung low on his waist. His hair is still dripping wet, and that stupid grin (the one he likes to show off to the cameras for brownie points) was already in place.
His eyes fall on you easily. Not the mess of notes on his bedside table. Not that brand new MacBook he ordered for you last week. You. Maybe your tits, maybe your face. Either way, it’s on you.
Not exactly your most professional look. But he loves it: you, in absolutely nothing, under his sheets. He wouldn’t shut up about less than five hours ago.
You purse your lips when he stays quiet. You want to tell him to come back in bed, ask him to fuck you into the mattress like he did last night. But, you don’t. “You have an interview with a San Diego news channel in four hours,” you say instead.
“Oh? No ‘thank you?’” He asks, tilting his head to look at you.
You frown, “thank you…for what?”
“Senator services.” He jokes, pushing off of the doorframe. “I’m starting to think you didn’t enjoy last night as much as I did.”
Satoru feigns a sigh, resting his hands on either side of you on the mattress as he leans over the edge of the bed. He’s in your space now, large and obnoxious. And that insufferable grin tells you that he knows the answer to that statement.
Of course he knows.
You did enjoy last night. Even if he wasn’t pulling moans out of you, the sweet soreness in your hips was proof of it. Proof of his cock, warm and thick, squeezed by your pussy. It has your face going hot again.
“I think we should go in early today.” You mumble. You don’t really want to, but you need to change the subject. “On top of your interview, we’re behind in advertising, and you’ve got at least two sets of talking points that I need you to look through.”
Satoru doesn’t answer. Instead, his palm presses to the back of your laptop, firm and deliberate. You can hear the soft clap as it closes, and the sound it makes when he pushes it off your lap and onto the bed.
You blink up at him, and then realize that he’s close. Really close. Close enough that a couple of damp hair strands brush against your forehead. He smells like vanilla body wash and skin; clean in a way that makes your head buzz.
“Mm. I think those can wait.” He hums. You can feel the mattress shift as his hand leaves the bedding and slides to the side of your face. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, but his touch is not quite heavy. Just steady, in a way that makes you ache and want.
Someone moves. And in all honesty, you’re not sure whether or not it was you or him first. You can’t really think about it anyways, not when his lips are pressed to yours, slick and desperate. He tilts your face, deepening the kiss and you can taste the flavor of his toothpaste.
A breath later and he’s tracing his lips against the outline of your jaw, kissing all the way down to your neck. Satoru exhales against your skin, hungry. The sound alone makes your hands move, fingers curling around his bicep.
You let out a noise of your own, a small sigh escaping you when his free hand reaches under the blanket and comes between your thighs.
There’s something about the way he makes you forget. The way this man crawls under your skin and blurs your vision.
Right now, being alone with him in this room, there is no campaign. There’s no laptop on the mattress. No interview at the studio. It’s all slipped from your grasp, far out of reach.
You learn two lessons that morning: one, that Satoru’s Gojo’s bedsheets really do not make for good grips. And two, that yes, sex with a senator may be better than keeping your career.
You’re not… a pervert, exactly. Sure, you’ve imagined your boyfriend being stuffed from behind by his (equally sexy) best friend, but it’s not like you’d ever act on it! Well, that is until Gojo shows up gleefully at your shared apartment with a few new types of alcohol ‘to try’ and your mouth speaks before you can think about it.
“Toru, did you ever fuck Suguru in university?”
Gojo freezes, glass halfway to his pretty mouth. Initially, you’re mortified and think he’s probably considering breaking up with you right there- instead, the flush dusting across his cheeks tells you the answer to your question.
“Hm.” You smile knowingly, slow and coy, then cross your legs over each other. “Would… would you do it again?”
That’s how, a week later, you find yourself perched cosily in the chair that sits in the corner of your bedroom as you watch your usually strong, cocky boyfriend get reduced to a babbling mess on his best friend’s cock.
“Oh fuck, fuck, Sugu-“ Gojo gasps, hand reaching out blindly for the tangled sheets in front of him, his broad shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself up on his corded forearms. Geto’s expansive back muscles roll as he rocks his hips forwards into your boyfriend, a few pieces of silky hair plastered to his face already.
“Come on, Satoru.” Geto purrs, snapping his hips once to hear the strangled noise that chokes out of your boyfriend’s throat, “don’t tell me you can’t take it anymore? You used to do it so well.” His hand entwines in Gojo’s hair and pulls, simultaneously bringing his body down to shove his tongue against his.
The mere sight of it is enough for you to gasp beneath your breath, electricity bubbling between your thighs as you watch Geto devour Gojo’s face. Soft white hair is crumpled beneath his fingers as Gojo moans desperately into the other man’s mouth, rutting backwards as he seeks the compatibility of their hips smacking together.
To be honest, you’d expected Gojo to be the top at first. Maybe it was because you were projecting the way he’d relentlessly pummel into you sometimes, how his big hand would wrap around your throat and clench enough for you to squeal beneath him. Or maybe you just wanted to see how beautiful Geto’s hair would look against your pillows.
But when Geto had walked into the bedroom, hair loosely undone as he yanked his shirt over his tanned shoulders, it wasn’t just you who drooled- Gojo had looked at him nervously, then you, kissed your forehead softly and murmured a little. Geto comfortingly rubbed your lower back and moved away. Even if he was about to fuck your boyfriend in front of you, he was still nice about it.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” He’d said nervously, thumb running over your knuckles. “It’s… Suguru could be a lot, baby.”
Your eyes had drifted over to the man then, already spread out lazily on the edge of your bed as he waited for your conversation to be over. Geto was leaning back on his haunches, thighs resting apart as though he was waiting for Gojo to drop to his knees between them. Strangely, the thought didn’t peak jealousy in you but a thick, sticky desire to see it.
Turning your attention back to your boyfriend, “yes, Satoru.” Whispered against his mouth, “I trust you. And I want to watch.”
Geto smirked behind you and you met his eyes; you weren’t that close with him, really, but at least you had something to bond over now.
Fucking Satoru Gojo.
Which is what he’s doing now- exceptionally well, in fact. Geto has Gojo facing you, his bright blue eyes cloudy and dropped to the floor as he’s pistoned back and forth by the cock rummaging around in his insides. He can see your socked feet, one thigh pressed over the other.
“Don’t tell me you can’t take it.” Geto says again, voice pattered with the occasional groan as Gojo clenches around him. “Not even for her?”
Gojo gasps as a strong hand digs into the roots of his hair and yanks him up to face you, blue and dilated eyes rolling in his skull at the pain before he trembles them to face your face. He’s expecting you to look a little horrified, shocked and mortified at how pathetic he can get- but, to his surprise (dulled by the feeling of Geto’s cock prodding inside him) you… don’t.
Your lips are parted in a little disbelieving ‘o’ shape, panties soaked through- not that he can see that part- your thighs switching between squeezing together and parting as the sensation gets too much. “Look at him.” Geto laughs, “so pretty for us, isn’t he?”
You nod, biting your lip as your boyfriend hangs his head again. “So pretty for us, toru.” You agree softly.
His cock, pale but flushed angrily at the tip as Geto uses his hands to grip his hips instead, hangs untouched between his muscled thighs and twitches pre onto the sheets. You’d feel sorry for him if he didn’t look so utterly gorgeous getting destroyed in front of your face like this.
Gojo’s arms finally give up as Geto’s tip bumps rigidly across his sweet spot, elbows collapsing onto the sheet along with his face as it smushes down. Gojo’s spine curves in a way you’ve never thought it could- his hips gripped up by Geto, shoulders flat as a hand splays them out. He looks wrecked.
You slip from the chair to the floor, knees on the carpet, ignoring the way Geto moans to focus on your boyfriend as he struggles to keep his eyes open at the sudden wave of pleasure when his ass is yanked backwards again; his cheeks are sweaty when you instinctively reach out for him, instinctively seeking to comfort, and he leans into your touch just as naturally.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ he whimpers, panicking at the stimulation and his snowy lashes batting across his cheek. “C-can’t-“
“You can, Satoru.” You whisper to him, lifting his head and thumbing away a few shaky tears threatening to brim at his waterline. “You’re being so, so good, sweetheart.”
He gasps out your name weakly and arches further when he shoves his mouth against yours blindly. The kiss is soft, a contrary to the way Geto is ruining him; your hands gently brush away white hair from his eyes, your touch loving.
“I’m close.” Geto breathes, his hand still pressing down between Gojo’s shoulders. You, still breathless from the kiss and the vision of your boyfriend, raise a surprised eyebrow at Gojo’s moan and you realise just how long he’s gone without real direct stimulation.
“It’s okay, baby.” You soothe him as you move from his field of vision to kneel beside him on the bed, ignoring the constant smacking of skin on skin while your hand snakes between his thighs to wrap around his cock.
“Ah-“ he sobs, “fu-ck-“
Geto makes the mistake of looking down at you, at the way your eyes are all glossy and your hand is coated in shiny pre while you work your boyfriend up to his orgasm. Something about it, about being allowed into this space where his control is only a mimicry of yours, makes Geto’s abdomen clench.
He gasps, the sound punched in on itself, as his head tips backwards and he jutters his hips deep enough to make Gojo choke while he spills inside him. At the same time, your thumb presses down on your boyfriend’s sensitive slit and he cums across your knuckles. It’s thick and there’s ropes of it, dripping messily onto the bed.
“Shh, you did so good for us.” You murmur to Gojo as Geto pulls out, presses a polite kiss to your cheek, then sets about to gather his things as he lets you sweet talk your boyfriend.
“Yeah?” Gojo laughs weakly, a little embarrassed now he’s coming down from the sex. “You weren’t… you liked it?”
“I did.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around his awkwardly long limbs while you gently smile at Geto. “Bye, Suguru.”
He laughs, tying his hair back up after tucking his cock away and pulling his clothes on. “Bye. And bye, Satoru.”
Gojo flushes embarrassingly bright against you. “Bye.”
“So…” you say quietly, combing your nails through his white hair. “Should I join in next time? It looked fun.”
Gojo Satoru had everything he could ask for in the world. He had money, absolute power over the city's underground, and an ice element so strong it made him completely untouchable. But he lacks warmth, literally. That changes the night a stubborn, short-tempered fire elemental infiltrates his office on a botched assassination mission. Instead of burning him to ash, her flames give him the first real sense of warmth he has ever felt. Completely consumed by an instant obsession, Gojo uses his freezing power to capture his assassin, determined to keep her locked away as his personal source of heat, no matter how hard she fights back.
cws : Kidnapping, forced confinement, age gap (early - 20 :: mid to late - 20s), dark obsession, possessive behavior, yandere themes, power imbalances, mild violence, minor injuries from elemental attacks, intense psychological tension, non-consented kissing and groping.
prologue
chapter 01 : The Smoldering Infiltration
chapter 02 : Golden Cage
chapter 03 : Hide and Seek
hapter 04 : Renewed Debt
chapter 05 : Cold Sheets
chapter 06 : A Cold Room
More coming...
epilogue
divider: @notsecondkira. art cred: @myuchiisu (twt)
Best friend Satoru has started dating but why does it bother you so much?
Part-4 | Masterlist - Play this!
For a moment, you genuinely thought your body had forgotten how to function.
Not in the way people described heartbreak in romance movies, where everything shattered at once and the pain announced itself loudly enough to be heard. No, this was somehow worse. This was your brain refusing to catch up with reality while your body had already understood everything. Your face had gone completely numb, yet your neck felt unbearably hot. Your ears burned. Your palms immediately turned damp around your glass. Somewhere beneath your ribs, your heart had started beating so violently that you were convinced everyone standing around you could hear it. It felt ridiculous, almost embarrassing, because this wasn’t supposed to be shocking. You knew he had gone on a date. You knew there had been a girl. You had spent the entire week torturing yourself over that fact. And yet somehow, despite all the preparation, despite all the conversations with Shoko and Suguru and yourself, despite all the promises that you would handle it maturely, seeing her standing there beside him felt like being hit by a train you had watched approaching from miles away.
Because a date was one thing. A girlfriend was another. A girlfriend meant time. It meant conversations you hadn’t been part of. It meant moments you hadn’t witnessed. It meant there had been entire pieces of his life unfolding without you even knowing.
The realization lodged itself somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to move.
Girlfriend, the word kept echoing.
Girlfriend.
Your bestfriend had a girlfriend now and he absolutely did not care to share that part of his life with you, you who he claimed to be the closest to.
Your eyes drifted toward her before you could stop them. She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that made you irrationally angry. Soft bangs framed her face perfectly, her outfit somehow managing to look elegant without trying too hard, and there was something about her posture that felt composed, traditional almost, like somebody who belonged in places that demanded respect. The worst part wasn’t even that she was gorgeous. The worst part was that she looked really good standing right next to Satoru.
And suddenly your mind was spiraling so quickly you could barely keep up.
You had spent years listening to Satoru complain about clan politics. Years listening to him rant about expectations, traditions, arranged marriages, family pressure. You knew exactly how much he hated the idea of being forced into a life somebody else chose for him. Yet looking at Utahime, your traitorous mind immediately started imagining things you had absolutely no business imagining.
Future things. Things that made you feel sick. She looked like somebody who could become Mrs. Gojo. You never got to know “what” that type of girls he was into but looking at the girl in front of your sight seemed to an answer enough.
She looked like somebody his clan would approve of. Some who looked like she had manners, unlike you who was pretty tomboyish and reckless.
And before you could stop yourself, before logic could intervene, your brain painted picture after picture until nausea climbed up your throat.
Did you even know him?
Had you spent years loving a version of him that existed only inside your head? Because if he liked women like her, then what exactly had you been doing all this time?
The questions came so quickly they became impossible to answer. You barely registered the conversation that followed.
Utahime was speaking to you.
You knew that much.
You knew you shook her hand. You knew she smiled. You knew she hugged you briefly and that her perfume lingered long after she stepped away, expensive, elegant, and different then what you smell like.
You knew you asked her questions. You knew she answered them. You knew at some point you answered some of hers.
But if somebody had held a gun to your head afterward and asked you to repeat a single sentence from that conversation, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. You remembered nothing.
Nothing except Satoru standing beside her. Nothing except the way he looked happy. Nothing except the awful metallic taste that had settled across your tongue.
Eventually, somehow, your eyes found him again. You forced your lips upward. Forced your voice steady and be the person you wished you were.
“Wow,” you said softly, looking between them. “She’s really pretty.” The smile on your face felt stretched too tight. “You hit the jackpot, huh?” His grin widened. It burned to notice that as well.
“I’m happy for you guys.”
The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. “I hope you enjoy the night. I’ll catch up with you later.”
You vaguely motioned with your thumb behind you, towards the restroom. “Just gotta…”
You didn’t even finish the sentence, you simply nodded, turned and walked away. Then the second you were out of sight, you were moving so quickly it was practically running.
Coward.
You caught sight of Suguru and Shoko watching you from across the room. The concern on their faces made shame twist painfully inside your stomach, but you couldn’t deal with that right now. Couldn’t deal with pity. Couldn’t deal with concern. Couldn’t deal with being perceived at all.
You lifted your drink, finished it in one desperate swallow. Immediately regretted it. Coughed, winced and pushed your way into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you. Your hands landed against the sink. Your head dropped forward. Suddenly it felt impossible to breathe. The room tilted, your chest rose and fell too quickly. Every thought crashed into the next one until they became impossible to separate.
You had been trying so hard to be put together, act like the way a best friend is supposed to but what could you do when you have fallen for your best friend and not dating anybody else for a long time only seemed to emphasise that this was not infatuation but love. That was the cruelest part.
