Forgive Me Daddy For I Have Sinned 🛐

meet you where the sky meets the earth

to love is to listen to your heart, not your brain. to dream whilst in love, is to make your brain listen to your heart.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; former teacher x former student [gojo is six yrs older than reader]; bittersweet fluff; you're so in love w satoru, it shd hurt- but it doesn't because you've grown numb to the ache; one-sided feelings [are they really?]; few mentions of food; gojo calls you 'cookie'; this is way too tender even for me, istg; 1.5k wc

▸ belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna! 😊

▸ the header is from pinterest, the dividers are by @benkeibear, the characters used here aren't mine. pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this. hope y'all enjoy reading this ❤️❤️

the first time you think of marrying gojo, you're only twenty years old.

hardly the age to be dreaming of wedding bells at, right?

yeah, right. that's very, very right— still, your heart is your heart, just how your brain is your brain, the former easily swaying the latter by a few skipped beats— and you find your cheeks growing warm, laughs stumbling past your lips as you place the box of cornflakes into your shopping cart.

gojo sputters from beside you, eyes comically wide behind his shades as they dart from you to the elderly woman before.

you take a second to compose yourself before answering the ask that created this mess in the first place, a polite smile lining your face, "oh, no– not at all, ma'am! we're not married. i'm just an old friend helping him with the groceries, haha."

"oh," that's the only thing the woman says in reaction, kind smile now a tiny frown before it reappears. and she apologises, "i'm sorry, dears. just thought you two to be newlyweds from how giddy and loving you seemed to each other... time i went for an eye check-up, yes?"

"hey, please don't be sorry..." you start to say, but before you can get any further, the woman has already walked away with her shoppping basket.

you fall silent.

the same way the man next to you too has grown quiet, an awkward silence taking up the foot between you both. until you break it with a strained chuckle.

"we were acting giddy and loving to each other, eh?"

"were we?" comes the contemplative question to your comment. you look up to find gojo looking at you, the blue of his eyes weirdly bright in the dim lights of the supermarket as he repeats, "were we, cookie?"

yes. no. you don't really know—

yes, 'cause you know you love him.

not since forever, no, but close enough to it: your once-fascination for the supposed mortal deity of the jujutsu world, the mitochondrion on which the cellular structure of the society banks to survive; that grew into something made of wonder, respect and fondness, as you slowly came to know not only the icon but also the man behind it; that grew into something so profound, nestling deep within your existence– so much so that you feel the earth shifting on its axis everytime he calls you or grins at you or just looks in your direction—

no, 'cause you know you aren't loved back.

not the way you wish to be... not that you blame gojo for that, though!

you know he is way too busy to be thinking of such topics– what with being the strongest sorcerer ever, the head of the one-man gojo clan, the teacher to the first-years at tokyo high, the legal guardian– but in fact, the father figure to the two kids, 'gumi and 'miki– or maybe, just maybe, he is busy, alright, but not too busy— gojo simply doesn't see you that way; he sees you to be nothing but his former student— one he knows he can rely on to help with his children, or the groceries, or a variety of other menial daily tasks he can just hire help for—

you don't know.

yeah... you really, really don't know– and by now, you think you don't even want to know anymore. it's easy, it's safe, it's nice to remain not knowing. the word 'yes' comes with too many dreams– the word 'no' serves the perfect haven to nightmares.

the three words "i don't know" bear no such burden on their back– an untroubled answer you decide to offer, decide to escape using for the time being— until a slight knock on the head interrupts you, followed by an entertained set of chortles.

you peer up to find gojo beaming down at you, his eyes crinkled and cheeks dimpled. something twists in the middle of your chest, but it isn't painful; it's grounding. pleasant, even.

"it's too easy to get you worried, y'know? you're unbelievably easy to manipulate, heh."

"oh, am i now?" you retort, eyes narrowing into a cross glare– only to be betrayed by the fond smile grazing your lips not even a beat later. the man hums, grin simmering down to a knowing smile.

"mmhm," he says with that musical sway to his tone that never fails to make your fingers tingle, "you should have seen your face when i asked you the question– so pale and stiff– almost as if i was asking you to leave then and there, hearing that granny's comments—"

"you would have asked me to, if they were true– wouldn't you?"

gojo's smile vanishes in the blink of an eye. and you think the hand he has stretched out to the shelves of biscuits might fall too– but it does not, and you see him take a packet of your favourite bourbon biscuits followed by a packet of the digestives you've been forcing him to eat, and place them into the cart.

he checks the shopping list in your hand before he looks back at you.

before he smiles back at you: so soft, so solemn, so un-satoru— you instantly regret interrupting him with such a question.

but you do know how it is, don't you? what with a thudding heart and a thinking brain...

the handle of the cart digs deep indents into your palm as you press the weight of your worries into the cool metal and lean towards your companion on this grocery run, the same way a moth flies towards a flame, towards its doom–

"don't you ever dream of falling in love, gojo-san?" you let your voice drop to a murmur, audible only to you and the object of your desires, the subject of your worries, "do you not dream of a happily ever after with your 'one'– do you, gojo-san?"

"no," the response to your words comes in the very same instant. the man's shades slip a touch down the bridge of his nose as he pins his sharp gaze on you– though it can do nothing to hide the mild tremor in his grin from you when he says, "and i don't plan on dreaming ever. dreaming is only for fools with too much time to spare– do i look like a fool with too much time to spare, cookie?"

no. not at all. you don't. you look the farthest from it, in fact— is what you know you should say, and just drop the matter. for now. forever—

but you don't... just don't.

retorting instead, still a murmur but with the faint lick of a fire now, "and what do you suggest should be done to those fools, gojo-san? punished severely for their grievous crime of dreaming, hm?"

"oh, don't be too harsh," he tuts with a breezy chuckle, "what people do is honestly their business; one i've got no interest in interfering in— but..." his grin twists into something wry, a change you find tough to tear your gaze away from, "i don't think i would give such folks the time of my day– it's simply not worth it to talk with those whose feet are not on the solid ground, floating around meaninglessly in air–"

"why are you talking with me then?"

interrupted, gojo blinks. once, and twice, then thrice.

you watch your face crumple in the dark tint of his shades, withering and cracking in the dull light and stale air of this stupid supermarket; but definitely not as stupid as you:

messing things up when they're perfectly fine and alright, only 'cause you do not, rather cannot, keep your mouth shut, no matter what– all your inhibitions let gone of as your heart gains control over your brain and your stupid damned mouth—

you feel a tiny knock on your forehead, the second time this evening, followed by strands of hair being gently brushed away; too careful for your breath to not get stuck in your chest. you peer up at the man in front, teeth lightly gnawing the inside of your lower lip.

gojo's features shift into something between fond and worried– you just hope you aren't misreading him right now– the man tucks those strands of hair behind the shell of your ear.

his fingers still right above your jaw, touching yet not really touching, features finally, finally, settling into a smile– "maybe because i enjoy talking with you, cookie, no matter how foolish you are."

some people say, marriage is a holy act, a sacred institution, in and of itself— connecting hearts, binding souls– cementing the promises of staying together forever... whilst few see marriage to be meaningless— paltry affair of papers and signatures and people, none bearing any significance, 'cause nothing can, not when it comes to the matters of the hearts, neither in proving nor in disproving them–

no matter what people think, you think you will be okay, irrespective of whether you marry gojo or not, irrespective of whether gojo loves you or not– provided– and this is a weird, still important 'provided'—

you and he end up shopping together in the supermarket, feeling and seeming so happy and comfortable with each other— others mistake you for a pair of newlyweds, blissfully deep in love.

tysm to my dearest andy [@andysdrafts], mimi [@avatarofstars] & dilay [@roseqzpd] for constantly motivating me while i was writing this. ilysm my darlings 😘😘😘

masterlist

STUCK WITH YOU - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru—strongest, cockiest, and, according to him, the hottest man alive—bows to no one. Until you came along and suddenly, he’s on his knees.

word count. 10.6k (i..dont know)

content. mdni fem! reader, zombie apocalypse au, violence, blood, pet names, satoru is a certified tease, cute banter because we love that here, they're so down bad for each other, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampie, soft satoru <3

author's note. i miss my man

The sky had been burning when the world ended.

You were fifteen—just a kid with scraped knees and a heart too big for the horrors it was about to witness. 

Sirens wailed through the streets, helicopters thundered above, and the sharp stench of smoke and decay clung to the air like death itself. One moment, your parents were urging you to run, voices trembling with fear. The next, everything shattered. A scream. Blood. The gurgled breath of something that wasn’t quite human anymore.

You had survived. Somehow. Alone.

But the cost of survival was everything.

-

The woods are silent, save for the crunch of your boots over frostbitten leaves. The moon hangs high above, pale and cold, casting everything in an unforgiving glow. You keep your knife gripped tight in one hand, the other cradling your growling stomach. It’s been three days since you last found anything remotely edible.

Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind feels like a threat. Years alone have trained you to expect the worst.

Then you pause.

Smoke. Just a wisp of it in the air. You sniff again, slower this time. It's faint, but definitely there.

You move like a shadow, quiet and cautious, weaving through trees toward the scent. And then you see it:

A flickering campfire nestled in a hollow clearing, throwing gold and orange light onto the figures beside it. Two men. Asleep—at least, you hope they are. One is lying flat on the ground, the other propped against a log, limbs long and sprawled, a blindfold covering his eyes.

There’s food by the fire. Real food. Bread. Cans. Water.

You inch closer, heart hammering. It’s been years since you’ve seen other people. You don’t know if that makes this moment safer… or far more dangerous.

You creep into the circle of warmth, fingers itching toward the supplies. Just one thing. That’s all you need.

You barely breathe as you crouch beside the campfire, the heat brushing against your frozen skin like a long-forgotten comfort. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a loaf of bread—real bread—but just as your hand closes around it, your boot nudges something metallic.

CLANG.

The tin can hits the ground, and for a moment, silence swallows everything.

Then—movement.

You whip your head toward the two figures by the fire. One shoots upright in an instant, long-limbed and alarmingly fast. The other groans awake, slower, disoriented. You don’t even have time to run.

"Don't move," the taller one says—voice low, commanding. You meet his gaze and—holy hell.

Snow-white hair, cerulean eyes. He stands like someone who’s fought the world and won. His blindfold hangs around his neck, exposing everything. It's him—the one with the voice that makes your skin prickle and a face that doesn’t belong in this nightmare world.

"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step forward. "And here I thought we were the only pretty faces left."

You swallow, frozen. His companion grabs a weapon, steps forward too, more cautious.

"Who are you?" the second man demands.

The white-haired man’s eyes never leave yours. He smirks.

"She’s hungry. Look at her. Poor thing."

You clench your fists. You’ve survived too long to be pitied.

"Touch me and I swear to god—"

The man raises his hands, mockingly innocent.

"Easy, sweetheart. No one’s touching you… unless you want us to."

You scrunch up your face, disgusted and his grin widens just a little.

You lift your knife. “I don’t want trouble. I just need food.”

“I’d say knocking over our supplies in the middle of the night is kinda trouble,” the dark-haired one says. His hair is tied back, strands falling loose around his face, his grip on his weapon steady. “Who are you?”

You swallow thickly. It’s been so long since anyone’s asked you that. Your voice is hoarse. “Just someone trying to survive.”

The white-haired one takes a lazy step forward, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Chill, Suguru. She’s not here to kill us,” he says, and then turns back to you. “You got a name, mystery girl?”

You eye him warily. “…Why do you care?”

He grins. “Because mine’s Gojo Satoru. And this grumpy one is Suguru.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell her our names, dumbass.”

But Gojo—Satoru, apparently—just shrugs, looking far too amused for someone who just woke up to a stranger trying to rob him.

Your fingers tighten on your knife. But something about him… those eyes… that voice…

“You really gonna stab the guy who might be your best chance at staying alive?” he asks, cocking his head. “Come sit. Eat. Or run. Up to you.”

Your stomach growls loudly.

Satoru grins wider. “That’s what I thought.”

You slowly lower your knife, but don’t put it away—not yet. Your eyes stay locked on them as you inch closer to the fire. The warmth should be a comfort, but your muscles are still taut, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

Satoru sprawls back onto a log like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s still smiling—lazy, smug, like he’s enjoying this little show. Suguru doesn’t relax. He stays seated, but his eyes follow your every move, knife still held tight in his hand.

You kneel beside the fire, close enough to reach the food, far enough to lunge away if you need to. There’s a dented pot with some kind of stew, still warm, and a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth.

“Help yourself,” Satoru says, waving a hand like he’s offering a royal feast. “We even warmed it up for you.”

You shoot him a glare but reach out cautiously, taking just a little. You sniff the stew first. Watch them.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” Suguru says dryly.

“That’s what someone who poisoned it would say,” you mutter, tearing off a bite of bread.

Satoru snorts. “She’s got a mouth on her. I like her.”

You ignore that. Instead, you eat slowly, eyes flicking between them. They don’t move. Suguru keeps watch. Satoru lounges like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.

“How long have you two been out here?” you ask finally.

“Long enough,” Suguru says, tone clipped.

"Too long," Satoru says, tossing a pebble into the fire like this is just another lazy night for him. "We move around, but we've got a base. Old prison, about twenty miles from here. You?"

You don’t answer right away.

“Alone,” you say after a beat. “I’ve been alone.”

The fire crackles between you.

Suguru’s gaze softens—just for a second. But Satoru’s smile stays.

“Well,” he says, stretching out his long legs, “you’re not alone anymore.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not staying.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But something tells me you might not leave either.”

He’s not threatening. He’s just… certain.

You’re crouched by the fire, still tense, still not entirely trusting, when Satoru leans back on his hands, head tilted.

“You should come with us,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’ll be safer.”

Your eyes flick to Suguru—he doesn’t hide the way his jaw clenches.

“She could be a liability,” Suguru mutters. “You don’t know her.”

“No,” Satoru agrees, grinning at you. “But I like her.”

Suguru sighs, deep and disapproving, but you see it—that soft flicker in his eyes that means he’s already given in.

Satoru turns back to you. “We’re heading out at first light. If you’re in, pack whatever you’ve got.”

You nod, hesitant. But, maybe… maybe this is the start of something.

-

A gentle nudge to your shoulder. Then a voice, light and annoyingly cheerful.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Big day today.”

You blink awake to Satoru crouching beside you, white hair a wild halo against the rising sun. He grins.

“You snore, by the way.”

“I do not.”

“You do. It was cute.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me why I agreed to come with you again?”

“Because I’m charming,” he beams. “Now come on. We've got a long way to go—and Suguru’s already in a mood.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe he wouldn’t be if you stopped talking.”

“Ohhh, savage!” he clutches his chest, stumbling back like you just stabbed him. “You wound me, stranger.”

You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder. “Not a stranger anymore, remember? You practically adopted me last night.”

Satoru grins, falling into step beside you. “True. You’re my problem now.”

“Joy,” you mutter, but your lips twitch despite yourself.

Suguru’s already waiting up ahead, arms crossed, brow arched like he’s already tired of this nonsense. “You two done flirting or should I keep walking?”

You open your mouth to protest, but Satoru gets there first.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Suguru.”

“I will leave you in the woods,” Suguru replies flatly.

“You’d miss me in an hour.”

“You wish.”

You stifle a laugh and glance between the two. “Are you always like this?”

Satoru flashes you a grin. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

-

The trek through the forest had been relatively quiet—birds rustled above, trees whispering overhead, and Satoru talking your ear off. But midway through the journey, something shifts.

Suguru’s head tilts first, eyes narrowing at the faint crunch in the distance. Not a squirrel. Not a rabbit.

You hear it next.

Low. Guttural.

A hiss.

Then another.

They come from the trees. Slow at first—one stumbles into view, then two, then more. Rotting limbs. Glazed-over eyes. That sickening gurgle of hunger.

“Aw, shit,” Satoru grins like it’s a party. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Suguru already has his blade drawn, calm as ever. “Don’t play around, Satoru.”

“No promises.” He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt. “Time to impress the new girl.”

The first zombie lunges—and Satoru moves. A blur of motion, too fast to follow. The undead’s head twists unnaturally before it even hits the ground.

Suguru moves more fluidly—clean, precise slashes. No theatrics. Just deadly efficiency. His blade slices through two more, not even a drop of blood on him.

But they just keep coming.

Your heart pounds in your ears. Adrenaline surges. You’d been careful to avoid confrontation all these years, but this is different. You're not alone anymore. And you won’t be dead weight.

You draw your blade—sharpened scrap metal turned makeshift machete—and steady your breath.

One charges. You duck, spin, and drive the blade clean through its skull. Another reaches for you. You kick it back hard, burying your weapon in its chest before pulling it free with a grunt.

Satoru whistles low. “Well damn.”

“Focus,” Suguru mutters, cutting another down.

You move together now, three separate forces of destruction.

Satoru’s grinning like a madman, whirling and laughing with every kill. “You seeing this? She’s got bite!”

Suguru flicks blood off his blade. “You could take a lesson from her.”

Zombies litter the ground within minutes. The forest falls silent again—except for your panting breaths.

Satoru walks over, brushing blood off his cheek. “Well, that was fun. You good?”

You nod, chest still heaving. “Peachy.”

“Okay, badass,” he says with a grin, then nudges your shoulder playfully. “I take it back. You’re not just some lost little stray. You’ve got some claws.”

Suguru simply gives you a once-over, silent approval in his gaze.

You sheath your blade. “Told you I could handle myself.”

Satoru grins wider. “Yeah, and it was hot.”

-

The journey's been long, your legs aching from the endless trek, your guard never once lowered—not even with Satoru’s ridiculous jokes or Suguru’s unnervingly sharp eyes on you.

But when the trees begin to thin and the rusted silhouette of a massive abandoned prison looms ahead—walls towering, fences lined with jagged barbed wire, and lookout towers standing tall like watchful sentinels—you feel something you haven't in years:

Hope.

Gojo stretches lazily, like the walk didn’t faze him at all. "Home sweet hellhole," he grins. "Bet you weren’t expecting this kind of palace."

Suguru doesn’t say much, just gestures for you to follow. The guards on the watchtower whistle low when they see the trio approaching, and the gates creak open. Inside, the prison yard is alive—people bustling, fires burning in steel barrels, children laughing (actual children), and survivors moving with purpose.

You're stunned. You didn’t think this kind of order still existed.

A kid runs up to Gojo. “Satoru! You’re back!”

“Obviously,” he winks, tossing his jacket at the kid. “Miss me?”

You stare, wide-eyed.

“You’re like… respected here?”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” Gojo deadpans. “Stick with me, newbie. I’ll show you the ropes. Maybe even let you survive.”

Suguru glances back, quiet for a moment. “Don’t get too comfortable. It’s safe, but it’s not paradise.”

Gojo leans closer to you as you're led through the gates.

“Don’t worry. If anything tries to eat you—aside from me—I’ll kill it.”

