chapter 06: and that’s where love finds you, in the tragedies [ series masterlist ] + gojo x f!reader / sukuna x f!reader ; wc 6.4k
summary: the events leading up to a tumultuous proposal, and where unfortunately for you, naoya is making himself known. (or — in which you try to get through the evening, but it all hinges on mei mei’s response to your boyfriend’s proposal.)
+ content warning: mentions of death, soft gojo, jealousy, deceptions/manipulations, naoya’s an ass, so is sukuna here, mei mei is sus. <3
notes: so haha hey guys a less crazy chapter this week so ;) sorry if there are mistakes but i’m so tired i’m falling asleep rn but thanks for supporting this series so far!! mwah i loved seeing all your reactions to the prev one <3
FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE PARTY
“You are coming to the party, and that is final.”
That’s all Gojo Sr says before slamming the door in his son’s face, ready to abide by his threats of using his reputation to mess with Gojo’s attempts to flourish in any other company.
Idle threats are not his style.
If Gojo wants to leave, he’ll have to work damn hard to make it happen. And his father is determined to do anything to make him fail.
What could possibly be better for his son than staying in the company, reaping in the family fortune? Gojo is just young. Young and reckless and stupid. That’s why he’ll have to force it on him, make him learn lessons the hard way. That’s why he has no choice but to cooperate with the Zenins in the interim.
Meanwhile, Gojo strolls back to his room, having expected nothing less from the man. It’s always shit and more shit with him. He shuts his door, deciding to get whatever peace he can before his father’s next antics, whatever they may be.
Gojo scrolls idly through his socials, mind still pacing back and forth, wandering between thoughts of running away from his family and thoughts of running into your arms.
Being a Gojo didn’t seem to suck as much when he still had you with him, anything barely did.
Yet now whenever he wants to see you, your face is pasted right smack next to Sukuna’s. It was all you ever posted nowadays. If you were there, so was he.
But Gojo isn’t surprised; you’ve always been one to wear your heart on your sleeve.
Pictures of the two of you sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere. Pictures of you with your arms around him on a cruise. Pictures of you lying on his chest. Pictures of the both of you wearing fucking matching sweaters.
What the fuck even was that?
It was nauseating, but only because Gojo wished it were him. It could have been. And maybe that’s what makes it worse.
That he lost you to his own stupidity. Because you used to look to him for relief, company, for anything and nothing at all.
Used to.
FLASHBACK; THREE YEARS AGO
You: Hey, are you free rn?
“Mr Yachiko, we won’t be able to help you if you don’t give us free reign over the marketing aspect.”
It was all stupid. So, so stupid.
If he doesn’t want help, just fuck him and his company, Gojo wants to say, but of course he’ll be hanged if he ever said that. So he’d shut up and let the dumb grownups play. It wasn’t like he cared much for Limitless anyway.
Ensuring his father’s eyes were off of him, Gojo pulled up your thread.
Gojo: Kinda. What do you need?
You: You’re in a meeting rn aren’t you?
It always astounded him how you could tell, even just from the way he replied.
Gojo: Doesn’t matter. What’s up?
You: It’s nothing. Just wanted to mess with you.
It always astounded him too, how he knew that you needed someone, just from the way you replied.
Gojo: Wru?
And of course, you didn’t respond. Like the stupid idiot you were because he knew you were always too nice to just tell him you wanted him with you, wherever you were. Because you refused to tell him.
His eyes flicked over to the date on his now locked screen. Oh, fuck. He was so stupid. Stupid for forgetting. Stupid for letting you be alone today. Because that was how you were—you’d rather deal with everything alone than ask people for company because you always thought you were a bother.
Disapproval. Utter disapproval. That was what Gojo Sr would express if Gojo ran out of this meeting. Even more so if he figured out that it was you being the cause of it.
But fuck him.
Gojo simply got up, straightened his suit, and then walked out of the room without so much as an excuse. And of course, like the wonderful father Gojo Sr was, he didn’t bother asking his son if anything was wrong, just continued with the meeting like he expected his son to disappoint him.
Sometimes Gojo wondered what went wrong.
As Gojo made his way to you, he glanced over at his phone. You still refused to respond to him. Not that he needed you to. He knew where you were. It was the same place you’d always gone to on this date.
Twenty minutes later, you find Satoru by your side, despite not telling him where you were or responding to any of his calls.
Satoru looked pissed. His usual pretty smile had been replaced with a frown. And yet he still looked so, so pretty.
“What’re you doing here, Satoru?”
He scoffed once, shook his head twice, “I’m here to see the view.” Sarcasm. His go-to weapon when he thought you were being stupid. Made you snicker, though. “And what’re you laughing for?”
It was weird. Just because your friendship had extended to one that had benefits, it was often easy to forget being the actual friends part. Maybe Satoru didn’t just see you as a stand-in after all. Maybe he still did have empathy for you. As he used to. Even though it was less apparent nowadays.
“Nothing,” was your answer.
You never actually expected him to remember this as your go-to place, either. Especially not when you only brought him here once, and told him about this place once.
The top of the Suso Hotel, at the edge of the infinity pool, at the back past the gardens behind the swings—an unobstructed view of the city skyline. You could always see the sun setting, or the sun rising, depending on when you could afford to go there.
Was he actually listening to you all this time?
Satoru huffed again. “You know, I’ve been your friend for a while now,” he told you, before giving you a flick on the forehead. “So stop saying nothing because I always know you mean something.”
A pregnant pause; because you always didn’t know how to properly express your appreciation when it counted. But Satoru knew that too.
“Thinking about her again?” He asked you, but he really didn’t need to. He knew you were. You said yes anyway, and he shuffled his butt nearer to you, so near you could smell the cologne he wore—crisp, smoky—and his soft skin brushing yours.
All you gave him was a nod, but you didn’t know if he even saw it, if he even needed to. All you knew was that it was a sad day for you, as every year was on the date itself, but that at the very least, for the past few years, Satoru had been there for you when you asked.
Every year, he’d never leave you alone. Not once. Wouldn’t let you sleep without him by your side. Only because he knows you’d feel worse waking up alone.
And here he was again. Even when you didn’t ask him to. And maybe that made your heart beat just a little bit faster. Maybe that made you fall in love a little bit more.
Gojo thought it was always weird, the notion of comfortable silence. But somehow you made it possible. It was silent, save for the lap of the water in the pool and the faint giggles of children splashing around.
You didn’t say a thing for a while. Neither did he. But it was nice. Being there for you. Being with you.
His father wouldn’t like it. Would never. But what if he just told him that he really loved you? That he really wanted to try? Maybe he could make that old man’s heart beat again by reminding him of the wife he loved, once upon a time.
Gojo pondered on it as the both of you watched the sun slowly set. Slowly, his arms reach out, like he didn’t even know he wanted to but he did—he wanted to make you feel better, he just didn’t know how.
But maybe this hug would be enough. Maybe you crying into his chest like you did now was all you needed.
Maybe if he could love you, it would be okay. Maybe it was all going to be okay.
For you. And for him.
PRESENT
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
Geto sighs, evidently exasperated by how his friend is being particularly difficult. Doesn’t make it easier that Gojo Sr is already on his case for not being able to convince his son to come back to the family company.
Over by the corner, Gojo is perched on the windowsill, staring out into the back garden where his room faces. Grass trimmed neatly, flowers all in full bloom. It looks nice, neat—bland. The usual Gojo family recipe. It’s missing about a side of deception, but looks just about right.
“I hear Sukuna’s gonna be here,” Geto tells him as he sits across from him, the tips of their shoes barely grazing each other.
Gojo hums. He knows. That guy’s always there if there’s a meeting between the two families. He wonders why, if Naobito looks like he hates him so much. There must be something about Sukuna that makes him conflicted. Gojo’s curious; he wants to know what it is.
Not that he has any particular interest in that guy. But he has to make sure somehow that you’d be fine with him. That he has no skeletons in the closet. With who Sukuna is though, not by a long shot. He probably sits on a pile of corpses, on a throne made of skulls.
The Gojos’ private investigator found no leads though. Nothing on Sukuna’s family either. Nothing on his life before the Zenins. And barely anything suspicious on his activity even after becoming a Zenin.
What a load of bull. It just means that whoever the Zenins have on their side are really good at concealing just as much as the Gojos are good at finding.
A bang of a chair hitting the marble floors can be heard next door.
“What the fuck was that?”
Gojo sighs. “Probably my father and another one of his tantrums.” Because he’s been like that lately; banging things out of irritation, sounds that Gojo hears through the walls of his room.
“Still upset over your little stunt?”
“What else?” Gojo groans, resting his head on his palm, staring out the window. He doesn’t get why he still needs to be here if he’s not going to be part of the stupid company.
He’s going to graduate anyway, and then take up coaching, probably go around Japan and train little kids how to play soccer and then progress from there. He doubts whatever will happen at dinner today will concern him at all.
“Company head or not, you still have to be there,” so father dearest had said. “I’m sure there will be things spoken that might interest you.”
What could the dinner possibly have to do with him? What could possibly ever interest him tonight?
Getting to see you? Maybe, yeah. That’s a plus point of this dinner. The only one. But having to see you perched on Sukuna’s arms? Enough to make his blood boil. Gojo’s pretty sure you’re going to be there even if he knows neither Naobito nor his father wants you there. That’s just the kind of guy Sukuna is, because who gives two fucks about the elders?
That’s one thing the two of them can agree on.
“And what are you doing here?”
Gojo and Geto both turn to the direction of the door at the sudden sound of hostility. Geto cocks his brow at his friend, “what’s your dad all worked out about now?”
“Oh hi, Mr Gojo,” you greet, just barely managing not to stutter. You’re well aware of his disdain for you, hence why Satoru always kept you a well-hidden secret. That, among other things. “I came with Sukuna.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Satoru and Geto peeking out the corner of his room, and you try not to stare. You’d rather avoid causing a scene before anything has barely started.
Gojo Sr is dressed like he bleeds wealth from head to toe. White hair waxed and swept to the side, dull blue eyes hidden behind tinted glasses, smart navy blue suit and matching polished black shoes.
As if he didn’t already scare you enough by doing nothing, now he’s just barely inches away from your face, staring you down like you’re vermin.
“You don’t belong here, stupid girl,” he spits, low and intimidating, and you can faintly see Geto pulling Satoru back from cutting in. “If you know what’s good for you, you better head back home to that filth where you came from.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Gojo hisses under his breath at Geto. Irate, frustrated, seething—that’s all Gojo’s feeling now.
Calling you filth? Stupid?
Gojo’s eyes fall onto your face, and he catches that hint of dejection for a while before it’s abruptly put out.
“I came here to eat dinner with my boyfriend, sir,” you remind him, tone cordial and eyes unblinking, between somewhat firm and borderline unsettling. “I’ll leave when I’m done.”
You’re aware that this is his house and that he could kick you out at any time for any reason and be justified for it, but like hell you’d let anyone talk to you like that.
Nice try, but I listen only to Sukuna, is what you try to tell him through your eyes. And for a moment, Gojo Sr seems like he’s either offended or surprised, somewhere between pondering and giving in. He inches closer to you, a warning glint behind the ire in his eyes.
A clear of the throat cuts the tension, effectively stopping Gojo Sr from saying whatever he wanted to say. “Y/N, what a pleasant surprise!”
Immediately, Gojo Sr straightens up before stepping away, past you and down the stairs to check in on the preparations and making sure appetisers are offered to those who have already arrived.
Replacing him in his position is Grandpa Gojo, a sight for sore eyes, smiling and winking at you before offering up a hug as his greeting. He smells like soap and fresh laundry, and warm like he already considers you family.
“Sorry about my son, he’s been a little… temperamental lately.”
“Has there been any issues lately?” You ask, concerned—not for Gojo Sr, but more so because you know that his mood affects how he treats his son, no matter what Grandpa Gojo has to say about it.
With a wave of his hand, he dismisses your question, “haven’t you spoken to Satoru lately? I think you might have something to do with it.” And he winks, like he’s sharing a secret with you, like he doesn’t think you’re filth.