You had been so close to convincing yourself that this could work. That you could be his friend. That you could be mature. That you could support him. That eventually things would settle and life would continue.f
But standing there, listening to him introduce his girlfriend, all you could think about was the fact that he hadn’t told you.
Not beforehand, not even over text or call. You had found out alongside everyone else. Just another friend in the crowd. Just another person being introduced to someone new he was close with.
The realization hurt in a way you couldn’t even explain. Your eyes burned, your heart burned, your throat burned. Everything burned.
At some point tears started falling. You didn’t even notice when it happened. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the mascara irritating your eyes. Maybe it was the heartbreak. Maybe it was all three.
You didn’t know.
All you knew was that everything hurt. And somehow, despite all of it, despite the humiliation and jealousy and grief clawing through your chest, one thought remained stubbornly alive.
You would not let him see. Absolutely not. You would die before you let him see what he did to you. So what if your heart was breaking? So what if you spent the next week crying? So what if you ghosted him after tonight?
Those were problems for future you. Present you was going to walk out of this bathroom with perfect makeup and her dignity intact. You were going to smile. You were going to drink with your friends. And if it killed you, Satoru Gojo was never going to know.
After several minutes, you finally straightened, fixed your makeup, blotted your eyes, adjusted your hair and stared at yourself in the mirror.
Fantastic!
Heartbroken but fantastic. With one final breath, you stepped back into the party. The first thing you noticed was Satoru. Your eyes found him automatically. Like they always did. Difference is that usually you both would keep glancing at each other in parties from random corners. That’s if you could ever be away from each other which of course was rare.
Every time you looked his way, there they were. Together. Talking and laughing. Standing close. Utahime touching his ear. Satoru leaning down to hear something she said. Every tiny interaction felt insignificant and devastating at the same time.
You found yourself staring far longer than you should have, burning holes through both of them from across the room, wondering if this was what torture felt like.
The worst part is that he never came over. Not once. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, maybe he was distracted, maybe he was happy and expected you to actually act like his best friend and not how you actually were acting up.
So when you finally reached the kitchen to make yourself another drink, you were already halfway through convincing yourself that you didn’t care.
That was when you heard a coarse voice.
“That one’s terrible.”
You looked up. And immediately wished you hadn’t. Because leaning against the refrigerator was Sukuna.
Somehow even taller than you remembered from last summer. Black Henley stretched across broad shoulders. Dark tattoos disappearing beneath rolled sleeves. The kind of face that looked permanently amused by everybody else’s poor decisions.
His gaze slid toward the bottle in your hand.
Then toward you.
Then back again.
A smirk appeared.
“Want me to make the lady an actual drink?” You blinked.
“What, you don’t trust my bartending skills?”
“Fair.” The smirk widened.
He stepped closer, not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough that his presence became impossible to ignore.
“You were drinking bourbon earlier.” He tilted his head. Your eyebrows lifted.
“How do you know that?”
“Your lips smell like it”
You literally gasped and could not come up with something to fire back. His gaze flickered toward your glass. Then back toward you. Your eyes widened and Sukuna laughed softly.
“Relax. That’s not nearly as creepy as it sounded.”
“It sounded pretty creepy.”
“You’re welcome.”
It was rare for you to laugh at moments like this. You hated even more that it felt good. For the first time all evening, somebody was looking at you. What if Sukuna is actually someone Satoru hates with all his guts? We’ll think about that later because tonight is about getting drunk and making badddd bad decisions.
You would never understand how someone like Nanami ended up being friends with Sukuna. A story for another time it seems.
Then, from somewhere across the apartment, Haibara’s voice exploded through the room.
“EVERYBODY GET OVER HERE!”
Followed immediately by Yuki aggressively drumming against a table.
“TRUTH OR DARE!”
The entire apartment erupted into noise and people cheering. You groaned. Sukuna looked toward the crowd and then back at you.
“You going?” You considered it.
“Honestly? Don’t feel like it”. But your gaze drifted toward the growing circle. When did so many people get here? You eyes flicked towards Satoru. Toward Utahime settling down beside him.
And after a moment, you sighed.
“Yeah, you know what? Let’s do it.”
Sukuna pushed himself off the refrigerator. The smirk returning.
“Now we’re talking.” You raised an eyebrow. His gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary. You smiled and reached for Shoko’s cigarette, craving another puff.
Eventually, after enough arguing, bribing, and Yuki threatening everyone to participate, the entire group finally found themselves gathered in the living room for the game.
The coffee table had been shoved to the side to make room, cushions and blankets scattered haphazardly across the floor. Somebody had stolen half the throw pillows from Suguru’s bedroom, and nobody seemed particularly concerned about returning them. The room felt warm from the amount of people crammed into it, music still drifting softly from the speakers in the background while glasses clinked and conversations overlapped.
You found yourself settling down beside Sukuna almost without thinking about it. He dropped heavily onto the floor cushion beside yours, pulling the sleeves of his henley up his arms, stretching his long legs out in front of him and immediately claiming far more space than any one human being should legally be allowed to occupy. Being close to him felt oddly natural. He handed you your drink without asking, stealing a sip from it as he leaned back against the foot of the couch.
Across from you, Yuki and Choso were completely lost in their own world. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in the game yet. Every few minutes Yuki would lean over and whisper something into Choso’s ear that immediately made his expression soften. Then Choso would murmur something back and she’d grin like she just heard the funniest joke ever. At one point Yuki dissolved into laughter so hard she nearly dropped her drink into Nanami’s lap.
Meanwhile, Shoko had somehow managed to become self-appointed game master despite nobody voting for her, making a new stupid rule.
Haibara looked delighted. “What is it?”
Shoko took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “If somebody refuses a truth or a dare, we get to post whatever we want from their phone.”
The room exploded into madness.
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s illegal.
“Says who?”
“Says every government.”
“Pretty nice rule,” Sukuna commented.
“Terrible rule,” Nanami corrected.
“Excellent rule,” Haibara argued.
While everybody argued, Suguru sat comfortably on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, looking entirely at peace despite hosting a gathering that was rapidly spiraling out of control. Nanami had somehow ended up helping him manage everyone despite never volunteering for the position. Together, they were doing a decent job making sure Utahime didn’t feel left out.
Whenever a conversation drifted too far into old memories only the rest of you understood, Suguru would gently steer it back.
“Utahime, have we ever told you about Satoru’s first year haircut?” Immediately half the room started laughing.
“No.”
“Oh my God.”
“You have to.”
Utahime looked intrigued. Satoru looked alarmed. And before he could stop anyone, the story was already being told. Unfortunately, you knew every single one of them. You were usually the one telling them.
The disastrous haircut. The time Satoru got lost three streets away from campus. The time he ran out of his dorm in a towel when a false fire alarm once went off. The stories about him when he was drunk.
Every single one had you rolling your eyes because you’d heard them a hundred times before.
Still, everybody laughed, especially Utahime. And every time she laughed, Satoru smiled. The sight made something unpleasant twist in your stomach.
So you just looked away in jealousy. Unfortunately, that only brought your attention elsewhere.
To Sukuna.
And, more specifically, to the fact that Satoru absolutely hated his guts. That much had always been obvious.
The two of them had spent years taking shots at each other whenever they occupied the same room. Sukuna was the kind of person who naturally commanded attention without trying. He was enormous, intimidating, sharp-tongued, and entirely too confident for his own good. He was one of the football team’s star players, and people always tended to part instinctively when he walked into a room.
Satoru, meanwhile, somehow managed to attract attention simply by existing. Put the two of them together and it usually took less than ten minutes before somebody started an argument.
You’d never paid much attention to it before. Tonight, however, it was impossible not to notice. Because every time Sukuna leaned toward you to make a comment, every time he handed you a drink, every time the two of you exchanged a joke, you could practically feel somebody staring.
The feeling became so persistent that eventually you glanced up. And there he was. Looking directly at the two of you. The second your eyes met, Satoru immediately turned away.
Almost comically fast.
Suddenly very interested in whatever Utahime was saying. He nodded and smiled . Acted as if he’d been paying attention the entire time.
What a joke.
You nearly laughed into your drink. A second later, Haibara clapped his hands together loudly enough to startle half the room.
“Alright!”
Every conversation stopped. Haibara rubbed his hands together with the excitement of a man about to commit several crimes.
“Let’s start.” The grin on his face should have been everybody’s first warning.
Choso had somehow acquired three different snack bowls and was passing them around whenever someone reached for something. Yuki had stolen half of his popcorn already and was unapologetically eating from his bowl despite having her own sitting right in front of her.
The bottle spun for the first time!
Everybody leaned forward. It landed on Shoko. The room immediately erupted.
“Oh, this is going to be terrible.” Haibara grinned “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Suguru snorted “Coward.”
“Shut up.”
Haibara thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “What’s the last thing that got you in serious trouble?”
Shoko opened her mouth. Then sighed.
“I punched a cop once.”
The silence lasted exactly half a second. Then the room exploded. Nanami nearly dropped his drink “What Shoko-?!”
Utahime looked horrified. Yuki was laughing so hard she folded in half.
“You WHAT?”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“It was absolutely your fault.”
“He won’t let me take my drink inside WHICH btw I payed so much extra for, what if I bought it from a different bar? What a loser.”
“That’s not a legal defense.”
“I wasn’t arrested.”
“You should’ve been.”
The argument continued for several minutes before the bottle was spun again. This time it landed directly on Nanami. The cheering was immediate.
Nanami looked like a man being led to his execution. Shoko asked “Truth or dare?”
He hesitated. “Alright, dare”, The room absolutely lost its mind.
“HE PICKED DARE.”
“Write that down.”
“Who cloned Nanami”
Satoru immediately leaned over and whispered something into Yuki’s ear. Yuki’s face lit up.
“Oh, you’re evil.”
Nanami looked concerned. “What?”
Nobody answered him. Shoko simply held out her hand.
“Phone.”
“No.”
“Phone.”
“No.”
Suguru was already laughing. Nanami reluctantly surrendered it. Two minutes later, Yuki handed his phone back to him “Post it” had.
Nanami’s eyes shot up “I’m not gonna post that I’m gay”. The room was in tears. Haibara was rolling on the floor. Yuki couldn’t breathe. You and Satoru had tears in his eyes.
Meanwhile Nanami had buried his face in his hands. “I’m all for supporting everyone but that’s a lie, the uni kids are gonna have a field day tomorrow”.
“Don’t cry about it,” Haibara managed between laughs. “You can delete it in twenty-four hours.”
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
The game only got worse from there. The bottle landed on Choso next, who picked dare. Shoko immediately sat forward. The grin on her face was dangerous.
“Oh, I’ve got one.”
“No,” Choso said immediately.
“I haven’t even said anything.
“No.”
“Ask it.”
Shoko pointed dramatically.
“Tell us the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done because of Yuki.” The room exploded again with multiple rumours they heard about the couple.
Choso froze and Yuki immediately covered her face.
“Noooooo”
“Yes.”
After several minutes of relentless bullying, Choso finally sighed.
“There was a week.” The room leaned forward.
“Oh no.”
“There was a week where she was busy.”
“And?”
“We had just started dating and I missed talking to her.” The room immediately started hooting which Choso tried his best to ignored.
“So I made a second account on a game we both play just so I could run into her online without seeming to be clingy.”
The room completely lost control. Yuki looked ready to launch herself into the sun.
You: “You did NOT.”
“I did.”
“That’s so adorable Choso” you said.
“It- it’s - pathetic okay”
“It’s adorable.”
“It is a little adorable,” Suguru admitted.
Yuki buried her face in Choso’s shoulder while everyone continued making fun of them. By the time the bottle landed on Suguru, everybody was already drunk enough to be a problem.
“Truth.”
“Omg look at this mf, he was just teasing me about picking truth.”
“Shoko your moustache is showing.” Shoko threw a pillow in his direction. Haibara immediately pointed at him. “Most embarrassing date.”
Suguru sighed so deeply it seemed rehearsed.
“No omfg I don’t wanna think about it.”
“Yes.”
“Ughhhhh”
“Spilllll Sugu chan.” Satoru teased knowing that’s what you call Suguru. The room chanted until he surrendered.
“Ok fine fine .” He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “I was laughing during a date once.”
The room waited.
“And?”
“And I accidentally farted.”
The silence lasted exactly one second. Then the apartment nearly came down. You couldn’t breathe. Neither could Sukuna. Shoko had fallen sideways on the couch. Even Utahime was wiping tears from her eyes.
Suguru looked deeply offended.
“You asked.”
“What happened next?”
“I went to the restroom but turned the other way and left.” The room erupted again.
“You LEFT someone on a date”.
“I panicked okay?”
“You ghosted her?”
“Immediately.”
“Why are we hearing about this for the first time.” Satoru snorted. The laughter continued long after the bottle spun again.
Then it stopped. Because the neck of the bottle slowly rotated.
Past Suguru, past Yuki, past Haibara and landed directly on you.
The room erupted. “Oh no.”
“There she is.”
“You’re gonna pick Truth as usual?”
You set your drink down.
Sat up and grinned.
Nanami already looked concerned. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
The room cheered. “Dare,” you repeated loudly. “I demand a dare.” Haibara immediately leaned toward Nanami and whispered something. Nanami’s expression changed instantly. “No.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
Nanami sighed. Haibara got impatient. So naturally he shouted it himself.
“Kiss the most attractive person in the room.”
The apartment went silent. Your face immediately warmed. Across the room, your eyes found Satoru’s. For the briefest second, something flashed across his face.
Then he looked down.
But not before you caught the faint redness creeping across his ears. What? Did he think you were going to pick him? The thought alone almost made something coil in your belly.
You took another drink instead. Then stood. The room watched your every movement. You slowly wandered around the circle, pretending to think.
“Hmmm.”
Haibara looked excited. Yuki looked invested. Nanami looked stressed. Shoko looked like she was watching premium entertainment.
You glanced toward a few strangers.
Nopeeeee
Not them!
Then your gaze drifted back toward Satoru. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like he was waiting.
Expecting.
Across the room, Suguru’s eyes widened slightly. The second he realized you were looking at him, he shook his head.
Immediately.
The expression was so obvious it was almost funny. He silently wanted to say “Not me” since he knows Satoru might take his head for this.
That was definitely a don’t. So your gaze moved on. And landed on Sukuna, not that he wasn’t your immediate option.
The room collectively forgot how to breathe. You crossed the circle from the centre, step by step. L
The grin on Haibara’s face kept growing. Shoko whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Holy fuck.”
Then you reached Sukuna. And sat down on his lap. The reaction was immediate.
Gasps.
Swearing.
Somebody choked.
Even Sukuna looked stunned. He barked out a surprised laugh.
“Oh,” he muttered. “D’you need something?”
Because for the first time all night, you could practically feel Satoru’s stare burning into the back of your head.
Good
Let him feel it.
As you sat on Sukuna’s lap, your leather skirt rode slightly higher on your thigh, exposing more skin than you normally would have been comfortable with. Sukuna noticed immediately and, without making a big deal out of it, rested one of his large hands there, shielding you from the room’s curious eyes.
You leaned forward slightly and asked, “Can I kiss you?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Hot girls don’t ask stupid questions.”
You chuckled softly at that. His hand lifted, his thumb brushing against your lower lip for a brief moment before you closed the distance between you.
The room seemed to fall away.
For a second, all the noise, laughter, and conversations faded into the background. The kiss was warm and impulsive, driven more by adrenaline than anything else. Your fingers found their way into his hair while one hand rested against his arm. Sukuna’s hand slid into your hair as well, keeping you close as the moment stretched longer than anyone had expected.