Your face burns and he just smirks like he’s got you all figured out.

“Aww, don’t get all shy, now. Where’d all that bite from earlier go?” he teases, voice low and entirely too smug.

You shove him with a scowl, cheeks still flaming. “Shut up, lecher.”

He stumbles back with a dramatic gasp, hand clutching his chest. “Lecher? Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”

Suguru sighs ahead of you. “Ignore him. He gets like this when he’s not punched often enough.”

Gojo just throws an arm around your shoulders, unbothered and still grinning. “Admit it, you missed human interaction.”

You glare up at him. “I missed silence.”

“Too bad,” he chirps, “you’re stuck with me now.”

You follow Gojo through the looming gates of the old prison turned fortress, the creak of rusted metal echoing off cold concrete walls. The place is… intimidating, but secure. High fences, makeshift watchtowers, guards with weapons patrolling like hawks. Survivors glance your way—curious, cautious—but no one approaches just yet.

“Well,” Gojo grins, throwing his arms out dramatically, “welcome to paradise, sweetheart.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can answer, a voice calls out.

“Don’t call new recruits that, Gojo.”

A tall woman leans against the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, lab coat stained with faded blood. She looks you up and down, then flicks ash to the ground with a sigh.

“Ieiri Shoko. I’m the doctor over here,” she says. “You look like hell.”

“…Thanks?”

“She means ‘you’ll fit right in,’” Gojo says brightly, nudging your shoulder. “She’s got a warm heart under all that… nicotine.”

Before you can respond, another figure approaches—sharp, calculating, blond hair swept neatly back and a stern face that reads no nonsense allowed.

“Nanami Kento,” he introduces himself. “I hope you know how to follow rules.”

You stiffen slightly. “Depends on the rules.”

Gojo chuckles. “Play nice, Nanamin. She’s new.”

“And she’ll stay alive longer if she learns structure.”

You barely have time to absorb that before someone barrels into the conversation like a human golden retriever.

“Gojo-sensei! You’re back!”

A pink-haired young man skids to a stop beside you, eyes wide with excitement. “Whoa—new person?! Hi! I’m Itadori Yuji!”

You blink, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of energy.

“Yuji,” Gojo sighs fondly. “Tone it down a little, yeah? She’s been through it.”

Yuji’s smile softens. “Right, sorry. Still—welcome. You hungry? We’ve got canned peaches! They’re not that bad if you hold your breath.”

A scoff cuts through the chaos.

“That’s how you welcome someone? ‘Peaches if you hold your breath’?”

You turn to see a girl with sharp eyes, short auburn hair, and a confident stance stroll up like she owns the place.

“Kugisaki Nobara,” she says, hand on her hip. “Don’t let the dumb smiles fool you—Yuji’s annoying, but he’s not dangerous. Usually.”

Yuji pouts. “Rude.”

And last, from the shadows near the barracks, a low voice.

“Don’t overwhelm her.”

A tall boy steps forward, dark hair, brooding expression. Cold eyes meet yours briefly before shifting away like he’s already bored of this interaction.

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

You blink. “Nice to meet you… all.”

“You’ll get used to the chaos,” Nobara says. “Eventually.”

Gojo’s grin widens, like a proud dad watching his weird little family.

“See? Told you you’d like it here.”

You’re not sure yet. But for the first time in years, you’re not alone.

-

The base is a repurposed prison, all concrete walls and rusted bars, but the way Gojo walks its halls, it might as well be a palace.

“Welcome to paradise,” he grins, pushing open a barred door that creaks like it’s complaining. “Don’t let the charming décor fool you. The rats love it here.”

You roll your eyes but follow him in. He gestures with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Your very own cell—er, suite.”

The room is small, but clean. A bed shoved into one corner, a patched-up mattress, and even a chipped mirror on the wall. You nod, impressed despite yourself.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I gave you the one with a window. You can thank me later.”

You smirk and step back out into the hallway. “Trying to impress me, Gojo?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m a peacock in the apocalypse, baby.”

You laugh under your breath and follow him down a narrow hall. There’s a dip in the concrete, a crack in the floor you don’t notice until your boot catches—your heart jumps as you pitch forward, but Gojo’s arms are immediately around you.

Strong. Steady. Warm.

“Careful now,” he murmurs, voice all silk and smugness. “You fell for me already?”

You’re pressed against his chest, your breath caught in your throat, face heating up. He doesn’t move right away—his hands settle on your waist, casual and intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You shove him off with a flustered glare. “Shut up, lecher.”

He grins, wide and infuriating. “That’s more like it.”

The rest of the tour is quieter. You pass rooms where others sleep, the mess hall, the infirmary where Shoko’s set up shop. You even glimpse Yuji hauling supplies with Nobara snapping at him in the distance.

But then Gojo stops in front of a heavy iron door—no windows, no markings. His face changes. The joking fades.

“Whatever you do,” he says, voice low, “don’t go into the commissary. Not alone. Not ever.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His blue eyes sharpen beneath his snowy lashes.

“Because even monsters like us keep our secrets somewhere,” he says softly. “And some doors are locked for a reason.”

You stare at him, heart knocking against your ribs.

Gojo Satoru, unshakable, untouchable… looking haunted?

Your skin prickles.

But he flashes you that lazy grin again, like nothing happened. “Now come on. You haven’t seen the courtyard. Yuji likes to wrestle people out there—it’s horrible. You’ll love it.”

And just like that, the moment passes… but the warning stays.

-

The rooftop’s quiet late at night.

The chaos of the base fades into a hush, just the distant hum of wind brushing over cracked cement and rusted fences. You lie back against the cool surface, arms behind your head, eyes fixed on the sky above. For once, it’s clear. A spatter of stars gleam like glass shards across a velvet sky.

You let yourself breathe.

No infected. No screaming. No fear.

Just the stars.

Footsteps approach—light, familiar, cocky.

“I knew you were a stargazer,” Gojo says, easing himself down beside you with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve got that dreamy, melancholic look. So poetic.”

You don’t look at him. “You’ve got that annoying, uninvited energy. So parasitic.”

He barks out a laugh. “Ow. You wound me, sweetheart.”

A beat passes. Then another.

You can feel him watching you, but for once, he doesn’t speak.

And somehow, that’s more unsettling.

“…You alright?” you ask, finally glancing his way.

He’s leaning back on his elbows, white hair messy from the wind, blue eyes locked on the stars—but they’re distant. Quiet. A far cry from their usual teasing glint.

“I’m heading out tomorrow,” he says casually. “Scouting mission. Few days tops.”

You blink. “Oh.”

Something flickers in your chest. It shouldn’t. Not like this.

“Oh,” you repeat, softer. “Right.”

A part of you wants to ask why he’s going. Another part wants to pretend it doesn’t matter. You settle for neither, chewing your lip, trying to ignore the weight settling in your gut.

Satoru glances at you then, his smirk lazy but his voice just a touch softer.

“Try not to miss me, yeah?”

You scoff. “I’ll throw a party the second you leave.”

“That’s what they all say,” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. “Then they realize how boring life is without me.”

His smile is all mischief—but behind it, there’s something warmer. Something real.

And for once… you don’t fire back. You just look at him.

Maybe you’ll miss him a little. Just a little.

-

You don’t expect his absence to linger. But it does.

You feel it in the small silences—the way the mess hall feels quieter without his dumb jokes echoing through it, how sparring sessions feel colder without him barging in with some smug, offhanded comment about your form.

At night, you find yourself back on the rooftop. The stars are still there, but they don’t sparkle like they used to. It’s stupid, you tell yourself, because what kind of person starts depending on a man like that?

He’s loud. He’s infuriating. He teases you relentlessly.

But… he saw you. When you thought no one ever would again.

Shoko notices the way you’ve been spacing out more. She doesn’t say anything until the third night.

“You okay?”

You nod. Too quickly. “Fine.”

She squints at you. “You’re not fine. You’re moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

She clicks her tongue. “Acting like someone’s girlfriend.”

You nearly knock your cup over. “I’m not—!”

But you don’t finish that sentence. Because the words feel too close to something you’ve been avoiding.

You try to bury it—tell yourself it’s just concern. You’re just… grateful. It’s not like that. You don’t miss his stupid smirk or the way he always stands too close just to fluster you. You don’t care about how his hair always looks so damn soft, or how his voice drops a little when he’s serious with you.

You don’t.

You don’t.

Then the whispers start.

“No signal from the scouting team.”

“They were supposed to be back by now.”

A cold chill snakes down your spine.

You start going to the gate more. Just to check. You pretend it’s coincidence.

It’s not.

You catch yourself gripping the straps of your bag harder than usual. You’ve never hated waiting so much in your life.

Until one evening—

The gates finally creak open.

Your breath catches in your throat as the guards call out a name. Several figures walk through the archway, dust and blood clinging to their clothes.

And there he is.

White hair, blue eyes. One sleeve ripped off, a gash on his collarbone, dried blood staining his neck—but he’s alive.

“Satoru,” you whisper, already walking forward.

His eyes find yours instantly. That grin pulls at his lips like it never left.

“Aww, did you miss me?”

You don’t answer. You just hit his shoulder. “Idiot.”

But then your hands linger, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling him into a tight hug.

He stiffens, just for a second. Then his arms slide around you, strong and warm.

“Try not to cry too hard,” he mutters, voice light—but there’s something tight beneath it.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Sure you do,” he chuckles, and when you pull back, his smile softens.

You don’t know what this feeling is. Or maybe you do. You just don’t want to name it yet.

But you know this: You’re glad he came back.

And for now, that’s enough.

-

You wander the halls of the prison alone, the hum of fluorescent lights above your head flickering inconsistently. Satoru had taken the kids out back for training, and with nothing to do and no one to bother you, you figured you’d finally explore the rest of the base.

The place was massive—too massive. Each cell block looked like the next, corridors looping endlessly into each other until your curiosity outweighs your sense of direction. One door, rusted and slightly ajar, catches your eye.

You should’ve turned around.

You push it open.

Inside is dark, dusty. Shelves line the walls, broken crates and old rations tossed everywhere. You wander deeper, hesitant but unaware. That is…until it hits.

The smell.

Rotting flesh, stagnant air, the thick, unmistakable stench of death.

And then—movement.

Shuffling. A low groan. Shadows twitch. A hand smacks against a shelf and knocks it over with a crash.

They're here.

Your eyes snap wide and panic sets in instantly. There are so many.

You run.

You shove a metal shelf in their path, throw an old stool, anything you can get your hands on to slow them down. Your breaths are shallow, desperate. But just as you near the exit—

Your ankle gives out.

A sick snap, searing pain, and you crash to the floor with a cry. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the wall, using your good leg to kick anything that comes close.

This is it. This is it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding.

Gunshots.

The sound like thunder crashing right next to your ear.

You blink up, barely processing the white blur tearing through the undead like paper.

“I told you not to go in here!” he shouts, voice slicing through the chaos.

“Satoru—!”

The zombies turn just in time for Satoru to drive his fist into the nearest one’s chest, cracking bone and sending it flying back into the others like bowling pins.

“Seriously?” he growls, stepping in front of you, his broad back shielding your crumpled form. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”

One lunges from the side. Gojo ducks effortlessly, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the ground so hard its skull splits open on impact. Another claws at his shoulder, but he just grabs its wrist, twists, and kicks out its knee in one brutal motion. It collapses, and he doesn’t even look as he drives a sharp piece of wood through its head.

And then—you're in his arms. Just like that.

Lifted effortlessly, pressed against his chest as he strides out of the hellhole.

You cling to him, trembling.

“I didn’t know it was the commissary,” you whisper between sobs. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I just—God, I’m so sorry, Gojo, I—”

His voice is low, firm, but gentle. “Hey. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

You look up at him, lip quivering. “I—I made you worry…”

“Yeah, you did,” he says with a wry little smirk, but his eyes are too soft, too relieved to match it. “Don’t ever do that again, got it?”

You nod.

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. “Because if I lost you... I’d have to kill the rest of the world just for pissing me off.”

Your breath hitches.

You stare up at him, heart pounding, face flushed from more than just the sprint for your life.

“W-What kind of psycho logic is that?” you mutter, trying to deflect, your voice barely steady.

Satoru smirks down at you, still holding you effortlessly in his arms like you weigh nothing. “C’mon, don’t act so surprised. I’m dramatic, haven’t you noticed?”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, trying not to combust under his gaze.

“And you’re blushing,” he points out smugly, nose nearly brushing yours. “Kinda cute, actually.”

You twist in his hold, hiding your face against his shoulder. “Shut up,” you mumble, voice muffled.

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Can’t. Teasing you is the only thing keeping me sane these days.”

You can feel the tension slipping away, replaced by something heavier, warmer. He lowers you gently onto a nearby bench just outside the danger zone, kneeling before you like it’s second nature, hands skimming your calves as he examines your ankle again.

When he looks up this time, his expression is different. Less playful. More raw.

“I meant it, you know,” he says quietly. “You scared the hell out of me in there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, hand brushing yours. “But next time, brat, wait for me. No solo adventures.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re calling me a brat now?”

“Borrowing the title. Think I earned it after saving your ass.”

You huff a laugh, cheeks still warm. “…Thanks.”

His grin softens. “Anytime.”

And just like that, you both sit there—his fingers still wrapped gently around your hand, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your knuckles—as the adrenaline fades and something else takes its place. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.

-

Satoru insists on carrying you the whole way to the infirmary, ignoring your every protest.

“This is unnecessary,” you mutter, burying your face in his shoulder to avoid every curious glance.

“You twisted your ankle and almost got mauled. Humor me,” he says, smug but gentle, like the two can coexist in him with ease.

He kicks open the infirmary door with his foot.

“Delivery for one idiot who wandered into a no-go zone,” he calls out casually.

Shoko looks up from her desk, raising a brow at the sight of you both. “Well, well. If it isn’t the base’s golden boy and his damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t distressed,” you blurt out instantly, wiggling in Gojo’s hold.

“Oh?” she hums, amused. “You sure? Because I could’ve sworn I heard ‘Gojo! Help!’ from all the way down the hall.”

You splutter. “That’s not— I mean—”

“Loudly,” she adds with a pointed smirk.

Satoru just laughs and sets you down on one of the cots, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary on your back before stepping aside.

“She’s fine. Just the ankle,” he says. “But maybe check if she sprained anything else. She fell pretty hard.”

Shoko moves closer, completely ignoring the medical part for now, because she’s too focused on watching the both of you squirm.

“Ohhh,” she teases, eyes sparkling. “Look at the two of you. Cute. Almost like a couple.”

You and Satoru freeze at the exact same time.

“Nope!” “Not a couple!” “Definitely not!”

You shoot each other a panicked glance and then immediately look away, flustered messes in stereo.

Shoko snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You glare. “Can we just focus on my ankle now?”

“Fine, fine,” she drawls, clearly enjoying herself. “Just sayin’. Wouldn’t be the worst match. You get saved, he gets to play hero. Very fairytale.”

“I hate all of this,” you mutter under your breath, while Satoru just smiles to himself, unbothered but definitely pleased.

When Shoko starts wrapping your ankle, he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.

And you swear you see it—that tiny, knowing glint in his eyes.

Like he wants her to say it again.

Because maybe, just maybe… he doesn’t mind the idea.

-

It’s later that night when there’s a knock at your door. You’ve barely had time to settle in, still awkwardly hobbling around on one foot with your bandaged ankle.

“Who is it?” you call.

“It’s your favorite,” comes the unmistakable voice from the other side.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t know Nanami suddenly got chatty.”

A muffled chuckle. “Ha. Hilarious. Open up.”

You limp to the door and unlock it. Satoru is standing there, a little disheveled, hands full.

“Brought you dinner,” he says casually, holding out a tray with two mismatched bowls, steam still curling from the soup. “Figured you might be tired of Shoko’s painkillers and snark.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says dramatically, stepping in without being invited. “That’s what makes me so noble.”

You laugh despite yourself, and he grins like that was the goal all along. He sets the tray down on your little desk, then gestures toward your bed.

“Come on, sit. Can’t have you falling over again. One near-death experience per day is my limit.”

You sit, trying not to look too charmed when he settles next to you—close, but not too close—just enough for your knees to brush.

“I still feel terrible about earlier,” you say after a moment, poking at the edge of your bowl. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me,” he says too quickly, too nonchalantly.

You glance up. “Liar.”

He sighs and leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Fine. Maybe I panicked a little. Sue me.”

A silence lingers, not uncomfortable. Just… warm.

Then, softer: “Don’t do that again, okay?”

You look at him, really look at him—the shadows under his eyes, the slight dip in his brow, the way his voice softens when it’s just you and him.

And something in your chest stirs. Something that’s been creeping in, slow and steady, ever since he offered you food by a fire that first night.

You nod. “I won’t.”

He glances over, catches your gaze—and doesn’t look away this time.

There’s something unspoken passing between you. Familiar. Intense. Safe.

“You’re really something, y’know that?” he murmurs.

You raise a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirks. “Depends. You gonna fall harder for me if it is?”

You flush instantly. “Satoru—”

He laughs and nudges your bowl toward you. “Eat before it gets cold, princess.”

You grumble under your breath but dig in.

And Satoru?

He watches you with that same lopsided grin, heart doing something stupid in his chest.

Because yeah—maybe you fell.

But maybe he’s been falling, too.

-

It’s past midnight when you stir.

The pain in your ankle has dulled to a throb, but it isn’t what wakes you. It’s… something else. A presence. Warm. Close.

You blink against the low glow of the hallway light seeping under your door, and when your eyes adjust—

You see him.

Satoru.

Slouched in the chair by your bed, long legs awkwardly folded, head tipped to the side, snowy hair falling across his face in soft, messy tufts. His mouth is slightly parted, breathing slow and even. His arms are crossed, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.

Like he was just keeping watch.

Just in case.

Your heart does a little flip.

You shift quietly, trying not to make a sound. But even with all your care, the mattress creaks—barely. His eyes snap open immediately, hand twitching toward a weapon that isn’t there. Pure instinct.

Then he sees you. And relaxes.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice gravelly with sleep. “You’re awake.”

You sit up slowly. “Were you… here all night?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not all night. Just since… y’know. Evening.”

You squint at him. “Satoru.”

He sighs. “Fine. Yeah. All night.”

You stare at him. “Why?”

He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t wander off again and get yourself eaten.”

You frown. “You should’ve slept in your room.”

He smirks. “What, and miss out on babysitting you?”

You chuck a pillow at him.

He catches it easily and grins. But when he sees you holding his gaze, that grin softens.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admits, quieter now.

Something gentle settles in your chest. You pull your blanket up and scoot slightly to the side.

“…There’s space. If you’re tired.”

He blinks at you. “Are you asking me to cuddle, orrrr…”

You glare. “I’m offering you a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

He slides in beside you carefully, so carefully, like you’ll break if he jostles you too much. And then you feel the warmth of him next to you, his presence steady and solid and safe.