“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”
Grandpa Gojo takes a deep breath, a soft smile on his face as he nods in Satoru’s direction, signaling for him and Geto to stop creeping in the corner. You chuckle because in a way, Satoru and his grandfather are so alike, nothing ever escapes them.
“I just happen to think you’ve finally steered my grandson in the right direction,” is all he leaves you with, before winking at Satoru and taking his leave, joining his son at the landing.
You stare at them for a while; sometimes you wonder what’s worse—having a parent as overbearing as Gojo Sr dictating your life, or having no parent at all.
A featherlight touch against your bare arm startles you, and you find a pair of serene blue eyes next to you, a playful wink as he takes your hand, pulling you with him.
“Come on, walk with me.”
The garden is the same as you remember it—you’ve been here a lot of times before, thanks to Satoru sneaking you around for a fuck and avoiding his father’s line of sight. That made the garden one of your favourite hideaways.
There’s a scent that fills your nostrils—is it citrus? Or honeysuckle? The entire garden, filled with peonies and lilies and other sweet-scented flowers you don’t know the names of, smells like unbottled perfume. It almost feels like you can bottle the air here and sell it.
From the side, Satoru nudges your elbow, and you follow his line of sight to the hammock garden swing nestled snugly between two shrubs of white peonies.
“Remember that?” Satoru asks you, cheekily, because there’s no way you’d forget fucking on it, Satoru sitting down while you ride him and him looking at your lust-blown eyes like you’re the only thing in the world.
You shake the thoughts away from your head and glare at Satoru, though your glare is missing its usual hostility. “Get your head out of the gutter, ‘Toru.”
He raises a brow at you, grinning. “Hm? I was just thinking about the time we were just hanging out there with Suguru after finals,” Satoru tells you, shit-eating grin in high definition as he looks at you, “what were you thinking of?”
Embarrassed and indignant (because Satoru always knows how to fluster you even now), you push him away from you, “fuck off, Satoru, I’m going back in.”
Of course, you really would rather be alone with Satoru than walking into the den of lions in the Gojo mansion—because surely Satoru is much better company than Naoya or Gojo Sr. But your ego would keep you walking to the back door of his house if he hadn’t held you back himself.
His long fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back towards him, and the next moment you’re spun into his arms, and suddenly all you smell is his cologne, same as ever, crisp and smoky, and all you can feel is his arms around you and his cheek against your cheek and his hair against your face and all of a sudden you remember how close the two of you used to be.
You remember a lot from a single gesture.
How you always knew what was going on with each other. How the both of you always like to mess with Suguru and he’d say harsh words but he could never hold anything against you guys. How Satoru would always look for you whenever you were being stubborn and insisted on handling everything alone.
And how today was the date of your mother’s anniversary. The date she died.
Gojo knows too. He knows what date it is. And you look like you’re handling yourself okay, but if you hold it in you’re just going to break later, and after years of being your friend, he knows that the latter is worse.
He doesn’t know what you were doing with Sukuna this time of year last year, while you were being whisked away all over the world, but he figures maybe he distracted you enough that you didn’t have the time to even think about it. He doesn’t like Sukuna. Never really fucked with him, still don’t. But if he can make you feel better, then fine.
But as it is, he doesn’t know why Sukuna could leave you alone in the mansion when he knows what an easy target you are. Especially when both families have it out for you.
Naobito and his own father, specifically.
“What’re you doing, Satoru?”
And your voice is hoarse, suddenly, like you’re trying not to cry because the last time he hugged you like this was at the top of the Suso Hotel and you remember. You don’t dislike this, but at the same time you’ve grown apart for the first time since forever and you’re not sure what to do with your hands, with yourself.
“I don’t know,” Satoru confesses, although his arms grip you tighter—so tight you don’t think you can breathe, but you do, because Satoru makes sure he’ll never harm you again. Ever. “I think…”
Your arms come around his waist, returning his hug, because you think you know what he’s about to say and you think you feel the same way.
“I missed you,” Satoru tells you, though he lacks the courage to pull away and look at your face just in case all he sees is disdain. But you’re still hugging him back and he takes that as enough indication that maybe you forgive him for being stupid. For being a dick to the only woman who’s ever genuinely cared about him as a person instead of the throngs of people who see him as the Gojo heir.
It may be because you don’t care as much anymore, seeing as how your love is directed to someone else, but he’ll take it.
“Wanna know a secret?” You ask him, smiling now because this feels so silly.
“What secret?”
“I think I missed my best friend too.”
And Gojo finds this weird. Weird, because he’s okay with this—weird, because he actually wants you more than that. More than just best friends.
He wants to sleep next to you at night and wake up to you the next morning. He wants to tell you that aside from Suguru you’re the only one he considers special. He wants to be the one you look to for anything, wants to be the one who gets to take care of you, just like it used to be, before he screwed everything up.
But maybe this is enough. Maybe this is already more than he can ask for. Being able to see you at all, be close to you at all, that’s what he forgot the last time; to appreciate what he had when he had it.
So he’s not going to make the same mistake. He’s not going to hurt you or leave you hanging or give you less than you deserve.
Even if he has to do it as a bystander while your prince charming is someone else.
Speaking of—“Where is your boyfriend?”
You straighten up too, pulling away from him. Hesitantly, you look around, eyes darting over to the house, to every window, subconsciously wishing you’d get any sighting of a tall guy with his obnoxiously pink hair.
“Beats me,” you sigh, “Mr Zenin pulled him away, said he needed to talk to him.”
In front of you, Gojo’s brows furrow. “You mean Zenin Naobito?” And you nod. “Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.”
It really, really doesn’t, and Satoru knows this because he likens Naobito to his own father—they’re two men cut from the same cloth. It wouldn’t surprise him if one day they started bonding over something like murder, laughing while drinking tea over a mutilated corpse.
“Yeah, his son’s no treat either,” you mutter idly, shifting in position because suddenly you’re reminded that Naobito is a man capable of many things, and that Zenins are pieces of shit (courtesy of Toji himself, though he seems to be the only exception).
“Zenin Naoya?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s here too?” Gojo asks, more rhetorically than anything. Naoya’s not anything good, either. Something weird is happening, and he’d like to bet that his father has an idea of what’s going on.
This entire dinner just spells trouble. Who knows who else they invited?
“What’s wrong?” You ask, noticing how Satoru’s suddenly troubled, how he’s suddenly quiet. That’s always a bad omen.
He shakes his head though, ruffling your head, because if he thinks out loud, he might unnecessarily worry you, and that’s not something he wants to do. You’re still a worry wart after all.
“I’m always here for you, okay?”
Barely an hour later, Gojo is at a loss for words.
He knows what he told himself, he knows that he’ll resign himself to help you even when it came to Sukuna of all people, but he doesn’t think he can help with… this.
You’re rooted to the ground, at the back of the living room, your hands stopping mid-motion in the air before you can drink your tea. Suguru’s at your other side, eyes wide and nearly choking on cake.
“What the fuck is Mei Mei doing here?”
Neither you nor Gojo can answer. (The last he had heard, Mei Mei had ran off to god knows where without telling a single soul.) But Gojo knows you have a burning question in your head, one that supersedes Suguru’s.
Why the fuck does Sukuna have his arms around her waist?
It’s like a really bad trip of deja vu.
The two of them walk into the room, bodies close as though it’d kill them to be apart; but Gojo knows better. Mei Mei detests Sukuna. If I had a choice, I’d marry you instead, or so she had once told him. So what’s she doing now, smiling next to him as if he’s all she ever wanted?
“Hey, you okay?” He hears Geto ask you, and it’s only then that Gojo realises you’re nearly shrinking back to your old self—the one who never feels she’s good enough. And it’s only now that Gojo realises just how big of a role Sukuna had played in your change.
“I’m fine.”
No, you’re not. You’re stubborn and spiteful and beautiful and a lot of things, but Gojo knows you’re not fine. And you’re looking away from the scene because you don’t know what to think and you don’t know whether you’re supposed to compose yourself or go full-out crazy because some other girl is touching your man. Intimately.
Your eyes fall upon their locked arms, her beautiful pale blue locks done in a beautiful braid, resting on one side of her shoulder. She’s pretty, dressed exquisitely in a white and black shimmering dress, hugging her in all the right places. Her scarlet lips whisper something in Sukuna’s ear and he grins and whispers back and you’re pretty sure you want to hurl right about now.
That’s Mei Mei. The one that Satoru had been comparing you with back when you were still hopelessly in love with him. The one that Sukuna seemingly had history with, though you didn’t get to ask him yet about it exactly. And she’s here, now, in the flesh, right in front of your eyes, arms wrapped around your world.
And you’re confused. Puzzled. Pissed, even.
But you don’t know what to do. You don’t know if your possible outburst might ruin anything Sukuna had planned because… he wouldn’t do this to you, right?
Don’t fall for Sukuna.
Just be careful, okay?
Somehow all the voices warning you against your own feelings keep coming back at this exact moment and you’re still not sure how to react so you keep quiet. Not that you’d know what to say if you opened your mouth.
Especially not when she pecks a kiss on his cheek and he doesn’t push her away.
You feel like going over there and slapping her for doing it and then him for letting her do it. But Naobito’s behind them, a pat on Sukuna’s shoulder before leaving to speak to Gojo Sr in another room.
Not before he shoots you a triumphant glare, though. Bastard.
And then Sukuna looks really lonely all of a sudden, like the life has left his eyes and you’re not even sure if it was real because the next second he’s back to normal, free hand in his pocket coming out to grab a petit muffin from the appetiser tray and then feeding it to Mei Mei.
Isn’t that supposed to be you? Was this part of the plan at all? Not that Sukuna had one to begin with. All he’d said to you earlier was that you’d come, eat their damn food, and then go the fuck home where he’d fuck you silly after.
Nowhere did he ever mention that he’d be entertaining any girl other than you.
And this is worse than with Seiri. With Seiri at least he looked like he couldn’t stand her either. No matter how touchy she was he’d never respond likewise. But now he’s willingly tying the back of her strapped heels for her and you’re seeing red.
“I’m all yours if you’re thinking of a spiteful agenda,” Satoru offers, only half joking.
It’s funny. He’d be laughing if he knew that was how you and Sukuna started out.
You’re not for it, though.
“It’s fine, Satoru,” you say, unsure what else you can offer. You’re feeling both enraged and embarrassed, especially with Naoya at the other corner of the room smiling smugly at you.
What’d I tell you? He mouths from across the room, shaking his head.
“You need anything?” Geto asks you, oblivious to Naoya’s stare.
An explanation, maybe? That would be good.
You can’t really help it—you know you shouldn’t, but your eyes flit to the other side of the room where Mei Mei has her arms around Sukuna’s neck now, whispering things against his lips that only he can hear, casting her glance over at you momentarily before she kisses his lips.
And you’ve had it, really.
“I’m gonna go get some air.” You pause before you’re out the door, “alone.”
Stupid, idiotic, naive.
What other words do you think people are calling you right now if they could see Sukuna right now? Whispering sweet nothings into someone else’s ear, out in the open for you to see.
If Shoko was here she’d be throwing hands by now. The mental picture of her strangling the life out of Sukuna manages to get a small chuckle out of you.
You lean against the stone balcony railing, all white and clean and bland. The cold night air is chilling against your sensitive skin, the wind making you colder than you already are. But you think you’d rather get frostbite than go back inside to witness that scene.
It’d hurt less.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by her lonesome?”
The heavens must really hate you right now. You make a mental note never to plan anything on this stupid date.
“Well, it must not be because I’m looking for your company, Naoya.”
The man himself chuckles, taking the spot next to you, a glass of red wine in his hands. “Be careful who you’re talking to, sweetheart,” he warns you, though it goes through deaf ears.
After seeing the guy you love giving affection to his… ex, you’re not in the mood for anything.
“Why should I be afraid of a nobody?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him, giving him the fakest smile you’ve ever manufactured.
Naoya laughs now, thoroughly amused. What an ironic statement, for someone like you to be telling him that. His father was right when he called you—what was that? Ah, right, an anomaly.
For years he had had no trouble controlling Sukuna, despite the occasional rebellious phases. He almost married Mei Mei into the family too, if it hadn’t been for Gojo Satoru’s interception. And then Mei Mei copped enough cash to run, only to fall prey again to the very thing that motivates her—money. After all, that’s the only reason she’s back here.