Around you, the room had gone completely silent. Nobody seemed willing to interrupt. Nobody even seemed willing to breathe.
Then a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Are you fucking done?” The spell shattered instantly.
You pulled back, blinking as reality came rushing in. Your hair was a mess, your thoughts hazy from the drinks, and suddenly you became aware of every single person in the room staring directly at you.
Satoru was on his feet. His jaw was clenched. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. And there was something burning behind those blue eyes that made the entire room hold its breath.
For the first time all night, nobody had a joke to make. The silence felt almost violent.
You could still feel everybody staring, waiting to see who would speak first. The music was still playing somewhere in the background, but it sounded distant now, drowned beneath the tension stretching across the room.
You stared up at Satoru.
“Why?” you snapped. “Something bothering you?”
His jaw tightened.
“You were supposed to kiss,” he shot back. “Not fucking make out with them.”
The confusion on your face was genuine for a moment. “Yeah? And why the fuck do you care?”
Several people visibly winced. Haibara lowered his drink. Nanami closed his eyes.
You pointed toward Satoru.
“Is your turn going on? No? Then go sit your ass back down.”
The room collectively forgot how to breathe. Satoru stared at you for a long moment before laughing once, a short, humorless sound.
“You’ve completely lost your mind, you’ve changed so much Y/N”.
“Oh, have I?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No shit.”
“Get off his lap.”
The command hit the room like a brick. You blinked and then laughed. A sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“Oh, really? And what are you gonna do about it, Satoru?”
For a second he simply looked at you. Not angry but completely unable to believe what he was seeing. The disappointment on his face somehow irritated you more than the yelling.
Around the room, everyone had gone statue-still. Nobody wanted to interrupt you two. Nobody wanted to get involved.
Because at some point the argument had stopped being about the game. And everybody knew it!
Satoru dragged a hand down his face.
“For fuck’s sake.” Then he looked directly at you. “If you’re that desperate, go get a room.”
The words landed hard. The room erupted immediately.
“SATURU”
“Oh my God.”
“Bro.”
“Absolutely not.”
You laughed again. Cold this time.
“Yeah? I probably will.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “I’ll do it after this game.”
The look on Satoru’s face darkened immediately. Haibara made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a man witnessing a train wreck in real time.
“Holy shit.”
Meanwhile, neither you nor Satoru had looked away from each other. The room had disappeared. The people had disappeared. There was only the two of you and years worth of frustration neither of you knew how to talk about.
Suguru looked moments away from developing a stress-induced migraine. “Shoko give me a cigarette”. Beside him, Choso immediately caught on to the emergency.
“Right. Food- guys there are dumplings.”
Still nothing.
Yuki yelled “Aight party’s overrrr, get out everyone”.
The argument kept rolling forward like a runaway train. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and now this- what- what is up with you Y/N,” Satoru said.
You laughed.
“Awwwww, you wanted to talk to me. Wow Satoru do you even remember who I am.”
“I do, what kinda question even is that?.”
“You’ve spent that entire time attached to somebody else’s side, 15 years of friendship has gone down the drain in a span of weeks. What a fucking joke Toru”.
Satoru looks really hurt. Utahime looked horrified. The poor woman looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Satoru’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“No, apparently I don’t.”
The tension snapped tighter. Around the room, people were actively looking for escape routes. Yuki had quietly grabbed Choso’s sleeve. Shoko was staring between you two screaming to stop fighting like children.
Nanami had both hands pressed against his forehead. “These two assholes are unbelievable,” he muttered. Meanwhile Utahime cautiously stepped forward.
“Satoru—”
Utahime’s hand landed on Satoru’s chest, trying to calm him down. Trying to stop whatever this was from getting worse. Unfortunately, that only seemed to make you feel worse.
And something in your chest burned again. You looked at her. Then away. Then back at Satoru.
“Oh yeah,” you said quietly. “Of course.”
The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. The room immediately got quieter. Which shouldn’t have been possible.
But somehow it did. Satoru’s expression changed. For the first time all evening, he looked less angry and more tired. Which only made you angrier. You grabbed your bag.
“I’m done, I’m leaving.”
The announcement finally snapped everyone back to reality.
“Hey—”
“Wait.”
“Maybe don’t—”
You ignored all of them. You were already moving. Already heading toward the door. Already wanting to get as far away from this room as possible.
Behind you, chairs shifted. Movement, footsteps.
Sukuna.
You didn’t need to look back to know he’d stood up. Didn’t need to see him to know he was about to follow. The room noticed too.
And before he could take more than a step— A hand landed on his arm. It wasn’t forceful or aggressive. Just firm.
Sukuna stopped. Slowly looked down. Satoru stood there beside him. Their eyes met. Neither said a word. They didn’t need to. The look Satoru gave him was enough.
Don’t follow her. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering on his face. Satoru’s hand remained exactly where it was. And somewhere down the hallway, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment.
For the first time all night, everyone in the room was thinking the exact same thing. Whatever was going on between you and Satoru had just become impossible to ignore. And none of them had any idea what would happen next.
synopsis. You used to stay up late, talking about your future wedding. You wrote down your vows in a journal — silly things, sweet things, promises you meant with your whole heart. Then he pushed you away. Years later, you're marrying someone else. He's in the back of the church. He doesn't know why he came. Then you start reading your vows. And he realizes — they're not for the groom.
pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. major angst, angst/no comfort, reader dies, sad/bittersweet ending?, emotional hurt, wedding, reader marries someone else, he watches, he pushes you away, he never tells you why, breakdown scene, suicidal ideation (brief, not acted on)
word count. 4.9k+
A/N. i decided to bring it up a notch, my apology for not posting too much lately !! :,)
You used to stay up late, talking about the future.
It was silly, really — two people who had no idea what tomorrow would bring, planning for a lifetime. You'd lie on his chest, your fingers tracing patterns on his skin, and you'd ask him questions.
"What kind of wedding do you want?"
"Small," he'd say. "Just us. And maybe Shoko. She'd kill me if I didn't invite her."
"How about Suguru?"
"He'd come. He'd complain about the food."
You'd laugh — that soft, sleepy sound — and he'd hold you tighter, like he could keep you there forever if he just didn't let go.
"What about vows?" you asked once.
"What about them?"
"What would you say?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not good with words."
"You're good with me."
"That's different."
You sat up, reaching for your journal — the leather-bound one you'd had since college, the one with the cracked spine and the coffee stain on the cover. You flipped to an empty page.
"Then I'll write mine now," you said. "So I don't forget."
He watched you write. Your hair fell across your face. Your brow furrowed in concentration. You pressed your lips together when you were thinking — he always loved that. You were beautiful.
"Done," you said.
"Let me see."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's a surprise! For our wedding."
He smiled — that rare, real smile he only gave you. "You're assuming I'm going to marry you."
You looked at him. The room was quiet. The city hummed outside the window.
"Are you?"
He didn't answer.
He just kissed you.
And you let him.
You kept the journal in your nightstand. Right next to your side of the bed — the side he always left empty for you, even when you weren't there.
You added to it sometimes. A new line here. A new promise there.
He'd watch you from across the room, pen in hand, brow furrowed, and he'd wonder what you were writing. He'd wonder if you were writing about him.
You told him once that you'd written the perfect closing line. Something that meant forever without saying the word.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I'm not telling."
"Tell me."
He pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder.
"It's a surprise," you said, laughing.
"I hate surprises."
"No, you don't. You love when I surprise you."
"I love you, the surprises are just a bonus."
You turned your head. Kissed his cheek.
"You'll find out someday. At our wedding."
He held you tighter.
He didn't know that someday would never come.
He never found out.
It happened on a Tuesday.
He came home from a mission. His hands were shaking. His eyes were dark — not the playful dark you teased him about, but something hollow. Something empty.
He didn't look at you when he walked in.
"Satoru?"
He didn't answer.
"What happened?"
"I need you to leave."
You blinked. Thought you misheard.
"Leave?"
"Pack your things." His voice was flat. Empty. A stranger's voice in the body of the man you loved. "Go."
"Satoru, you're scaring me."
"Good." He finally looked at you. His eyes were red — not from crying, but from something else. Something you couldn't name. "You should be scared."
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"Then explain it to me."
He shook his head. "I can't."
"You can't or you won't?"
"Both."
You stepped closer. He stepped back. The space between you felt like miles.
"Satoru, please—"
"You need to go." His voice cracked. Just once. Just a little. But you heard it. "You need to go, and you can't come back. And I can't tell you why."
"Then I'm not leaving."
"Yes, you are."
He walked to the door. He opened it.
The hallway was dark. The air was cold.
"Please," you whispered. Your voice was small. You hated how small it sounded.
He didn't look at you.
"Farewell."
You stood there for a long time after he left. You waited for him to come back. You waited for him to say it was a joke. A mistake. A nightmare.
He didn't come back.
You left.
You didn't know why.
You never found out.
The invitation came on a Tuesday.
Cream-colored envelope. Gold foil. Your handwriting — no, not yours. Someone else's. Someone who got to know your address. Someone who got to hold your hand. Someone who got to wake up next to you.
He stared at it for a long time.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of…
Your name. And someone else's. Someone he didn't know. Someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you a normal life.
He traced your name with his thumb.
He thought about throwing it away. He thought about burning it. He thought about showing up and telling you the truth — that he'd pushed you away because he was scared, because his enemies would use you against him, because he'd rather lose you than watch you die.
He put the invitation on his fridge.
Right next to your photo. The one he'd taken on your first anniversary. You were laughing, your head thrown back, your hair a mess. His arm was around your waist. You looked so happy.
He didn't reply.
He went anyway.
The church was small — just like you'd always wanted. Pretty red roses. Soft lighting. Wooden pews. A few dozen guests — friends, family, people who got to stay in your life.
He stood in the back.
Alone.
His hands in his pockets. His sunglasses on. His mask in place.
He saw Shoko. She was sitting near the front, next to someone he didn't recognize. She turned — just for a second — and saw him.
Her eyes widened.
Then they softened.
She didn't say anything. She just nodded.
She knew. She always knew.
The music started.
He stopped breathing.
You walked down the aisle.
You were beautiful — more beautiful than he remembered. Your dress was simple, elegant, the kind you'd described years ago. White lace. A long train. Flowers in your hair.
You were smiling.
You weren't looking at him.
He watched you walk past him. He watched you stop beside the groom. He watched you take someone else's hands.
He watched you choose someone else.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
The officiant spoke. Words he didn't hear. Promises he didn't want to witness.
He stared at the back of your head. At the flowers in your hair. At the way your dress fell across your shoulders.
He wondered if you'd thought about him this morning. If you'd hesitated. If you'd looked in the mirror and seen his ghost standing behind you.
Then it was time for the vows.
The groom went first.
Standard things. Nice things. Things you say when you're marrying someone safe.
I love you. I'll protect you. I'll be there for you.
Polite. Safe. Forgettable.
Then it was your turn.
You unfolded a piece of paper. Your hands were shaking.
And you began to read.
"I wrote these a long time ago."
Your voice was steady, but your eyes were not. They were bright — too bright. Like you were holding something back.
"I wrote them when I still believed in fairytales. When I thought love was enough to conquer anything."
The groom smiled. The guests aww-ed.
He stopped breathing.
"The first time I saw you, I thought you were going to break my heart. I didn't care. I still don't."
The groom laughed softly.
He didn't.
Because that wasn't for the groom.
That was for him.
"I promise to love you on the days you forget to love yourself."
He remembered that line. You'd written it at 2 AM, your head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist. You'd mumbled it against his skin, half-asleep, and he'd pretended not to hear.
He heard it now.
"I promise to stay even when staying is hard."
Another line from the journal. Another promise you'd meant to keep.
"I promise to remind you every single day that you're more than the strongest — you're human. You're kind. And, you're mine."
The groom didn't flinch.
He didn't know. He couldn't know.
You were looking at the groom when you said it.
But just before the last line — the closing line, the one you'd never told him, the one you'd kept secret for years — your eyes flickered.
To the back of the church.
To him.
And he saw it.
He saw everything.
The hurt. The confusion. The love. The love you'd never stopped feeling, even after he'd thrown you away.
You held his gaze for one heartbeat. Two.
Then you said the words you'd written just for him.
"I promise to love you," you said, "even when we're not in the same lifetime."
He felt his heart stop.
That was the line.
The one you'd never told him.
The one that meant forever without saying the word.
You were looking at him when you said it.
And then you looked away.
He didn't stay for the reception.
He waited until the ceremony was over. Until the applause had faded. Until the couple was walking back down the aisle — your hand in someone else's, your smile for someone else's eyes.
He watched you pass him.
Your dress brushed against his shoes.
You didn't look at him.
He turned. Walked out. Didn't look back.
The sun was setting outside. The sky was orange and pink — the kind of sunset you used to drag him outside to see. The kind you'd watch from your apartment window, your head on his shoulder, your fingers intertwined with his.
He stood in the parking lot for a long time.
Shoko found him there.
She didn't speak at first. She just stood beside him, quiet, her hands in her pockets.
"You should have told her," she said softly. Not accusing. Just sad.
"I know."
"You should have fought for her."
"I know."
"She would have stayed, Satoru."
He didn't answer.
She sighed. "She asked about you, you know. Before the wedding."
He looked at her.
"She called me. Three days before." Shoko's voice was quiet. "She asked if I thought you'd come. She said she didn't know if she wanted you to or not."
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth." Shoko looked at him. "I told her you'd come. Because you've never been able to stay away from her."
He closed his eyes.
"Go home, Satoru."
He didn't move.
"Go home."
He got in his car.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just sat there, staring at the steering wheel, your voice still echoing in his head.
Even when we're not in the same lifetime.
He started the car.
He drove home.
He never told anyone why he really came.
Years passed.
He never moved on. Not really.
He dated — once, twice. He told himself he was fine. He told himself he was happy for you. He told himself a lot of lies.
He kept the invitation in his drawer. Right next to your photo. Right next to the dried flower he'd saved from your first date — a white lily, pressed between the pages of a book you'd lent him.
He never looked at it.
But sometimes, late at night, he'd take out your journal.
He'd stolen it before you left. You never knew. He'd found it in your nightstand, hidden under a stack of books — your favorite books, the ones with the cracked spines and the underlined passages.
He'd told himself he'd give it back.
He never did.
He read your words. The vows you'd written. The promises you'd meant to keep.
He memorized every line.
He traced your handwriting with his finger — the way your loops curved, the way your dots hovered above your i's, the way you crossed your t's with a sharp line, like you were in a hurry to get to the next word.
He read the closing line over and over.
Even when we're not in the same lifetime.
He wondered what you meant by it.
He wondered if you'd known — even then, even before he pushed you away — that you wouldn't get to spend your life with him.
He wondered if you'd written it as a goodbye.
He never stopped loving you.
He got the call on a Sunday.
The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The world was going on like nothing was wrong.
Shoko's voice was quiet. Careful. The way she got when she had to deliver news she didn't want to deliver.
"She's sick, Satoru."
He didn't ask what. He didn't ask how. He just listened.
"It's bad."
He hung up.
He stared at the wall.
He thought about going to see you. He thought about telling you the truth — that he'd never stopped loving you, that he'd pushed you away to protect you, that he'd regretted it every single day for years.
He thought about holding your hand. About telling you he was sorry. About asking for forgiveness he didn't deserve.
He didn't go.
He couldn't.
He didn't deserve to.