“…This okay?” he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dark.

You nod.

And slowly, slowly, you feel his fingers brush yours under the blanket. He doesn't hold your hand—not yet. Just touches.

Testing the waters.

You don’t pull away.

And in the silence that follows, you hear his breathing even out again.

But yours?

Yours is all over the place.

-

Morning sunlight filters through the barred window, casting soft stripes across your face.

You're warm. So warm.

Your cheek is pressed against something solid. Something that rises and falls gently beneath you. And there’s a hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you there.

Your heart skips.

Your eyes blink open—and there he is.

Gojo Satoru. Asleep. Face relaxed and serene, messy white hair haloed in gold light. His other arm is curled under your pillow, supporting your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And you're lying on top of him.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You should move. You need to move.

But just as you're about to untangle yourself—

Click.

The door creaks open.

You freeze.

“Oh my god,” comes Shoko’s voice, casual, amused, and way too smug. “Well, well—what do we have here?”

You nearly leap out of bed, scrambling to sit up—only for your body to protest painfully, and you wince with a hiss.

Satoru wakes with a start, blinking up at Shoko in confusion before slowly realizing the position you're in.

“Oh,” he says blankly. “Morning, doc.”

You swat his shoulder. “Say something useful?!”

Shoko just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like she’s discovered the world’s juiciest secret. “No no, don’t let me interrupt. I was just checking on the patient, but clearly, she’s in very good hands.”

You’re burning. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Shoko raises a brow. “Oh, so you weren’t cuddled up like two lovebirds all night? Should I tell Nanami you’ve finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense, Satoru?”

He stretches lazily and pulls the blanket back over himself with a smirk. “Actually, yeah. Tell him. Maybe then he’ll finally stop lecturing me about responsibility.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live this down.”

Shoko chuckles, walking away. “Nope. I’m telling everyone.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

You glare at Satoru through your fingers. “This is your fault.”

He grins. “You offered me a spot on the bed, your majesty.”

You shove a pillow at him. He catches it—again.

And then he smiles, soft and teasing, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

“...So. Want me to sleep over again tonight?”

“Get out.”

-

The first few days are rough.

You try to walk without limping. Try to reach for things on your own. Try not to feel like a burden.

But then there’s him.

You wake up to warm food at your bedside, Satoru leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Brought you breakfast in bed, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it—I’m not always this nice.”

He very much is.

He offers his arm without asking when you need support. Doesn’t mention it when you wince or grit your teeth. Just lets you lean on him, like you’ve always belonged there.

You try to carry something heavy across the hall—he appears out of nowhere, snatching it from your hands. “Tsk. You trying to die or what?”

You try to help in the kitchen. He catches you wobbling and swoops in with a hand around your waist. “Whoa there, Bambi. What happened to ‘taking it easy’?”

You try to sneak off to explore the base again. He corners you in the hallway with a look that says absolutely not. “You’re still healing, brat. Unless you want me to carry you everywhere again?”

Cue your entire face combusting.

He’s annoying. Cocky. Ridiculously persistent.

But…

He adjusts your blanket when you’re asleep on the couch. Tucks a water bottle by your side without saying anything. Teaches you how to balance properly on one foot so your ankle can recover without straining the other.

And at night, when you think everyone’s asleep, you catch him checking on you—quietly, carefully. Making sure you’re okay.

You pretend not to notice.

But your heart notices. It notices everything.

-

You stand in the middle of your room, shifting your weight onto your healed ankle, then back again. No pain. No tightness. Just a deep breath and the quiet realization:

You’re better. Finally.

The door creaks open without warning—because Satoru never knocks—and in he strolls with his usual swagger and two mugs in hand. “Morning, sweetheart. Brought you—"

He stops in his tracks.

You’re standing. Not limping. Not clutching the edge of the bed for balance.

Just… standing.

He squints, slowly lowering one mug. “...Why aren’t you in bed?”

You raise a brow. “Because I’m not dying?”

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” He sets the mugs down and points a very offended finger at you. “You don’t just get to get better without warning me. I was emotionally invested in this arc.”

You laugh. “Sorry to ruin your Florence Nightingale fantasy.”

“Ruin? Excuse you, I was thriving. Who’s gonna let me spoon-feed you now?”

You roll your eyes, limping toward him just to mess with him. “I could pretend, if it makes you feel better.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He walks over before you can say anything else—his hands hover, cautious at first, then one slides to your waist. “You really okay?”

You nod. “I’m good. Really.”

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Then he grins. “Alright. Guess that means I can stop being your personal nurse and go back to being your favorite nuisance.”

You’re smiling. He’s back to teasing. But there’s a softness in his eyes that lingers a little too long, a thumb that brushes your hip before falling away.

He missed taking care of you.

And maybe, just maybe, you kind of miss being taken care of.

-

You’re jogging laps around the edge of the prison yard, the early morning chill nipping at your cheeks. It’s peaceful—quiet enough that your footsteps and the rhythmic beat of your breath are the only sounds you hear.

Until a familiar voice breaks through the silence.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brat, back in action.”

You slow down, a smirk tugging at your lips as you turn toward the voice—and promptly choke on air.

Satoru.

Stretching.

Shirtless.

His snowy hair tousled from whatever ungodly workout he’s been doing, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his chest and abs like the universe conspired to craft a Renaissance painting just to spite you. His sweats hang low on his hips, revealing that infuriating V-line that should not be legal in a post-apocalyptic society.

You blink. Once. Twice.

He grins, catching the way your eyes are very not subtly stuck on him.

“Like what you see?”

You scowl, instantly turning your gaze to a very fascinating patch of dirt on the ground. “Please. I’ve seen better.”

“Mmhm.” He takes a deliberate step forward, arms crossing over his annoyingly perfect chest. “Name one.”

“...”

“That’s what I thought.”

You huff and start jogging again, forcing your eyes to stay forward. But then he jogs up beside you—shirtless and smug, of course—and easily matches your pace.

“You sure you’re fully healed? What if you, I dunno… trip and fall again?” he says, tone mockingly sweet. “Need me to catch you, princess?”

“I’d rather faceplant into a zombie.”

He laughs, low and lazy. “I dunno, that sounds painful. Better to land on something soft. Like me.”

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he nudges you playfully with his elbow, “you’re still jogging next to me. Who’s really winning here?”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck. But deep down, you know.

He’s definitely winning.

-

After the jog, Satoru insists you “cool down” with some light sparring. You roll your eyes, but follow him to the training mats anyway. He’s already bouncing on his heels when you step in front of him, still shirtless, still smug.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he teases. “Wouldn’t want to break you again.”

“I’m more worried about bruising your ego,” you shoot back, taking your stance.

He whistles low. “Feisty. I like it.”

The sparring begins—light jabs, easy dodges. You’re nimble, focused, but he is... effortless. Every time you swipe at him, he ducks with a grin. When you go in for a kick, he sidesteps and lets out an exaggerated yawn.

“You done yet, sweetheart?” he asks, still dancing around you. “At this rate, I could do this blindfolded.”

“Shut up and hold still!” you lunge at him again—this time faster, bolder—but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and spins you around so fast the world tilts. Before you know it—

You’re pinned.

Back hits the wall. His hand holds your wrists above your head, other arm braced beside you. His body is dangerously close, breath fanning your cheek. His tone shifts, deeper. Rougher.

“You keep mouthing off like that,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming, “I might start thinking you want me to put you in your place.”

Your breath catches. “I—”

“Hmm?” he leans in, lips ghosting your jaw. “No witty comeback now?”

You try to move, but his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that this isn’t a game anymore.

“I could kiss you right now,” he whispers, “and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “You wouldn’t.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“Wanna bet?”

Your breathing is shallow, heat rising to your cheeks. You’re acutely aware of how close he is, the way his chest brushes against yours with every breath, the sharp glint in his eye, the smirk that’s far too smug for your sanity.

And then—

His lips graze your neck. Barely there. A soft brush of heat against your skin. You flinch—not out of fear, but from the jolt that shoots down your spine. Goosebumps bloom instantly. His breath tickles your skin.

“Sensitive,” he hums, lips ghosting up toward your jaw, “...cute.”

“Satoru—” you whisper, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to your lips, heavy and unblinking. And he leans in, slower this time, like he wants you to feel the anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat—

And then—

“AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?”

You both jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

Satoru spins around with a groan, still caging you against the wall. “Shoko. Seriously?”

She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow cocked and a wicked smirk playing at her lips. “Wow. Could cut the tension with a scalpel. Should I come back later or just pass you a condom now?”

“Shoko,” you squeak, face on fire, squirming to escape Gojo’s hold.

He lets you go reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. “You wish you caught the good part.”

“I did catch the part where your face was buried in her neck like a starving vampire,” Shoko deadpans.

You bury your face in your hands.

Satoru just laughs. “You jealous?”

“Please. I'd rather not watch my coworkers dry hump in public,” she says, already turning on her heel. “Anyway. You two lovebirds done? I need one of you to help with supplies.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves her off. Then he glances back at you, still all flushed and flustered, and leans down one last time to whisper in your ear:

“To be continued, princess.”

And just like that, he strolls off like nothing happened.

You're left against the wall, heart pounding, neck tingling, completely and utterly undone.

-

It’s quiet for once.

Most of the clan is out on a supply run or patrolling the perimeter. You’d offered to stay behind, helping Shoko reorganize her medical supplies before wandering off with a basket of laundry—warm clothes folded under your arm as you pace the empty corridors of the prison, barefoot, relaxed.

You finally set the basket down in the communal quarters, humming under your breath while sorting through what belongs to who. It’s… peaceful. The late afternoon sun slants in through the high windows, bathing everything in warm light.

Until—

“Picking up where we left off?”

You jolt, nearly dropping the shirt in your hands.

Gojo.

Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy like he just woke from a nap. His eyes are glinting beneath the lazy droop of his lashes, and that smirk—that godforsaken smirk—is unmistakable.

He saunters in before you can get a word in.

“Geez, you sneak up on people like a damn ghost,” you mumble, cheeks already burning as you turn back to the laundry.

“Aw, don’t be shy now,” he teases, coming closer. “You weren’t so shy when I had you pinned against the wall.”

You stiffen. “You got interrupted. Big difference.”

“Oh? So you wanted me to kiss you?”

You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already behind you, arms slipping around your waist—loosely at first, giving you a chance to push him away.

You don’t.

“I was thinking about you,” he murmurs against your ear. “All damn day. Thought I’d come see how you were holding up without me.”

“I was fine,” you huff, but it’s so breathless it betrays you instantly.

He chuckles. “That right?”

His hands glide up your sides, slow and sure, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just admit it—you missed me.”

You turn in his arms, glaring—but it’s weak at best. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he leans in, forehead brushing yours, voice dropping, “but I still remember how fast your heart was beating last time.”

You swallow.

And this time? There’s no Shoko to walk in. No patrols due back. No reason to stop.

You hesitate for a beat.

And then you pull him in by the collar.

The kiss is feral. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. Weeks—months—of tension snapping all at once. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he hoists you up like you weigh nothing.

“Fuck—” he groans against your lips. “You’ve been killing me, y’know that?”

You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. “Good.”

He pulls back, grinning. “Oh, you wanna play it like that?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before he’s kissing down your jaw, your neck, dragging that maddening tongue of his down your collarbone. His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, your thighs, sliding under your shirt like he owns you.

Which, at this point, maybe he does.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, hovering over your lips again. “Tell me now, and I will.”

You look him dead in the eyes, tug his shirt over his head, and whisper:

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Your back hits the nearest wall with a muffled gasp, Satoru’s mouth already on yours, hungry and hot. His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it with touch alone, fingers tugging at fabric with a frustrated groan.

“Off,” he growls into the kiss, already pulling your shirt over your head like it's offended him. He sets you down to pull your pants down along with your panties. And the moment you’re bare before him, he stands back, breath catching in his throat. His eyes—icy blue and blown wide with lust—roam your figure, landing on your chest like he’s just been given the meaning of life.

“…Can I motorboat your tits?”

You blink.

You laugh, startled and breathless. “Are you—are you serious right now?”

His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and he’s already surging forward to kiss you again. “Maybe next time,” he mumbles between kisses. “I don’t think I can wait to taste you now.”

You arch a brow, teasing, breath catching when he trails his mouth down your jaw. “Next time?”

He chuckles, low and dark. “You think I’m letting you off the hook after this?” His hands slide down your waist, thumbs stroking your hips. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna ruin you.”

Then he sinks to his knees.

The grin fades into something hungrier, more reverent as he kisses the inside of your thigh, dragging his teeth gently across soft skin. “Spread ‘em for me,” he says, voice a whisper but firm. And when you do, he groans like he’s just tasted something forbidden.

You cry out the second his tongue touches you, hands flying to grip his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to. It’s slow, torturous—his pace deliberate as he works you open, devouring like a man starved. His moans vibrate against your skin, and when your legs tremble, he just pins them open wider, groaning, “That’s it… let me hear you, baby.”

Your back arches as Satoru licks another slow, devastating stripe up your core, tongue curling at your entrance before he moves to suck gently on your clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs instinctively trying to close around his head—but his arms loop under your knees, spreading you wider, holding you open like he owns you.

“You're not going anywhere,” he mutters, eyes flicking up, glazed over with lust and something dangerous. “Told you. I’m gonna ruin you.”

Then he’s back at it—slower this time, tongue flattening against you, then circling, dragging soft groans out of you as the tension coils tight in your belly. He eats you out like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, savoring every movement, every moan he draws. He alternates between deep, dragging strokes and sharp, teasing flicks, lips closing around your clit to suck just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

You cry out, hips bucking up into his mouth, and he growls—low and throaty—as if turned on by how wrecked you already are.

"Fuck—so sweet," he groans, voice muffled against you. “Could stay down here all night.”

And he means it. He shifts slightly, tongue plunging into you now, slow and shallow, nose nudging your clit as he drinks in every sound you make like it fuels him. Every little tremble, every whimper—he devours it.

He doesn’t stop. Not when you start trembling, not when you whine his name in warning. He keeps going, lips slick and relentless, until—

Your vision whites out. Your body tightens, back bowing, mouth falling open on a silent scream as you fall over the edge, pleasure shattering through you like a storm.

Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening. He breathes hard, eyes dark and blown, grinning like he just won a war.

“That’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

He stands up again to pick you up, carrying you to the nearby table, settling you on it, completely bare under the low light, legs parted slightly, chest heaving. You’re flushed, trembling—not from fear, but anticipation. Nerves. Heat. It’s all crashing together in your head, and he sees it.

His hands move to his waistband, fingers curling beneath the fabric of his pants. He tugs them down with practiced ease, freeing himself—and your breath catches.

Your eyes drift down instinctively, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him. He’s big. Thick, flushed, already hard and aching.

Your pulse stutters, nerves flickering to the surface. “Oh…”

“Hey,” he says gently, fingers brushing your cheek. “You okay?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “It’s just… I’ve never done this before.”

Satoru freezes for a moment. His expression doesn’t shift much—but his eyes, bright and blue, soften in an instant.

“…You haven’t?” he asks quietly, tone a stark contrast to the sinful smirk he wore earlier. You shake your head.

He exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. Then he leans in and kisses you—slow, patient, loving.

“Well, fuck,” he murmurs against your lips. “Now I really have to behave.”

You blink up at him. “You? Behave?”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “Okay, maybe not completely. But I’ll go slow. Make it good for you. You trust me, right?”

You nod.

“Good.” His voice drops a little. “Then let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s gentle—so gentle it almost breaks you. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He pauses there, kissing over your breasts, fingers caressing your sides as though you might disappear if he’s not careful.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes. “Gonna remember this forever.”

When he finally lines himself up, he doesn’t rush. He keeps kissing you, whispering into your skin.

“Breathe with me,” he says. “Nice and easy, baby. Just relax.”

The stretch burns, but his voice never leaves you. His hands never stop moving—stroking your sides, brushing your hair from your face, thumbing away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “So tight, fuck—squeezing me like you were made for me.”

Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly, “I wanna see your face.”

You meet his eyes—blown wide with emotion, affection, reverence. And that’s when he starts to move. Slowly, so slowly you can feel everything. Every drag, every pull.

“Feels good?” he asks, and when you nod, he smiles like you’ve just handed him the universe.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, picking up pace just a little. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. My pretty girl, lettin’ me be her first.”

You moan—part embarrassment, part bliss—and he kisses the sound from your mouth.

“Can’t believe no one’s touched you like this before,” he mutters against your skin. “But I’m glad. Glad it’s me. Glad I get to show you.”

He starts rolling his hips deeper, each thrust slow and purposeful, coaxing pleasure out of you bit by bit.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

You’re already gasping—your body burning, overstimulated from the build-up and the way he moves inside you. Every drag of him is a stretch, a delicious ache, and you’re trying so hard to keep up, to breathe, to hold yourself together—but it’s too much.

And then it hits.

Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave—louder, sharper, more intense than the last—and your body tightens instinctively, your walls fluttering around him like they don’t want to let him go.

“Fuck—” Satoru’s voice breaks, a guttural groan tumbling from his throat as he stills, trembling above you. “You’re gonna ruin me, baby…”

His grip tightens on your waist, jaw clenched as he tries to hold back—but you’re squeezing him so tight, so perfect, and his restraint shatters.

“You’re killin’ me,” he grits out, starting to move again—deeper, slower, more intentional—but there’s an edge of desperation now. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “Feels so good—fuck, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You shake your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, barely able to form the words. “Please…”

He kisses you hard—like he can’t help himself, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. So, so good…”

“‘Toru-” you whimper.

That breaks him.

He groans, slamming into you harder, mouth finding your neck as he nips and kisses down to your collarbone. “Fuck. Say it again.”

You whimper again, brain hazy. “‘Toru…”

He kisses you slow then, deeper. Rough pace never faltering, but his hands gentler now—one wrapping around your waist, the other brushing the hair from your face.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re mine now, yeah?”

You nod desperately, legs locking around his hips. “Yours.”

“Damn right,” he grits, driving into you harder, chasing both your highs with everything he has.

The overstimulation has tears stinging your eyes, your legs trembling, voice catching on every moan. And when that next orgasm builds too fast, too hard—it snaps through you like a live wire. Your body arches off the table, clamping down around him again—

—and Satoru snaps.

“Shit—take it, baby. Let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna make you mine, fuck, you already are—look at you...” he chokes out, thrusting deep one last time before he comes, spilling into you with a long, breathless groan. His arms wrap around you as if to anchor himself, holding you so close, like he needs to feel every inch of you, inside and out.

“Look at you,” he murmurs between pants, pressing kisses across your face. “Takin’ me so well… You’re mine now, yeah? All mine.”

You nod, dazed and boneless, wrapped in his warmth.

And he stays like that, inside you, forehead resting against yours as he murmurs soft, reverent praises—like this wasn’t just your first time.