Naoya has no clue how much she was offered, but considering that it came from Gojo Sr himself, he’s guessing it’s no petty amount.
“This is the last time I’m warning you,” Naoya whispers, low and slow and quiet—he’s leaning down, lips right next to your ear, “play nice, or I might just get you banned from anything Zenin-related, like that pesky little Nanami family.”
Nanami?
“Like Nanami Kento?” You ask.
He’s one of Satoru’s friends—or, as Nanami puts it, just mere acquaintances. He’s tall, just a little shorter than Satoru, with neat-parted blonde hair. He seems like a straight cut guy, blunt but well-mannered all the same. You’ve also only seen him a few times, and all times with Satoru, and all times managing to take a dig at him.
“Exactly like Nanami Kento,” Naoya agrees, nodding his head and taking a sip of his wine, eyes fixed on you like fox to its prey. There’s some hidden meaning behind his words; a meaning you don’t dare to ask about.
Naoya thinks you’re smart, maybe one day you’ll figure it out—why he knows Nanami Kento quite intimately. After all, a hunter has to know its prey well in order to catch it.
His real target, though, is Nanami Sr.
From inside, somebody clears their throat, stealing both your attention. One of the housemaids, calling the both of you to the main dining hall for the dinner.
Beside you, Naoya smirks, offering his arm out to you.
“There’s no reason we can’t get along now, is there?”
And for some reason, the voice in your head tells you that maybe you shouldn’t rock the boat too much yet. Something tells you that if you do, Naoya would just spell your end.
So you link your arm in his and let him lead you to the hall.
“That’s a good girl.”
“See? We make a good team, you and me,” Naoya proclaims as he escorts you in one piece to the dining hall.
You don’t know what’s wrong with the Zenin family, really. “Naoya, all we did was literally just walk to the room together,” you refute as you sit down, careful not to step on the fabric of your dress.
The dress Sukuna picked out for you.
Naoya, unfortunately, takes the seat next to you. “Oh, you underestimate me, sweetie,” he coos, setting the napkin down on his lap before he turns to wink at you. “I can do a lot to a person during a mere walk.”
Oh, after everything you’ve heard about Naoya and knowing he’s Naobito’s son? You don’t doubt it.
Shame, his confidence would probably be hot to you if he wasn’t busy being such a dick twenty-four-seven.
“Not sitting next to daddy?”
The weight lifts off your shoulders when you hear the familiar voice; Satoru takes a seat beside you, Geto sitting on his other side.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Naoya bites back, unbothered.
“You okay? Did he do anything to you?” Satoru asks, leaning closer so only you can hear him.
You shake your head, “it’s fine, he was fine.” Not completely true, but you’d rather not drag Satoru into whatever this is.
It’s strange being like this, with Satoru, where you know at one point you wanted him to be like this with you, pretty pink lips so close you can kiss it just by turning, fingers brushing up and down your arm like he wants nothing more than to just hold you, protect you. But now it’s too late. Now you want someone else.
Who, funnily enough, is entering the room with someone else.
Their arms are still linked, and she’s wiping a chocolate stain off the corner of his lip, her careful eyes darting over to your direction right after. Mei Mei fails to conceal her mirth at your furrowed brows, and you fail to conceal your jealousy as you try to glare a hole through her face.
Naoya steals your attention before you can do it though. “Just so you know, that’ll only egg her on,” he tells you, leaning back against his seat. “And if you’re thinking of getting your man back, I’ll have you know it’s impossible.”
“Why’s that?”
On your left, Satoru has a hand on your thigh, more protective than anything else. He’s staring holes right through Naoya too, though all he gets is blissful ignorance.
“Mei Mei comes from a family of high ranking officials in Japan,” Naoya explains, “her grandfather used to be one of the justices of the Supreme Court.”
You fall silent, trying to digest his words. And maybe now you see what’s been going on, why Naobito has been trying so hard to marry her into the family.
Satoru squeezes your thigh once, twice—nothing.
“You get it now, don’t you?” Naoya leans in, Satoru’s arm reaching out before he can get too close. “No matter how useful you prove yourself to be, she’s got you beat without having to do anything.”
Right across from you, too far for them to hear, Sukuna and Mei Mei are sat arm to arm, as though separating would be a crime. You can just make out how Sukuna’s arm must be on her thigh, like Satoru’s is on yours. She’s whispering again in his ears, and she’s giggling, and then she’s leaning her head on his shoulders and you really want to burn this entire place down.
But Naoya’s right; every time, she’ll have you beat. As long as she’s there, Naobito will never stop trying to make your situationship with Sukuna fail. What you’re not so sure of is the intent behind Naoya’s information—is he trying to convince you not to do anything?
Does that mean you should?
You can’t figure him out. It’s irritating.
Bottom line is, you can never ever offer as many benefits as Mei Mei. No, you’re not even close. You’re not even competition.
Now that she’s back? You’re irrelevant.
“See your position now, woman?” Naoya eggs on, smug and bad and evil. “You’ll never be good enough.”
“Enough.” Beside you, Satoru’s had enough.
Naoya snorts. “I’m pretty sure you’re not one to talk,” and Satoru offers no rebuttal. “Yeah, word gets around fast.”
Twice. Twice now you’ve fallen for someone. And twice you’d lost to Mei Mei.
Except now it hurts twice as much, because with Sukuna, you’d already come to terms with how much you cared for him, and how much you wanted him to do the same. You trusted him. Do you still?
“My guess is, he’s had enough of being my father’s punching bag, so he’s choosing himself over you.”
You’re aware of that. Fully. Of the former, not the latter. You know how much Sukuna wants out of the entire Zenin clownery. You can even see how much Toji wants out of it. Your boss isn’t even here. His son is though, sitting next to Geto.
Is you being with Sukuna actually a hindrance for him?
You thought he cared for you, and the logical part of you still does think it’s true. But it’s hard to keep believing in it when he hasn’t laid an eye on you all evening, when he’s currently pressing a kiss on her cheek.
And things go downhill from there.
The clinking of silverware against glass is all you hear before Naobito makes a speech you could care less about.
Until he calls Sukuna out.
Until Sukuna guides Mei Mei to the front where everyone can see them.
Until you hear Naoya chuckling beside you, “I told you so,” he says.
And then you see Sukuna kneeling on one knee, a pretty diamond ring settled in a velvet box.
chapter 05: two sides to the same coin [ series masterlist ] + gojo x f!reader / sukuna x f!reader; wc 6.1k
summary: just because you finally got sukuna to admit that maybe he does want you, doesn’t mean that other threats don’t lie waiting in the water. and unfortunately for you, now that you’re with him, you’re in the ocean where the big fishes play. (or — in which sukuna and gojo aren’t all that different, and one seemingly innocent dinner stirs it all up.)
notes: a little naoya and everything is peachy for yn ha ha ha. & btw i see and do appreciate all of your comments for this series, brings a smile to this woman’s face <3
“So, you love her?”
It’s not what he expected. Not even close.
His life isn’t falling apart, he doesn’t want to kill himself every single day, he doesn’t want to kill you every single day. There’s no excessive shouting, no fucked up backhanded insults against each other.
Sukuna is puzzled.
Is it because you’re easy to love? The word invades his mind before he can stop it.
Because day by day, it’s getting easier. Day by day, he learns more about you. Like how you like your toasts slightly burnt, and how you’re a person of routine, and how you always like to take his fucking bed space now that you’re so comfortable snuggling up to him.
Okay maybe it isn’t so easy. But it differs from what he was taught growing up.
How love was a weapon to be used. How each time Naobito would leverage them against his wives. How it was only supposed to spell your end and give you insurmountable headaches.
If he had a yen each time the women of the Zenin family were terrorised, he’d probably have enough to pay for his house. It was all he knew growing up; how Naobito beat the meaning of love into him.
Love was locking him in the storage out back as a kid when he disobeyed orders, left him to get sick and cold and dirty. Love was punching him in the face when he tried to run away. Love was trying to drown him in the bathtub when he tried to tell on Naobito to the cops because he was looking for a way out. Love was twisted and always hurt.
And yet here you are, redefining it.
You, with your irritating ‘I love you’s before you fall asleep. You, with your stupid humming while you cook meals. You, with your adamant claim that it won’t be long before Sukuna finally says it back.
Sukuna doesn’t think he’s capable of saying it back. Not for real, anyway. But he thinks that if there was a single speck of possibility, maybe you’d be the one that drives him right over the edge.
FLASHBACK; LAST WEEK
“One day I’ll get you to say it back,” you had told him one night, grinning from ear to ear while you continued to work on your jewelry.
Business was booming, he had heard.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” and he meant it. It was stupid. The notion of it all. “And it’s fucking 3am, sleep already. This shit is noisy.”
To be fair, it was. The sounds the beads made when you accidentally dropped them. (That was another thing he learned about you—you’re fucking clumsy it was unbelievable.) The sounds of tape when you had to pull out a roll for god knows what.
That was all he could fucking hear while trying to fall asleep with a cold side of the bed.
“Can’t, I had a sale over the weekend now I have to get at least a thousand orders out before noon tomorrow,” you murmured, not even bothering to look at him.
It was weird, love. Or at least—what love meant after you rewrote it. What he thought it meant, anyway.
You didn’t have to ask. You didn’t expect a thing. Yet he offered, gave you help, sat down right next to you and grumpily stuffed the fucking bracelets and necklaces and earrings inside stupid little tiny drawstring bags with his big hands even when you told him he didn’t have to.
It took another two fucking hours and it was 5am and Sukuna was past his patience a long time ago and yet there you were, safe and sound beside him; untouched, unharmed, in every sense.
He should fucking kill you.
“Um—”
“Shut it,” he had told you, passing you the last order, huffing from how stupid it all was.
Why did he have to go and egg you on to sell your shit anyway? Smartass.
But you don’t. Because you almost never listen to him. Except for clause one of his conditions; that one you still listened to. Clause two didn’t happen yet, thankfully.
Even with his unwelcoming face and his best scowl and his deathly glare, you still wrapped your arms around him, you still pressed your lips to his chest—you wore your heart on your sleeve.
“Quit it, I wanna sleep,” he spat, though all he received was a grin. You were unbelievable. Just a little airhead, sunshine, naive little fucker.
“Say you love me too.”
“Fuck off.”
But he still dragged you with him to bed, still nuzzled his face in your neck, still fell asleep with you as he did every night.
“One day, you owe me that,” you said confidently, as though he was worth believing, as though he wasn’t a bad person.
You’re stupid. So stupid.
“I wasn’t asking for a fucking essay,” Toji sighs, sitting back against the leather seats.
In a diner, not the bar, because Sukuna’s aware how manic you get when Seiri tries to get close to him. You’re a little psycho when you’re jealous, but he thinks you’re cute like that. As though Sukuna would let someone else close like that, like you.
“Wasn’t thinking of one,” Sukuna quips, downing the last of his coffee.
It’s been two weeks since the night he’d punched Chisaki. Two weeks of nothing from Naobito, other than little side eyes and murmured insults. Which is more than a little odd. He should be chastising him publicly, he should be threatening to take everything away from him.
He’s not.
Or not yet.
It’s unsettling. Like there’s something else going on, like something else is uncovering without either of them knowing.
Toji doesn’t like Naobito, he’d tell on him if he knew he was planning anything against Sukuna. And Sukuna thinks that Toji secretly wants to run away from everything—from the Zenin curse, from the hierarchical limitations that prohibit him from protecting anyone.
That’s why Toji has Megumi just slightly distanced from the family. Hell, he’d let the Gojos take care of Megumi before he’d let Naobito brainwash him. That’s why Gojo has been babysitting Megumi, in a twisted way, whenever he’s asked to. Aside from the fact that Toji pays a hefty sum for Gojo to follow a specific set of instructions (mainly to keep Megumi away from Naobito as much as possible), Sukuna thinks that Gojo Sr allows this only as some form of power play, like if the Zenins ever tried anything he could just threaten young Megumi’s life and they would knuckle under.
That’s the kind of person Gojo Sr is, anyway.
“You know she’s going to get targeted, right?” Toji asks, matter-of-factly.