He sat in his apartment for three days. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just sat there, staring at your photo, your journal in his lap.
He read your vows over and over.
I promise to love you on the days you forget to love yourself.
He forgot to love himself a long time ago.
I promise to stay even when staying is hard.
He was the one who left.
I promise to love you, even when we're not in the same lifetime.
He wondered if you still meant it. If you'd even written it for him at all.
He knew you did.
That's what made it hurt.
He stood in the back.
Same church. Different flowers. Different occasion.
The flowers were white — your favorite. White lilies, the ones that smelled like spring even in winter. He'd bought you those multiple times, and bought you a massive bouquet of them for your birthday. You'd cried. You said no one had ever bought you flowers before.
He watched your husband — the man you'd married, the man who wasn't him — stand at the front, holding your child's hand.
A little girl.
She had your eyes.
She was crying.
He wondered if you'd ever told her about him. If you'd ever shown her his photo. If you'd ever whispered his name in the dark, when no one else was listening.
He wondered if you'd ever thought about him at all.
The service started. Words he didn't hear. Memories he didn't share. Songs he didn't know.
He stood in the back, alone, his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses on.
He didn't cry.
He didn't make a sound.
He just stood there — the strongest sorcerer alive — and watched them lower you into the ground.
Shoko found him after the service.
She didn't speak at first. She just stood beside him, quiet, her hands in her pockets.
"You should have come sooner," she said softly. Not accusing. Just sad.
"I know."
"You should have told her."
"I know."
"She never stopped loving you, Satoru."
He looked at her.
"She kept your photo in her drawer." Shoko's voice was quiet. "I saw it once. When I helped her move. She tried to hide it, but… I saw."
His throat tightened.
"She used to talk about you," Shoko continued. "When she was sick. At the end. She asked me if I thought you were happy."
"What did you say?"
"I told her the truth. I told her you weren't. I told her you'd never been happy a day since she left."
He closed his eyes.
"She didn't know why you left," Shoko said. "She thought it was her fault. She thought she wasn't enough."
"I was protecting her."
"I know." Shoko's voice was barely a whisper. "But she didn't, Satoru. She died not knowing. She died thinking you didn't love her."
He couldn't breathe.
"She's gone," Shoko said.
He looked at the front of the church. At your photo. At your smile.
"I know."
Shoko touched his arm — brief, gentle.
"Say goodbye," she said. "For real this time."
She walked away.
He stood there for a long moment.
Then he walked to the front of the church.
He stood in front of your photo.
You were smiling. The same smile you'd given him a thousand times. The same smile he'd thrown away.
He reached out. His fingers touched the frame.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The photo didn't answer.
"I'm so sorry."
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out your journal — the one he'd kept for years, the one he'd read a hundred times, the one full of promises you'd meant to keep.
He set it beside your photo.
He opened it to the last page. The page with the closing line.
Even when we're not in the same lifetime.
"I never stopped loving you," he said.
He took off his blindfold.
He wanted you to see his eyes. Just once. Even if you couldn't see him back.
"I never stopped."
He turned.
Walked away.
This time, he looked back.
Just once.
Then he left.
He made it home.
Barely.
The apartment was dark. Cold. Empty. Just like every other night for the past several years.
He closed the door. Locked it. Leaned his forehead against the wood.
He didn't move.
He stood there for a long time — minutes, hours, he couldn't tell — with his eyes closed, his hands pressed flat against the door, his breathing shallow.
Then his knees gave out.
He slid down to the floor. His back against the door. His legs stretched out in front of him.
He didn't cry at first. He just sat there, staring at the wall, his hands limp in his lap.
Then he thought about your laugh.
The way you used to throw your head back when something was really funny. The way your nose crinkled. The way your eyes squeezed shut. The way he could never help but smile when he heard it — even on his worst days, even when the world was falling apart.
He'd never hear it again.
He thought about your hands. The way they felt in his. Small and warm and safe. The way you'd trace his knuckles with your thumb when you were falling asleep. The way you'd hold on tighter when you had a nightmare.
He'd never hold them again.
He thought about the last time he saw you. The wedding. Your dress. Your eyes. The way you looked at him when you said that last line — even when we're not in the same lifetime.
He'd never see you look at him like that again.
He thought about the last time he'd touched you. The last time he'd kissed you. The last time he'd said "I love you" and meant it.
He couldn't remember when that was.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd held you.
He couldn't remember what your skin felt like.
He couldn't remember the sound of your voice when you said his name.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.
His shoulders started shaking.
The first sob was quiet — barely a sound. Just a sharp exhale, a crack in his chest.
The second was louder.
The third was worse.
He curled in on himself, his forehead touching his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. He cried like he hadn't cried in years — ugly and raw and desperate, the kind of crying that left you hollow and empty and gasping for air.
He didn't try to stop it.
There was no one to hear him. No one to see. No one to pretend for.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the dark. "I'm so sorry."
The apartment didn't answer.
He cried until there was nothing left.
And then he sat there, hollow and empty, staring at the wall.
He didn't move.
He didn't know how.
Your journal was still at the church. He'd left it there. He'd left the last piece of you behind.
He had nothing left.
Six months later, he got another call.
Shoko's voice was quiet. Careful. The same tone she'd used when she told you about you.
"It's him, Satoru. Your husband. He... he couldn't do it without her."
He didn't ask what. He didn't ask how.
He already knew.
"He stopped eating," Shoko said. "Stopped sleeping. Stopped taking care of himself. He just... gave up."
He hung up.
He stared at the wall.
He thought about the man you'd married. The man who wasn't him. The man who'd held your hand at the end. The man who'd watched you die.
He thought about what it would take to lose you.
He already knew.
He went to the funeral.
He stood in the back — same church, different flowers, different coffin.
He watched your daughter — your little girl, with your eyes, your hair, your smile — stand at the front, holding a stranger's hand.
She was seven years old.
She'd lost both her parents.
He didn't cry.
He didn't make a sound.
He just stood there.
He thought about what you would say.
"Take care of her, Satoru. Please."
He didn't know if he could.
He didn't know if he deserved to.
He walked to the front of the church after the service. He knelt down in front of your daughter.
"Hey," he said softly. "I knew your mom. A long time ago."
She looked at him with your eyes.
"She loved me," he said. "And I loved her. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there for her."
The little girl didn't say anything.
He held out his hand.
"You're not alone," he said. "You're never going to be alone. I promise."
She took his hand.
And for the first time in years, he felt something other than grief.
He felt responsibility.
He felt purpose.
He felt you, standing beside him, saying "thank you."
The apartment was different now.
It wasn't empty anymore.
There were toys on the floor. Drawings on the fridge. A child's laughter echoing through the halls.
Your daughter — his daughter now, in every way that mattered — was sleeping in the room down the hall.
He sat on the couch, your journal in his hands.
He still read it sometimes. On the hard nights. On the nights he couldn't remember your face.
He heard a small voice from the hallway.
"Satoru?"
He looked up.
Your daughter was standing there, rubbing her eyes. She had your hair. Your nose. Your way of tilting her head when she was curious.
"Can't sleep?"
She shook her head.
He opened his arms. She climbed onto the couch, curling into his side.
"Tell me about my mom," she said.
He froze.
It wasn't the first time she'd asked. It wouldn't be the last.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
He took a breath.
"Your mom," he said, "was the bravest person I ever knew."
She looked up at him with your eyes.
"She was funny," he continued. "She laughed with her whole body. She snored — don't tell anyone I told you that."
Your daughter giggled.
"She loved flowers. White lilies. She said they made her feel like spring even in winter."
"Like the ones at her funeral?"
His throat tightened.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Like those."
"She loved you?"
He hesitated.
"Yeah," he said. "She did. And I loved her. More than anything. More than I knew how to say."
"Then why did she marry someone else?"
He closed his eyes.
"Because I was stupid," he whispered. "Because I was scared. Because I thought I was protecting her, but I was really just hurting her. And by the time I realized, it was too late."
Your daughter was quiet for a moment.
"Do you still love her?"
He opened his eyes.
"Every single day," he said.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Me too."
He wrapped his arm around her.
He thought about what you would say.
"You're doing okay, Satoru. She's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."
He didn't know if he believed it.
But for the first time in years — he wanted to try.
He drove to the bridge where you had your first kiss.
It was 3 AM. The city was asleep. The stars were out — the ones you used to point at, the ones you'd name even though you always got them wrong.
He stood at the edge.
He looked down at the water.
He thought about how easy it would be. One step. That's all it would take. One step, and he wouldn't have to feel any of this anymore.
He thought about you.
He thought about the vows.
He thought about the line you'd written — the one you'd never told him, the one you'd said at your wedding, the one you'd meant for him.
Even when we're not in the same lifetime.
He wondered if you were waiting for him. If there was something after this. If he'd get to see you again.
He wondered if you'd forgive him.
He closed his eyes.
He leaned forward.
Just a little.
Just enough to feel the wind against his face.
And then—
He thought about your daughter.
Her eyes. Your eyes. The way she'd cried at both funerals.
He thought about what it would do to her. Losing him. The only parent she had left. The man who wasn't her father, but the man who'd raised her. The man who'd held her hand when she was scared. The man who loved her because she was yours.
He thought about what it would do to Shoko. Finding out this way.
He thought about what you would say.
"Satoru. Don't you dare."
He could hear your voice. So clearly. Like you were standing right next to him.
"Don't you dare leave like this. Don't you dare take the easy way out."
"She needs you. I need you to be there for her."
"I didn't fight to love you for you to throw it away."
He opened his eyes.
He stepped back.
He sat down on the cold concrete. His back against the railing. His legs stretched out in front of him.
He watched the stars fade as the sun started to rise.
The sky turned orange and pink — the kind of sunrise you used to drag him outside to see.
He thought about the last time he'd watched a sunrise with you. You'd made coffee. You'd wrapped a blanket around both of you. You'd leaned your head on his shoulder and said, "I want to watch every sunrise with you. For the rest of my life."
He'd said okay.
He'd meant it.
He broke that promise too.
He sat there until the sun was fully up.
Then he stood.
He drove home.
Your daughter was waiting.
He still goes to the bridge sometimes.
Not as often now. But sometimes.
On the hard days. On the days he can't remember your face. On the days he can't remember the sound of your laugh.
He sits on the cold concrete. He watches the sunrise. He pretends you're sitting next to him.
He talks to you.
"I dropped your daughter off at her university earlier," he says. "She's tall now. She has your eyes. She laughed at something her friend said. She sounded just like you."
The wind answers.
"She's in college now. She's studying art. Just like you wanted." He smiles — a small, sad smile. "She's so much like you, sweetheart. It breaks my heart every day."
The wind answers.
"Your husband — he was a good man. He loved you the way I should have. The way I couldn't. The way I was too scared to."
The wind answers.
"She calls me Dad now. The first time she did, I cried. I cried for three hours. I didn't tell her that. I told her I had allergies."
The wind answers.
"I read your journal again. I have a copy now. I made it before I left yours at the church. I couldn't let it go. I'm sorry. I know I should have let you go. I can't."
The wind answers.
"She asked me about you yesterday. She asked if you were proud of her. I said yes. I said you were always proud of her. I said you were watching. I didn't know if I was lying or not."
The wind doesn't answer.
It never does.
He stays until the sun is fully up.
Then he stands. Brushes off his pants. Puts his hands in his pockets.
He walks back to his car.
He drives back to the university.
Your daughter — his daughter — is waiting.
He was the strongest.
But he couldn't save himself from losing you.
And everyone else gets to heal.
Everyone else gets to move on.
Everyone else gets to forget.
He doesn't.
He can't.
He never will.
But now he has something to live for.
Not for himself.
For her.
For you.
For the promise he made at your funeral — the one he never told anyone about.
"I'll take care of her. I'll love her. I'll be there for her. For you. For both of you."
He does.
Every single day.
Because the strongest sorcerer alive still doesn't know how to let go of the only person who ever made him feel human.
But he learned how to carry the weight.
A/N. cred goes to @cursed-carmine for the beige div!! :D i hope you guys enjoyed this fic as much as i did <3
Given your current major in Music, you tell your best friend — who shares an in campus apartment with you, — you should start a Band together.
She has a few talented college friends that can make it work.
You’re unaware of how much of a shitstorm this kind of lifestyle actually is.
Or — You're the band's lyricist, designer, manager of sorts, almost a nanny for grown men, and very overworked and underslept. But hey, at least the four men in your band are very fucking hot if you ignore how unstable they are!
No sorcery AU.
⸻ M A S T E R L I S T .
Ascensionism
When the Bough Breaks
Waking the Demon
Telomeres
Thread the Needle
Is it Really You?
Throne
Calcutta
Shelter
Calamity
Sundowning
Chokehold
Vore
Gods
Take me Back to Eden
Do You Wish That You Loved Me?
Mine pt. 1 | Mine pt. 2
Like That
Give
Take Aim
Nazareth
Granite
Say that You Will
Dark Signs
Bloodsport
Aqua Regia
The Way That You Were
Gethsemane
Levitate
The Love You Want
Atlantic
Distraction
Damocles
High Water
Euclid
The Night Does Not Belong To God
The Offering
Sugar
Past Self
Look to Windward
Emergence
Dangerous
Tall Trees
Jaws
Even in Arcadia
Caramel
If you want to make a request, support my writing or prefer to read it on Ao3, the links are below:
✦ ｢ https://ko-fi.com/belimah ｣﹒｢Ao3 ｣ ✦
" he's so loud.. " 𝓶egumi grumbled into your nape, annoyance prominent in his tone.
𝔂uji was snoring loudly, large bulky arms draped over you and megumi's waist as a result of his rather uncontrolled sleeping habits of moving around a lot. his head rested on your bra, mouth agape and drool pooling in your cleavage. " it's annoying. "
" when are you not annoyed by something? " you asked, combing through his pink strands. you felt his hands tighten around your waist, squeezing gently. he just let out a low hum at your statement — not confirming nor denying.
time passed, yuji's snores turned into hiccups as he prepared for a yawn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "g'morning..." the kiss he put on your lips was lazy and gentle, full of sleep.
"morning, yuu. how'd you sleep?" he murmured a "good" against your lower lip before kissing you again, your hands molding his face gently. yuji loved your attention when he first woke up, it was the most awaited thing once he opened his eyes. it was simply routine.
megumi watched over your shoulder, leaning up on his elbow. he didn't say anything, just... observed. he had that familiar, faint dent in between his dark, thin eyebrows. he looked the same as he always did, but more annoyed than just plain grumpy. yuji eyed him, curious but in a teasing way. " jealous? "
" stop, " he got a hold on your jaw, turning you to face him. yuji stuck his tongue out at him, which megumi saw out the corner of his eye but chose not to comment on. " you haven't given me any kisses today. "
" yes, i have, " you corrected.
" mm, " he kissed where your jaw met your earlobe, trailing down to the corner of your lips. " it sounds like you have favorites to me, " he murmured.
" told you. he's jealous! " megumi pushed two fingers to his forehead, moving him back to prevent the chances of his interrogation of your favoritism being interrupted. you hadn't taken megumi to be the jealous type at all, if you were being completely honest, but you weren't complaining at all.
you puckered your lips. " no. you come get a kiss. i'm not kissing you. "
" ooh, picky. " yuji's commentary got him a pinch.
you gave into his demands with a slight laugh — there was only so far you could push megumi to be outwardly needy for affection. the kiss was special in comparison to your other kisses. more sweet, more savory, more apologetic for the fact that he was accusing you of favoritism. your hand gripped his jaw, tongues brushing against each other, relishing in the aftertaste of each other's chapstick.
they were both your favorites — your lovely boys to kiss, to love, to do anything and everything with. you pressed kisses to both their faces, alternating.