Like it was everything.

Your body’s still trembling—nerves fried, skin flushed, heart thudding against your chest as if it’s trying to burst free. You’re barely aware of anything except the warm, strong arms pulling you into a careful embrace, the kiss he presses to your temple like it’s the most sacred thing he could ever do.

“Hey…” Satoru murmurs, voice all honey and rasp, rough around the edges but impossibly gentle. “You okay?”

You nod, chest rising and falling against his, cheeks still hot, but there’s a smile on your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just… wow.”

He laughs softly, the sound low and breathy as his fingers brush along your spine in lazy, soothing strokes. “You were incredible,” he says, and he means it. Every word. “So good for me. So perfect.”

Your face scrunches with a flustered noise, burying it into his shoulder. “Stop…”

“Never,” he grins, nosing into your hair. “You don’t get to be all pretty and sweet and make those sounds and expect me to stay quiet about it.”

You groan. “Satoru—”

“Shhh.” 

His palm rests on your back as he holds you close, thumb drawing lazy circles. You can still feel the dull, pleasant ache of him inside you, the heat he left behind. His breath is warm against your cheek. Safe. Comforting.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs again, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “First time and you still managed to rock my fucking world.”

Your heart stutters. “Wasn’t just the sex,” you say quietly.

He stills for half a second—and then he smiles, soft and genuine.

“I know,” he whispers.

You’re still breathless, body flushed and boneless in his arms when Satoru gathers you close, lips pressed gently to your temple. The air between you is warm, quiet save for the distant hum of life around the base. He shifts a little, glancing down at the table beneath you both, and you catch that flicker in his eyes—guilt, soft and creeping.

“I should’ve…” he starts, voice low, almost sheepish. “Shit, I should’ve taken you somewhere better. A bed, a blanket, something that wasn’t a hardass table. It was your first time and I just—” He pauses, brows pinching like the regret’s eating at him now. “I got selfish.”

You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips ghost over his, shutting him up with a kiss so soft, so full of emotion it makes his heart stutter.

When you pull back, your smile is small but sure. “It was more than okay. Because it was with you.”

Satoru blinks, breath caught in his throat. And for once, the man with a mouth like a wildfire doesn’t have anything to say.

Until he pulls you tighter into his chest and mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You just grin into his skin. “Guess we’ll go down together then.”

Then silence. Not awkward, not tense—just full of warmth. Full of everything. His arms around you. Your fingers laced with his.

You don’t say it. Not yet. But maybe one day soon.

For now, the way he holds you like you’re something to be cherished?

It’s more than enough.

author's note. finally have time to post consistently! last month or two were BUSY so couldn't do much </3 i'm proud of how this one turned out ^^ also, shoko is such a baddie i love her

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century. 

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times. 

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru. 

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious. 

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it. 

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him. 

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble. 

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?” 

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago. 

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.” 

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot. 

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials. 

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.” 

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.  

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you. 

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful. 

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?” 

 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world. 

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk. 

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. 

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?” 

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.” 

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly. 

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?” 

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain. 

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision. 

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday. 

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.” 

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day. 

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind. 

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work. 

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant. 

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work. 

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly. 

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take. 

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will. 

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you. 

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out. 

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.” 

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour. 

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs. 

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used. 

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut. 

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi. 

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs. 

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss. 

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life. 

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud. 

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home. 

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads. 

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side. 

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them. 

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you. 

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face. 

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart. 

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest. 

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection. 

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his late high school days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them. 

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. 

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

this should be canon 🥹😩

Saw a panel with gojo's bloody face and then this little sketch happened.

🥹

water’s edge | 02

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au | official playlist

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: did i really just punch out a 12.9k chapter? 😅 thank you again to the loml @angstbot2000 for beta-reading! sorry for the wait everyone and thank uou for the sweet messages! again, reblogs are highly appreciated.

₊˚.༄ episode list: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. +++

Flashback: Shinjuku Opera City (a week after the jubilee gala)

Click. Beep. beep. beep Your wristwatch mimicked a ticking time bomb right now. You breathe once to make sure you were still, for all intents and purposes, alive. The smell of the Sauvignon blanc laid in front of you was so heavenly, its grape-like aroma tempting you to take a sip but you couldn’t, afraid that your body will just reject it in its current state of shock. You must have had a few too many earlier, your commoner palette not exactly used to the refreshing and crisp taste of white wine directly sourced from the rolling hills of Pouilly-Fume, and you must be hallucinating all this in your drunken stupor. Yes, all this was a hallucination, some sick naive dream you conjured after sharing a passing glance with the prince of the nation. It had to be, otherwise, why does it feel that your body has shut down? You were unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to think.

And you were adamantly sure that you had also been rendered unable to breathe.

“…Huh?” That probably sounded stupid to your unlikely companions, well, normally it isn’t that stupid if you haven’t said that every five minutes or so during this fateful encounter. “This is a mistake. You really want me to-?”

“-Yes,” he said immediately, his mother nodding alongside him. His finger glided across the rim of his scotch glass. He took it neat, of course, the Crown Prince is a man of good taste. “I can ask my people to help you move your belongings to a more dignified residence tomorrow morning.”

The empress frowned at Satoru’s backhanded comment about your way of life. “Satoru, you’re scaring her,” she whispered worriedly to her son.

“If she’s smart, sure,” Satoru hisseed under his breath. If he was going to propose to you and consequently marry you under his parents’ orders, he was going to do it his way. “Look, Ms…?” he trails off, your name escaping him.

“(Y/N),” you provided. “My name is (Y/N).”

He makes a soft ‘tch’ sound which goes unnoticed since you were too preoccupied in shaking away the haze of thoughts in your mind dimming your ability to think. He continues, “As I was saying. Ms. (Y/N),” he puts emphasis on your name, etching the loathsome sound of it into his mind. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

What did he mean by that? “Excuse me?”

“I know I said that I was just a fan when I sent you those flowers after your performance tonight but, I guess you could say I’ve become an admirer of yours.”

This was all scripted, and Satoru, despite having had a memory good enough to memorize has a good his entire family tree including the collateral branches before he even graduated from primary school, found the words getting stuck in his throat and he trailed off, his mind was filled to the brim with nothing but the face of the woman he is unwillingly betraying in the name of protecting his status.

But wasn’t this what she wanted when she threw herself at the emperor’s feet that night? She was selflessly allowing him to go through with this despite knowing that every false tender word that he says to you would be a dagger to her heart, that every moment spent with you instead of her would make her cry a river of tears.

It feels as if this entire thing was a circus he had been forced into because his crown was hanging dangerously off the edge of the tightrope above him. Forced to perform, forced to act, forced to smile so that he wouldn’t feel the sting of the whip his father, the ringleader, had in his hand. Wasn’t that something Satoru has always done? How was this any different from all the elaborate ruses he’s been ordered to perform? Gojo involuntarily looks behind his seat, craning his head back, hoping to see the familiar figure of the love of his life standing exactly a meter away from him, just as she’s always faithfully done, but that was all wishful thinking; Himiko had been removed from the duty of accompanying him tonight.

“I don’t think I’m just a fan,” he continues, turning his attention back to you, the words confessing his so-called love being uttered stoically. You stop him right there, the amount of bewilderment in your heart at a fatal maximum. His hand finds his pocket, searching for the godforsaken ring he is about to present to you. “And I—“

“—You’re just curious, Your Royal Highness,” you dismissed his so-called feelings with a shake of your head. “You’ve never been with someone outside your circle, and you’re curious about what it would be like to be involved with a commoner like me.”

When the words leave your lips, a stretch of panic washes over your face. Did you just disrespect the prince and the empress by doubting the sincerity of his words? Or did they disrespect you by treating you like a moron? Were you just supposed to believe that Prince Satoru had feelings for you? Your mind was spinning, and you were feeling a migraine aura beginning to form at your peripheral vision. You had to get out of there. Quickly moving the chair back so that you could stand up, you bow contritely to excuse yourself from the room. “Ms. (Y/N), please wait!” the empress sighs exasperatedly when you leave the private dining room of the high-class restaurant, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you hurriedly see yourself out.

Perhaps, they were being too hasty for you to say “yes”, too secretive about their true intentions. If they were to even have a chance of convincing you to marry Satoru, they have to let you in on the truth. Luckily, despite her age, the empress catches up to you just as you are about to hail a cab which was proving to be difficult since it was now past eleven o’clock and even the busy skyscraper district of Shinjuku was starting to look deserted.

“Ms. (Y/N),” she breathes, stopping just a few feet from you. “Please hear me out. I’m sorry, this was a mistake…”

“It's fine, Your Royal Highness, I know the Crown Prince doesn’t like me the way he says he does. I may not be as highly educated as you but I’m not an idiot.”

The empress looks on sadly. “Well,” she sighs, standing next to you. “I knew you would figure it out sooner or later. Still, I’m really sorry for what happened back there.”

You don’t respond for a long while, contemplating what to say; the air between you is one of awkwardness and something’s gotta give, otherwise, you and the empress would be standing in the middle of the empty street like total fools. You are the first to break, “Your Highness. Why me? And what’s this really about?”

Why on earth were you chosen over so many other women in Tokyo’s most affluent families to become Prince Satoru’s wife? You expected that this so-called dinner would be nothing more than a courtesy call to thank the prince and the empress for visiting the last night of your show. One could only imagine the emotional whiplash you felt when the prince suddenly offered for you to become his wife which was totally unexpected considering you have never spoken a word to one another before. Just what kind of a messed up Shakespearean romantic tragedy did you wind up in? This entire thing felt like a work by some deranged author who’s had one too many to drink while writing this poisoned manuscript of a love story.

“It’s exactly as the prince said,” she says succinctly. “The prince isn’t getting any younger and he’s in need of a wife. That’s what I would have told you if you were one of those shallow high society women I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.” The empress bitterly thinks about one specific girl that is so loathsome and vile that she has forcibly brought Satoru on the brink of total destruction. Last week’s fiasco with the emperor was a warning shot, and knowing her husband, there won’t be a second time.

You frown, not liking it when people are purposefully brought down to compliment another. “I’m sure that’s not true,” you mumbled, not really knowing what to say.

“But it is,” the empress insists. “People who are born with everything have this tendency to think they are above everyone else. Maybe that was what caused the prince to become this way, because his own mother was born from nothing,” she chuckled.

Knowing that the prince was the only son she will ever be blessed with, having had him at the age of forty-one, she overindulged Satoru by giving him everything, and bending to his every will. So, Satoru grew up confident that he’d only have to point at a storefront window and his mother would get it for him, otherwise he’d throw a tantrum. Maybe that’s what’s going on — all the scandals, all the controversies — was this another one of Satoru’s tantrums because they refused to allow him to have a relationship with, much less marry, his chief-of-staff?

“Nothing? I thought Your Highness, well before you married His Majesty, was an heiress to a car company. I don’t think you should lump yourself in with us.” Those who were truly born from nothing, you thought to yourself.

The empress puts a hand over her mouth as her shoulders begin to shake as she giggles. “Is that so?” she laughs, reaching into her coat pocket, in search of something. Finally, she feels the familiar feel of the trinket she keeps with her day and night.

You expected her to pull out something more valuable than a five yen coin, and it looked like it’s an old one, judging by its rough and rust-stained edges. “See this?” She carefully places the coin in her hand as if it were a precious item. “This was the first ever money I ever had to my name at only eighteen years old. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it even now,” she smiles wistfully as memories of her youth, albeit a simpler time away from the intrigue of the imperial court. She gently places the memento in your hand.

It was so light, it barely weighed a few grams yet it held so much of the empress’s heart in it, like a personal diary that has kept her company throughout the years, or perhaps it was a compass that led her to the path that resonated with her true self- the girl of only eighteen that had the look of a dreamer in her eyes, or maybe it was an anchor that served to keep her feet firmly planted on the humble ground in spite of her exalted status as the emperor’s consort.

You studied the coin. “Only five yen?” Even you, a musician whose finances are scattered to the wind, could make more than five yen in less than an hour. You were confused. Was this another one of their tricks to get you to say yes? No, it couldn’t be, seeing as how the empress seemed so genuine now, almost like the conversation you were having was like a mother and daughter having a heartfelt chat.

The empress nods. “I was a store clerk at a music shop when I was young. It was the only way I could save up and go to college. Of course, this was all before my father invented that powerhouse of an automobile when he was tinkering around with a few of the customer’s cars in the mechanic shop he ran.”

Listening intently to the empress’s story, a sense of solidarity seemed to grow between you and her. “And this was your first salary? Hard to believe music shops pay so little back then.”

“No, no. That was a tip I received from a customer when I returned her wallet. She left it in the shop and I ran after her. Of course if I were a thief, I would have taken off with it, but it was completely empty.” That caused you to laugh. Who knew that the empress who always carried herself with poise and dignity had such a deadpan sense of humor? “So, she gave me the only coin in the wallet to thank me. A five yen coin. Since then, I’ve kept this with me at all times. Call it an old lady’s sentimental ramblings, but this is what keeps me from letting all this get to my head.”

You nod in understanding. But what did this beautiful story have to do with marrying Satoru? The empress senses the question before you could even form words to ask it.

“What I’m saying is that Satoru was my outlet,” she sulked. “My second chance. So I gave him everything his little heart could ever want. And as a mother I know it was wrong of me to raise him to think he’s above everything and everyone.” She didn’t actively do that, though. Satoru just developed that toxic kind of thinking somewhere down the line. “I’m sure you’ve heard the nasty things they say about my son.”

The atmosphere suddenly turns sullen. You remembered how you watched in horror when Prince Satoru appeared on your TV screen the morning after the jubilee gala. You normally saw the prince attending royal functions such as groundbreaking and ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and while you are aware, just like everyone else in the country, that Satoru had his own share of misfits, you dismissed it as the actions of a rebellious young adult. You never thought for one second that you would see the prince battering a man until he was closer to death than a rat caught in a mousetrap outside of a shady gambling den in an unsavory district in Tokyo.

“I’m pretty sure the press is stretching the truth at times.” That was the right thing to say, you didn’t want to badmouth her son in front of her.

She scoffs humorlessly. “I’m not asking you to defend him. What I’m asking of you is to help him.” She takes your hand in hers. “Ms. (Y/N), this marriage may start out as a publicity stunt, but you could turn into something better than that.”

Maybe you’d fall in love with the prince, and maybe he could open his heart to love another again, someone who was healthier for him than Himiko. While the disbelief in your face was clear, the empress’s words give you a sense of hope but again, being excused from this narrative was what you wanted more than anything. “I think you overestimate my power, Your Highness. What you are asking of me will only end badly, I’m sure of it. It’ll be a disaster for everyone.”

Looks like there was no convincing you. A lot seems to be going on inside the empress’s head and you sympathized with her anxiety, but this was something you couldn’t do. You have been what people call a “pushover” your entire life, but the subject of your marriage is critically non-negotiable.

“I understand,” the empress is now resigned to her son’s fate. It seems, after all that song and dance in front of the emperor, it was all futile in the end. At this rate, this time tomorrow, the son of the empress’s unwilling mistress would probably be declared heir apparent and she would be powerless to stop it.

“I’m sorry, it’s just my mother taught me that marriage is sacred and that I should never mess around with it. You could have asked me for anything, Your Highness, and I would have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.”

“Your mother seems like a very wise woman,” the empress smiles softly. “And she’s very lucky to have you as her daughter.”

You stiffened at that. “I…I wouldn’t know if she feels that way, really.”

A wave of confusion crashes over the empress. What did you mean? “Sorry?” she clarifies. You hesitate to let her in on your own pain and you feel a slight prick of guilt poking your heart. She had been so vulnerable tonight, so open with you about her grief while you guarded yours in a titanium safe. She decides not to push the subject further and instead places a hand over yours comfortingly before turning to leave.

A thought occurs in your head and everything seems to slow down. The cars passing by the main avenue of Nishi-Shinjuku seemed to be running at 10 mph instead of the road’s minimum 20 mph. The billboards towering over you have momentarily lagged like some fatal error occurred in the LCD screen.

…This was wrong, you shouldn’t even be thinking of this.

...What would make you any different from a bloodsucking gold-digger?

…Don’t run after her.

She wouldn’t want you to do this. It would kill her if you did this. But haven’t you killed her many times before? What would make this time any different? Absolutely nothing. Your mind is made up.

…

“Your Highness, please wait.”

6:12 AM.

You didn’t know that the smell of flowers could be so vile and revolting.

Sat in the middle of a room with about a hundred bouquets of flowers from a multitude of well-wishers, at six in the morning on the day of your wedding, you gaze up at the huge mural of your new residence in the imperial palace. The pupils of your eyes followed each image on the vast painted ceiling which, compared to your tiny Tokyo apartment, felt like the entire sky altogether. Your eyes follow the image painted by Kanō Eitoku depicting life in the old seat of the imperial system, Kyoto, each blink of your eyes, you hone in on a new aspect of the mural: the mountain of Ryūgatake, the old imperial palace which you were told still existed today, the grasslands surrounding the ancient capital, and the people of Kyoto as they go about their daily lives.

If only those people could speak and were not just plastered images on a lifeless cement canvas to keep you company, maybe you won’t feel as lonely having had to wait for your wedding day to roll by without your husband-to-be by your side.

Sighing, you fall against the carpeted floor, your hands clutching a greeting card from one of your friends who gushed about how you had suddenly become a princess-to-be overnight and how you must be so happy to be engaged to such a handsome man that is prince Satoru Gojo. You hold back your tears, your fingernails digging into the vellum card.

You’ve given up calling the Imperial Household Agency to connect the line to Satoru, they come up with a different ruse each time. “Please, I need to speak to the Crown Prince,” you would sniffle into the line’s speaker desperately.

“His Royal Highness is busy right now in his office.”

“My apologies, Ms. (Y/N), but Prince Satoru is unavailable right now due to [insert name of engagement which is perfectly-timed with the wedding consultations he’s supposed to attend with you here].”

“Prince Satoru is currently away to inaugurate the new building for [insert any imperial charity foundation here].”

But you know all those so-called reasons for his absence were lies, excuses to keep their future consort from overthinking where her distant fiancé could be. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Himiko around either, that alone should be enough to answer the lingering questions in your head about Satoru’s whereabouts. It wasn’t as if you could suddenly act like some jealous spouse when 1.) You aren’t married yet. 2.) You are the trespasser in their relationship. 3.) You are simply a bandage solution to clean up the prince’s image, someone who had unknowingly been at the right place at the right time. You are well aware of where you stand in the grand scheme of things; that kiss as you drove out of the palace compound that day should have been a good enough reminder that you will never truly be your future husband’s better half.

That title, the one you unwittingly stole from a woman you’ve never even met before, is something you can never truly call your own. You were no different than the typical other woman who would wear the legal wife’s wedding dress like some thief.