Sukuna doesn’t miss the note of disapproval in Toji’s voice. Toji didn’t intend for him to not notice it either.
After all, he knows better than anyone what happens when you marry someone Naobito doesn’t approve of. It’s not hard to imagine the trials and tribulations Naobito will put you through.
In Naobito’s head, compared to Mei Mei, you can’t offer anything. Mei Mei’s family offers boundless connections, endless privileges. That’s what Naobito’s after. And after failing to force Toji to agree, he went for his only other option: Sukuna.
Frankly, Toji never understood why Sukuna agreed anyway. Maybe just to shut Naobito up? Having Mei Mei on his side would inevitably mean that Naobito can’t willy nilly order him around, not if she says anything about it. And maybe Sukuna would have stayed salty about how everything unfolded if he didn’t meet you.
You, who’ll be subject to the Zenins’ torture. You, who will inevitably crack under the pressure. Now Toji likes you; you’re nice, you’re fiesty, you’re smart—but none of that is even close to enough to stay in this family. After all, that’s what you’re after if you’re this crazy to stay with Sukuna. It’s why you barely see any of the women who married into the Zenins; all driven away or just driven crazy, all disappearing mysteriously and running away looking for asylum someplace else.
“I know,” Sukuna says, all too relaxed.
Toji smirks, “oh? You’re gonna protect Y/N? Never thought I’d see the day.”
Because really, seeing Sukuna bothering about someone other than himself is… weird. Do you have a magic pussy? How the hell did you manage that?
Sukuna rolls his eyes, “she can protect her damn self, I’ll just help her when she fails is all.”
Stubborn little liar. Always has been since he was a kid, lying about things like how he was fine with being beaten around by Naobito and the other elders because boys are tough. It wasn’t even about gender; kids weren’t supposed to be abused by their “parents”, period. Didn’t help that Naobito kept Toji away, separate from Sukuna when they were kids, never let him visit—he always knew who were the defiant ones. Toji was one, though being blood related might have saved him a little.
This guy on the other hand, Toji thinks as he looks at Sukuna, got the brunt of all child abuse. If the police were just, Naobito would be in jail by then. Instead he got away scot-free when he shouldn’t. Especially not from trying to drown Sukuna in his own house. He was only ten then.
Toji only knew because of some offhanded comment Sukuna had made about it years after the fact.
It’s really no wonder how Sukuna grew to be so fucked up, when the closest parental figure he had was Naobito.
“So, you bringing her to the dinner party next month?”
The grand dinner that’s going to be held at the Gojo family mansion. A weird occasion, considering how none of the elders from the opposing families get along. Gojo Sr is an uptight piece of shit, and Grandpa Gojo avoids any conversation of substance in a bid to stay diplomatic. Obviously the latter is the more preferable of the two but that doesn’t mean Naobito cares enough to build bonds with any of them.
Until now.
Sukuna cocks a brow, “of course,” confidently, surely.
Toji wants to warn him against it, especially since Naobito made a whole point to call Sukuna out during the meeting yesterday, telling him just bring yourself, we have no need for a useless swine like her.
Naobito really doesn’t like you. Maybe he senses how you are, how your loyalty could never be bought by money, how you’re uncontrollable for him, how you’d only listen to Sukuna if it ever came down to it. And Naobito doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like pretty little things he can’t control, doesn’t like good people that offer no status privileges.
And Toji thinks you’re naive, definitely, but you’re headstrong. You decide Toji’s a good guy just based off of what you see, but you never think to question him about where he is when he’s not in the office. You always accept his half-hearted reasons of last minute appointments and it’s confidential, even though you know something’s off.
Smart girls like you always find out in the end though. Smart girls like his wife used to be. Toji can’t even decide whether telling you would do more harm or good; to tell you of the nightmare-ish things that Naobito forces upon all his potential successors, or to let you live in ignorant bliss.
He takes one last sip of his coffee, green irises falling onto the passport in his lap. Sukuna doesn’t notice a thing, too busy on his phone, probably you, because you’re the only one capable of caging and distracting the great Ryomen Sukuna anyway.
Toji considers Megumi one last time before he makes up his mind.
This is for the best.
IN ANOTHER PART OF THE CITY
“Still in your little rebellious phase?”
Ah, daddy dearest. Why oh why isn’t he dead yet?
Gojo takes the napkin off his lap and whips it down onto his unfinished meal. He ignores his father, taking advantage of the fact that his grandfather is there too.
“Gramps, let’s take a walk,” Gojo suggests, though he’s not done with his dinner too, but he holds no protests. He only smiles knowingly and lets his grandson lead the way out into the garden, the flowers almost in full bloom, in time for next month’s dinner party.
It’s a relatively peaceful night, save for his father’s relentless nagging about coming back to Six Eyes.
Company this, money that, is that all he cares about?
“What’s this about, Satoru?” His grandfather asks, his voice still fairly strong for someone his age. His seventieth birthday is coming soon, but he doesn’t seem that old.
Gojo surveys him; a weak smile on his grandfather’s face, the moonlight shining down on his cerulean eyes—the same shade as Satoru just not as vibrant. He’s getting slightly weaker, as everyone does with age, yet he’s still as kind as ever.
Definitely much kinder than his father. And more understanding.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake with this?” Gojo asks, because he’s always been his confidant. He’s always open to talking things through, unlike his father.
Grandpa Gojo leans his weight on his walking stick, poker face turned on. “Do you think it’s a mistake?”
“Nope,” and he pops the ‘p’, grinning, earning a laugh.
“Then that’s all that needs to be said,” his grandfather says simply, and instantly Gojo is reassured. “We can always find someone competent from within the company to take over while we train Yuuta up.”
Yuuta, one of his distant relatives, but still family all the same. He’s only thirteen now, but he’s showing promise, although Gojo doesn’t know how the hell these adults can see potential from a barely-teenager whose thoughts now probably only contain musings about handheld games and manga and, in Yuuta’s case, his little girlfriend Rika (who Gojo Sr also apparently disapproves of but shrugs aside since they’re kids).
“But if you will indulge my curiosity,” Grandpa Gojo clears his throat, “why don’t you want to head Six Eyes? It’s a fast path to getting everything you could want, and you’d be perfect for it too.”
Gojo masks his true feelings behind his eyes. He doesn’t need anyone except you and Geto to know about his real intentions; to go into education, to pursue something he’s interested in rather than take over his family’s legacy even if it is easy pickings.
Instead he only shrugs, “don’t know, but I just feel like maybe it’s not for me.”
“I see,” his grandfather muses, before giving him a sideways glance. He’s smirking, weakly, “did a certain girl give you the push?”
Oh, right. Because grandfather knows too. More so than his own father, because his own father doesn’t approve of you, something Gojo doesn’t get.
FLASHBACK; FIVE YEARS AGO
“It was nice meeting you, Mr Gojo.”
You’d bolted out the front door like you did something wrong. You didn’t.
At least, Gojo didn’t see anything wrong with it. He was the one who asked you over to study after all.
Well, study. Because he’d been doing nothing but being a distraction all night long. Was it really his fault if he found logarithms and exponentials boring?
Though maybe he felt a tiny bit guilty. Guilty because he’d offered to tutor you and got only about five percent of the syllabus before he convinced you to slack off with him.
He was a bad influence on you.
Yeah. He was a bad influence on you.
Gojo Sr sighed as he opened the door to his son’s room. “I thought I told you I didn’t want you hanging around her anymore?”
Yet his father thought otherwise, always on his back about how you didn’t fit into Gojo’s life plan, as if each and every one of his life’s milestones were defaulted to his father.
Tuition despite already being sufficiently impressive in all subjects? Dad. Enrolling into one of the best universities in Japan early (family privileges) and into the most competitive business course? Dad. Shadowing his father on top of Gojo’s already overwhelming workload? Well, who else.
“Look, she’s my friend, there’s nothing fucking wrong with that,” Gojo told him, though all he got was a narrowed glare in return.
His father definitely didn’t buy that.
“Friend or not, she’s a distraction.” Gojo Sr was strict and firm with his words.
“You said the same thing about Suguru.”
“Exactly, and now there’s two of them.”
Sometimes Gojo thought that maybe his father’s sole purpose of living was to ensure that his son would stay as miserable as possible.
Silence was the only thing that followed after that, because Gojo didn’t understand. One minute his father was saying you were too nice, and the next he was complaining about how you were a distraction.
Same for Suguru. He was fine with him when they were both kids, even if Geto’s parents weren’t particularly well-to-do back then—his father seemed fine with it, didn’t even care much. Was it because that was before he took over the company and got his mind all money driven and all fucked up?
“I gave Suguru a pass, I let him come over and stay here whenever he wants, we feed him like he’s one of us,” Gojo Sr pauses, taking a deep breath, “but she’s not welcome here. You’ll forget her by the time you get to university anyway.”
Amazing how low he thought of you. He wasn’t completely wrong—with your current test grades there’s a low chance that you’d score well enough to get into the same university, let alone get a scholarship. You weren’t dumb, far from it, but Gojo had been having extra tutoring since young to prepare for this exact moment.
Beating the bell curve would be extremely difficult for you. But seeing as how his father seemed to underestimate you, Gojo fished his phone out of his bag after ignoring his father enough that he gave up and left the room, pulling up your thread.
Gojo: Tomorrow, your place, 8pm.
Gojo: Get ready for a long night ;)
You: You’re obscene.
You: Okay.
You definitely cracked a smile from that, didn’t you? Gojo knew you. He knew you well. A little too well for his father’s comfort. It wasn’t even what he thought, it was all… platonic.
Just friends.
Right. Even if he had thought about kissing you. And hugging you to sleep. And keeping you beside him forever.
Just fucking friends.
PRESENT
“Isn’t she with that boy from the Zenin family?”
Gojo gives a weak chuckle and nods as his grandfather struggles to remember the name.
Yeah. Yeah, you are. And from what he can see on your socials, and what he saw from that day he dragged you with him, you’re happy.
And he’s both happy and upset about that. He’s not a saint, he can’t deny that there’s a part of him that would do anything to replace Sukuna with himself.
“You know, to be with someone means that you need to sacrifice a lot of things,” his grandfather offers some wisdom, looking up at the moon. Gojo’s eyes follow. “If she needs your help for anything, if she asks you to do something you don’t agree with, would you? For her?”
Ever the wise sage, always making him think, always entertaining his feelings.
The entire family is unlike father, unlike son.
“Gramps, that’s all hypothetical and dumb, she’s not with me anyway.”
But Grandpa Gojo cuts off his attempt to sidestep him, “that doesn’t answer my question.” He’s grinning now, the same kind of grin Gojo has, and maybe it’s one of the many qualities he inherited from his grandfather. He’s certainly never seen his own father smile that way.
With a sigh, he gives in, “if Y/N asked, I would.”
It’s true. Now he knows.
After all those years of wasted opportunities, all those years of friendship, all those times he hurt you, and all those times he didn’t—Gojo realises he does love you.
The kind that creeps up on him before he knows it. The kind that he tried to keep suppressed but ultimately ended up failing.
His whole life had revolved around his family; his grandfather’s company, his father’s wishes, his late mother’s memories. It’s a stupid excuse, really. Just because his father disapproved doesn’t mean he should’ve shut the possibility out entirely while he still stood a chance.
While you still loved him.
Instead, he had to fool around with Mei Mei, had to keep it under wraps, because who fools around with someone who was engaged? An asshole, that’s who. An asshole who couldn’t afford to bring down his entire family’s reputation just because he felt an inkling of a connection to her while entirely forgetting all about you in the midst of the thrill.
It’s regret, it’s anxiety, it’s the stress piling up. It’s what happens now whenever he thinks about you, whenever he thinks about what you must be doing now. With him. How his stupid hands must be trailing up your bare body, your beautiful, sexy body. How his fucking lips must be on yours, tasting all the sweetness lingering on your tongue because god, you’re always sweet.
Gojo remembers everything clearly; how your hair smells whenever you lay your head on his shoulders, how you look like when you concentrate on making bracelets (like the one he always wears)—all focused and biting your lip and perfect, how you sound when he spells your euphoria with his tongue on your clit, how you beam when you see him still in bed after you wash up.