♛ summary: as the debate club president, you absolutely refuse to tolerate anyone trash-talking your club— especially not an entitled jerk like Ryomen Sukuna. So what do you do? Retaliate, of course!
♛ pairing: football player!sukuna x debate president!reader
♛ tags & content warnings: somewhat enemies to lovers-ish, bickering, pwp, public sex/classroom sex, college au, it takes a bit to get to the sex ngl, unprotected sex
♛ word count: 6.6k
♛ credits: dividers from @/uzumacchiato
a/n: I think this is the longest one I’ve written since my last AO3 fic. Sukuna just does somethin to me.
Monday
“My name is Yuki Tsukumo, your favorite source for all your college news. Today, we’ve got a special treat for our viewers,” the camera lingered on the blonde girl’s smile before it panned to the side just enough to reveal the guest.
He absolutely dwarfed Yuki. So tall he towered over her almost comedically. Broad shoulders bare under the blazing sun, skin still slick with sweat from practice, tattoos unapologetically on display for everyone on campus who decided to tune in.
“Star quarterback, Ryomen Sukuna,” Yuki added with a sly grin, hand coming up to rest on his toned shoulder. Rather than looking at her, Sukuna looked straight into the camera with a slow, dangerous smirk. He knew exaaaactly what he was doing— all the attention he was gonna get— and he loved it.
“So,” Yuki adjusted her mic and continued. “First of all, congrats on your big win last week. Another phenomenal performance from the best team. How are you feeling going into the rest of the season?” Sukuna’s gaze finally shifted to her, grazing over her face with an almost bored expression as he gauged the question. He exhaled slowly, as if the question was unnecessary.
“Same as always,” he smirked. “We win.” His tone was final, as if there was no denying his claims. “Confident answer, we love to that kind of enthusiasm from our star player. Now, moving on,” Yuki looked back at the camera, “there’s been quite a bit of discourse on campus recently about funding distribution between athletics and other academic departments. Particularly the debate program.”
At that, Sukuna couldn’t hold himself back from letting loose a raucous cackle. Unfazed, Yuki continued, “some students argue that the football program receives a disproportionate share of university resources. Any thoughts on that?”
Sukuna’s heavy gaze once again zeroed in on the camera. “Debate program,” he started with a light, mocking chuckle. “Y’know, it’s funny how much money gets spent on people arguing in circles about things they’ll never change.” His tone was light despite the scathing words he spoke. Yuki shifted almost awkwardly, about to speak but Sukuna cut her off.
“They call it ‘academic discourse’ as if that makes it anything more than what it is— a bunch of losers who get off on pissing people off. I do that for free,” he laughed and shook his head, his pink locks swaying with the action. “Football fills stadiums, brings in revenue, keeps the uni’s reputation up. So,” he quirked a brow at the camera, “if we’re talking about waste.. I’d start there.”
Yuki maintained a steady voice as she prompted, “so you believe that programs like the debate club are less valuable to the university than football?” Sukuna shrugged in response, cocky smirk firmly in place. “I think the value speaks for itself.”
The interview wrapped up shortly after that, but all you could see was red as the football star’s comments about your program bounced around in your head. You smashed the off button on your tv remote and picked up your back, slinging it over your shoulder. The walk to Yuki’s dorm was quick since the two of you both got placed in the same building. You rapped quickly on her door and waited (im)patiently. When the blonde pulled her door open, you didn’t even give her a moment to process your arrival.
“Interview me for tomorrow’s broadcast,” you blurted out. Yuki’s brows shot up and she leaned against her doorframe. “Really?” She asked, surprised. You nodded and took note of the laugh that escaped her. “If all I had to do was talk trash about debate to get you on the news, I’d have done it way sooner,” she chuckled and grabbed your arm, tugging you inside her dorm. “Come on, I’ll squeeze ya in, but I’m still getting ready.”
“Yesterday we heard from Ryomen Sukuna about his stance on the university funding controversy,” Yuki began, professionalism taking root in her tone. “Today, we’ve invited the president of the debate program to give us her opinion on the topic.”
Without hesitation, you immediately dove in. “Let’s be clear— calling academic programs ‘wasteful’ is easy when your entire argument depends on stadium lights and a jersey number.” Yuki didn’t react, but the camera crew stepped an inch forward, getting a close up on you as you continued.
“The debate program teaches critical thinking, rhetoric, analysis— all skills that extend beyond a Saturday night performance for a crowd that, half the time, couldn’t even tell you the rules of the game they’re watching.” You paused just long enough to let the words land and then, “and if we’re going to discuss financial contribution to the university, I’d be very interested to see how much of that ‘revenue’ actually stays in student-facing resources versus how much is funneled into maintaining an image.”
“From where I’m standing, it looks like this is less about ‘value’ to the university, and more like selective investment in entertainment that happens to wear school colors. So if Ryomen Sukuna wants to talk about waste,” you smirked into the camera, “maybe he should start with how much this university spends on protecting the illusion of a perfect, conflict-free school. On pretending like the athletes aren’t the only important students here.”
Yuki finally cleared her throat and took charge again. “Strong response,” she said evenly, “do you think there’s a solution to this divide between the athletics and academic departments?” You ran a hand through your hair as you turned the question over in your mind. “Respect, first and foremost. And reallocation of funds— I’m not saying the academic department should suddenly have, like, half the school’s funding— I’m just saying it should have more than what it currently has. The debate program’s budget is a joke.”
It seemed like a good stopping point for the interview, but Yuki wasn’t finished— not when there was more potential drama to stir up. “Interesting take,” the blonde grinned, “when we asked Sukuna about funding yesterday, he seemed to think debate club was—“
“—expendable?” You cut in instantly. Yuki blinked once, caught off guard by the interruption. Staring into the camera, you continued anyway. “If he thinks that, then I’d be more than happy to explain to him in person exactly why he’s wrong.”
The segment ended with Yuki promising viewers more updates in the following days.
Tuesday
You were standing at your locker, switching out textbooks when a large, tattooed hand reached around you and slammed the locker shut.
“Got a minute?” a deep, raspy voice drawled behind you. You’d never had an actual conversation with Ryomen Sukuna— you ran in two vastly different social circles— but you knew, without a doubt, that voice couldn’t have belonged to anyone else but him. You turned your head enough to look over your shoulder at his towering figure and nearly flinched. Why was he so stupidly tall?
“Depends who’s asking,” you mumbled back, turning around to face him fully. His hand was still braced against your locker, body leaning on it— meaning, he was far too close to you for your liking. He smelled like fresh laundry and something woodsy, and you immediately shut that thought down. “C’mon now,” he said, lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. “You know exactly who’s talkin. Sure had a lot to say to me on the news.”
At that, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as well. “Yeah? You sure had a lot to say about my program, too,” you shot back. “What do you want?” His hulking figure leaned just a fraction closer, eyes glinting. “What do I want?” He echoed in amusement. “Isn’t it obvious?”
With a roll of your eyes, you put a hand to his chest and pushed him back just enough to catch your breath. “What’s obvious is the fact that you have no concept of personal space,” you huffed. That drew a quiet laugh from him. “That’s not it,” he said. “Just figured bein’ real close to ya would get under your skin.” He paused for a second, then, “y’know, since you’re probably a virgin and all.”
A vein ticked in your temple at the remark. “And what exactly gave you that impression, hm?” You asked, voice tight. The shit eating grin that broke out across Sukuna’s face had you instantly regretting your question. “Hmmm,” he mused. “Well, maybe it’s the stick up your ass that gave it away,” he said thoughtfully, “or could be the fact that you’re not only in debate club— you’re the fuckin’ president of it..” Your jaw tightened as his gaze flickered over you. “Just screams ‘virgin’ to me.”
You let out a sharp breath. “You know…” you started, stepping back from him, “some of us just like to keep our body count under the hundreds.” You turned slightly, already one foot out of the conversation. “If you’ve got nothing better to say than that, then don’t waste anymore of my time. I have more important things to do.”
Sukuna didn’t react at first, rather he just stood there, eyes scanning over you with an unreadable expression. “You defended your little club,” he finally grunted, “so back it up. Prove it’s got value.” Your brows pulled together slightly at that. “What?”
A short pause, a moment of quiet in which you both just stared eachother down. His gaze was heavy in a way that made you feel simultaneously intrigued and irritated. Everything about him put your nerves on edge— from the way he held himself, how he talked, the cocky smile that only ever fell away when he looked like a man pissdd at the world. “Debate me, miss president. Prove there’s somethin’ to that club of yours.”
You exhaled through your nose in an almost-snort, “debate you?” The disbelief in your tone was anything but subtle, and you didn’t miss the way he clenched his jaw at it. “What?” Sukuna probed. “Don’t think I can keep up?” The question made you chuckle to yourself, fingers brushing your hair away from your eyes. “I think you’re used to winning arguments just by being bigger and louder than everyone else in the room,” you admitted, “and that’s not gonna get you far in a real debate.”
“Let’s make a bet then, miss president,” he pushed himself off the locker and stepped toward you again, “if I win, you’ve gotta get back on the news an’ tell everybody you were wrong… and you have to grant me one favor.”
“And if I win?”
“I’ll personally advocate for the academic department’s funding.”
That made you pause— and Sukuna definitely noticed if the stupid smirk on his face was anything to go by. If the star quarterback were to advocate for the department’s funding, it was likely that the dean would give it more consideration. People would listen to him. Sukuna knew that as well as you did, so you huffed for only a second before conceding, “fine, you’re on. Text you the details.” You turned on your heel and stormed away, leaving Sukuna to watch after you as you left.
That night, as you laid in your bed, your phone dinged with a text notification from an unsaved number.
Friday. Debate room work for u?
You rolled your eyes at the text. You’d clearly told him before that you would text him with the details and yet he’d made a point to make the first move.
You that eager to lose, Ryomen?
He didn’t reply instantly, and you found yourself laying there staring at his chat. A few seconds passed, then a minute, then two. Then—
No, not me. U nervous, pres?
Nothing to be nervous about :)
You shoved your charger into your phone and set it on the nightstand, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to let your mind wander too much. You fell asleep with the image of big, tattooed hands slamming lockers in your head.
Wednesday
Walking through the hallway had always been a normal experience for you in the sense that you could walk freely without people watching you. After your appearance on the uni news, though, the trek from one classroom to the other was.. awkward, to say the least. You held your head high, though. No amount of dirty looks or whispers were going to deter you from standing up for your department.
At least that’s what you told yourself before you were cornered by three ditzy football players. The tallest of the three has you caged in, toned arms resting on either side of your head. “Gojo,” you rolled your eyes, “move before I cut your chances of having kids down to zero.” The blue-eyed male grinned at the threat, amusement glittering in his eyes.
“That’s so mean, pres,” he whined dramatically. “And here I thought we were friends.” You gave him a deadpanned look and retorted, “friends don’t corner eachother in hallways.” One of the other players snorted at that, mumbling something under his breath that Gojo was quick to ignore. “We just wanted to talk,” he said, head tilted like he was studying you.
“Then use your words,” you pushed him away, “from a socially acceptable distance.” The two buffoons behind him erupted into quiet chuckles behind Gojo, who simply tilted his head back for a moment before stepping away. “You still mad about Sukuna, aren’t ya?” You felt a vein tick in your temple again— something about even the mention of Sukuna made your blood boil. You kept your expression even, though, refusing to give your annoyance away. “I’m not mad about anything.”
“Uhhuhhh, sure,” he grinned at you knowingly. “That’s why our favorite debate president went on TV and declared war on our quarterback?”
“I’m the only debate president,”
“Semantics,” he chuckled lowly. “Point is, you’re clearly pissed.” You pushed a hand through your hair and turned your back to Gojo. “He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.” You walked away, ignoring the players calling out to you as you retreated and made it to your class just on time. You slipped into a seat in the back row, fumbling through your bag for a pencil. Class didn’t even get two minutes in before a piece of a paper smacked you straight in the forehead. A fucking folded paper football. Your eyes scanned the room and narrowed when it landed on a familiar tatted face and mop of pink hair.
‘Open it’ he mouthed to you. You just stared at him blankly for a moment. Ryomen Sukuna, who you hadn’t even realized shared a class with you, sat a few rows away. Legs spread wide like he owned the space, posture overly relaxed. Except for the faint glint of amusement in his eyes, his expression was unreadable. You looked down at the folded paper on your desk, then back up at him. Sukuna grinned, and your stomach flipped in an utterly infuriating way.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose and slowly unfolded the paper. “I think u just argue for fun, miss president.” You didn’t let your expression change, but your fingers tightened around the paper, crinkling it. Across the room, Sukuna watched your reaction intently, more focused on you than the lecture ahead. He scribbled on another piece of paper, folded it up. You shook your head at him but it was useless. The paper soared through the air and slid across your desk. You stopped it with your hand before it hit the floor and threw a scathing glare at Sukuna, who tilted his chin up at you urging you to open it.
“It’s a shame u act like u don’t notice when people are paying attention to u.” Your jaw flexed once. Then you picked up your pencil and scribbled back a response, folding the paper up and shooting it back to him. You watched Sukuna unfold the paper, watched him smirk at your response. “I notice. I don’t acknowledge it.” He wrote again immediately, tossed the paper to you.
“That ur way of saying u like it?” Your eyes narrowed slightly.
“That your way of asking if you’ve got my attention?”
For the first time, Sukuna paused after reading your note. Then he exhaled through his nose— almost a laugh— and wrote back. “If I wanted ur attention, I’d take it.” Your eyes widened at that one, cheeks heating up. Sukuna was still watching you, but you avoided his eyes. Picked up your pencil and wrote again— one simple word, “Try.” You turned your attention back to the lecture, focusing on anything but Ryomen Sukuna. When he looked back up, you tried to ignore the way you could see his smile from the corner of your eye, and the way heat curled low in your belly.
Friday
The day you’d been waiting for had finally come. The debate room was already packed before you or Sukuna had even arrived. Your debate team sat at their usual seats, football players lounged around chattering loudly. Leaning across seats and on top of desks like they were at a game and not a debate. At the front of the room, Yuki had her camera set up directly centered on the twin podiums, speaking into the lens with thinly veiled excitement.
“We’re live today in the debate room to see the department clash,” she spoke into her mic. You hadn’t realized the debate had been given a name: the Department Clash. If you weren’t preoccupied with organizing your thoughts, you would’ve laughed. You took your spot at one of the podiums, composed and prepared for the debate ahead of you. Sukuna stepped up to the other podium, hands in his pockets. He radiated an air of confidence that pissed you off.
The moderator standing between the podiums cleared his throat, calling for everyone’s attention. “Let’s begin,” the man said loudly. “Our topic: university fund allocation between athletic and academic departments.” Sukuna spoke first, tone unrushed and certain. “Let’s not act like this is complicated,” he drawled, eyes scanning the room. One sentence in and he was immediately irking you. “Athletics generate attention, revenue and visibility. That visibility feeds applications, donations and school reputation.”
A few of the football players whooped in response, and it took all your willpower to not roll your eyes. Sukuna continued, “you could find ten debate clubs and it still wouldn’t match what one televised game brings in.” Then his eyes cut to you, the look in them every bit as confident and sharp as he sounded. “But I guess some people prefer arguments that don’t have receipts.” Laughter broke out around the room, and as you glared Sukuna down, it felt as if the air shifted around the two of you. You let a few seconds of silence pass, giving Sukuna time to add more if he wanted to. Then, when he remained silent, you began your rebuttal.