Yet how is it that you know all of these things like scripture but you still spent the entire night crying over a man who finds it physically impossible to be in the same room as you? Why did it hurt so much when you saw your fiancé shield his girlfriend from the autumn chill the same way you hoped he would shield you from the many challenging questions during that press conference? Why does it feel like a dagger had been plunged into your chest when you saw Himiko kiss Satoru so tenderly, and your husband-to-be returning the gesture with equal fervor?

You lay on your side, the velvet texture of the carpet somehow providing you some semblance of comfort. What would your retainers say when they come into this room and see the crumpled form of their future empress on the floor, her knees hugged to her chest as she tries to make sense of everything that has happened these past few days? You imagined that they’d probably think you were crazy, and Satoru would probably jeer at the thought of having a simpleton as a wife.

You were only a girl of twenty-three summers, you should be enjoying your twenties by doing the things that you love with the people you love. These sunny days of youth pass by in the blink of an eye, but in your case, you have been totally robbed of it, now being primed to become not just a princess but a wife too. While the former is certainly an intimidating role, the latter is just downright petrifying for someone as young as yourself.

Not a single soul save for the empress went to check up on you last night, the only people you were expecting to keep you company today are the hairdressers and makeup artists to prepare you for the wedding. Of course, the austere members of the Imperial Household Agency are also set to make an appearance in your chambers today probably to make you sit through another briefing session on court etiquette. You glance out the window, it was barely light out due to the winter equinox when nights are longer than daytime, and somehow that made you even more sad than you already were laying down on the floor of your room, desolately alone.

A knock at the door awakens you from your trance and you sit up, arranging your hair neatly and pulling on your shoes. Sighing, you make your way towards the door and see someone who you do not quite expect. He momentarily shifts his attenton to the battalion of attendants behind him, nodding to them. “Leave us alone.”

“Your Majesty, good morning,” your breath hitches in your throat as you hastily bow your head before the emperor who seemed to be more anxious about this day more than you, seeing as he is already dressed in his three piece suit and slacks ensemble with the Collar of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum hanging between his lapels.

The emperor was an enigmatic figure who mostly kept to himself, his chamberlain and main staff often joking amongst themselves how the emperor was really a recluse who had only been born to become the sovereign ruler of a nation by an unfortunate stroke of fate. Your future father-in-law hums in acknowledgement and you are left to wonder if this is where Satoru gets his aloof nature from. “Good morning, (Y/N). May I come in?” he asks as if this entire compound wasn’t his.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He eyes the many bouquets in the room, sighing heavily as he does, the guilt of putting you in this impossible position weighing on him. He admits that he jumped the gun when the empress offered to have Satoru marry someone who could brighten up his public image from the many blemishes it incurred during the night of the jubilee when he and Himiko were seen together, causing trouble in the casinos of the infamous Kabukichō red light district.. To have you bear the weight of becoming a lamb to the slaughter with this marriage was just downright cruel, knowing that his son will certainly make it his life’s purpose to destroy you, but what choice did he have?

It is the crown that makes the choice for him, he’s been told by his own father.

“Listen, do you have the slightest idea of what you’re about to go through?” the man whom you would call your father-in-law in just a few hours asks flatly.

Of course you do, Satoru has already given you a taste of what your marriage is going to be like. You solemnly nod “I think so,” murmuring softly, crestfallenness is evident in your voice. “Satoru has made it clear.”

The emperor purses his lips as he fumbles with a tulip that had been nestled in one of the bouquets in your chambers, “Well, it’s good that you know. I know my son and I am not here to tell you that everything you’ve seen these past couple of days will get better,” he eyes the telephone, one you haven’t even placed the phone back onto the handset in hopes that Satoru would call you. “In fact, it’s only going to get worse from here.”

You frown, crestfallen. “How so?” you asked, your hand gripping the fabric of your dress. “Are you saying that this is just the beginning?” Truthfully, you were fine with this being the beginning, only if you could have the reassurance that all this will come to an eventual end. But it seems now that this was going to be life as you know it, with a husband who gags at the sight of you and has the innate ability to treat you like you were his personal bedwarmer and doormat.

“Yes,” the emperor says gravely, a dark look crossing his features. “So if you’d like to back out now, now is your only chance. Satoru has made enough messes, a canceled wedding will barely do anything to his reputation at this point.”

He’s right; these past days have only proved that Satoru is probably granting you a way out, maybe that’s why he has done nothing else but to ignore you as a final act of mercy if you ever decide to bail. One tiny kiss on the cheek is nothing when he starts to go missing in the middle of the night to attend to his mistress’s beck and call, when he starts to bring home his mistress for dinner to actively spite you with their relationship, or when he, god forbid, starts fucking in her in your marital bed while you’re away on some royal function.

You could live a full life without him, having barely even known him save for his proclivity to emotionally torment you, but it feels wrong to just…up and leave after all that song and dance in the press opportunity.l Shaking your head, the emperor’s offer is refused insistently.

“I’m not going to give up on him, I won’t give up on our marriage before it even begins,” your eyes bore into the emperor’s own. You’ve promised yourself and the empress that you’ll see this through, if Satoru is going to make your life a living hell, then, you’ll just have to take all his blows like a champ.

“I don’t doubt your willpower, (Y/N). I’m just saying that this might be even more difficult for you than you think,” the emperor warns. “Satoru doesn’t just push back, he’ll run over people who get in his way.”

“Your Majesty, it’e alright. I’ll manage somehow.” you mumbled. “The empress and I made an agreement that if I marry Satoru, I…” you trail off, not really wanting to reveal more than you should, the emperor waits for you to continue, his eyebrows furrowed together.

What would you get if you married Satoru if not unnecessary suffering? And even then, that didn’t sound like a good deal, the emperor thinks to himself. You could have gone on happily with your life, blissfully unaware of the trials of being married to the white-haired prince, you probably would have continued climbing the career ladder before finding someone to settle down with, maybe you’ll have a few kids along the way, and Satoru would also be blissfully unaware of a certain (Y/N) (L/N) existing on this plane of reality with him.

Why were you so committed to marrying him?

“I’d be able to…” you stutter. There was no use hiding it now but maybe you could conceal the truth a little longer, if not for your sake, but for the empress — no, a grieving mother — who met you in a hotel café that night with the weight of the world on her shoulders and asked you to keep the details of this transactional union a secret. “I would…”

The emperor raises a hand to stop you, though he is mildly perturbed at your hesitance to open up to him, he decides that whatever you and his wife were keeping from him does not concern him or the throne and that it is simply a thing that should be left unsaid. He really didn’t want to pry into the details of the contract you agreed to, and since you seem to have already made up your mind, all he could do now is hope that you do not give up so easily on his son the same way he did, and that this choice to marry Satoru would not backfire on you or the imperial system in the long run.

“Stop. I understand,” the emperor nods, his shoulders seemingly slumping in defeat as he is unable to convince you to cut it and run from the horrible fate you were speeding towards at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe Satoru was right to make you out to be an idiot, the emperor frowns. “But…don’t say I didn’t warn you, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best.”

And just like that, the wedding pushes through as scheduled, having declared before the father of the groom that you weren’t one to give up so easily, or…maybe it’s just your blind optimism talking.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you settle into an ornate curtsy, your foot gracefully tucked behind the other, your hand postured in a cordial handshake with His Majesty. The emperor’s pupils dilate, his mouth runs dry and he feels like something in his body had momentarily stopped working or had broken entirely — he knows that trademark act of obeisance so well — you’ve perfectly captured the image of a younger version of his wife who had perfected royal protocol in just under a year when they got married. She must have sought to teach you everything she knew or rather she was forced to learn by herself when she was in your position in an act of true esprit de corps. And for a moment, he finds himself surrendering to your doe-eyed but unmistakably poised charm, and he starts to become more convinced that you were a worthy future daughter-in-law.

He shakes his head, swiftly snapping him out of his trance, now was not the time for these things. The emperor nods back to return the gesture before turning to leave, just as your attendants are about to arrive to get you ready for the ceremony. “We’ll see you in the cathedral, then, (Y/N).”

But as soon as he is halfway out the door, he turns back to look at you one last time as (Y/N) (L/N), for the next time he will see you, you will then be (Y/N) Gojo, his first daughter-in-law, the first royal bride in centuries who neither hails from a family of politicians nor influential persons alike, the icon of a new chapter for the imperial family.

He sighs, turning back around to face you, having almost forgotten the task he’d been entrusted with by his wife. “I almost forgot. Ijichi,” he calls to his faithful grand steward who is waiting outside your chambers to bring forth a rather special gift he and the empress intended to present to you after the ceremony but he figured now might be a good time. The tall, lanky and sickly-looking spectacled man known as Ijichi bows before you which leaves a strange feeling festering within you, he was carrying a navy blue felt case that seemed so valuable that he had been compelled to wear gloves to prevent his bare hands from touching the fine fabric.

The emperor motions to open the case and your face pales when you see what is inside. “This is intended to be worn by the Princess Royal on her wedding day but since I don’t have a daughter to give that title to, the title will now belong to you.”

The tiara in his hands is a hefty thing, molded entirely from the most of valuable of silvers, it resembled the Queen Mary Fringe Tiara that had been worn by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on her wedding day, with an abundance of baton diamonds dotting every conceivable nook and cranny. It takes some time for you to adjust when it is placed upon your head, it only weighed a modest 1.7 kilograms, it was much lighter than the many tiaras the family keeps hidden away in the imperial vaults but for someone like you, it is an awfully heavy thing not just in the literal sense but also in the figurative side of things.

As of this moment, you weren’t just an ordinarily forgettable face in a crowd anymore.

“Carry the weight.” The emperor’s voice is commandeering. He steps back, scanning how the tiara looks on you from afar and though it looked awkwardly placed on your head with how you are struggling to balance its weight, you still managed to carry it adequately. “Now…you’re one of us.”

8:55 AM.

“Need some help?”

Satoru looks up to inspect the reflection on the mirror and a sad smile crosses his face when he sees the familiar figure of Himiko leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest as she gazes at her beloved getting ready for his wedding day. “You don’t have to be here.” He begrudgingly fumbles with his collar, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he professes, despite having immeasurably hurt you these past couple of days instead.

Himiko shakes her head. There was no use in grumbling about it now when just on the other side of the palace, Satoru’s unworthy bride-to-be was being pampered by her many ladies with manicures, foot massages, and practically anything to make you happy while she, the prince’s true love, was condemned to watch him be cruelly given away to someone else. There was a sense of finality with how hundreds of palace staff rushed through the hallways carrying all sorts of wedding paraphernalia to decorate the Chowaden reception hall and the courtyard to welcome the wedding guests.

Satoru frowns when her hands find his collar, she skillfully untangles the ribbon medal and readjusts the silver emerald-studded necklace that came with it.

Please…just one more minute…one more minute with you, Satoru closes his eyes as Himiko’s thumbs tentatively rub his chiseled cheek as if she were memorizing every bump and every curve of his skin before someone else tries to claim that they know every bit of Satoru inside and out. She knows it will never be true, no one can ever know Satoru the way she intimately knows him, not even if he was going to marry another woman. It may be possible for you steal everything from her — the emperor and empress’s favor, the public’s warm approval, the ring that had been fitted to accommodate the size of her finger before it was given to you — it may have been easy for you to pull the rug from underneath her, but it would be difficult — no, impossible — for you to ever claim ownership of Satoru.

He was hers and she was his, Satoru leans against Himiko’s touch, sighing woefully. “I’ll make her pay, I promise. I’ll break her, destroy her again. And again. And again until nothing’s left of her,” he recites the promise, punctuating the words with a kiss every time, as if they were having an illicit wedding of their own, and his words were a marriage vow — the only one that he will honor with every fiber of his being. Himiko bites her lower lip before she slowly nods, appeased.

“But Satoru, marrying her is the only way for you to be restored as heir apparent. Either way, we can’t win without doing this your father’s way.” Her hands leave his collar and she sadly gazes out the window, her narrow eyes glazing over the ancient ginkgo tree at the center of the palace’s vast atrium which was now shedding their green leaves to take on the tell-tale yellow hue as autumn draws near. She always loved the view of the palace courtyard from above, especially in this room where she and Satoru spent many nights proving their love for one another.

Gojo frowns at her melancholia, he comes up from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ll think of something, I promise this won’t last longer than it needs to,” he kisses her cheek, nuzzling it with his nose tenderly.

“I don’t mind waiting, Satoru, I’d wait for you forever, and as much as we both hate her, we need (Y/N),” she spits out your name as if it were rat poison in her mouth. “So, let’s just play along. It’s not like we’re not used to meeting in deserted parking lots at midnight, right?” She offers him a half-smile, reminding Satoru that their entire affair has always been illicit in nature.

It’s not like she was accepted by his parents to be their son’s future consort. They’ve been through this before, hundreds of times rather, even before you came along. They’ve had to deal with so many forces ripping them apart over the past three years from the oh-so-omnipotent emperor who hardly wields any political power to his neurotic wife whom she has called, on several occasions, a bitch.

And yet, together they remained as it has always been, with Satoru cradling Himiko in his arms as he peppers kisses up her neck, sucking at the soft flesh, his hips flush against hers. He does this in front of the window for any unfortunate passerby to see. Hell, Satoru was hoping you’d walk by and see this heartbreaking display and maybe you’ll just run home in your wedding dress with your tail between your legs.

“We don’t have to get used to it, Himiko,” he mumbles into her neck, inhaling her sweet perfume, the one he liked the most. “One day, we won’t have to hide anymore,” he kisses her cheek tenderly, caressing the bone of her wrists which still bore faint marks from the handcuffs that had been wrongfully placed on her with his thumb. “And people can say whatever they want about us, and it wouldn’t matter because I will have been the emperor by then and you, my empress.” He presses their foreheads together, the tips of their noses barely touching in a moment of silence.

After a long while, Satoru lets go of Himiko, his eyes scanning hers as if he were searching for answers hidden deep within her soul. “What is it?”

“I just wish you hadn’t stepped in back there.” It was a thought that kept him awake these past agonizing nights. “Maybe if you just stayed out of my father’s office, this wouldn’t have happened. I was alright with you visiting me in my jail cell, you know.”

“As if I’d ever let that happen,” she sighs when he pulls away to fasten his cufflinks, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened at the loss of his touch. She kisses his cheek, looking at his reflection through the mirror, her eyes alight with adoration. “I promised I’d always be your ally, didn’t I?”

When she and Satoru first met three years ago in the selection for his chief-of-staff, Himiko Zenin, despite coming from the affluent Zenin clan, lagged behind compared to her contenders who aced the exams that tested their knowledge on the law, constitution, history of the imperial system, royal protocol, foreign languages and other aspects that may prove useful for the prince’s right hand. But there was one thing that she had that all the other applicants didn’t have, and she demonstrated that perfectly when Satoru unexpectedly dropped by during the final interviews to speak to each of the candidates himself.

Satoru stared at Himiko with a bored expression that day, his being devoid of any emotion. “Ms. Zenin, it seems you did poorly in all of the exams,” he glances at her file which should have been tossed in the bin by the time she placed last in the jurisprudence exam. “And you’re affiliated with one of the more morally ambiguous families in the country. Looks like today’s just not your day, huh?”

It was true. Having Himiko Zenin as his chief of staff was dangerous from the get-go. The Zenin clan’s head back then during the time of the selection was on trial for graft and corruption. But, there was something Himiko had that all the other applicants did not. At the time, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it but now, after years of selfless service to him, Satoru realizes that it was the ferocious loyalty that hid underneath her then perfectly ordinary shell which he personally refined into the gem of a woman she is now, and she never swore allegiance to the crown but rather to him, Satoru Gojo.

“But, I’ll indulge you,” he reclined against his chair that day, his arms crossed. “Why should I even consider you as my chief of staff? What can you offer me that the others before you cannot?”

Her answer to that question instantly won him over and in that instant, Himiko’s life had changed forever. “Whatever you ask of me, Your Royal Highness, I’d give my very life for you.”

Satoru turns away from the mirror, his lips instantly on hers. His hand dangerously hovered over the hem of her dress. “S-Satoru, what are you doing?” she moans into his mouth as Satoru moves both of them to the bed, he climbs atop of her as she lay on the mattress, her locks splayed over the silk sheets. She knows what he’s doing, this was almost like a film she has seen many times before; this was how tense conversations with Gojo go with him impatiently parting her legs, their hands desperately discarding their clothes until they are left utterly bare before one another.

He wanted to destroy you the same way you destroyed what he had with Himiko. This anger translated into his rough pace. He roughly jostles his hips against Himiko’s, her arms wrapping around him as he buries his cock inside her, his lips covering her milky flesh with dark-purplish bruises, marking her as his.

Call him a sadist but he hopes that Himiko would change into a dress that could flaunt her marked skin so that when you fearfully look around the cathedral, warily searching for her, your heart would break at the sight of the countless hickeys on her neck and collar. He wanted to see you cry the first of the many tears you will shed for the crime of marrying him.

“Satoru…!” she cries out as the luscious feeling of his girth pistoning in and out of her. He grunts as he feels him inch closer and closer to his high. “Mmph—‘Toru,” she whines when he reangles his hips, plunging deeper into her, his arms locking behind hers as he violently chases his release. He’s so close. “I love you, I love you…-a-ah!”

A symphony of pleasured groans falls from his lips, his very being uncoiling as he cums. His hips involuntarily keep thrusting as hot spurts of his cum drips down Himiko’s entrance, mixing with her own release. Himiko frowns as Satoru clicks his tongue at the soiled sheets beneath their connected forms. He groans as he pulls out, sinking into the warmth of her embrace, his still hardened cock poking her inner thigh. “Promise me you’ll only love me?” she whispers as her fingers absentmindedly play with his white hair.

“I promise,” Gojo murmurs into the crook of her neck as he lulled to sleep by her soft, even breaths. “I promise it’s only you…no one else.”

11:45 AM.

Only half an hour left. A crowd of, from what you have heard, 70,000 have gathered on the strip of the main road that the bridal car will pass en route to the cathedral.

“It’s true,” your maid of honor who people refer to as Ieiri says, showing you her phone which showed the many tweets from news agencies, famous personalities and normal people alike about how excited they were to witness your wedding day. There were countless social media posts consisting of yours and Satoru’s official engagement picture and many have taken to hosting their own live-streaming sessions of this monumental day.

“Everyone’s so excited. I wish my wedding would be this big,” one of your bridesmaids sighs dreamily. You manage a small chuckle at her, maybe if she knew of your plight right now, she would probably be eating those words alongside the many petit fours she’s been munching on this past hour. “Look at all those people,” she continues scrolling through her phone.

“It’s the first televised imperial wedding so obviously, it’s a big deal, Riko,” Utahime laughs. “Not to mention, it’s the first time a member of the imperial family would be married in a Western-themed ceremony.” For everyone to see.