He’s sorry, really. For brushing his problems aside and by extension, you. For never acknowledging your feelings even though he knew. For leading you right into Sukuna’s arms.
There’s another thing he’s sorry for, to the one person in his family he’s grateful for.
“I’m sorry I won’t be taking over the business though,” he tells his grandfather, who’s still listening, who always listens to him.
The elderly man just dismisses it with the wave of his hand. “I’m not your father, too obsessed with his ways and his ideals,” he ponders, and Gojo can’t tell if he still loves his son or whether he disapproves entirely. “But young people should go after what they want, and whatever you want to do, I’ll support you.”
As Gojo looks at his grandfather, he thinks it’s funny. It’s weird how different the two men are, his grandfather versus his father. Ever since he grew up, one was always patient and open, while the other was always strict and abusive.
Plans were always made for him. Decisions about his own life solidified without him having a say in it. Every single action judged since he was a child, no mistake forgiven. God forbid if he made a mistake; even as a child, fail a test or disobey orders and he’d get beat with whatever’s nearby; a broom, a hanger, a slipper—anything.
But Gojo doesn’t want that man hanging over him his entire life, scrutinising his every decision until he dies (or fuck it maybe he’ll just kill him himself), so at least this is the first step towards it. Small, but still something. All because you said three words.
Three magical words.
One day he thinks it’s possible you’ll say that other set of three magical words to him. Yeah, just give him time.
He’ll get there.
You’ll get there.
ONE MONTH LATER
“Babeeee.”
It rolls off his tongue so easy because it’s you. It’s kind of sweet that it’s half sickening to Sukuna. He wants to fucking gag.
The sound of your feet against his hardwood floors is nauseating. So is the sound of the beads clinking against whatever work tools you have. But somehow it’s unsettling when it’s not there. He’s not used to the dead silence anymore. That’s why he basically forced you to move in anyway, since you were already spending so much goddamn time here it may as well be your own house.
Spoiled fucker.
You’re annoying—coming into his life and whipping up a hurricane, making his life so much easier yet harder at the same time. Is it even worth it? He knows how many zeroes are in his bank account, are you worth that much at least?
“Yeah?”
You smell fresh when you hop over to him, looking all happy that he’s here and shit. All excited and bubbly and addictive.
Stupid.
“Here,” he shoves a dress, still inside the clothes bag, into your arms before you can hug him.
“What’s this?”
“We’re going to the Gojo mansion later for some stupid dinner party,” Sukuna fills you in—just about as last minute as he always does. You’re probably not even surprised at this point.
“Oh, what’s the occasion?”
Yep, hit the head right on the nail. Not fazed at all. It’s hard to imagine you used to be so tame. Damn, he must’ve really corrupted you, huh?
“Don’t know, some political bullshit about enforcing ties and promoting cooperation and shit,” he mocks, leaning against the wall as he watches you take it out.
As much as he likes his black dresses, this time it’s a muted crimson, sleeveless, low neckline, thin straps, slit right up to the thigh. Sukuna bought it probably 0.5 seconds after seeing it. Your clothes are using up too much space. You don’t need another one. But he has no self control ever, so you’ll live with it.
“It’s gorgeous,” you coo, practically starry-eyed as you look at yourself in the mirror, hovering the dress over your body. “You sure I need to wear something this nice just for a dinner party? I mean, we’re not even trying to make Satoru jealous anymore.”
Oh, he still will be, though.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still do my best to piss the guy off.”
And you’re right. There’s no reason you should need such an expensive, over-the-top gown for a simple dinner party, but Sukuna has a bad hunch about this and he’s rarely ever wrong.
Nothing that involves Naobito meeting you now, after Sukuna sucker punched Kai Chisaki for you, would be innocent. Especially not if Naobito isn’t expecting you, but maybe he’ll just leave that small detail out.
Whatever’s going to happen there may not be pretty. But you’re at least going to look hot in there. Exceptionally hot. You know, just in case.
Toji’s not going to be there. He hates events like this, where everyone’s pretentious acts and manufactured laughter gets on full display. His kid is, though, because for some reason Gojo has been babysitting a whole lot more recently. It's a little suspicious, but that’s a whole other story that Sukuna doesn’t want to bother with.
And it turns out, he’s right. Now he knows the source of his bad feelings.
The moment you and Sukuna pull up to the mansion hours later, there’s a familiar face out front. Naobito needs no introductions, but there’s another guy who exists who seems to have it out for Sukuna. A guy that, regrettably, might not hesitate to make your life a thousand times worse as well. The only guy who can, because he’s Naobito’s fucking son who apparently came back from overseas just in time for this fucking party and failed to inform anyone.
“Who’s that?” You ask, so innocently, before either of you get out of the car.
That fucking blonde hair and accented black tips, that sleazy grin that mirrors his old man’s—Sukuna wouldn’t mistake it anywhere in the world.
“Naoya. Zenin Naoya.”
“He must not be good news,” you mumble. You have good intuition.
Bad news. That’s all Naoya is. Being enabled by his dick of a father his whole life, Sukuna’s not surprised.
Time for him to reinforce condition number one.
“Hey, babe?” Sukuna calls casually as he turns the car off, resting his elbow on your seat, fingers caressing the side of your face. You blink once, twice, waiting for him. “If he tries anything, ignore him, got it?”
(It’s an easy nod for you; you’re not exactly getting a welcoming feeling from Naoya. What’s more concerning is the fact that Sukuna has to go out of his way to explicitly tell you about it. Is Naoya that much of a bad news?)
Sukuna tells you to sit tight, opens your door for you, lets you hook your arm around his as you get out of his car. He’s sure that anybody looking at this spectacle now would be shocked, and hand on his heart he is too, because fuck you for making him want to take care of you.
Or more so, he has to protect you from that deadly father-son duo. He thought it was weird that Naobito still asked him to come along tonight when just the other day he’d called him a good-for-nothing, waste-of-money, sabotager. Oh, and also a useless pig.
Very original.
Sukuna can’t help but think, what’s his angle?
He gets his answer soon though, because before he even gets through the front door, Naobito holds an arm out, straight, firm, stopping him in his tracks. His dark eyes shift from you to Sukuna, Naoya behind him watching the scene like a hawk on its prey.
“Before you go in, we need to talk,” Naobito says to Sukuna, and with every syllable you feel your knees grow weaker, like you can feel the bad news seeping out of his mouth with every word.
You can’t help but feel how terrifying it must’ve been growing up under this man’s roof. You turn your gaze to Sukuna, who’s all tense and locked elbows and hand gripping yours firmly.
“Fine, where? Let’s go.”
But Naobito doesn’t move, his eyes pointedly staring at your interlocked fingers before looking back at Sukuna. “Alone,” he emphasises, displeased that Sukuna so blatantly disobeyed orders.
Naoya doesn’t miss a beat, assuming himself beside you in an instant, a smirk thrown Sukuna’s way. “Don’t worry, brother, I got her. I’ll help you take care of her while you’re away.”
Each and every word is filled with a hidden meaning, and all of you know it. You want to tell Sukuna to stay, to never let go because you’re actually scared of these people, but it only takes one look at Naobito for you to realise that doing so would only make Sukuna’s life harder.
And you don’t want that.
You’ll find a way around this yourself, so you nod at Sukuna as indication, and he doesn’t need any explanations. He only gives a final warning glare to Naoya before slipping his hands in his pockets and reluctantly following Naobito as he leads him away.
That leaves you with this guy.
“So, you’re Sukuna’s girl, huh?” Naoya asks, rhetorically, holding a hand out for you. “I wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t bring you here, you’re much classier and better-looking than all the other whores he used to bring around.”
Well, technically Sukuna only told you to ignore him if he tried anything. And he’s not yet. So you take his hand, let him place a kiss on the back of it, the slight fear sending a shiver up your spine. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a tiny bit scared that this guy might suddenly put you in a headlock and kill you.
Naoya smirks, liking the goosebumps he sees searing up your arms. “Are you scared of me, miss?”
Yes.
“No, not at all, Mr Zenin,” you chuckle nervously, following his pace as he leads you into the all-too-familiar house. “This is just a much fancier dinner than I’m used to.”
Naoya chuckles too, and it’s surprisingly light, airy. “God, don’t call me that, I’ll start thinking I’m my father,” he tells you, and you’ve somehow hooked your hand around his elbow just like you did Sukuna. He’s patting your hand as he leads you in further, the housemaids greeting you as you do, and you find most of them familiar, still. “Just call me Naoya.”
“Naoya,” you repeat, slowly, awkwardly.
He accepts it anyway. Perhaps because he has other things he’d rather talk about. Other more interesting waters he’d rather stir.
“What do you think of Sukuna so far?”
You don’t really know what to answer. Correction: you don’t know what he wants to hear. Because that’s what you want, for him to stop talking to you. For him to leave you be, let you hang out by your lonesome in the corner. You’d even take Satoru’s whining over whatever this is.
“He’s been good to me so far, I’m thankful for everything he’s done for me,” you respond, diplomatically, like Sukuna had taught you to for whenever you wanted to remain neutral.
Naoya hums. “He taught you well.”
You feign ignorance. But he’s good at pressing, and you think that Naobito must have taught him well too.
“Sukuna’s not one to be tied down, especially when that relationship doesn’t offer benefits,” Naoya tells you, stopping just at the staircase landing where you can see the curve that heads off straight to Satoru’s room.
“And what is that supposed to mean, Naoya?”
He drops the friendly facade, face turning grim for just a split second before it surfaces back up. Nauseating and confusing and intimidating. “Nothing. I just don’t want to see your pretty face get all heartbroken.” Naoya’s fingers tip your chin up, pulling you closer to see him. “Would be a shame if Sukuna were to break it.”
The way his voice drops an octave, the way he’s whispering such ominous phrases in your ear, you can’t even believe he’s still rubbing circles on the back of your hand so gently, still pulling away with a smile and greeting the passers-by with the same.
Naoya is bad news. Worse than bad. And the bad kind of bad. Maybe even more so than his father. Maybe.
With a smile equally as fake, you try and excuse yourself. “If that’s all you came to tell me, thanks but I don’t think you know your brother very well,” you inform, drawing a frown from him for talking back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
You’re lucky that he lets you go, lets you trot up the stairs in those heels. But he doesn’t let you go without a final warning.
“All you are is a means to an end, once it really comes to it, Sukuna won’t choose you over himself.”
You know, you’re really tired of letting people have the last say. So you stop mid-stairway, turn back and shoot Naoya your own warning glare, “I know you believe that, but you haven’t met me yet.”
Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise, and he grins at you like he’s mildly impressed. You take yourself and your weak knees to god knows where, only eager to get away from the bad omen in the form of sharp brown eyes and arrogant grins.
Everything he said fills you with dread because you must realise that something is going on here, that this is not just a peaceful dinner party with the Gojos.
Something is wrong.
And you find out, several hours later when everyone is sat around the long dining table.
Since you got here, you haven’t spoken to Sukuna, and he hasn’t been answering your texts. He hasn’t looked at you directly once during the entire party—what’s on his mind?
Instead, you’re sitting next to Satoru, who’s very much aware of your internal conflict because he’s doing that thing he always does when you panic sometimes; has a hand on your elbow, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb, circles or figure eights.
Naoya is at your other side, casually making small talk as if he didn’t just express his disdain for you earlier. Satoru hates him just as much as Sukuna, apparently.
Sukuna won’t choose you over himself.
His words still haunt you, because they carry a real threat, like they’re not just empty, like he knows it and he’ll show you.
The bad omen comes true right there, when Naobito clinks his glass with his spoon, only briefly speaking of how he’s excited for the boundless opportunities to come with the cooperation of the Gojo family before passing the time to Sukuna.
“With that said, Sukuna? I believe you have something very special to say today?”
The room spins because you don’t think this is about to be good for you at all. Because Sukuna hasn’t bothered with you for the good part of the evening, hasn’t told you a thing about what’s going to happen because now you know he knows.
And right there, when he leads the girl he’s sitting next to by the hand to the landing, a raised platform to let everyone see them, your heart sinks to your stomach when you watch him get down on one knee, a velvet box in his hand.
your heart hammered against your chest as the anticipation weighed down on your shoulders as you stood in front of the confused boy in front of you.