“You’re assuming that value only exists when it’s measurable in applause.” Your voice was even, almost unfazed. “Visibility isn’t impact, it’s attention. And attention isn’t the same as contribution.” Sukuna’s brow twitched. “This university isn’t a brand, it’s an institution. Institutions don’t exist to produce entertainment, they exist to produce ability. Critical thinking, research, innovation, skills that students need beyond just this room, this university,” you took a breath, “the debate club fosters skills that are pivotal pieces in student’s budding careers. Furthermore, if we’re reducing value to revenue alone then we’re no longer talking about education— we’re talking about business.”
A ripple moved through the room, hushed whispers as your words landed. Sukuna exhaled slowly, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he’d been waiting for that exact angle. “Convenient,” he said, “but none of that answers the actual question.” He leaned onto his podium, resting his face in his palm as he leveled you with a serious gaze.
“Students don’t graduate into theories, miss president. They graduate into a real world where visibility does matter.” His eyes never left yours as he continued, “and in that world, the only people who are funded for arguing are lawyers.”
A few football players cheered their quarterback on, as if that statement was a fatal blow. You simply cocked a brow, your pretty eyes scanning Sukuna. “Interesting,” you replied smoothly, folding your hands behind your back. “Last I checked, lawyers are funded extremely well.” The grin on Sukuna’s face twitched, morphing into something like a genuine smile.
“But thank you for proving my point,” you continued before allowing the room to settle again. “Debate develops articulation, negotiation, public speaking, analysis— skills that are so valuable entire professions are built around them.” You tilted your head to the side ever so slightly. “Or did you think attorneys just blindly wandered into court and hoped intimidation would carry them and their client to victory?”
The audience let loose an audible reaction as murmurs broke out across the room. Across from you, Sukuna exhaled slowly. His eyes flickered as if he were turning your words over in his mind and plotting how to combat them. He was, without a doubt, engaged in the debate. “You got a habit of putting words in peoples mouths?” He asked with an almost bored edge to his voice, “or is it just mine?”
“You make it easy,” you shot back instantly. That earned a low, gravelly laugh from him, and the sound of it grated across your nerves and ignited something within you that you didn’t understand. You hated how easily Sukuna got under your skin, and you couldn’t understand why you just couldn’t leave him alone. The aforementioned man straightened his back, lazy smile firmly in place. “Alright then,” he drawled. “Lemme simplify this for ya.”
His eyes locked onto yours and something about the way he looked at you made you want to simultaneously throw something at him and maybe even throw yourself at him. Heat prickled along your skin in annoying little waves that you did your best to ignore as he spoke up once more. “I agree that debate club produces some very important skill sets,” he conceded. “But with that said, universities can and do survive without debate clubs. But what can they not survive without?” He paused, as if waiting for a response. When there was none, “funding. A university can’t survive without funding.”
He continued before you could interrupt— “Athletics brings in that crucial funding, whether you like it or not. Scholarships, alumni donations, sponsorships, media attention… people invest in what they can see.” His gaze dragged over you slowly. “Not everyone’s interested in watching a group of honors students arguing over philosophy for two hours.”
The room fell into a stark silence as he concluded his argument. You opened your mouth to speak, then stopped and pursed your lips. Eyes narrowed almost into slits, you rebutted, “and yet, here you are doing just that.”
The reaction was instantaneous, light laughter erupting around the room. From her spot by the camera, Yuki covered her mouth in attempt to hide the sly grin on her face. For a moment, Sukuna stared at you with his usual unreadable expression, but then— he smiled, slow and sharp and in such a way that your heart skipped a beat inside your chest. “Took you long enough to say something worth hearing,” the quarterback commented.
Heat prickled at the back of your neck and, once again, you ignored it. Instead, you chose that moment to push the argument forward. “You keep arguing visibility as if popularity automatically equals importance but…” you trailed off for a moment. “By that logic, we should slash funding for scientific research too. After all, students aren’t packing stadiums to review lab results.” Sukuna tilted his head as if he wasn’t quite sure where you were going with what you were saying. He tapped his fingers against the podium, watching you intently as if he was trying to dissect every word out of your mouth.
“But those programs,” you pressed, “create medicine, technology, policy, infrastructure— things we rely on everyday without realizing it.” You held Sukuna’s gaze without an ounce of doubt in your eyes. “Impact doesn’t become less valuable just because it happens quietly.”
Silence settled across the room again, heavier this time than before. Both you and Sukuna had provided decent arguments on the topic, but the winner had yet to be decided. Suddenly, “you know what your problem is?” Sukuna asked.
You crossed your arms over your chest, your stance defiant. “Please, enlighten me.” You hated how Sukuna smiled.
“You think people are smarter than they really are. That logic wins by default,” he said, stepping entirely around the podium. Another step closer to you. “Maybe in your world, people sit down, hear the better argument and change their minds but…” He took another step closer. “In the real world, people follow what— and who— moves them.”
You swallowed once before you could stop yourself, and then the buzzer went off, signaling the end of the debate.
Much to your dismay, you’d lost the debate by majority vote. The little favor Sukuna had requested for the bet between the two of you was— well… You. Specifically, a lap dance from the stuck up debate club president herself. You’d decided to hold up your end of the bet, but you weren’t quite expecting him to have rushed you into an empty classroom and lock the door the following Monday.
“Fuuuuck,” Sukuna groaned, hands gripping at every inch of exposed skin he could reach. You smacked his hands away, continuing to sway your hips above him tantalizingly. Clad in just a mismatched bra and panties, you were still somehow a picture perfect image of everything he’d ever fantasized about.
“Don’t touch me,” you warned, gently lowering yourself until the globes of your ass were just an inch away from his lap— from the straining erection tenting his sweatpants. “Such a sore loser, miss president,” he groaned, threading his hands together behind his head to keep himself from reaching out to you. “I like you better when you’re quiet,” you hissed, finally dropping onto his lap. A wet patch had started to form at the front of your pretty panties despite yourself. You rocked your hips slooooowly, pushing just a bit of that delicious pressure between the two of you.
Sukuna sucked in a sharp breath, composure slipping just enough for you to know you were effecting him. “Yeah well—“ his sentence cut short as you picked up the pace of your back-and-forth just a bit. “—we both know I don’t do quiet.” Despite the defiance in his tone, Sukuna was holding himself back, obeying your instruction to keep his hands to himself. The chair creaked dangerously beneath the two of you. “Maybe you should try it out, then.” You lifted back off him, missing the feeling of his hot length pressing against you already. “Wha-“
Standing upright between his legs, you swayed seductively. You’d watched several videos showing you exactly what to do, and somehow you still felt awkward doing it— even so, you refused to let it show. You turned to face him, crouching down until you were eye-level with the tent in his pants. Hands crept up the expanse of Sukuna’s legs, stopping at his thighs as manicured nails dug into the material of his sweats. A quiet, barely audible groan escaped him, eyes glazing over as he watched you intently. To Sukuna, you looked so pretty between his legs like that. His cock twitched, you couldn’t help but to notice.
Going into this, you told yourself it wouldn’t go any further than a simple, quick lap dance. Being too prideful to refuse the bet, but too inexperienced to know how the hell to give a lap dance in the first place. Seeing him like that, though… you shuddered, hand reaching out to rub over his straining cock before you could even rethink it. Sukuna let out a strangled breath, “oh.”
Something about having the infamously prideful star quarterback, whose cocky smirk was almost permanently etched into his face, so pliant and serious before you just made you so insanely wet. Sukuna knew just how to piss you off, how to make that vein in your temple twitch with the effort of not exploding at him— but he also knew damn well how hot he was. Even you weren’t immune to that, no matter how much you hated to admit it.
Sukuna’s hips bucked upwards when your delicate fingers wrapped around the outline of him and squeezed just so. “Fuck, you’re killin me, mama,” he gritted out, voice laced with a mix of frustration and desire that sent a thrill down your spine. A light blush crept up along his neck, tinging the skin a pretty shade of pink that you wouldn’t soon forget. The heat between your thighs intensified, the room suddenly suffocating warm.
You rubbed your palm into his crotch, eliciting another sharp inhale from Sukuna. “Seems like you’re enjoying it to me,” you teased. He threw a tattooed arm over his eyes and groaned aloud, and you took the opportunity to hook your thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and tuuuuug them down just enough to let his heavy cock spring out of its confines. He raised his head back up to look at you, and you felt chills prickle along your skin. His eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide with hunger. The sight made you question everything, made your composure slip nearly all the way. That time, you were the one to suck in a breath and squeeze your thighs together.
He was.. impressive, to say the least. The head flushed a deep red and glistened with precum, and the sight had your mouth watering. “First time seein one, miss president?” Your eyes flickered back to his, a scowl taking over your face. You leaned forward and blew on the tip of his dick, just a light little breeze but the impact was evident. “Didn’t I say I like you better when you’re quiet?”
Sukuna’s hands clenched into tight fists as he struggled to keep himself from touching you. “So? Whatcha gonna do about it, mama?” You realized belatedly that he was rage baiting you, but in the moment, you fell for it hook, line and sinker. One delicate hand wrapped around his length tentatively, tracing the bulging vines around it. Sukuna hissed and his hips rocked toward you involuntarily.
You thumbed over his slit, smearing pre down the shaft before stroking experimentally. The blissed out look on his face had your pussy clenching needily, and you cursed under your breath. You’d never thought a man’s dick would be mesmerizing, yet there you were staring at Sukuna’s like it was the most fascinating thing you’ve seen. The pretty pink tip still so shiny with pre that you got the overwhelming urge to just… lick it. So you did.
Your tongue peeked out from between your lips and shyly swiped up Sukuna’s slit, pressing your tongue against it to linger for just a moment as you savored the peculiar taste. His reaction was immediate, hips jerked involuntarily as if chasing after your mouth. His hands twitched with restraint, knuckles long since turned white with the effort until finally the leash Sukuna had on his composure snapped. His hands flew out to tangle in your hair and hold your head in place. “More,” he breathed out more desperately than you’d ever thought you’d hear him.
The feeling of his hands in your hair, lightly tugging at the strands, holding you in place… it lit a kind of fire inside you that you’d never experienced. A startled moan escaped you as you sucked the head of his leaky cock into your mouth. You let your tongue swirl around him, exploring the bit of him that rested in your mouth fervently, then you pulled away just enough to glance up at him. He was already staring at you, eyes glazed over and all traces of the cocky asshole you’d come to know gone.
You gripped the base of him slightly tighter and sucked in a deep breath before sliiiiding your mouth down around him, taking in as much of him in as you could. His tip tickled at the back of your throat and the spasm it caused nearly made you pull off, but Sukuna’s hands held firm in your hair. “You can do it, miss president,” he drawled. The words served to piss you off just as much as they turned you on. You let his cock settle in your mouth for a moment, trying your best not to gag around him, and then you started moving. Bobbing your head up and down, tongue gliding against the bulging veins and then swirling around the head. Sukuna mumbled out a quiet, “fuck yeah,” above you.
With your free hand, you reached down between your legs and pressed lightly against your clothed clit, applying the gentlest of pressure to it. It was enough to make you moan lowly around Sukuna and he rutted forward as the vibrations shot through him. “You’re fuckin beautiful,” he commented and that one little line gave you pause. Such a genuine sounding compliment coming from Ryomen Sukuna? Your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, lips wrapped prettily around him. “Shit,” he cursed. Within seconds, he’d lifted you off of him and pressed you into the closest desk.
“Ryo-“
“Shhh,” he practically cooed into your ear, hand running down your spine and pressing into it to push you flush against the desk. “So pretty, baby.” You blushed deeply, your arousal so intense that your panties had begun to stick messily to your folds. A loud gasp left you when you felt the pressure of a finger prodding there, rubbing against your slick panties. “Fuck, I can’t wait anymore,” Sukuna groaned just before dragging the garment down to your ankles.
As soon as that barrier was gone, his thick cock was rubbing up against your puffy clit, gathering your arousal along his shaft. Almost in sync, you and Sukuna moaned as his head notched at your entrance, catching for a moment before sliding back through your folds. “So wet,” he gruffed out, “thought ya didn’t like me.” Your mind was almost too consumed by the moment to react, but you composed yourself enough to snap, “never said I did.”
“That so?” He thrusted the very first bit of his throbbing erection inside you, making you forget any snide replies you might’ve barked out. For a few short seconds, neither of you moved. The room was silent, save for the sound of you and Sukuna’s labored breathing. “More,” you pleaded, your voice a mirror of the desperation he’d exuded earlier.
A low, rough laugh rumbled out from his chest as he pushed another inch and then another. More and more until a sharp pain twisted your gut. You gasped loudly, hands scrambling for purchase. Subconsciously trying to run away from Sukuna, you wiggled further onto the desk until he steadied your hips with a tight grip. “C’mon, miss president, don’t run away from me now,” he teased you in that stupidly sultry voice that you couldn’t decide if you loved or hated. “God, shut up,” you whined.
You didn’t get another second to complain because then another inch, and another— until his pelvis was pressed flush against the supple spread of your ass. “D-don’t move,” you instructed, breathing deeply to steel yourself. To your surprise, Sukuna listened without complaint, but his cock twitched needily inside you. Once you felt you could handle it, you pushed back against him experimentally.
Something between a moan and a whimper rolled off Sukuna’s lips, and the sound was music to your ears. Your pussy clenched around him, drawing him in impossibly deeper. Every one of those veins you’d traced over with your tongue were pulsing against your walls, sending shockwaves through your body. “Can you—“
As if he already anticipated your question, Sukuna’s hands gripped at your hips, fingertips digging into the pretty, supple flesh there. He pulled almost allll the way out of you before quickly slamming his hips back— repeating the motion over and over. “Fuck,” someone cried out— was that you? You didn’t even know. All you could focus on was the delicious drag of his cock against your insides, the kiss of his tip against your cervix.
“Su- ahhh,” you whimpered beneath him, back arching even more as you tried to beckon him in. “Sukuna, more.” That intense pain had subsided and made way for mind numbing pleasure, the kinda feeling that had every nerve in your body buzzing with electricity to the point you felt you could start a fire.
You didn’t have to ask him twice, no. As soon as you asked for more, Sukuna was all too eager to give it to you. He raised your hips up, leaving your feet dangling above the ground, angling your body juuuust right so he could get to the spot that’d have you seeing stars. Your body reacted before your mind could even process it, pussy clenched around him hard as you gasped, “oh my god.”
Sukuna’s thrusts got faster, heavy balls smacking against your clit with a wet plap, plap, plap that sounded like it was echoing in the room. “Doin so good,” he praised you, even though you were helpless— unable to do anything but just take it. He’d snatched away every bit of control you thought you’d had over the situation, and somehow you didn’t hate it. He kept ramming right into that one little spot within you that made every thought in your head crumble away, until your walls began fluttering rapidly around him in warning. “Fuh— ah, fuck, already?” You vaguely heard him muttering sweet praises to you but the sound was muffled as you came undone all around him.
Eyes rolled to the back of your head, body stiffened up and twitching. Sukuna eagerly fucked you through it, pace relentless as you rode out your high. “Your turn,” you whined to him, unsure if you could take much more with the way your body had turned extremely sensitive as your orgasm faded. Maybe it was your words or maybe just the way you sounded so cute whining like that, either way it spurred Sukuna’s own orgasm on. He twitched roughly, veins throbbing as thick spurts of cum flooded your insides. The football player let out a guttural groan that made your tummy do a little flip, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath to keep yourself from moaning out anymore.