One of your newly appointed helpers enters the room, and jogs over to you as quickly as she can in her heels, she has a small jewelry box delicately decorated in an ecru gift wrapper in her hand. “Ms. (Y/N), this is from the prince. His butler told me to give this to you.” You’ve been sad all day and your ladies-in-waiting heave a sigh of relief when they see a hint of a smile on your face, even if it did hold a bit of apprehension.

“Really? For me?” You stand up to accept the small token, careful not to ruffle your wedding dress too much as per the dressmaker’s instructions since the fabric used to construct the piece was susceptible to crumpling. Momentarily setting your phone down on the vanity table mid-text, you graciously accept the wedding gift. Maybe Satoru was starting to warm up to you and that he is now chipping away at the wall he built between the two of you. You hoped that by sending you this gift, this would be the start of something new and better with your husband.

But given how things are, that would be impossible. This was probably just a gift he sent to appease you after many days of effectively acting like you don’t exist.

You open the box and your ladies chatter around you excitedly. “It’s so pretty!” the youngest of your bridesmaids, the daughter of the Japanese ambassador to France apparently, marvels at the pair of earrings. Briefly smiling at her, you then turn your attention to the small letter that was neatly slotted between the groove of the box’s padded interior that held the earrings in place. His handwriting was so conscientiously beautiful that it almost looked like a computer-generated font, there wasn’t a hint of clumsiness in each stroke.

“To (Y/N),

I’m sorry about these past few days. This won’t make up for it, but, I’d like to join you in wishing for a successful marriage together.

– HRH Satoru Gojo”

Your heart slows at the cold closing. He had omitted the words “love” and “sincerely” before his name, but you expected that. If scraps of affection are all you could ever hope to get out of him, you have to learn to deal with it sooner or later; this was your life now, you will always be second to the love of his life. It must have taken everything out of him, and it must have caused an argument to erupt between him and Himiko, to send you this and you understand that he’s also having a difficult time with how things are now but it mattered so much to you to see him try. Regardless if this gift was given to you freely or not, you couldn’t refuse it, even if every voice in your head was screaming at you, reminding you of the horrific scene you saw that day when you caught your fiancé kissing another woman out in the open immediately after you announced your engagement.

“Would you like me to put it on you?” Riko asks. “I’m sure the prince will be happy to see you wear these.”

“You really think so?” you wince when your helper struggles to find your earlobe piercing. “I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” That’s obviously a lie; you know full well Satoru could be sweet, it just pained you to remember that he’s capable being sweet to another deliberately causing you immense grief. Your helper stiffens slightly. She has seen him become sweet before, albeit to another, but she didn’t have to divulge any details and accidentally ruin your wedding day.

She nods shyly, succeeding with the first diamond earring and then the other. She steps away from the mirror. You looked radiant. “Y-yes.”

Noticing her discomfort, you expertly steer the conversation elsewhere. “I see. Well I should probably return the favor.”

You’ve gotten Satoru a wristwatch you and the empress had personally had commissioned by a famed watchmaker that could rival the craftsmanship of a Rolex. It just arrived last night and well, given your current mental state then having taken the brunt of Satoru’s ire the past few days, you couldn’t bring yourself to wrap it. Momentarily deciding if you still had time to have one of your helpers buy some wrapping paper, you realized it would be cutting it too close so you hastily scribbled on a blank dedication card you randomly plucked from one of the bouquets you received. Luckily, some of them had extra cards.

“To Your Royal Highness,

Please don’t apologize, I’m sorry too for being pushy lately. Thank you for the gift, I’ll be sure to take good care of it. Happy wedding day, and I’m looking forward to better days together!

Wholeheartedly yours,

(Y/N) (L/N)”

Reading through it one last time, you affix your name at the end. “You guys are so sweet,” your youngest bridesmaid gushes as she presses a button on the room’s telephone to request for a butler. “I’m sure the prince will love it.”

“Whatever ‘sweet’ means.” You grimace, your unease getting the better of you. A few moments later, a butler peeks into the room. You bound over to him, placing the present in his hands. “Could you please give this to Prince Satoru?” you asked him and the butler looks slightly bewildered at your choice of words. If it was an order, you could have just said so. Perhaps you were still getting used to the idea of having people waiting to attend to your every beck and call.

“Right away, ma’am,” the butler replies obediently nonetheless. “Also I ran into His Majesty’s chamberlain just a while back and he asked me to remind you of the time. Everything’s ready,” he informs you just as he turns to leave in the direction of the palace’s east wing where Satoru's private chambers are. Upon hearing that, the bridal entourage starts to get ready to leave ahead of you, they’ll be going to the venue with a separate convoy from the bride’s since you’ll be driving through some of Tokyo’s major avenues en route to the cathedral.

You watch as they file out of the room in their cream dresses, each one of them, despite having known you for only a little less than half a day, pull you into a bone-crushing hug wishing you well. “Congratulations, (Y/N).”

“Thank you,” you kindly smiled at each one of them as they left.

When you are left alone to your devices, you take one last look at (though you could hardly recognize yourself) the mirror, swallowing harshly, your hand absentmindedly playing with the locket which you continued to wear, ignoring the gracious advice of the Imperial Household Agency’s grand steward to set it aside for today’s festivities as it was uncustomary for royal brides to wear articles of clothing and accessories that did not hold any relation to the imperial family.

Only thirty minutes to go ‘till everything changes. Wait no, that was grossly inaccurate. Everything changed the split second you laid your eyes on him. Since then, everything seems to be a jumbled haze like some sort of psychedelic trance that just won’t end. Reaching for your phone one last time, you hastily search for a particular contact number, your finger hovering over the call button. No, there’s no point, you sniffle softly. Calling her would only make things harder than it already is and backing out of this now is out of the question.

Another knock is heard on the door, but it isn’t as insistent as the first few ones as everyone was starting to get a bit frustrated at you. Did they think you were stalling for time? “Just a minute,” your voice wavers. You just received a new text message from the number you were planning to call.

“We’ll be moving her in a few hours. Will send you her new room number when we get there.”

Bringing the phone to your lips, your heart makes somersaults in your chest when you receive the news. The sacrifice you were still yet to make has already paid off and your ledger of personal favors crossed out with a red marker effectively completing your transaction with the empress. Without even giving you time to text a quick “thank you”, another urgent knock is heard on the door. “Ms. (Y/N), I’m very sorry to interrupt but, we should get going now.”

“I’ll be right there,” you said again, quickly typing another message on your phone: “I wish I was there with her. Please hold her hand for me.” The second it goes through, you quickly shuffled towards the door, your head bowed in apology. You hold your breath as you balance the tiara on your head hoping that it won’t fall as it hangs precariously off-center on the crown of your head, your eyes trained on the ground as the door slides open. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries, I’m pretty patient. Ijichi, on the other hand? Not so much.”

His voice is feather-soft and melodious like a harp string being plucked delicately so that it produces a clear and deep bell-like sound, the very language he chooses to speak with is devoid of neither a shrill nor sharp word unlike the fusillade of orders you’ve been mercilessly bombarded with this entire day. Walk like this, speak like that, don’t do this, and most certainly never do that, you must have gone through a decade’s worth of rules and regulations to follow during the ceremony and even after you’ve said your “I do”’s. Still, you found solace knowing that Satoru is slowly warming up to the idea of cooperating with you, and has even found it in his heart to give you an olive branch of sorts which was now hooped through your earlobes, sparkling under the light like a clear drop of water from the sky.

At first, you naively think it’s him. Did Satoru really come over to see you? While that seemed uncharacteristic of him, the very thought of him voluntarily visiting you planted a sense of relief in you regardless. Maybe he wanted to settle things before the ceremony, to be upfront with you about his intentions in this marriage, how the two of you will be towards one another going forward, and if your luck holds out, maybe he’d finally let you in on his acts of impropriety with Himiko.

But, you would recognize Satoru’s indifferent timbre anywhere, this voice was far too different and seemed much kinder and softer than your fiancé’s.

You slowly open the door to greet your guest, confirming your suspicions as you meet the gaze of a man you haven’t met before. He seems severely unfamiliar.

No, wait. That can’t be it, he may seem unfamiliar but he’s definitely recognizable. In fact, you’ve seen him a few times before, standing feebly next to your fiance during the emperor’s birthday broadcast. Then, it clicks. Wasn't this…?

“Crown Prince Suguru?” you blinked. He’s the only senior member of the imperial family that you’ve never been officially introduced to. Of course, you are on speaking terms with the emperor, the empress and of course, Satoru, but never the prince that idly lingered in their large shadows.

The raven-haired man chuckles deeply at your shocked expression. Clearly, you didn’t expect to meet him under these circumstances, and that caused you to accidentally refer to him as the Crown Prince when that title only belonged to Gojo. He looks at you endearingly, finding you intriguing.

So this was the woman his younger brother is to be married to. Suguru has heard a lot about Satoru’s docile bride-to-be, in fact, he received news of the engagement while he was in Rome, the last leg of his first solo tour in Europe. People were so quick to label it as a pivotal point in the history of the Japanese monarchy and that you are the symbol of change, specifically, they likened you to a camellia blooming in a sea of chrysanths, a breath of spring in the imperial family’s everwinter – alluring in every sense of the word. But, alluring isn’t exactly a word he’d use to describe you seeing as you’ve only just met but, right now, he found you to be so adorably cute that he might just start to believe the things they say about you on the news.

“It’s just Prince Suguru. Satoru’s the Crown Prince.” The gentle correction makes you so flustered that you feel blood rush up to your ears, a tell-tale sign of your abasement. “But you could just call me Suguru.”

“Oh, right, my mistake,” you rub your eyelid, growing embarrassed. “Prince Suguru,” you stressed his correct title, remedying your earlier mishap. Despite you being in heels, you can’t see past him, given that he towered over you so easily so you stand on your tallest tiptoes, trying to peek over his shoulder. “You haven’t happened to see Mr. Ijichi, have you? He was right outside the door a few minutes ago.”

Suguru buries his hands in his pockets. “He just left, you’re welcome,” he winks at you, having sent Ijichi on his way when he accidentally stumbled across him furiously tapping on your door as he was making his way to his car.

Ijichi was…difficult to get along with — he’s short-fused, demanding at some times, and he is what people could call a stickler for the rules — Suguru isn’t doesn’t really want to say nasty words about his father’s grand steward and he’d give credit where it’s due since Ijichi is not just efficient when it comes to running the imperial household but he is also fiercely dedicated to every member of the imperial family.

Still, he couldn’t count the many times Ijichi had to scold him for all the mischief he caused while he was growing up even if his life depended on it. The worst scolding he got from the older man was when Suguru went missing on his fifth birthday, having snuck out of the banquet hall with at least ten pieces of bread stuffed in his pockets with every intention to feed them to the many ducks in the imperial garden’s ponds.

“What?” your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, you were going to get an earful later. “You mean he went ahead without me?”

“It’s alright. You’ll see him later, sure he’s probably going to talk your ear off but he means well, trust me,” Suguru flashes you a reassuring smile.

You look at him, your lip curled into an uneasy grin. “That doesn’t sound like fun,” you bemoaned, having had enough reprimands to last you until your next life. “So, with Mr. Ijichi gone, forgive my bluntness, but am I right to assume that Your Highness will be the one to bring me to the cathedral?”

Suguru accommodatingly holds out his arm for you to hold onto. “You assume correctly,” he says warmly. You expect him to hurriedly lead you down the steps leading to the palace’s main driveway, but he does something entirely different. “Are you ready to go or do you still need more time?”

That was the first time anyone in a kilometer-wide radius has asked you what you want to do instead of telling you what to do.

Suguru watches every small change in your expression. He figured that you must be pretty tired of people treating you like some robot, training you to blindly obey every order perfectly. The jet black-haired prince has only known you for two minutes and his heart is already disintegrating for your current predicament of feeling completely and entirely alone. If he could alleviate your troubles even with just a small act of kindness by engaging in polite conversation with you and actually listening to what you have to say instead of talking over you like most of your etiquette coaches have done all day, then, he’ll gladly tune in to listen to you even as you read through an entire book of sonnets if you ever felt up to it.

Being validated comes a long way, and if anyone understands your plight, it was him and even if he didn’t understand, he’ll do everything he can to try regardless.

“I-I’m ready,” you nodded hesitantly and Suguru doesn’t walk ahead right away and allows you to set the pace as you walk past the line of attendants that bowed to you and the prince as you made your way to the imperial family’s very own Toyota Century convertible which had been custom-made for you.

The open top roof gave onlookers access to see their future empress as the motorcade departs from the Kōkyo Imperial Palace and follows a 4.6-kilometer route that will travel to the St. Mary’s Cathedral, the seat of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Tokyo. Neither you nor Satoru were practicing Catholics yet, the imperial family has decided that a Christian-themed wedding rather than the ancient Buddhist matrimonial ceremony that is usually done away from public view would make the imperial system appear more accessible to the people.

Suguru helps you into the car, gently arranging the train of your gown so that it doesn’t get all wrinkled. “Thank you, Your Highness” you whisper to Suguru who squeezes your free hand as if to say “you’re welcome”. The car’s engine hums to life the minute the two of you are settled in the backseat. “W-what am I supposed to do now?” you asked, readjusting your grip on your bridal bouquet.

The prince lets out a humored snort, having forgotten that this was your first official function. Showing you the correct way to wave and the right angle to face and bow to the crowd, he watches you closely, allowing you to struggle for a bit before stepping in to help with some encouraging words. “Just keep smiling and waving. It’s just like being onstage, you know.” At the center of the motorcade, six police cars patrol every side of the convertible forming a ring of protection just in case someone in the crowd with ill-intentions would try to harm either you or the monarch next to you.

Countless people erupt in happy cheers at the sight of you and Suguru, some are simply content with waving while others are holding up flowers and tossing them to the front of the crowd barriers in jubilation. “It feels a little more intense than just being onstage,” you mumbled, your eyes landing on a little girl sitting in her mother’s arms as she waves a little Japanese flag in her hand which looked like she made it in her arts and craft class. You awkwardly wave at her, chuckling when she happily waves back, delighted to see you directly looking at her.

“Well, you’re doing great.” He inches closer to you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist while the other guides your hand, gently angling it in a more prominent position so that you look a little more assertive. “Like this,” Suguru helps you wave in a more continuous manner, teaching you to center the motion by keeping your elbow mostly stationary and allowing only your wrist to subtly move from side to side. “And keep doing what you’re doing. Make eye contact with them; make them understand that you see each and every one of them.”

Suguru watches you bow and wave to the spectators with a proud smile on his face; the motorcade has now reached the Shinjuku area and is nearing its destination of Bunkyo-ku where the cathedral is and even still, the crowd doesn’t appear to thin out. Suguru feels like he’s watching history unfold before his very eyes. He wonders if Satoru had purposefully chosen a commoner to conjure up a classic “love conquers all” romance of his own wedding day, if he did, then Suguru must congratulate him for a job well done. No one has ever come out to see a member of the imperial family in this sheer number, he daresay, not even the empress on her wedding day or His Majesty on his coronation day.

But with you, this day is nothing short of a revolution.

“Your Highness, you’re staring.” Suguru hums, confused, before realizing that he’s been looking at you funny. “You’re still staring,” you said succinctly.

“Oh, sorry.” Suguru says awkwardly and you couldn’t help but let out a slight snort. “What?” he cocks his head in your direction. You were laughing, though brief, the very sound of it brings a smile to his face. “It was about time though. We’ve been in this car for more than fifteen minutes now and that right there is the first genuine act of happiness I’ve seen you make,” he remarks. He was starting to think that you were incapable of smiling which he found a little unsettling since brides aren’t exactly despondent during their wedding day. Of course, what would he know? His little brother had gotten married ahead of him.

You crinkle your nose in mock displeasure. “That’s kinda mean and probably the last thing I’d say to someone I just met…with all due respect, Your Highness.”

Suguru grins at your tiny jab at his character, and to think that he nearly bought into the whole “as demure as a butterfly” thing they said about you in the papers. Make no mistake though, he sees how elegantly ladylike you are, but he also sees how you are so effortlessly spellbinding with your wit translated into a few short but sweet words. No wonder Satoru fell for you and even gave up his vice-like romance with his chief-of-staff to marry you, he thinks to himself. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry that was a bit uncalled for.”

“Oh— Your Highness, I was just joking.” You waved to the crowd of people on Suguru’s side of the car, grimacing when you see a few schoolboys, probably university students with how tall and mature they looked, pretend to blow you kisses. Indulging them, you subtly return the gesture flustered beyond all measure. Everything feels so public now, and you are left wondering about how you could survive the rest of your life like this.

“…I knew that.” Choosing momentary silence, Suguru finally decides to chip away at the facade you were putting up. He could see it in your eyes, you were a cross between scared and unhappy which is clearly normal for someone who is marrying into the oldest monarchy in the world. You weren’t at all what the members of the Imperial Household Agency said of you when you were out of earshot: a sorry excuse of a future empress who is privileged in every way but can’t find it within herself to stop her endless complaining. “Just trying to make you smile, that’s all.”

Shouldn’t your future husband be doing that? You sighed. Oh right, he was probably busy comforting Himiko. She probably needed him now more than ever after everything you’ve done to torment her. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Suguru,” he corrects kindly. “If you’re going to marry my little brother, you could, at least, drop the troublesome title when you’re talking to me.”

Little brother? How have you never heard of this before? You knew Satoru had a brother, but you never thought Suguru would be the older one out of the two of them. If that was the case, then, why didn’t he get the title of “Crown Prince”?

“Weird, huh?” He breaks you out of your trance, as if he heard the question swirling around in your head. “Why is Satoru the Crown Prince and not me?”

“Are you psychic or something?” you playfully teased, slowly growing more comfortable with the jet black-haired prince that sported an Apollo-like smile - warm, and inviting. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Suguru shrugs. “Why? Whose mind do you want to read?”

Satoru’s, you smiled sadly. Maybe by unraveling the inner machinations of your soon-to-be husband’s mind, you could learn to meet him halfway by understanding him a little better; no person is born inherently cruel and while you had your doubts, you know, in your heart, that Satoru is no exception to that rule. “No one in particular.”

“Ah, well, I expected that.” He grinned at how guarded you are, reclining against the plush seat of the car to rest his stiffening back for a minute. The convoy is about ten minutes away from the cathedral now.

You offered him some consolation though, grateful for this light-hearted chat. “Let’s just trade answers next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Himiko thought this day would be horrible but it turns out it isn’t as bad as she pessimistically thought. If she only knew that this was how the love of her life’s wedding would go with him still inviting her to his bed before he gets hitched off, then, maybe she shouldn’t have been so awful towards you who never stood a chance against her. Competing with you would be like making a rival of a rat; it would be unnecessary trouble. Still, even if she had all but won against you (as if you were worthy enough to even become her opponent), that didn’t stop the Zenin clan’s little darling from causing a little trouble today.