“ah… i’ll have to get back to you on that.” iwaizumi replied quietly as your stomach dropped.
“oh… okay then thanks anyway!” you forced a friendly tone out to mask the utter humiliation and upset that had washed over your mood entirely upon the few words the dark haired boy offered.
the rest of the class was a blur to you. you spent majority of the time staring blankly ahead of you to face the backs of forgettable classmates heads. the only classmate that mattered to you in this particular class had rejected you just before the teacher walked in so from this moment on you had no motivation to pay attention or look forward this class.
the end bell rang and you mindlessly threw your belongings into your bag before dragging yourself through the halls to your locker to collect the rest of your belongings and head home. you didn’t even bother to wait for your friends, no. they could wait until you were in the comfort of your own home to hear you scream over the phone how embarrassed you were as a result of the rejection over something as casual as asking to be instagram buddies.
‘what sort of loser gets rejected for that?’ you almost had to laugh it was so stupid. ‘whatever.’ you thought as your feet carried you to the front gates of the school. you’d have to apologise to your friends in advance before blowing up the groupchat with your over dramatic tendencies but a little tlc from your friends was needed at this vital milestone of your life; your first ever rejection.
upon the endless string of thoughts running through your mind as you walked, you failed to pick up on the voice that had been calling after you repeatedly from behind you. you tended up at the feeling of someone gently tugging on your sleeve out of nowhere but that surprise was nothing compared to the surprised you felt upon seeing the culprits gaze.
“iwaizumi?” you asked as your classmate caught his breath. “you on a mission or something?” he huffed a little as you frowned. “yes. a mission to get home, so see ya!” you replied quickly as your pace in walk picked up again.
before you could march off, a hand tugging on the strap of your bag stopped you before you could flee the scene which happened to include the last face on earth you wanted to see right now. “before you run off again,” he started before pulling his phone out his pocket. “my instagram. you said you wanted it?”
you looked at the device in his hands with confusion. zero followers, zero posts, zero following and a cute yet handsome photo of iwaizumi in place of the profile picture icon. “i didn’t have one earlier when you asked, so i made one during that class so you could add me.” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from you as you fought the urge to pounce on him and bite him.
‘he’s so fucking cute.’
you tapped your own handle into his phone and followed yourself before grabbing your own phone to immediately follow him back. a weird sense of pride came over you seeing his follower and following go up by one and that one being you.
“you didn’t have to do that.” you insisted as you handed his phone back to him. “nah, i should’ve made one ages ago but i just never got around to it.” he admitted, the heat on his face finally calming down. “but now you can message me if you ever need anything… or if you just wanted to you know, talk?“ he muttered as the urge to bite the shit out of this man piqued once more.
“i’ll definitely message you if i need anything or if i want to talk but you can do the same too!” you hummed as you slipped your phone back into your pocket.
“i’ll keep that in mind.” he smiled before turning around to walk away. “please do.” you shot back before turning to make your own way home. offering a quick exchange in waves you marched home ready to text your groupchat about what had just happened until you felt your phone vibrate.
‘@iwa.hajime has sent you a message: see you tomorrow :)’
on second thought. maybe your group chat could wait.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who you divorced two years ago, but still attached to because there’s something about your love that you can’t let go. being college sweethearts, practically falling for each other at first sight.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who even after two years kept himself available to you with just a phone call away if you ever needed him. putting together furniture. bringing your groceries upstairs. checking the oil in your car. cooking for you when you didn’t feel like doing it yourself. nanami didn’t care how big or small it may be. he would do anything to spend time with you.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who you talked to every night before bed for hours about who knows what. he would want a breakdown of how your day went from start to finish. “did you eat?” “did you drink enough water or get enough rest?” “how was work?” he just wanted to ensure that you were okay because you had said otherwise, it would ache his soul.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who grew jealous after discovering you’ve been dating again. he hated knowing that other men were potentially getting a side of you that should only be reserved for him. and maybe—just maybe, if the date went well, you would invite them over to your apartment to continue the night. the thought alone nearly killed him.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who didn’t know the dates you went on never went past the table. the men never piqued your interest. boring, to be exact. and really, all you could do is think about him. even got to the point where you accidentally called one of your dates “kento” because you were too consumed in your thoughts. you were supposed to be sitting here with nanami—not them.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who you thought about as you laid in bed, wet fantasies imaging in your mind when you needed to please yourself. growing sexually frustrated, feeling like a nymphomaniac from craving his touch. his name would air sinfully through your plush lips, circling your clit, thrusting those slender fingers in your cunt. it just wasn’t enough, and you needed more.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who you would call at two in the morning, “hey, do you want to come over?” knowing nanami will say yes because he shared the same sexual cravings. you’ve been with other partners since divorcing, and no one has seemed to please you like how you did for each other.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who would sensually roll his hips, thrusting his cock into your dripping cunt as he whispered sweet praises in your ear. telling you how beautiful you are, how good it feels being inside you. increasing his pace while he lapped at your neck, sighing in approval from hearing you moan his name. “i’m right here, y/n. keep saying my name like that, sweetheart.”
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who was the only man to ever make you cum, not needing any direction to your sweet spot. fucking that pretty pussy into oblivion until he milked every last drop of his seed inside you. serenading his apologies against the crook of your neck as he left gentle kisses along your flesh. nanami begged for your forgiveness, saying how much he loves and misses you. that he’s changed, but you just can’t seem to let that hurt go.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who lacked communication, never letting you know that he’ll be returning home late, constantly working extra hours. his reason was to retire early and ensure you were set for life because he refused to ever let you work while being with him. however, nanami failed to realize his negligence in your marriage caused you to feel lonely.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who didn’t join you for breakfast anymore, just grabbing a banana out the fruit bowl with a simple “have a nice day.” no kisses goodbye. no more of those warm hugs he gave because he didn’t want to be without you for eight hours. no more bonding over books you read together while enjoying a cup of tea he brewed.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who rarely slept with you, always finding his way to the couch or guest room, claiming he didn’t want to wake you. but little did he know, you remained awake until you felt his arms wrap around your waist to give you a kiss on your shoulders. you know, the little acts of affection he did to show you he still loved you.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who left you no choice but to divorce him because you just weren’t happy anymore. the marriage wasn’t the same. it was filled with silence and loneliness on your part. you know he loves you. that’s not something you would ever question. it just seems like he’s grown weary of your marriage, and it was time for you to find happiness elsewhere.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 who realized he lost you. no matter how many times he’s begged you, pleading with you to give him another chance—you just can’t. he had over a year to get his shit together but didn’t. nanami is that one ex you’ll probably never get over. you’ll love him from a distance. who knows, maybe, later on, you’ll take him back? but he needs to know how to be without you the way you were without him.
post inspired by this, also this is a complete self-insert bc i hate one of my roommates LMAOOO hope she never sees this…. completely unedited too i’m sorry
cw: bakugo is in his 20s + reader is in college, suggestive
pro!hero bakugo always wonders why you don’t ever invite him back to your place.
well, to be fair, his place is amazing. even for just starting his agency, he gets a decent pay, and he put his first check into a penthouse that overlooks the whole city. crystal clear windows that go from the ceiling to the floor, more rooms than he can use— so of course, he randomly finds your things littered around everywhere. you probably like his place even more than him.
but he knows you have a place at your college campus. you’ve never invited him inside, though, always hurrying out the door whenever he picks you up. you’ve complained to him about one of your roommates once, but besides that, he knows nothing.
“what are you doing here?”
bakugo’s busy peering in over your head, trying to catch a glimpse of anything in your apartment. “brought you dinner. can i come in?”
it’s funny watching him, seeing how shocked he is at seeing how you live. “your kitchen is so small. how do ya fuckin’ cook in here?” “this painting isn’t bolted. do ya want it to kill ya?” and his reaction to your bedroom— “fucking hell. how do you have so much stuff?!”
it’s even funnier when he complains about the size of your twin bed as he rams into you.
“fuck.” he spits out angrily, sweat dripping down his brow as he curves his back to keep his frame above you and most importantly, on the damn bed. he gets why you like his place so much.
sleeping together afterwards is a whole other story. he takes up the whole bed—mind you, his feet hang off— and you’re left to lay on top of him, limbs all tangled up. (he honestly kind of likes it, but he’ll never admit it).
bakugo wakes up in the middle of the night to find you at your desk, typing away at some essay due tomorrow morning.
“come back in bed.”
“‘m almost finished. promise. just need to proofread and edit and… shit, what format do i need to use?”
bakugo sighs, lifting out of bed. “can i get water?”
“yeah, my brita is in the fridge. it’s blue and has my name on it.”
he’s standing in the glow of the fridge light, trying to figure out where the fuck your brita is, when someone shrieks.
“h-holy shit! you’re— you’re dynamight!” your roommate— the one you’ve said is annoying, always asks for my homework answers, never takes out the trash. “holy shit!”
“oh, um.” bakugo realizes too late that he’s only in his boxers. “yeah. do you know where my girl’s brita is? said it’s blue.”
her eyes bulge out of her head. “oh! i used it by accident.” she laughs awkwardly, grabbing it off the counter to hand it to him. “forgot to refill it though.”
bakugo feels his own blood boil. he recalls the time he lived with denki— the fucker would do the exact same thing. before he can open his mouth to spew out everything you’ve said about her, your face pops around the corner.
“hey, i finished. did you get water?”
“yeah.” he manages to pour in half a glass before the brita empties. he hands the glass to you. “drink this. i’ll refill it.”
“thanks, baby.” you try pecking his cheek, but he turns his head so that you reach his lips. he smirks into it, wrapping his arm around your waist but quickly realizes that he has an audience.
your roommate gapes at the two of you, jaw practically on the floor. “you didn’t tell me you’re dating dynamight.”
“um… yeah.” you nod your head stiffly. “if you’re going to use my brita, can you at least fill it up?”
you tug bakugo’s arm to bring him back to your room, ignoring (but also basking in) the way your roommate still stands in utter shock.
the next morning, he finds himself on the carpet. he must have rolled off the bed in his sleep. his final straw.
so, he proposes you move in with him. it’s better if your place also happens to be his.
osamu miya isn’t one to act out like this, he’s never one to run head first into a fight with no armour. he’s not brash and unreasonable like ‘tsumu. he’s supposed to be the better twin at this compared to the blonde scrub he should have eaten in the womb.
but when it comes to you, he loses all sense of rationality— the slightest change in your emotions still has osamu acting a fool after all this time.
“i was defending yer honour!” he announces adamantly, slur heavier than usual as he flinches away from the bag of frozen peas you have pressed into his swelling cheek. osamu hates frozen veg, it ruins the quality and taste of his product, so he prefers to start afresh every time to make sure everyone gets the very best of what he has to offer but boy is he glad that he kept the bag in his kitchen’s freezers from when he first started out.
he still can’t believe he got punched in his own damn shop.
your face twists as you peel back the defrosting packet, analysing the tender area on the younger miya twin’s face. still handsome, even when bruised like a softly ripened peach. “osamu miya,” he hates how his full name sounds on your tongue, bitter and still slightly resentful— nothing like the ‘samu’s he’s used to. “i do not need defending! god…you don’t change. you never do!” frustration sits caked on your features like a layer of sweat after a gruelling day in the kitchens. “when will you realise that i can be my own person outside of you? i can take care of myself. i don’t need you to back me up, tell me to sit this one out like you do with ‘tsumu. i don’t need protecting.” you shift awkwardly on your knees, the tiled floor in onigiri miya’s kitchen cutting into your skin. “and besides…i like him.”
osamu pushes the peas from your grip, brows knotted together as he scowls at you like what you’ve said isn’t true. you could tell him those words a thousand times and he’d selfishly ignore them because you’re way too good to go unprotected in this world.
“yer still s’fuckin’ naive,”
the curse word slipping from the restaurant owners lips surprises you— it upsets you, the hurt sweltering in your chest. “‘samu that’s not fair…”
“i don’t care if it is! i see the way ya grimace when he touches ya, the way ya avoid his gaze. how he treats ya like a fuckin’ pet rather than a human being!” the miya twin roars back, and if he was loud enough you’re sure he’d rattle the pots out to dry on the dish-rack. “that’s not love. you know that.”
your face scrunches up, expression foul and osamu knows he shouldn’t have said that.