He thrusted once, twice more as he came down, gently settling your feet back onto the ground. His cock softened inside you and he slipped out with a wet pop. You laid there against the desk for a long moment after, even as Sukuna pulled your panties back into place, trapping his cum inside. “We should probably get dressed now, miss president.” You didn’t miss the slightly mocking lilt to his voice, but you didn’t have the energy to fuss with him anymore. The two of you pulled your clothes back on, both of you quieter than usual as the reality of the situation settled in.
“I still think you’re an asshole,” you mumbled, shoving a hand through your hair in a lame attempt to smooth it out. Sukuna chuckled at the insult like he’d expected no less from you. “Yeah yeah,” he teased. “We should debate each other more often, I think.”
Neither of you heard the shuffle of feet scrambling away from the door as you approached it.
he'd offered the finger as a formality. a courtesy. something for the baby to grip while he assessed whether her reflexes were developing at an marginal rate.
"watch," he said, lowering one enormous finger toward the baby's hands. "she has my grip. even now she—"
the baby grabbed his finger, yanked it toward her face, and bit down.
"—she," sukuna continued, a half-second too late to maintain any dignity, "is biting me."
sukuna's expression did not change. internally however, several alarms went off.
"...woman."
you didn't even look up from refolding the laundry. "yes?"
"your daughter is eating me."
"she's not eating you. she's gumming on you. it's a teething thing."
"she has applied her entire jaw to my finger."
"babies don't have much jaw strength, 'kuna."
"clearly," he said, "you have never had this jaw applied to you," and then immediately looked like he regretted phrasing it that way, because you finally looked up, eyebrows raised, and he had the distinct displeasure of watching you decide whether to comment.
you decided to comment.
"is the king of curses," you enunciated slowly, abandoning your folding "being overpowered by an infant with no teeth."
"she has some teeth."
"two." you quirked helpfully.
"two is sufficient," sukuna seethed, with the air of a man defending a strategic position that had already fallen 7 seconds ago "tell her to release me."
"she's your daughter. you tell her." a mischievous tilt on your lips as you suddenly found the laundry interesting again.
he looked down. the baby looked back up at him—entirely unbothered, delighted, his finger still firmly between her gums—and made a small happy noise around it, like she was settling in for the long haul.
"release," sukuna told her, in the same flat tone he used to order executions.
she did not release. red eyes much like her fathers staring right back at him.
"i said release, spawn."
she gnawed with feeling.
sukuna sat with this for a long moment. you watched him have, visibly, an entire internal negotiation with himself, the outcome of which was never actually in doubt.
"fine," he said at last, to no one. "fine—she may continue, briefly, as a — as a developmental exercise."
"sure."
"for her jaw."
"mhm."
"i'm doing this for her." he could sense the sarcasm in your tone.
"no totally, i get you."
he settled back, finger still very much occupied, four eyes fixed on the baby with an expression that — on anyone else — you would have called soft. on him you didn't say it out loud, because the one time you had, years ago, he'd denied it so aggressively he'd nearly set something on fire.
the baby drooled happily onto the king of curses' hand and made no further comment.
YOU HAVE A DATE ˚. ᵎᵎ part of my 10k followers event (,,>ヮ<,,)
Words from our Hostess: Congratulations! You've been selected for our Host Club. After reading your application, we decided that the best pairing for you might be
jock!yuuji itadori x shy!reader ╱ he finally convinces you to attend one of his matches
cw: none! just fluff, art credits to who it concerns
You regretted agreeing to come. The bleachers were packed with people wrapped in your uni colors, the air had this terrible smell of grass mixed with sweat. Every time the crowd erupted into cheers after the cheerleader team did whatever, you flinched a little in your seat. Beside you, a group of girls were enthusiastically discussing the players.
“Itadori’s definitely scoring today.”
“He always does.”
You shrank a little further into your jacket because unfortunately for your rapidly increasing heart rate, you weren’t just watching Itadori. You were dating him. After finding each other in the library for a month straight, he began to talk to you, asking you about book recommendations and even help with some of his literature assignments. You said no the first ten times he asked you out because you were convinced that it was a bet. But when he showed up one morning to your dorm, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a handwritten letter declaring his love, you thought that maybe he had a little crush on you.
Fast forward eight months into dating, he’s still as whipped as the first time and you were less shy about being in a relationship with him.
Before leaving that morning, you had grabbed the sleeve of his jacket while he was halfway out the door. “Yuuji.”
“Hm?” He looked back at you, he always smiles when looking at you.
“Promise you won’t do anything embarrassing?” You tugged his jacket harder, making him closer to you.
“Define embarrassing.”
“Yuuji.”
He laughed at the look on your face and leaned down to be at your eye level. “Okay, okay! Promise.”
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.” Then he’d kissed your forehead and grinned, taking your hand and pulling you out of your dorm.
You should’ve known better. Because Yuuji Itadori, captain of the rugby team and human embodiment of enthusiasm had never once understood the concept of subtlety. You even sat in the front rows because he’d insisted.
“So you can actually see me!” he’d said excitedly.
And now you could, unfortunately, see him very well. He looked completely different on the field, he was focused and fast, his pink hair was damp with sweat and jersey sticking to his back as he darted between players. Every time he laughed with a teammate after a successful play, the sound somehow carried all the way to where you sat. This doesn’t look like your boyfriend at all, you’d seen him study with his tongue poking out in concentration, seen him cry during movies, seen him carrying grocery bags while rambling about which ice cream flavor was his favorite.
But this version of him made your stomach flutter.
The game picked up speed after halftime, the score tight enough that every tackle made the whole crowd hold its breath. You kept your hands tucked in your sleeves, trying to look calm even as your eyes followed Yuuji everywhere.
Then it happened. A perfect pass, a quick fake and Yuuji broke through the line like it was nothing. He powered forward, dodging one last defender before slamming the ball down for the points. The stands exploded around you, cheers and applause filling your ears. You were smiling despite yourself, Yuuji looked so happy about it.
Then his eyes started scanning the stands, looking for you. He found you and your smile faded. Absolutely not. But it was too late, he pointed at you and at the top of his lungs, he screamed:
“THAT WAS FOR MY GIRLFRIEND.”
Your whole face burned, heads turned your way from every direction, whispers rippled through the crowd and the girls next to you started giggling and nudging each other. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
Yuuji was already jogging over, helmet tucked under his arm, big sunny grin on his face like he had not just yelled your business to the entire stadium. He hopped the barrier and stopped right in front of your seat, breathing hard and looking way too proud of himself.
“Yuuji!” you hissed, standing up so you could at least try to glare at him properly. Your voice came out all squeaky and embarrassed. “I can’t believe you, I literally asked you not to do anything like this. You promised!” You reached out and smacked his arm, not hard at all but enough to make your point. “I’m never coming to another game, I swear.”
He just laughed, soft and warm, eyes crinkling at the corners. You kept going, words tumbling out faster because your heart would not slow down. “I told you this morning, I said no embarrassing stuff and you said okay and then you go and scream it like that? I really should—”
Yuuji leaned in mid-ramble and kissed you. It was gentle but sure, cutting off your scolding was the easiest thing in the world. His lips were warm from running around the field, for a second you forgot how to be mad. When he pulled back just enough to look you deep into your eyes, he whispered, “I love you.”
Your brain short-circuited, the warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your chest. You couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore, so you stared at the grass stains on his jersey instead, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. “Yuuji..” you mumbled, voice tiny.
He chuckled and gave your hand a quick squeeze. “Couldn’t help it, had to tell everyone who I’m out here playing for. You’re my good luck charm.”
You gave his arm one last half-hearted tap, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.
“But I’m yours,” he said happily, pressing one more quick kiss to your forehead. “Watch me finish this, okay? I’ll be good from now on. Promise.”
He flashed you his bright smile again before jogging back to the field. You sank back into your seat, hiding half your face in your hands while the girls beside you whispered how cute it was.
stuck with megumi in rush hour ꪆৎ sfw, forced proximity
The subway train finally arrives at the station, the light wind brushing your features as it halts.
You look through the windows of it, and your stomach drops as you notice how jam packed it is.
“I told you we should’ve gotten here sooner.” Megumi clicks his tongue next to you. “If we’d taken the train thirty minutes ago we wouldn’t have to deal with this.” He groans and follows you as you step closer to the doors as they slide open.
His tone is frustrated, and his glare is as sharp as ever, but he still waits for you to board the subway first.
“I apologized a million times already, when will you let it go?” You sigh before taking a step inside.
There’s barely any room for you to set both of your feet on the ground, and you already feel your body temperature rise from being stuck to other people.
You watch as Megumi carefully steps inside as well.
A couple of people exit, which causes you to move further into the train car. He follows after you, making sure you don’t get separated.
Your back eventually hits a metal pole, which you lean against for support. He looms over you, forced to hold onto the handle bar above you. He keeps his other hand tightly clenched into a fist in his pocket.
The train starts moving and the cart rattles a bit, shoving him against you.
You look at the ground, unable to face him with your flushed face.
He does the same, his eyes staying fixed somewhere away from you as he clears his throat.
Once the train is stable and moving, you carefully look up at him.
The only thing you can see is how obviously pissed and uncomfortable he is.
“I’m sorry Megumi,” you mutter. “… you were right.”
He throws you a glance, ready to spit out an “I told you so”, but the moment he notices how guilty you look, he goes speechless. He stares at your features for a moment before looking away.
With his face covered by his uniform’s collar, you can’t quite tell what expression he’s making. The only thing you can make out are the red tips of his ears.
Before you can question him, the train reaches its next stop and halts, making just about everybody falter in their step and nearly fall over.
A guy that was standing nearby while grabbing onto a suspender above you moves so violently his elbow grazes your head.
You flinch in response and grab harder onto the pole behind you.
Megumi's hand that was previously in his pocket reaches out instantly to wrap around your waist. He tugs you closer to his chest and further away from the man's arm before he can actually hit you.
Once the train car stabilizes and you regain your balance, the man immediately apologizes, insisting it was an accident.
Megumi dismisses him, saying it's fine, but he can't help the glare he throws his way.
The guy simply turns his gaze away and carries on.
Meanwhile, you're still trying to process the firm arm encircling your body, and the delicate cologne filling your nostrils. The proximity was dizzying.
"You okay?" He mutters as he looks down at you. His hand has loosened its grip on your lower back, but his arm is still around you. "He didn't hit you hard, did he?"
You clear your throat, your gaze fixed on the ground. "Yeah―I mean no!"
He eyes you in silence for a moment before nodding. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings." He clicks his tongue, looking away.
Aaand he was right back to his usual self.
"... Noted." you mumble.
The train starts up again, but this time you're more prepared, and don't stagger. It isn't until couple minutes go by, and you stop by more stations, until the subway becomes emptier.
Someone who'd previously been sitting near you both stands up to leave, and you eye the seat before looking back at Megumi.
"Go sit." he mutters simply, before finally letting go of your waist.
You nod and comply, falling back against the seat with a sigh. He moves to stand closer to your seat, still looming over you and shielding you from other people, even if it wasn't really necessary for him to do so. He just couldn't help himself.
You clutch your bag in your lap and look up at him before speaking. "You sure you don't want to sit down? You deserve it honestly, considering we're in this mess because of me..."
"Why are you still bringing that up? I thought you said you apologized a million times." he scoffs.
Your eyes narrow and twitch. "Forget I asked," you roll your eyes before looking away.
Unbeknownst to you, he was still looking down at you, the small and subtle smile on his lips covered by his collar.
You looked so cute, huffing, puffing and pouting because of what he said, that he couldn't contain his smile from stretching wider.
It quickly fades back into a frown when you suddenly look back up at him.
He ducks his face further behind the collar of his uniform and pretend he was looking at his shoes instead.
"We get off at the next station, right?"
"What do you think?" he grunts out, flustered out of his mind that you nearly caught him staring at you.
"I was just asking, geez." your eyebrows furrow before your gaze returns to your phone screen.
He finally lets out the breath he was holding when you look away.
That was close. Too close.
Megumi masterlist
a/n: not proofread dont come for me
taglist for jjk works: @freyao7 @henry-marchbanks-winter3
୨୧ — You were in the back of your flower shop arranging an elaborate wedding order when you heard it- a high pitched wail that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up. Your daughter's cry of distress was distinctive, even from a distance.
You dropped the roses you were trimming and moved towards the sound, only to collide with Sukuna who had materialized from nowhere, seemingly conjured by his daughter's cry. His entire body was tense, eyes scanning for threats, hands already forming into fists as he looks for his little girl.
"What. Happened." he demanded, voice dangerously low.
Before you could answer, your daughter came running around the corner, face streaked with fresh tears, breath coming in hiccupping sobs. The moment she spotted her father, she launched herself at him with the bling trust of a child who had never known anything but absolute protection.
Sukuna caught her easily, large hands lifting her as if she weighed nothing. His eyes continued to look around over her head, seeking for whatever had caused his daughter's distress.
"Tell me," he asked, the gentleness he forced into his voice at odds with the murderous look in his eyes, "what-" you saw how the muscles of his arms tightened, bracing himself for violence, "or who, made you cry."
She buried her face against his neck, her small body trembling, "Th-the c-clown," she managed between gut wrenching sobs. "Daddy... p-please make him g-go away!" her tiny fingers dug into his shirt, tears and snot smearing across his collar as she pressed herself impossibly closer, "He's sc-scary!"
Your shoulders sagged slightly with relief as you heard why your baby was crying. It wasn't a real threat... Which was good. The city festival had started yesterday, and performers of all kinds were wandering the streets, entertaining those who were out and about enjoying their day.
That relief died the moment you saw Sukuna's expression flicker through a range of emotions before settling on one you knew all too well: rage.
"Where." The single word carried the weight of an execution order...
"O-outside," she hiccupped again, pointing with a shaky finger towards where the clown was making balloon animals, "D-daddy he made a b-alloon and it exploded in m-my face!" her voice hitched on another sob. Watery eyes locking onto his which were now glowing a brilliant crimson as he held her protectively against his chest- watching this painted fuck of a man who was now grinning broadly at the new wave of children. "H-he laughed at me crying..."
You stepped closer, hand settling on his arm trying to draw his attention to you- it was a lost cause… this you knew. The only thing he cared about in this moment was his daughter and the man who'd dare to upset his flesh and blood...
"Don't." He said sharply.
"Sukuna, it's just a street performer. From the festival. She's not actually hur-"
The look he turned on you was arctic, the force of it freezing the words in your throat, "He. Made. Our. Daughter. Fucking. Cry." Each word was enunciated perfectly, a low snarl of fury, "And no one, makes my girls cry."
This wasn't the man who helped with bedtime stories. Nor the man who picked you up with one arm when your legs ached and held you tenderly against him… This was the man who had ripped out hearts, who'd torn men apart with his bare hands- a man who had no qualms about spilling blood in his wake. A ruthless, vicious tyrant who did not tolerate threats when it came to his family, even if it was just a street performer.
Your eyes flickered to your baby girl, her wails- her tiny voice cracking each time she tried to speak… You decided that if the man had scared her that badly, then he had it coming… Right?
"Go," your voice was gentle, "Do what you do best-" you leaned up, placing a gentle kiss to his jaw, "and keep us safe."
The smile that graced his lips was dark, twisted, a hint of madness dancing across his handsome face as his gaze turned back to the clown who was oblivious to the fate that was about to befall him.
"Stay with your mother," Sukuna's voice was soft- a rare tone reserved only for the two of you as he began peeling her arms from his neck.