Her eyes flutter open to reveal Gojo’s handsome slumbering face, utterly spent from their lovemaking session, their naked forms still entangled together under the cotton-percale sheets. She stretches her supple body luxuriously, and pulls away from Satoru’s embrace earning a small “mmph” of disapproval from her lover. Giggling, she plants a soft kiss on his chiseled cheek.

“Your Highness?” Someone says from behind the door. Taking one last look at Satoru’s sleeping form, she walks leisurely to answer it, clad only in the prince’s shirt which ran above her knee.

Leaning against the door, she answers for the prince, a detestable act similar to a cardinal sin. It was forbidden for a mere servant to speak for any member of the imperial family. In the past, in the Japanese empire’s golden age, a servant who took the words out of their master’s mouth would have their tongue swiftly sliced off. But Himiko is not a servant, nor is she subject to the rules as long as the prince was around. “His Highness is asleep.”

On his wedding day? The butler nods stiffly. “I see. Ms. Zenin, can I trouble you with this? The prince’s fiancé has sent him a wedding gift.”

Himiko doesn’t answer for a long while and a tense silence fills the room. “Fine, but have you done what I asked?” she relents opening the door, the butler’s face turns red at the sight of her lack of modesty. “Having you run my errands isn’t cheap, you know.”

The attendant bows his head, “Yes. She’s currently wearing it right now, last I saw.”

“Good. I’ll be taking this then.” She shakes the box to get a feel of what’s inside, not that it would be anything of high value though given its cheap sender.

Curiosity gets the better of her and she succinctly opens the gift, her eyebrow quirked. A watch. Very typical. She notes how it’s made out of silver and she scoffs harshly. Even if she didn’t chuck it into the trash, Satoru would have done it himself since he prefers gold pieces over silver and he most certainly wouldn’t want to touch anything that was from you given how he loathed the very idea of you.

The attendant gulps when he sees Himiko harshly discard your gift. “Ms. Zenin, don’t you think that giving her that would be taking it too far? You know how the Crown Prince feels about those earrings. If he ever were to find out that it had gone missing…”

She turns her head in the direction of the bed where Gojo was currently tossing and turning in his sleep. “Then, I’ll tell His Highness that his chief butler,” her eyes were aglow with cunning as the butler trembled slightly at her murderous gaze. “Is a thief who stole from the imperial vaults, and if you ever decide to rat me out, who do you think the prince will believe? A nameless no account like you or me?”

It slowly registers in the attendant’s mind that he had been utterly played when Himiko asked him to give those earrings to you via an under the table agreement, it’s not like Satoru prepared a wedding gift for you anyway thinking that showing up to the accursed wedding in itself is a generous gift already. “…You used me…!” he whispers angrily, not wanting to rouse the prince.

Himiko shrugs nonchalantly. “And you were stupid enough to be used for a few banknotes. Now get lost, I’ll just inform His Highness of your voluntary resignation tomorrow morning.”

She closes the door on the rattled servant and saunters back over to the bed, slipping back under the sheets. Satoru sleepily notices the bed dip with her weight, and unconsciously snuggles closer to her, his arms wrapped around her form. She lovingly strokes his disheveled hair alternating between twirling his locks in her index finger and massaging his scalp as if she hadn’t just ruined a man’s life two minutes ago. Her hands reach for the phone on the nightstand and she scrolls through her feed watching a video of the bridal car pulling up to the cathedral.

She boredly watches you step out of the car with your hand looped through Suguru’s arm shyly waving to the thousands happily anticipating this glorious day while your bridesmaids help you with your wedding gown’s train so it doesn’t snag across the concrete steps. It takes about five minutes for the cathedral’s towering doors to open and she smirks when she sees you slowly make your way inside, completely oblivious to the fact that your groom is not at the end of the aisle where you expected him to be and is instead still soundly asleep next to her.

The silence that follows is indicative of the horrific scene that greeted you and Himiko switches off her phone, settling back into the pillows contentedly. Serves you right, (Y/N), she smirks.

12:30 PM.

Funny how you think that you’re immune to awful things that happen to other people…before it happens to you. There’ve been hundreds of stories like this before, but you never thought that you’d find yourself in the long list of unfortunate jilted brides. Your hands tremble as you hold your bouquet of white calla lilies and baby’s breaths. Surely you must have gone blind or something or this was all some sick dream, you desperately search the cathedral room with abject horror in your eyes. It couldn’t be…you take an uneasy step toward the witness as your wedding guests whisper amongst themselves, their hearts filled to the brim with condolences for you.

Something in you jeeringly mocks you as if to chide you for living too long in the forest of your fantasy, dodging every pocket of reality’s sunlight as it shines through the many trees you’ve cultivated with your delusions that this…whatever the hell this is…could miraculously work out in the end. That you stood a chance against all the cards that were catastrophically stacked against you, and that he could give you even just a scintilla of respect if it was truly impossible for him to ever learn to love you.

“Suguru,” you instinctively clutch his hand as if by him squeezing your hand back, you could miraculously be put together again. You were so heartbroken that you didn't even realize that you just called him by his name, forgoing the mention of his venerable title. “…I-I…” you gulp as you feel the dreaded words lodge deep in your throat, clogging your airways with uncried sobs.

“Oh, (Y/N), I’m so sorry…”

“…Where’s Satoru?”

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @userbananababes @strawberryjimin13 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jeon-blue @8aif9sgbsnn @purpleguk @rednezvous @yeseurri @floralsightings @yoheyyosup @dontwannacry04 @dragonladyy

REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS IS WHAT KEEPS AUTHORS GOING SO SHOW SOME LOVE ✨💕 mwah! see you all in episode 2.5!

Silent Love: Ch. 7 - "A Lovely Night."

⊹ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Seven

Previous Chapter: "Forgiveness?"

Chapter One: New Roommate(s)

Master-List: Here!

.・゜゜・ ｡･ﾟﾟ･ ╰┈➤ Sukuna x Reader

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Sypnosis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Genre:

College/Modern World AU. Multiple parts.

Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Word Count: 34,014

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ December 4th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Wednesday.

You flutter your lashes open, a soft moan leaving your lips as you adjust yourself in your bed. You can feel a soft stream of light on your face, waking you up from your relaxing sleeping. You instantly shove your face into your pillow, groaning at the sound of cars and birds chirping. Jesus, what time is it? As much as you don’t want to, and how warm and soft your bed is, you decide it’s probably time to wake up. You stretch your arms over your head, and sigh in contentment. You look to the side, noticing that the bedside counter is next to your head. 

You furrow your eyebrows, shouldn’t there be a wall right… Wait.

You blink a few more times, adjusting your eyes into your situation. Instantly, you remember where you are, and why you’re here. It feels like your stomach is bursting with butterflies now, but you try to ground yourself. 

The counter is holding all the things from the day before. Computers, notebooks, textbooks, pencils, and even the sticky-note Sukuna wrote on. You’re tempted to look at the note again, but you catch the sight of the clock on his counter. You feel your heart drop to your stomach, all butterflies evaporating into thin air.. 

You sit up straight, twisting your head to look at Sukuna, “Shit! Sukuna why didn’t you—“

If possible, your stomach twists even harder. The space next to you is empty, void of any form of existing life other than a messy pillow. You feel your eyebrow twitch, before punching his pillow. 

That fucking lying ass son of a bi–

Wait, what day is it?

You feel a rush of nauseous and guilt flood your all at once, when you remember the day. Wednesday. “Shit, I have my club today!” You push his blanket off your body and rush towards the door. You halt on your heel, patting your hips for your phone, only to see it still resting on the dresser, right next to the sticky note and your computer. You pause for a second, moving back and forth before deciding to leave it behind. 

Whatever, it’s not needed. You can always borrow a phone and call Nobara, even if you don’t know her number, or anyone other than your mother’s and a good 3/4ths of your father’s. So, pfft, you’re good. 

You shove your Converse on, running towards your school with halftied shoes. You’re wearing your pjs from the night, and your hair is a tangled mess. You didn’t even have time to wash your face, or your makeup from the previous day. 

Wait, why didn’t Sukuna say anything about your messy makeup when you went to his–oh my god, stop thinking about Sukuna. You mentally yell at yourself, pulling a tight corner and continuing to run. 

Your chest is hurting, not only from running, but from Sukuna’s absence. Yet, you don’t feel like you’ve truly been able to let his actions sink in, but the moment they do, you know you’re going to be a weeping mess. Which is something you really, really want to avoid. 

That backstabbing asshole, such a fucking liar. 

You can feel the gaze of many, passing you unfathomable looks before going back to their mundane activities of life. Fuck them for judging you, and fuck them for having nice cars to take them anywhere they want, whenever they want.

Okay, calm down. You mentally tell yourself. Not everyone that is glaring at you owns a car, nor are they even looking at you. Most likely. Hopefully. 

The moment you reach the campus a few happy tears stream down your face, your feet feel heavy and hard to move, your throat absolutely burning with pain, it’s dry and scratchy. A happy sigh leaves your mouth, before you twist yourself into the direction of the library. 

Pushing open the library doors, and entering with a loud huff. Gaining a rude “Shush!” From the librarian, which you don’t even pay much attention to. You’re rushing to the club room, topping over a small stack of books, which garners you a ring of explicits from the studier, before reaching the club room door. 

You feel another sigh of relief past your lips, and despite how much your body absolutely hurts, you feel a bit better. Even if it’s a tiny, tiny bit. In all honesty, there’s no point in even coming at this point, the club meeting ends in a few minutes.

Until the door smacks you in the face, opening right into you. You stumble backwards, cupping your nose. “Ow.” Your bag’s straps fall down from your shoulders. What is up with doors hitting you?

The person gasps, reaching for your shoulders. “Oh! Madame president, I didn’t mean to-“ They pause, “Madame president?” They sound less worried, and more concerned and surprised now. “I thought you weren’t–”

You place a hand out while keeping one firmly pressed against your nose, cutting them off. “Please stop calling me that.” You shake your head slightly, trying to move into the room. “I have to—“ 

“I thought you weren’t coming today?” They ask you, adjusting their glasses, and placing their hands behind their back. “Are you feeling better? You don’t… look to goo–” They cut off their sentence, not wanting to offend you. 

“I have to come in.” You say exasperated, placing your hands on your hips to try and catch your breath. “Or, no one’s going to fill out the paperwork.” Despite how fucking simple it is. 

“Well, isn’t that why you got a sub?” They tilt their head to the side, “He’s already done everything for you, he’s even learning a few things in sign language as we speak.” 

You feel your eyebrows furrow, “Wait. What?” You tilt your head to the side, trying to look into the room, but you can’t see anything, unfortunately. 

They roll their eyes, “Yeah, next time you have a sub, at least don’t make them obnoxiously attractive.” You watch as they cross their arms over their chest, huffing a small bit. “All the girls have been at his feet trying to teach him simple words like hi, or you’re cute.” They huff, “It’s kinda’ pathetic.” 

You laugh despite your confusion, “Someone sounds jealous.” You ignore their glare, “But, I don’t remember asking for a sub?” Is it Yuuji? “Uh, what’s his…” name? You finish the sentence in your head, but quickly realize where it’s most likely not a good idea to ask the name of someone who you allegedly appointed as a sub. Which… you didn’t even know it was a thing for club presidents. 

They give you an expecting look, fixing their glasses. 

“Uh, I’m just here to make sure things are working out.” You push past them, and immediately you pause at the door’s frame. Your lips part in a silent gasp, a bit shocked by the man standing inside. Now, you don’t know whether to be mad, or touched by his absence earlier today. 

The person who hit you with the door comes by your side, crossing their arms over their chest and huffing. “So, did you know he was coming in for you?” They laugh a bit, “In fact, do you even know who he is?”

“Yes, I know who he fuckin’ is.” You whisper back, passing them a quick glance. “Sukuna. He’s my friend.” You blink a few times, turning your gaze to the floor, your face feels a bit hot. “I didn’t know he was coming in for me.”

“Uh-huh.” They respond back, not believing you. They fix their glasses, “Sure. Didn’t know you were friends with giga-chat frat boys who know nothing, but the bottle of a beer bottle, and pussy.”

“You’re mouthy today.” You snap, “And, don’t say that about him.” You point an accusing finger at them. “He’s so much more than that.” You smile to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest in a conceited manner. “Besides, even with his hot face, he’s still smarter than you, and gets more pussy, too.”

“Sure.” 

You don’t respond, just turn your attention to Sukuna. “What’s he been doing while I’m gone?” You tilt your head to the side, noting the clipboard often held by you at meetings in his hands. 

“Just some of your basic paperwork, simple things, really.” They wave off, “He’s also been learning things.” 

“Did he ask to?” 

“No, the girls are forcing him to. I think.” 

“What have they been teaching him?” 

They force a smile at you, tilting their head to the side. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself?” They push themself off the door frame, passing you a smile, “You two are friends, right?” 

“We are.” You lean on the frame this time, fluttering your lashes. “I’ll see you next week?” 

“We don’t meet for the rest of the year.” They say, playing with their curly hair. “Remember? Finals are going to be a bitch and a half until break.” They pass you a final wave, before departing from the small conference room. Yet, your eyes are trained on Sukuna. 

Sukuna passes a glare at the girl next to him, clipboard in hand while writing something down. But, the girl snatches it from him, saying something along the lines of, ‘Ah, don’t worry about it, I can help with the paperwork!’ Which pisses you off. Not because of her attempt for Sukuna’s attention, but for the fact that she’s doing this for Sukuna, and not you. Who knew people in the club were capable of doing that paperwork?

Not only that, but Sukuna looks… nice today. A college sweatshirt, and some simple black pants. You can still see his golden chain, but this time he’s wearing some matching earrings. You didn’t know he had his ears pierced, or… had that many. He even had the nerve to slick back his hair. 

Jesus, you look like an actual mess. 

Another girl grabs Sukuna’s arm, tugging him in her direction. Which doesn’t last long, Sukuna quickly pulls away, but gives her a look with an eyebrow raised. She’s quick to show him a paper, which you assume has some basic words in ASL. 

You shut the door behind you, which makes everyone but Sukuna flinch. “How did this meeting go?” You ask, making your way to the girl, Jamie, holding the clipboard. 

Jamie awkwardly laughs, tossing a chunk of hair behind her shoulder. “Uhm, it was good. We got all the paperwork done.” She lifts the board in the air, shaking it a bit. 

“Yeah.” You snatch the board from her, seeing that all the information is filled out. “Good to know you’re fully capable of completing the paperwork when necessary.” You pass her a hard glare, which is returned with a sheepish smile. You look at Sukuna, “Did everyone behave?” 

Sukuna’s smirking, “Oh yeah, definitely.” He tilts his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocks his head to the side, “Lilith, here, helped me with learning a few phrases.” He passes her a quick glance, whispering, “Thanks, baby.” 

Lilith passes him an enthusiastic head nod, and smile. 

You feel your eye twitch, “Uh-huh. Is that so?” You place the clipboard in its place, sassily placing a hand on your hip. “And, what exactly did you learn?” 

“I love you.” Sukuna relishes in the way you freeze, but try to quickly shake it off. “And, a lot of other things. Nothing too big.” He passes you a shit-eating smirk, “Why don’t you teach me things? Aren’t you the president, or somethin’?”  

You ignore his slight jab at you, “Really?” You turn back to face them, leaning on the counter. “Good job, Lilith. That’s impressive.” Even though you’ve always been on your phone every club meeting. “I didn’t know you were so attentive.” 

Sukuna nods, “Very attentive.” 

You scoff, “Well, the club is dismissed. No more meetings until next semester.” You say to the girls, passing them a quick wave. “I’ll see you after break.” 

Lilith turns to Sukuna, “Do you want to walk with me?” She asks innocently. 

She’s bold. 

“Oh, I can come, too!” Jamie adds, “We’re roommates, so you won’t have to walk too long.” 

Woah. You feel your stomach turn with unease, something hot and toxic bubbling at the back of your throat. Is this jealousy? You feel your eye twitch with annoyance, watching the two of them speak by Sukuna’s side. Wait, you don’t get jealous, and even if you were, you and Sukuna aren’t even… dating. 

Why are you even thinking about this, you aren’t jealou–“Sukuna?” You innocently ask, which makes him pass you a delighted look. So, he knows what he’s doing. Wonderful. 

Sukuna tilts his head to the side, “Yes, doll?” The two girls seem to mimic his movements, passing you their full attention now that Sukuna is looking at you. Good. 

“Are you going to be home before seven? Or, am I going to have to walk home?” You fake some pain, placing a hand on your lower back. “That’d be cruel of you, especially after last night.” 

Suddenly, the state of your appearance is the only thing the two girls are looking at. Your messy hair, messy makeup, and your clothing which seems a bit more wrinkled than they should be. 

Sukuna smirks, biting the inside of his cheek while looking away from you. “How cruel of me.”

“See, now you have to take me home.” You say with a smile, “So happy we came to an agreement.” You turn to the two girls, “Sorry, but looks like he’s going to be busy, maybe some other time he can walk you to your apartment. 

The two girls huff, and turn to Sukuna for his opinion. “Yeah, yeah.” He stuffs a hand into his pocket, rolling his eyes. “It’s better than walking around with some annoying ass bitches.” For once, you love that Sukuna is someone who says exactly what he’s thinking with no censor. 

The two girls scoff and finally leave the room with a loud door slam. You narrow your eyes at Sukuna, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Shut up.” You turn away from him, arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

“Mhm.” Sukuna hums, slowly moving to your side. “Not going to say anything.” 

You scoff, “You need to learn to control your dick.” You huff, finally looking at him. “Those girls weren’t even that hot, I’m like… way hotter.” 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, “You look like a mess.” 

“That’s not the correct response.” You glare at him, “And, besides, whose fault is that?” 

Sukuna doesn’t respond for a moment, merely stares at you with an unreadable expression. Yeah, you look hot when you’re mad, no wonder he likes messing with you. “Mhm.” He smirks, cupping your face. “I like knowing that.” He moves in close to kiss you, but you quickly shove him away. 

“I know you’re trying to be sexy.” Sukuna gives you an expecting look. And, you are, you mentally think. “But, I don’t feel ho–” 

“You look hot. I’m just fuckin’ with you.” Sukuna says, twisting your messy hair in his hand. “Especially when you are jealous, or mad. Fuck. You should really look at yourself.” Suddenly, Sukuna thinks about doing just that in front of the mirror in his room. “And, I’m trying to fuck you in the club room.” He lowers his head, twisting it to the side to ghost his lips over yours. 

You can feel your thighs mush together from his words, a small fire igniting in your lower stomach. “You’re more open today.” You mumble, chewing on the inside of your lips. Sukuna nods, “But, no. I’m not fucking you where I teach people about ASL.” As appealing as it may seem right now, you have some form of respect. 

Kinda. And, you know, you don’t want your first time to be in a club room. 

“Boring.” He leans in to kiss you but you turn your head away. He sighs, “Stop doing that.” 