“and you do?” he can hear the tired tremble in your voice, you’ve both been here before, stuck in a loop of the same argument. osamu shouldn’t cast judgement on the people you date, not when he ruined the concept of love and happiness for you in the first place. he gave you up when you’d done nothing but cherish him for years after the team went their separate ways.
he was the one to let you go.
he was the one desperate to see you again, dropping hints to kita to invite the old inarizaki manager to the reunion at his precious store in osaka after atsumu’s big game.
he was the one who threw the first punch at your now fiancé because the way he held you wasn’t right.
it was too tight, too rough for someone who deserved the world like you. osamu could read the twitch of pain on your face probably before you even felt it…because he still loved you, he still knew everything about you and he didn’t even have the right to. he probably deserved to get his shit rocked before aran and suna dragged your fiancé outside the shop ( atsumu would have ripped the guy’s head off too for hurting his brother…but kita was there and you’d pleaded with him not to ).
so osamu miya stays silent, becomes a little more reserved unlike his bastard brother and zips his lips once more— throwing away the key while he avoids your desperate gaze. “nothin’.” he mumbles simply, looking away from your wounded puppy dog eyes.
“of course,” you say quietly, even though he can hear the crack of tears in your voice. “because you could never love anyone outside of this stupid shop.”
and as you let it slip you’re crying up, and back away from him on the kitchen floor of onigiri miya, osamu realises…there’s no starting over with you. it’s far too late for that.
chapter 01: the enemy of my enemy is my (boy)friend [ series masterlist ] + gojo x f!reader / sukuna x f!reader; wc 6k
summary: you bring a deal to the devil himself and tempt fate. meanwhile, someone’s disapproval can be felt from miles away. (or — in which you try to pull sukuna into your arms & have to prove yourself useful to him, while gojo lives with the irony of his actions while you’re gone.)
+ content warnings: fake dating, modern au, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, sukuna is just kinda a dick, they go to a club/hostess bar. smut.
notes: fordjkddk i’m sorry it’s taken so long!! i’ll try to be consistent heh & thank you to those of you who read this <3
“We’re done. Don’t call me again.”
Satoru is pretty. High cheekbones, beautiful eyes, porcelain skin and all pretty from all angles. He still looked pretty even when he dumped you—was that the correct term? Dumped? When the both of you weren’t even together in the first place?
“You alright there?”
In contrast, this man is all sharp edges and tattoos peaking out his shirt collar and devilish smirk for days. You stare up at him, his hands in his pockets, leaning back against Geto’s closet, white dress shirt tucked loosely into his black pants, chest poking out of the unbuttoned area. He looks like he came straight out of a shady business meeting, and if Gojo and Geto’s comments about him are true, you wouldn’t be surprised.
⟶ cw. dickhead!suna, enemies, volleyball player!suna, college/uni!au, shit talking, drunk people, drinking, handjob, oral (m), voyeurism, public sex, sloppy seconds, unprotected sex, riding, ft. atsumu + more
⟶ note. unedited for now
typically you wouldn't find yourself amongst these kinds of people. definitely not a large group of overly attractive college volleyball players. random girls gawked when they walked through the door.
your friend had to go and get herself a jock boyfriend from a different school and drag you with her. "you're my best friend you have to come, i'll be real sad if you don't." you'd rather be home watching random shows on your laptop and drinking than this, but at least there was alcohol–lots of it, the boys are also paying so win win.
you were daunting seeing a specific person. somehow even within this new friend group you're forced into, you've already made an enemy.
"what the fuck are you doing here?" his voice is quiet over the others singing to a random kpop song in the middle of the room. you hide in the leather seats at the back, darkly lit hoping no one would come and bother you as you chug cocktails.
you scoff, "the fuck are you, who invited you?"
"no, who invited you?" rintaro sneers, looking around as if you knew no one.
you rolled your eyes pointing at your bestfriend singing her heart out with osamu, "my bestfriend, it's her birthday? idiot." your words are slurred and messy. rin's face barely noticeable in the neon swirling lights that blinked and flashed across his face, his really pretty but annoying face.
"whatever." he sits himself next to you, having a drink. it seemed to be completely vodka, it stinks like it. but you can't even tell what colour it was, the room was covered in a sheen of rainbow. "your friend's party and you're not partying, very like yourself."
"shut up, i hate karaoke."
rin chuckles, "tsk, i can at least agree to that. but you look fucking miserable."
"that obvious?" you rolled your eyes, finishing off another drink. you weren't keeping count but picked up the tablet to continue to order more, maybe something in a big pint or jug.
rin had other ideas, he rips the tablet off you. tossing it over his leg to the other side. his thighs in those really tight cargos scrape your bare legs only covered by tights and a tight black skirt. "you've had enough."
"who the fuck are you to say that?"
rin runs a hand through his hair. shrugging. god, he annoys you. "at least don't fucking blackout on your friend's birthday."
you groaned loudly, throwing your head back. rin shifts his weight, somewhat trying to cover up his crotch from your view but it was beyond late. you noticed it already, you can see it very clearly.
you laughed. now at this distance you can see the hue in his cheeks darken. "why are you hard, rin."
"shut the fuck up." he hisses out your name, looking around as if anyone would hear. whoever was singing right now was practically shrieking, their voice could fucking cut glass.
his palm pushes the middle of his pants down. his eyes flicker towards yours. you lay comfortably in the large sofa. knees up to your chest, that skirt had risen all the way exposing your cheeks. your top had a boob window and fuck, he tries so hard to not stare.
the way you look at him, mocking, teasing him. fucking annoying yet so hot. the light flashes, he sees you bite your lip and smirk at him.
"only virgins get hard over a little moan like that." his face doesn't change when you say that. and it clicks. "you're fucking virgin–rintaro suna, my god, you're joking."
god, he wanted to choke you out, make you shut up. your plump lips echoing out your laughter, making his ears itch. his lips twitch and he reaches for your neck and grasps it.
his lips skim your ear, "shut up before i make you."
"what exactly are you threatening me with, rin. i enjoy a bit of choking when i'm being fucked if i'm honest." your drunk self just exposing your kinks right infront of him. his eyes widen, his cock twitches. fuck, what the fuck.
maybe it was because you were drunk that he was finding you hot. no, you were talking shit like always but, it felt different this time. his erection presses into your knee, bending it towards you more.
"rin." you teased, feeling some sort of way. maybe it was the power you had over him right now, it seemed like you could do whatever you wanted right now. you reach for his bulge, feeling the size. "oh, hefty boy, huh?"
"sh–shut, u-up." he chokes, taking his bottom lip between his teeth holding back his groans.
alcohol seemingly always made you horny. "take your pants off, let me see it."
──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────
he's whiny, complaining a lot. even if your throat was choking on his cock. "holy fuck, you're a lot hotter when you can't talk."
"s–shut, your–fucking mouth," you mumble through breaths as you bobbed your head on his wet shaft.
his mouth parts, letting out breathy grunts as he lays over the couch with you between his legs. his head rests on the armrest. he's only got his pants half off, maybe he was worried someone would see but everyone was too drunk to even notice what was happening right behind them. to be fair, the table was covering what you were doing to him, anyone else could really only see rin's head and your ass in the air.
"you're lasting a while for a virgin." you admit, stroking his cock, feeling the ridge of his cockhead as you did whilst your lips took a break.
rin groans, his fingers threading into your scalp, "can you just keep going and shut your mouth again."
"rude," you grunt, lazily pumping him in annoyance.
rin picks up his head, noticing this. his fingers pull on the base of your hair making you look up at him, "please?"
you liked that, you've never heard it before. "sorry what? can't hear you, pretty boy."
he hisses, when you tighten your grip. his cock wet with precum and drool. "please, keep sucking me off."
"good boy."
it doesn't take long, he's louder now. gripping harder and begging for it. "hmfp, please, please–fuck, let me cum in your mouth, fuck."
you chuckle to yourself, flattening your tongue more and taking him deeper as a signal. he thrusts real hard, a few ruts and he busts his load down your throat. a lot of it.
you wipe the corner of your lips, "first time?"
"something like that." he zips his pants, tucking his lips between his teeth again. he can't meet your eyes.
you grab his cheeks in your hand, squeezing the red apples between your fingers, "cute. lots of cum, typical of a virgin."
"fuck you."
a slow clap is heard from behind and you snap your head towards it. atsumu sits in the corner box of the sofa, "i'm so fucking glad i saw the entire thing. you got your panties all wet, hm?"
you grin, turning towards him, "oh ops, help me out then, 'tsumu?"
atsumu's lips curled into a wide smile, so pretty. "fuck, yea, hop on."
if only you could see the look on rin's face right now. full of fucking jealousy. god he hates you. he hates how you made him feel since the first day he saw you. he hates how all the boys think you're cute. he hated you more knowing you've fucked some of them, before fucking him. he always wanted it to be him.
mostly he hated himself how he couldn't get the guts to just act like his friends, casually ask for sex like that. he hates being a virgin. he hates how they're so dominate with you yet he loved it when you were calling him cute, pretty and especially calling him a good boy. fuck.
he had to just sit there and watch his friend fuck you, his cock growing angrier the more you bounced on atsumu's thick cock–moaning out his name and kissing him. he fucks you so well, rin only hopes he could do the same if given the chance.
↳ warnings: fluff, parent!au, reader is a mother, i just wanted to write tobi as a daddy !!! pls he’s so cute i love him so so much. your baby boy says his first word and it’s not what either of you expect.
“it’s going to be mama,” you tell kageyama matter of factly. “his first word is going to be mama.”
you don’t need to look at the setter to know that he’s glaring daggers into your back while you prepare a fruitsnack for your baby boy. “how do you know that?” the glares only continue when you turn, holding out a bowl of mushed apples and peach to your son as he gargles happy sounds towards his parents.
“mother’s intuition, tobio.”
your husband scoffs, snatching the bowl from you so you have both your hands to take a seat at the table— sitting on the other side of your baby’s high chair. “well,” he starts. “you’re wrong, s’gonna be papa. ain’t that right lil’ man.” the man coos, hand becoming an aeroplane and garnering the interest of his carbon copy as he spoons the crude baby food mix past tiny lips and into a slobbering mouth. he claps chubby hands down on his high chair, kicking socked feet out when tobio spoon feeds him again. “see? daddy’s his favourite.”
“whatever,” you huff, but you don’t fight the smile that tugs on your lips watching the two of them interact. if tobio is your sun; then your little thirteen month old is your husband’s stars moon and night sky. he’s been kageyama’s favourite person since he was just a twinkle in either of your eyes— since you held up three pregnancy tests over a shitty facetime call when your husband was abroad, playing for his Italian team.
they’ve been inseparable since his birth, as soon as your boy was able to leave the house tobio had his baby carrier court side during practices for the Olympic team. your baby would laugh loud and proud whenever his daddy made super high jumps and sets for uncle hinata, whenever he and uncle tsumu got into little squabbles on the court. your baby smiles just like tobio does when you take him to italy for his first birthday— they’re the spitting image of each other, you’d find that with a quick swipe through your camera roll.
two sets of sapphire blue eyes and mops of black fluffy hair— it’s almost unfair how identical they are, he’s just barely got the slope of your nose and your lopsided smile and somehow the beauty mark you have dotting your left cheek, but still. he’s yours, and tobio’s a product of your love that your husband had cried over when he came into the world silent and not screaming like you’d hoped. only for a minute though, you’d later discover through sleepless nights that your son had a set of pipes on him.
oh how little kageyama had grown, how he’d changed your life as well as his daddy’s… so to you, it didn’t matter what his first word was— not really. it was just another moment for you to treasure and admire your boys.
“tell mama that i’m your favourite,” tobio grins, tickling your chubby little baby till you’re sure his cheeks are sore and you hum in content, resting your own cheek on the seat of your palm.