"NO!!!" she shrieked, clinging tighter, fresh panic washing over her, "D-don't leave me, daddy!!" Her voice was filled with genuine terror, "Y-you can't go! You can't!"
Sukuna struggled internally- a war between the father he'd become wanting to stay by her side and continue holding her until she was calm, and the monster he's always been, demanding retribution.
He stroked her hair once, "I'm not leaving you... Just going to make the painted fuck go away."
"Sukuna," you warned, "I know I'm backing you on this but…" you glanced towards the clown, "it's a children's entertainer doing his job in the middle of the day. There's a lot of people here… You can't just walk up to him and-"
"I know exactly what i'm going to do," he cut you off, finally transferring her to your arms despite her desperate protests.
"What are you going to do?"
"Whatever it takes." He was already moving toward the front door of your shop, shoulders set, a confident stride in his steps, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression darkening the further he walked away from the two of you.
Your daughter pressed her face against your cheek, "Is daddy going to make the bad man go away?" she whispered, her arms locking around you, fingers tangling in your hair, "Daddy always makes the scary things go away."
"Yeah, sweetie," you murmured, watching Sukuna through your shop window, "he does doesn't he?" you nuzzle into her, bouncing her once, "Your daddy is always there to shield us, and to take care of us… even when it comes to the small things."
"Uh huh," she sniffled, wiping her eyes, "Daddy's strong."
You smiled at that, "The strongest," you agreed.
Through the glass, you watched him step onto the sidewalk, his presence immediately carving a path through pedestrians who recognized him. Even from this distance, you could see the exact moment the clown sensed death approaching. His hands faltered on the half twisted balloon, painted smile freezing as something screamed in his brain, danger.
In one fluid motion, Sukuna draped an arm around the clown's shoulders. The balloon that had been moments from becoming a dolphin slipped from his hands, squealing as it flew into the air and landed on the pavement.
"Hey, buddy," Sukuna said loudly, his voice pitched for the benefit of the parents and children nearby, dripping with absolute false warmth... "My little girl loved your act. Mind if we get a private performance?" Without waiting for consent, he tightened his grip around the clown's neck, steering him away from the crowd.
The clown stumbled alongside him, forced to move by Sukuna's iron control. To onlookers, they looked like old friends... No one noticing the clown's growing terror as they disappeared around the corner.
The moment they were alone, Sukuna's mask shattered. He slammed the clown against the brick wall with enough force to crack the man's skull, leaving just the right amount of blood smeared behind as a reminder of his strength. One tattooed hand crushed his throat while the other gripped his jaw, forcing eye contact.
"Listen very fucking carefully you painted piece of shit," Sukuna growled, face inches away, "you made my daughter cry. You scared her. The last person who did that lost everything from the neck down."
The clown's eyes bulged, breathing ragged as Sukuna's grip slowly crushed his windpipe, "I-I-I'm sor-"
"I could kill you right here," Sukuna continued, voice dropping to a whisper that promised agony... "Peel you apart piece by piece. Feed what's left to the stray dogs behind the market." His grip tightened until the man's face began purpling, eyes rolling back. "No one would even notice you were gone until the smell got bad..."
Just as consciousness began slipping, your face flashed through his mind- that same soft, loving smile you always wore… And then his daughter… the way her little cheeks dimpled when she smiled at him, the trust she put in him. You were both waiting for him to return. He could almost hear your voice, feel your arms around him, your hands cupping his cheeks as his daughter clung to his pant leg…
Fuck…
Killing this guy would take forever… Longer than he'd like to be away from you both…
God dammit…
"But I'm feeling generous today," Sukuna released his throat, letting him suck in desperate air. Before the man could recover, Sukuna's fist buried itself in the man's stomach, folding him in half. "So i'm offering you a choice. Leave this city. Never work as a clown again. And if ever see your ugly face- painted or not… I'll carve a permanent smile from eat to ear," the tip of his finger dragged along the man's cheek, cutting a thin line through the makeup before forcing his chin up, "Do i make myself clear?"
The clown nodded frantically, tears cutting tracks through his makeup.
Sukuna's thumbnail dug into the corner of his mouth, "Answer me. With words. No nodding."
"Y-yes-" The clown managed, his voice hoarse, "yes. Pple-please... Yes. Th-thank you."
"Get out of my sight." he snarled, tossing him by the face to the ground.
Sukuna waited until the guy was out of sight before pulling the black bandana from his pocket, wiping the white greasepaint from his hands. Only then did he stroll casually back around the front, his face bored- neutral, the one he typically wore.
When he reentered, his eyes immediately sought out you and his daughter. The relief on his daughter's face when she spotted him made his heart tighten... He was .
"Problem solved," he announced, holding his arms out for her to transfer herself from your embrace to his without hesitation.
"What did you do?" you asked, your voice quite enough so that she couldn't hear.
His eyes met yours- and you smirked knowing the look...
The clown had survived, but only because killing him would have taken too long.
"Softie~" You chuckled, leaning against his arm.
"M'not," he muttered, pressing a kiss to his daughter's hair as her eyes fluttered shut, "Just had other things to do today…"
His daughter's tired voice rose from the crook of his neck, "Did you make the bad clown go away," she smiled sleepily, "just like you promised?"
"Yeah..." he whispered into his hair, "No one gets to scare you. Not while I'm around, little one."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
As night fell you found Sukuna laying sprawled out on his daughter’s tiny bed, his large frame comically oversized for the child sized furniture. There on his chest, she was draped across him like a koala, fast asleep with one small hand still clutching his shirt. His tattooed arm curled around her, dwarfing her little body.
He wasn’t asleep. His eyes tracking your movements as you entered her room, alert as always, though his body remained perfectly still to avoid disturbing the little girl using him as a bed.
"She wouldn't let go," he grumbled, his deep voice barely audible.
You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her hair from her face, revealing the peaceful expression of a child who felt completely safe.
"How violent did you actually get with the clown?" you asked quietly, your fingers lingering on your daughter's cheek.
Sukuna's eyes met yours in the glow of the turtle nightlight, unflinching, "Violent enough."
"You didn't kill him."
It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway, "No." His eyes flicked down to his daughter, then back to you. "Didn't need to. Yet."
You nodded, understanding the unspoken message. The "yet" was contingent on whether the clown was stupid enough to ignore Sukuna's warning.
"You know you're stuck here for the night, right?." you nodded toward her death grip on his shirt, "She won't let go of you, not even in her sleep."
"Yeah… I know. Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the fucking last." He sounded disgruntled, but you knew him well enough to catch the glimmer of contentment in his eyes, "This kid loves me too damn much."
You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then, to Sukuna's lips. He returned the kiss, teeth nipping at your lower lip, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck.
"She's not the only one," you say under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear, eyes locking onto his. "We're both so lucky to have you, Sukuna. Thank you, for everything. For taking care of us, and for being her protector."
He looked away, uncomfortable with the sentiment despite everything you'd been through together, "It's what I do," he replied gruffly...
You smiled, settling beside him, head pillowed on his broad shoulder, half your body hanging off the tiny bed as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him best he could, "You're going to wake up with an achy back tomorrow."
"Don't give a damn," he grunted, pressing his face into the top of your head, "can't really move when I've got two brats sleeping on me."
You chuckle softly, letting your eyes flutter shut, enjoying his warmth, the steady sound of his heart beating under your ear and the soft sounds of your daughter's breathing, "You could, if you wanted."
"You done yapping? You're keeping me up… Go the fuck to sleep already." his arm tightened around you, holding you against him, his own eyes closing finally.
You smiled, knowing that he'd never admit he loved being in this position- surrounded by the two of you,
You caught one last glimpse of him adjusting his daughter more comfortably against his chest, his large hand cradling her head with impossible gentleness. The most feared man in the city, reduced to nothing more than a pillow for his daughter and her mother.
"Rest well, little lamb," his voice fading as he said the nickname reserved only for you, muffled by your hair as his lips grazed the crown of your head.
⋆˚࿔ SYNOPSIS Getting your soul chained to the most insufferable man alive was definitely not on your itinerary. But when a heist goes sideways, an ancient relic traps you in a deadly leash with Satoru Gojo. He thinks it's a hilarious game, while you treat him like a headache. Yet, as the entire jujutsu world starts to exploit your shared radius, the fierce rivalry between you begins to blur. For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru is about to learn exactly how agonizing it is to fall completely at the mercy of the only woman alive who can make him bleed.
⋆˚࿔ Gojo Satoru x f!reader
⋆˚࿔ cw: reader is a special grade sorcerer. no culling game. mdni. suggestive themes. violence. tags will be updated.
You were kissed once in a dream as a teenager, you think. The man’s face blurred as your dreamy haze swallowed up fine details like smudged charcoal. Soft lips pressing against yours the way nobody had when you were awake, the way your friends had explained to you between giggles and swoons over their boyfriends.
The way you never thought anybody would want to do to you.
That was, until Satoru Gojo. Until, somehow, he managed to grin and tease his way into your life and heart, sticking to you like the sweets melting in his bag as his fingers brushed yours. You were still a teenager then, firmly stitched together, the seams just a little messy at the edges where you couldn't figure out how to smooth them down.
And Gojo noticed the messiness, noticed the way you gave him a nervous opening- a light laugh at his stupid jokes, a careful thumb over a bruise after a mission- and ran with it. Neatly unpicking away until you completely, irreversibly unravelled for him, until he could hold you gently and you wouldn’t think it was all a dream.
You felt like you were dreaming when he kissed you for the first time- your first kiss ever- standing sunlit under a cherry blossom as soft petals floated down behind his softer hair, your fingers threading nervously through white locks. The feeling of his mouth smiling against yours, so elated and relieved, certainly didn’t feel real; you expected him to stop or pull away. Because surely he was joking- nobody had ever wanted to kiss you before, and now he did? Surely not.
You suppose you’d just never pictured it happening to you, that it would feel so unreal and dreamy and terrifying all at once and that your friends would be right, that kissing somebody you love just as much as they do you is undeniably wonderful.
Over the years, Gojo gives you many kisses- before and after missions, lips pressed chastely to your cheek before he darts out the door then tenderly when he enters again, just a little ruffled and tense. His mouth on your skin feels like a salve.
Sometimes they turn heated, lips pressed to lips under the cover of darkness. It didn’t feel so much like a dream but a mirage when he’d touched you like that, in a way you were still- somewhere deep down- only half-convinced he’d want to.
Heated, soft, hidden equally between giggles and bedsheets and the aisles of your local store. Gojo kisses you a lot.
“Satoru, stop it.” You giggle, rolling away from him on the couch as he peppers kisses across your face. “It tickles!”
He laughs, strong arms wrapping around your waist as you squeal when he tugs you back in. “Shh, I’ll be quick.”
He isn’t quick. Not at all- you spend the next fifteen minutes held hostage to his soft lips pressing to your face, littering your skin with love and affection.
Your couch is gentle beneath you, cushions swallowing you up comfortably in the warmth of the room. Furniture- assembled between kisses- decorates the space (your space, you remind yourself happily) while a pretty vase of flowers sits on the windowsill.
Gojo kisses you so much, it’s become part of your routine, something nestled brightly between mundaneness and monotony. You’re used to them.
God, how complacent you’ve gotten. To wait in expectancy for him to kiss you like that, to sulk when he doesn’t until he remembers and does it twice as hard to make up for it, when you thought it was something you’d only get in dreams.
But they still cause butterflies in your stomach, an overwhelming tug of love and affection that doesn’t scare you as much now. Not as much as when you were seventeen and terrified to admit your own feelings to yourself, or when Gojo first called you pretty and you half expected to wake up with your face pressed against your pillow.
You keep favourites, even if you’d never tell him.
Your first kiss, of course, is in your favourites. It was sweet, and slightly bumbling, but enough. More than enough- you’d never felt so childishly overjoyed, giggly and sickeningly in love.
Another you reminisce on frequently, misty-eyed over making dinner or washing dishes as Gojo loudly flicks through tv channels, was your wedding day. The way his lips had brushed yours so gently, the saltiness of your happy tears mixing with the warmth of his mouth against you.
It creeps up on you, that one. Usually when Gojo hugs you, or brushes a lock of hair from your face, and the cool metal of his ring brushes your skin.
Or, the one you shared most recently. So full of love, your body trembling as his hands held onto you and he promised he’d be back soon. That kiss lingers around so much you hate yourself for it, clinging to curtains Gojo used to leave open to laugh when you scolded him and clawing at the suffocating band of your ring you refuse to remove even when it feels like the metal burns.
Your lips feel lonely. As lonely as they did when you woke up from your dream as a teenager, with the faceless man’s mouth just a false memory- imagination.
But this is so, so much worse.
Because now you know what it feels like, what it feels like to be loved so much somebody wants to press their mouth to yours and smile against your teeth. Because now, the man finally has a face, and it’s your husband.
His white hair appears every night without fail as fluffy as it was when you first saw him, blue eyes flutter closed behind pale eyelashes as he leans in and kisses you. Softly, sweetly, his fingers cradling your head to bring you closer like he’ll never get enough of you.
“I love you.” He whispers each time, your fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes. What he wears changes each time depending on how you feel, you’ve realised silently, gazing out the window into nothingness while you curl in on yourself in a cold bed, tears tracking down your temples and into your messy hair.
If you’ve had a long day, he'll be sporting his highschool uniform to remind you of an easier time filled with melting sugar and circular, dark lenses. In that variant, he’s lighthearted and the cherry blossoms fall prettily like organic confetti around you both as the sun crests hazily on the horizon while light blooms in your chest.
If you feel particularly lonely, maybe you walked past a bridal shower on your way home, maybe an advert for engagement rings showed up on your social media, it’ll be your wedding day.
It hurts the most when it’s the last one, though. You wake up in tears every time, fingers gripping the sheets next to your face like it’ll get him to stay a little longer if you hold on enough. Cotton clenched futilely between your nails in the way you wished you'd done to his clothes, begged him to stay as if it could ever change the result. Sometimes it hurts so much you end up curled in a ball on your unwelcoming bathroom tiles as your head hangs beside the bathtub.
“I love you too, Satoru.” You say back to him in the dream, before waking to an empty bed and wet eyes.
Sometimes it hits you during the day at the worst moments. Today is one of them.
You're browsing the fresh produce section, fingers loosely tucked into your pocket; you don't need fruit, you need bread- but you're taking the long way around so you don't have to walk through the aisle selling sweets lest your husband's memory creep back up on you too strongly.
"Look at youuuu!" A woman coos from behind you in the aisle, her baby sat on her hip and giggling. "Aren't you just the cutest-!" She uses her finger to kiss the baby's nose and she laughs in response, eyes full of adoration. You freeze right there as the memory smacks you right in the face and you have to quietly dip out to sob in your car.
“When our kids are born, they’ll never know a day of peace.” You giggle, legs splayed over Gojo’s lap as he grins at you, show forgotten on the tv and a half-eaten kikufuku mochi sitting in his hand. “Aw, sweetheart, what makes you say that?”
“Toru, you can’t go thirty seconds without kissing me-“
“Because you’re pretty. Cute, even-“
You laugh, tossing your head back. “Exactly my point, you’d call them too cute.”
He perks up and beams. “Are you saying we’d have cute babies?”
You smile gently. “Maybe.”
You’ll never find out.
Not now, not now you’ve been reduced to only seeing him in dreamscapes as his smell gradually fades from the pillow you’ve taken to hugging to sleep.
Once you were kissed in a dream.
And now it’s the only place you’ll ever be able to again.
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: okay second time posting angst ever be nice to me pls