“not gonna happen, tobi, he’s a mama’s boy,” you interject and reach up, twirling a black strand of baby hair between your fingers. “say mama f’me honey,” it’s your turn to coo, lifting yourself from your seat to press kisses all over the right side of your son’s face.
kageyama mimics you, taking over the left side so that no area of your son’s face goes untouched. “nuh uh, we’ll see about that—!” neither of you expect the baby hand to slap down into his bowl of mush causing it to fly up and everywhere— smacking the father of your child in the face and ruining your counter tops. your baby squeals in amusement, slapping his dirty hands everywhere at the sight of his messy parents.
“no baby, don’t do that,” you whine, already reaching for the paper towels to clean both of your boys up. “so silly, huh baby?”
big blue eyes look up at you with unadulterated innocence— as if he hasn’t just destroyed your kitchen and ruined kageyama’s favourite shirt but you can’t stay mad at him, letting your pro volleyball player husband wipe the mush from his hands and face.
“you’re lucky your mum loves you bud, not even i could get away with this.”
“d-du!” your baby squeals back, making both you and kageyama freeze in your place— slowly looking back to him as he sweetly stumbles over his first word. “du-! duuu!”
you whip out your phone faster than you can say your son’s name— smiling at him encouragingly while he looks between his unsuspecting parents. “go on baby!! say mama, ma-ma!”
“nuh uh, daddy…da-da!”
your son blinks slow and then says. “dum’ass!”
tobio kageyana has never been more in fear of his life than he had right now— your gaze burning a hole in his shoulder while your baby gets his hands dirty in the moosh on his baby chair. “it was nice knowing you, baby.” the setter says solemnly, pinching his son’s cheeks.
“dududu—dum’ass!!”
“tobio—“
“dum’ass!”
kageyama squishes your baby’s face together in desperation, as you put away your phone to finish cleaning up. “c’mon sweetheart, you wanna grow up with your dad in your life don’cha?” he pulls your baby into his lap, making him wave to you on behalf your husband who’s matching blue gem eyes are begging for your forgiveness. “‘m sorry mama!” tobio coos in a baby voice.
“du’mmy!”
“you’re really hitting the nail on daddy’s coffin baby,” you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the pair, ruffling two sets of beautiful black locks and pressing kisses to their faces— an extra long, sloppy lingering one under tobio’s ears. “but i’ll deal with that later, sweetheart. you really need to stop calling uncle hinata names when you take our baby to practice.” you scold him.
but you’re hardly serious, not when your boys look at you with mischievous and loving blue eyes.
ও summary. as the oldest twin, Sukuna is used to getting whatever he desires over Yuji. however, one thing his status can’t get him is you. | wc. 2k+
cw/ tw. slightly dark content. yakuza au. Yuji and Sukuna are twins, noncon, somnophilia, body worship, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, infidelity (although reader isn’t aware of it), mentions of baby-trapping
ও featuring. Sukuna x Fem!Reader
ও an. i think i remember putting my whole p***y into this one :') | m. list
As the oldest twin, Sukuna is used to getting whatever he desires over Yuji: One day, he’ll get to ascend from his position as Shateigashira—one of many regional bosses—to become the next Oyabun.
Money, respect, power, it’ll all be his.
However, one thing his status can’t get him is you—the daughter of one of their father’s advisors known as the Kaikei. You've been with the twins since before they were tall enough to reach the cabinet in the kitchen where their father stores the sake, maybe even longer.
You’d cover them in pink Hello-Kitty bandaids when they fell off of swingsets, and they’d beat up anyone who tried to pick on you. An inseparable trio, his mother once called them.
Sukuna always saw you as his little sister and called anyone sick who tried to suggest that you’d be a pretty bride someday. Of course, those were the thoughts of a boy. Then the summer before their third year of high school came, and you showed up on their doorstep in a white floral sundress that kissed the middle of your silky thigh: He swears he’s never looked at you the same since.
The only problem is that his brother has long since noticed the way your eyes shine when you smile; or how your hair seems to catch the sunlight whenever you’re laying in the grass on a sunny day, making you look ethereal.
It eventually makes sense why he’d sometimes spot you and Yuji alone on the back porch eating Pocky, his brother’s face a shade from red whenever you’d wipe a stray piece of chocolate from his lip. Yuji always wore his heart on his sleeve, whereas Sukuna would rather shove his head in liquid concrete than tell someone how he felt—especially you.
This backfires three days after his twenty-second birthday when an intricate card arrives in his mailbox with your and his brother’s name on it, a wedding invite, and he’s asked to be the best man.
He’s never been jealous of anyone, yet he suddenly can’t stand the sight of his brother.
But like the good brother he is he’d accepted, watched you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white gown that put the floral sundress to shame, and fucked someone from the bridal party later that night with the thought of you racing through his head.
Now he has to watch you be Yuji’s pretty little housewife every time he visits on holidays and Sundays for dinner—the shiny rock on your finger serving as some sort of beacon for one of his many regrets.
"You shouldn't smoke." The sound of your voice draws his gaze up from your wedding band where you’re chopping vegetables for dinner, to find your pretty eyes glaring back at him. "It's gonna kill you someday."
He puffs out a hazy cloud through the open kitchen window. "Just add it to the already existing list of things that will kill me."
You shake your head at him. “How about you put it out and tell Yuji that the food is almost ready?”
“What am I, your golden retriever now?” he grunts.
You answer by throwing a chopped piece of carrot at his head.
“Fucking, brat. Fine.” He dabs his cigarette into the ashtray on the table and walks down the kitchen hallway, leading to Yuji’s office.
Sukuna doesn’t even bother knocking and pushes open the large double mahogany doors to find Yuji counting a stack of yen on his desk. He sits in one of the leather chairs in front, propping one leg over the other.
“Princess wants you to come out and join us.”
Yuji frowns but doesn’t look up as he bands the stack of bills in his hands. “I wish you wouldn’t call her that. She’s my wife.”
Sukuna ignores his brother’s comment with gritted teeth and instead asks him if he’s dealt with the gang trying to sell experimental drugs in his territory.
He glances up, then. "No, not yet. Actually…” Yuji glances at the open door, the sound of you humming, floating down the hallway from the kitchen. “Can I ask for a favor?”
Today, he feels like he can pretend a little—act like he’s coming home to his adorable little wife after a long day of work once he hears the lock click open under the key.
Sukuna plays with the silver key in his pants pocket as he walks up to the same door he’s dreaded knocking on for the past two years.
He knows he should toss these thoughts aside as he walks through the house to check up on you as Yuji asked. But he can’t bring himself to when he cracks open your bedroom door to find you sleeping soundly against your pillow. His eyes wander down to where you’d kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed, revealing a silk nightgown that shows off your creamy legs.
He feels his cock head press uncomfortably against the zipper in his pants at the thought of how they would feel under his hands. Imagines what they’d look like pressed up against your chest, the way your pretty pink mouth might form an ‘o’ as his cock dips inside…
Sukuna clenches his fists, waring with himself for what he’s about to do. He reasons that you won't be able to tell the difference between him and his brother in the dark—their tattoos run the same colorful pattern across their chest and arms, undistinguishable unless you are actually looking. The only apparent difference is the color of the dragon that trails down from his left pectoral and around his forearm.
You’re too good for the fantasies racing through his head—but it doesn’t stop him from stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him. Doesn’t stop him from hastily taking off his suit and throwing it on the chair near the window.
He settles a knee on the bed near your feet and drags the covers the rest of the way off of your body, encasing it entirely in the moonlight creeping in through the gauzy curtains.
His fingers trace up the side of your calf, and when you shift in your sleep, he stops. He waits for a moment to make sure you’re not awake until you sigh and roll over to hug your pillow. Instantly, his gaze focuses on where your nightgown shifts up, revealing the lack of underwear underneath and your bare pussy glistening with the slightest hints of slick.
“Naughty fucking girl,” he growls under his breath, hand moving down to palm at his cock.
Before he can think twice, he’s pushing your nightgown higher up around your waist. He knows he should be more delicate, should worry about the possibility of you waking up—but he can’t bring himself to care.
Not when your soft legs feel so nice wrapped around him when he crawls between your thighs, or when his hands come up to palm at your breasts. It’s not enough, because now he needs to see everything.
You arch against him in your sleep as he tugs the silk fabric down to suck a puckered nipple into his mouth. And a dark chuckle reverberates in his chest at how sensitive you are, his teeth grazing lightly just to hear you whimper.
He wants to tell you how fucking perfect you look underneath him, wishes he could worship your vulnerable body like he wants. But he knows he’s limited on time, that any moment, Yuji could walk through the door and find him defiling you while you lay here perfectly unaware.
One of Sukuna’s hands slips down to part your folds, and he groans lightly at how wet you’ve become just from him playing with your tits. His fingers rub right circles into your clit, loving how it throbs eagerly against his skin.
Perfect.
Sukuna’s cock leaks into his briefs as he slips his middle finger inside you and feels your tight walls wrapping snuggly around him—only pumping a few times before he adds his ring finger too.
“Mmm,” you moan, and he glances up at your face to watch you writhe underneath him.
He can tell you’re so close already just by the way you’re clenching around his fingers, and he curls them up against your front wall to get you there faster. “Are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers, though it comes out more like a growl.
Shit, watching you come apart for him has him desperately longing to leave a piece of him behind—
Fuck it.
Little pants of protest puff past your lips when he pulls his fingers from your drooling pussy. He roughly pushes down his briefs and uses your slick on his hand to lube his cock before pushing the leaky head against your clenching hole.
“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, watching your face twist in pleasure and fingers dig into your pillow as he slips all the way into the hilt. “Knew you’d have a princess cunt.”
He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, leaning back slightly to watch the wet, blushing part of you hug his cock as he slowly pulls out—only to thrust back in savagely.
You’ve always been a deep sleeper; he’s glad to see nothing has changed as he starts rocking into you steadily—his eyes rolling into the back of his head at the feel of your heat wrapping around him over and over again.
You start moving restlessly beneath him, writhing with tiny little moans that he can’t make out through the blood rushing in his ears. The sight has him feeling so high from getting what he’s wanted for years, even if this is all he gets.
He’s half-curled over you, fucking into you without a shred of restraint—not that he really had any to begin with. And he can’t stop thinking about how much you’re going to feel it after, how there might be small bruises in the shape of his fingers left behind for how tightly he’s holding you down against the mattress.
His balls collide against the slickness of your pussy with a sticky pap, and he presses his thumb against your messy clit because he knows he’s not going to last much longer.
Then he feels it—the way you spasm around his cock and release a guttural moan. It’s so unexpected that it has him twitching deep inside you, and he’s grunting out obscenities under his breath as he paints your walls white until his hips rock to a gentle stop.
“Fuck.”
Sighing, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair, his eyes refocusing on your sleeping form to find your eyelashes fluttering open.
"Mm, Yuji, you're home," you hum, a little smile gracing your lips.
He should be panicking, but he’s not—can’t, not after having you.
Sukuna brings a hand down to your stomach, letting it linger there. He thinks if he got you pregnant, nobody would be able to tell the difference when the baby came out with soft fluffy hair like his and his brother’s...
He can’t stop the wolfish grin from spreading across his face at the thought, reaching up to swipe his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. "Go back to sleep, princess.”
And when you do, he fucks another load into you just to make sure it takes—because Sukuna always gets what he wants, and this time it’ll be in the form of a little bundle wrapped in blue or pink that he gave you.
current: the calm before the storm | next: the enemy of my enemy is my (boy)friend ->
PAIRING: gojo x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader | CONTENT WARNING: smut (mdni), name-calling, unprotected sex, unrequited love, angst, not proofed | WORD COUNT: 1.5k
SUMMARY: you’ve long since known that you would mean nothing more to gojo satoru than just another lay, but this time, you’ve had enough.
NOTES: idk how this came about but i needed to try to get out of a slump, sorry if i’m a little rusty <3 likes & rbs always appreciated.
You’d rather be a little something, than nothing at all.
The party outside drones on, but it’s nothing more than mere background noise for the both of you. You’re sure Getou is going to kill the both of you for ruining his sheets, but right now, neither of you could care less.
“S-Sato—”
His quick hands shoot up to clamp over your mouth, grip impossibly firm around your cheeks, beautiful cerulean eyes emerge from behind his white tresses, looking down at you with a hint of a warning behind their unrelenting glare.
Yes, a simple warning you know all too well: Shut up, you’re about to ruin the illusion.
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