“I didn’t brush my teeth.” You abruptly say, face a bit hot with embarrassment. “You’re not kissing me when I know I haven’t brushed my teeth.” There’s a lot of things you’re not going to do knowing that you haven’t gotten ready for the day. Looking at Sukuna for too long with your makeup stained face, is one of them. 

Sukuna lets out a long sigh, almost annoyed in a way. It makes you giggle. “I can bash your head into the wall.” Sukuna juts his thumb towards a wall, leaning back slightly. “Maybe that will give you amnesia, and you’d let me kiss you.” He smirks.

“Romantic, really, but no thank you.” You wrap your arms around his torso, “Next time a girl does something like that, shove her away, or say something like…” You think for a moment, “Uhm, I’m already with the love of my life, and you’re ugly.” 

“You think you’re the love of my life?” 

“It’s what’s on your phone, and we can’t argue with that.” You tilt your head, pressing your cheek on his chest.

Sukuna taps your head, dog-like in a way, “Yeah, no.” He looks to the side, “Besides, if I told a girl that, I wouldn’t get to see your jealous face.” He pinches your nose, “Wouldn’t be able to pass up a chance to see you glare at another girl for breathing in my direction. It’s cute.” 

Sukuna’s response gives you mixed feelings, but you don’t try to dwindle on it for too long. “You make it sound like I’m jealous.” You mumble pulling away from his grip. “I’m not jealous, I don’t get jealous.” You lean  into his sweatshirt, closing your eyes and relaxing into his warm body. You’ve never noticed how warm Sukuna is, practically a human heater. 

“You are.” 

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh.” He murmurs, and the fire in your stomach grows hotter. Dammit, why does he have to have such a sexy voice? It's not fair.

“Fine. Be like that.” 

“I will. It’s not like you’re going to do–shit!” Sukuna yelps a bit, pulling away from you. “Fuck, your hands are fuckin’ freezing!” He shivers, but doesn’t shove you away when you move close again. “Do that shit again, and I will bash your head into a wall.”

“You’re so aggressive. We need to fix that.” You slide your hands under his sweatshirt again, and Sukuna flinches, but doesn’t pull away. “See, it’s not too bad.” You’re also using your cold hands as an excuse to touch Sukuna, as much as you wanted to yesterday, you couldn’t due to the positio…

You blink a few times, feeling your face grow hot. 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, placing his weight on one of his legs. Watching as you cling to him like a child to their mother. He’s used to women clinging onto him, but he’s always found it bothersome, and annoying. Shoving them off, or verbally berating them, but with you… he doesn’t mind it… that much.

You softly sigh, shoving your nose into his shirt. His cologne floods your senses, toasty and dark. “Let's go already, I feel messy.” You groan, pulling away and running your hands through your tangled strands. “I feel dirty. Do you happen to have a brush in your car?” 

“Why would I have a brush in my car?” Sukuna places his hands into his pockets, stopping himself from grabbing you again. 

You play with a strand of your hair, “I don’t know. Aren’t you like?... I don’t know, a fuck boy.” You turn to the door, flipping the light switch off. “I would think girls leave stuff in your car to claim you, or something.” 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, “What makes you think that?” You pass him a knowing look, which makes him bite back a smile. “You’re stupid. I don’t go around fucking people.” He teases, “That shit is gross to me. It’s how you get diseases.” 

“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes, pushing open the door and flooding brief light into the dark place. “Sure. It’s not like you go to frat parties all the time. I wonder what you could possibly be doing there.” 

“Having a girl suck my dick, is different from fuckin–” 

“You know what? I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.” You’re hurting your own feelings. “Whatever, I’m sure your body count is like–off the charts.” 

Sukuna comes close to your side, his arm brushing against yours with every step he takes. “Three.” He whispers, and you don’t know if it’s him being soft for you, or if it’s the setting that’s making him whisper. “I’ve only been with three girls.” 

You know for sure that one is the blonde girl, but who are the others? Is one his first girlfriend? But, they were only dating for a few months if you remember correctly. “Oh.” You look at him, blinking a bit dumbfounded. “Honestly. That's… way less than I thought it was going to be.”  

“Yeah.” Sukuna places a hand on the back of his neck, before smirking to himself. “Aren’t you a virgin?” As much as Sukuna wanted to make fun of you when he first found out, he quickly realized it wasn’t the time and place for such. You were nervous, and a bit anxious, and that’s not how Sukuna wanted your first time with him to be. However, now, things are a bit different. “Loser.” 

You feel your face turn hot. “I’m never letting you touch me again.” Sukuna shrugs, so you add, “I also want Mcdonalds.” 

“Alright.” 

“Can you get me cookies?” 

“Will you finally kiss me?” 

You smile, “If you get me what I usually get, a Mcflurry, and cookies, I’ll give you more than a kiss.” 

—

Sukuna should already know how you wouldn’t let him kiss you, more or less let him look at you for too long, you were just bluffing. Hell, he went so far to get you Chick-fil-A in the hopes of you keeping your promise. Then again, Sukuna isn't all that upset, seeing your face light up when he pulled into the driveway is more than enough for him.

Suddenly, he feels something punch his shoulder, pulling his attention to you. Your eyebrows are furrowed, “Why didn’t you text me, or leave a note–or something–about how you were subbing for me?” You fume, “I thought you left me! And right after you–” 

“I did.” Sukuna replies nonchalantly. “I texted, and left a note for you.” He laughs to himself, smirking a bit with pride. “In fact, I used the same sticky note from our study session to tell you.” 

You blink a few times, “Did you?”

“Yeah.” He looks at your pockets, or… lack thereof. “Check your phone, I’m pretty sure you left me on read.” 

“I…” You sheepishly look away, scratching the back of your neck, “I left my phone rushing to get to the library.” 

“Of course. Why didn’t I expect that?” 

“Hey!” You throw a tissue at him, “I can make mistakes, but you can’t expect me to make mistakes.” You dramatically bite into a fry, “If anything, you need to expect me to be nothing but perfect, okay?” 

“Whatever.” 

“Actually, if you let me eat your nugget ice, I’ll forgive you.” You pick up Sukuna’s drink, and shake it around, the ice inside softly splashing against the sides of the cup. 

Sukuna raises one of his eyebrows, pointing at the cup. “You want… the ice?” 

“Yes.” You say with full seriousness. “I love Chick-fil-A ice.” 

Sukuna throws his hand up, mumbling, “Take everything else I have at this point.” He takes the cup away from you, and places it back in his cup holder. “I can’t even drink anything anymore.” 

“You can have the drink.” You smile, “I just want the ice, besides, it’s not like you’re going to miss it or anything.”

“You’re…” Sukuna leans back in his chair, tilting his head back to look at the roof of his car. “I don’t think there are words in the English language to describe you.” He shakes his head, “No, I know what you are.” 

“What?” 

Sukuna passes you a sadistic grin, “Autistic.” 

There’s silence again, and you don’t like it. “I think I’m going to cancel you.” You turn away from him, taking a bite of your food. “You’re done, Sukuna, you’re done.” 

“Mhm.”

You let the silence simmer for a moment, before finally speaking again, “Hey, ‘Kuna?”

“Hm?” Sukuna bites into his sandwich. Again, in a very Sukuna like manner. 

You pop a nugget into your mouth, chewing slowly, “I’ve been meaning to ask, but… why did you pick me to be your fake girlfriend?” You steal one of his fries, popping it into your mouth before he could object. 

Sukuna scoffs at you, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, it was the blonde girl you were with when your Grandpa caught you, right?” You grab a strand of your hair, “My hair isn’t necessarily that color of blonde.” You’re more than sure that her color isn’t natural, it’s more dandelion yellow then a true blonde. Which you think is more than enough of a noticeable difference between your hair and hers. “Just… wouldn’t it make sense to ask her, the girl he caught you with, then me.” You laugh a bit, “I mean, have you seen my hair? We’re not an exact match.” You sarcastically add. 

Sukuna thinks for a moment, before freezing, as if a sudden cold-chilling realization had fallen over him. He looks at you, his food, then back at you again, “Uh.” He mentally curses to himself, remembering the girl he had over. “It wasn’t… the blonde girl I had over.” He tells you.

You look away muttering, “Whore.” 

“Lock your door tonight, I think I’m actually going to kill you in your sleep.” You laugh, taking a sip of your milkshake. “But, I didn’t have her over. I had some other girl over.” Sukuna’s eyes land on your hair for a moment, before he looks back at his food. “Don’t worry, your hair looked…” He hesitates before finishing, “Your hair looked identical to hers.”

You blink a few times, letting his sentence settle in your head. “Wait, wasn’t that before the project?” You tilt your head to the side, “Does that mean you called her over because she looked like–” 

Sukuna shoves a fry in your mouth. “Eat your food.” He huffs, pulling out of the parking spot in the Chick-fil-A parking lot. “I swear, you talk to fuckin’ much.” 

You hum, finishing the food. “Okay, meanie.” You pop another nugget in your mouth, looking at your reflection in the window. You like to think your hair is rather unique to yourself, hard to find something alike. You pass Sukuna a quick glance. Unless, he purposely asked a girl over who looked similar to you, because he…

You feel your eyes widen. Your lips parted ever so slightly, your face burning with embarrassment. Sukuna started like you… way before the project even happened. To the point where he invited some who looked similar to you over. That’s why Wasauke didn’t get suspicious when he first saw you. 

Sukuna smirks to himself, “You’re starin’, lovely.” He notices you whisper something underneath your breath, “Said somethin’?”

You look away from him, munching on another fry. “Simp.” 

His smile falls, “Get the fuck out the car.” 

You burst into laughter. 

･ ｡ﾟ☆:  *･ December 5th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Thursday.

The curtains are pulled back, letting the strong light of the sun into the living room. The sound of a movie playing in the background, while a book laid a few inches in front of your face. 

You’re dressed in simple wear, some pj shorts, and one of Sukuna’s shirts. It’s massive on you, covering your shorts and a good chunk of your thighs. Some fluffy socks bunched up at your ankles to keep your feet warm. 

Sukuna’s thumbs press into the sole of your left foot resting on his lap, your free one kicking up and down slightly. He’s wearing something equally as laid back, some black sweats, and his shirt… Well, you know where his shirt is. 

You’re resting on your stomach, your mind traveling in the world of literature. “Did you know that the most popular romance genre happens to be country?” You mindlessly say.

“Really?” Sukuna’s still looking at the TV. 

“Mhm.” You flip a page in your book, “Anything with the word Texas, or some form of Texas love pulls readers to buy it.” You stop reading, looking over our shoulder. “Hypothetically, of course, if I bought you a cowboy hat, would you wear it?” 

“No.” 

You think for a moment, “What about cowboy boots?” You quickly imagine Sukuna in cowboy boots, wearing a white wife beater, a plaid flannel, and—of course—a cowboy hat. You’re practically drooling. You divert your eyes, mumbling, “That would be hot.” 

Sukuna is almost as quick to answer, but pauses, thinking to himself. “Cowboy boots sound nice.” He props his arm on the arm rest, placing the weight of his cheek on his knuckles. “But, I’d never wear them. Not in the city at least.”

“You could wear them in the house.” You giggle, “It’d be something only for me to see.” 

Sukuna bites the inside of his cheek, “Weirdo.” 

“I’m not the weird one here.” You whisper, turning your attention back to your book. “From what I can recall, you were the one who masterbated to the thought of licking my–”

Sukuna grabs your pinkie toes, harshly pulling on it, gaining a small yelp from your throat. “None of that.” He scolds, “Always so sharp with your tongue.” He smirks, “That’s not the case when I was suckin’ on your–” 

“You know what, I’ll shut up for once.” You roll your eyes, continuing to read. Luckily, the two of you had already completed all your classes for the day, and Sukuna skipped practice. Again. It’s a bad habit he’s starting to develop, and a part of you wonders if he’s only doing it to pass time, or to become an athlete.

Sukuna slaps your back, “I’m hungry.” He pushes himself off the couch, making you fall to the floor in the process. “Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.” 

You lay on the floor, “Right. So glad you gave me a warning.” You soppily reach your hand over the couch cushions, grabbing a pillow, placing it under your head. “I mean, fuck my life, right?” You grab your book, continuing to read like nothing happened. 

“Get your ass up.” Sukuna snatches the book from your hands, closing it and tossing it on the table behind him. “You’re comin’ with me, go get your ass ready.” 

You groan, draping your forearm over your eyes. “But, I’m comfy, and I don’t want to leave the house.” You wave your hand in the direction of Yuuji’s room, “Tell Yuuji to go with you this time, I’m always going with you.” 

Sukuna groans, “You’re so difficult, just go get ready.” He turns to his room, hearing you giggle behind him. 

“Awh, if this is a date you’re asking me on, why didn’t you just say so sooner?” You tease, pushing yourself on your palms, and tilting your head at him. 

Sukuna tenses, the tips of his ears turning bright red. 

You blink a few times, a bit confused on why he reacted so dramatically to your joke, before you face flushes. “Oh my god! Wait, you’re actually asking me on a date?!” You scramble on your feet, almost falling as you make your way to Sukuna’s side. 

Sukuna turns his face away from you, “Hell no.” His ears are still red, “I’d never want to go on a date with you.” 

You pass him a curious look, smiling slightly. “Uh-huh. I’m sure.” You turn to face your room, “Same here, I’d never want to date someone like you, ‘Kuna. Gross.” You laugh again, lighter and lifting the room with bright energy, “I’m going to go get ready.” 

“Shower.” Sukuna calls from behind your shoulder, “You stink.” 

—

You like to think that the color pink is merely a coincidence, not something you picked because of Sukuna. Pfft, please, it’s not like your life revolved around him or anything, and you’ve always loved the color pink since childhood, so… yeah. 

“Are you wearing pink to match with him?” Nobara asks, tilting her head to the side. 

You feel your face flush, “No, I like the color pink.” You mumble, “Besides, Yuuji helped me pick out this dress, so—” 

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Nobara blows on her nails, removing the small excess that came from filing them down. “I’m sure Sukuna will think the exact same things when he sees you’re wearing a dress that perfectly matches his hair.” She grabs a black sharpie marker, holding it up to the camera. “Hold up, let me just add some missing touches…” 

“Nobara.” You whine, face a bit hot with frustration and embarrassment. “Does it look like I’m trying too hard? I don’t know what I should wear since I don’t even know if this is a date…”

”This is totally a date.” Nobara deadpans, “You two are totally a couple.”

That makes you blink, “Wait, is that true?” You place your hand over your mouth, whispering, “I mean, I’m sure he likes me, but I wouldn’t say we’re dating.” You turn to the side, looking at your door. “Like I said, I don’t even know—“ 

“Ugh, you’re so oblivious.” Nobara drops her head on her bed, groaning lightly. “How does everyone know, but you? This is so frustrating.” She pulls her head back up, “Call it a date, I want to hear you say it.” 

You hesitate, but nod, “We’re going on a date.” 

“Hell yeah you are.” Nobara gives you a thumbs up, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Now, remember to wear some cute matching underwear. He’s totally going to give it to you later tonight.” She smirks, “Rock your world, some would say.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“I didn’t say that.” Nobara places her hand on her chest, “Some said that. Very clear difference.” 

“I can’t with you.” You continue to do your makeup, before biting the side of your cheek. “Do you think the matching set should be pink?” 

“That’s the spirit!”

—-

It isn’t long before you’re happy with your look. Your hair styled perfectly, makeup and lashes done, along with some cute intricate heels. They’re a bit dramatic, but cute nonetheless, and they were expensive, so you’re going to wear them like a badge of honor. 

It makes you wonder why you don't wear heels more often? The last time you wore them it wasn’t bad at all. Took awhile to get used to walking in them, but after that you were good. They’re gorgeous, and make your legs look amazing. 

Maybe you will start wearing them more often. They would be an amazing incorporation to your already cute outfits. 

The dress you’re wearing is also incredibly cute. A skin tight tube top, while the bottom flared out with ruffles. A part of you thinks to grab a sweater, but it’s not like it’s going to be that cold, and it would ruin your outfit! 

You grab your things and leave your room, glancing into Yuuji’s room considering the door is wide open. You smile, passing him a kind wave. “Hey, Yuu.” 

Yuuji looks away from his phone, eyeing you up and down. There’s a subtle smile on his lips as he says, “A date?” He sits up, placing his phone down. “Did he finally ask you out on a date?” 

You naturally want to say no, but you hesitate, a small smile splitting your lips. “Uh, yeah, he finally asked me on a date.” You push a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Good to know he finally grew some balls.” Yuuji pushes himself off his bed, “Sukuna’s lucky, too. You deserve so much better than my emotionally underdeveloped brother.” He rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hands. His expression is hard, “If he does something that upsets you, call me. I’ll fucking kill him for you.” 

You blink a few times in shock. Is that the first time you’ve ever heard Yuuji cuss? You didn’t even know that was possible. You stutter out a laugh, before nodding your head enthusiastically. “Yeah, don’t worry Yuuji. I’ll totally call you if he starts acting up.” 

Yuuji nods with determination, “Good.” He smiles again, his eyebrows soft again. “You look amazing, by the way. Absolutely stunning.” 

You laugh, looking to the side. “Thanks Yuuji.” You look him up and down, “You look good too, are you going somewhere?” 

Yuuji places his hand on the back of his neck, taking a few steps back from you. “Uh, yeah.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket, “A friend of mine from middle school asked to catch up. So, I want to look nice.” 

You smirk, “Is this person a girl, by chance?” 

Yuuji shakes his head, his face flushed. “It’s not like that.” His  eyes light up for a moment, “Wait, I have something for you.” Yuuji moves to his drawer, and fishes for a tiny box inside. 

You tilt your head, taking a few steps closer. “A box?” 

“Yeah.” Yuuji smiles, holding it out for you. “I got it for my ex-girlfriend forever ago, but you can have it.” 

You feel your eye twitch. You don’t really know how to feel about that, but with the way Yuuji is smiling at you without a care in the world, you know he means it with pure intentions. “Uh, thanks Yuuji.” You grab it from him, removing the top and looking at the shining jewelry.

It’s gorgeous. A pair of matching earrings and a necklace perfectly held in the velvet padding. Silver and diamonds forming an intricate design that matches the earrings. Your lips part ever so slightly, “Yuu, this is…” 

Yuuji nods to himself, “I know. I’m an awesome best friend.” He places a hand on your shoulder, a smug smile on his lips. “No need to thank me, I already know you’re thankful.” 

You grab him in a hug, “Yeah, I don’t need to thank you.” You giggle into his shoulder, “But, thanks anyway.” You pull away, grabbing the earrings and putting them on, along with the matching necklace. “Does it look good?” 

Yuuji nods his head, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you ready to go?” Sukuna brassly asks behind you, his forearm resting on the door frame of Yuuji’s door. “I’ve been waitin’ for… hours…” 

You turn over your shoulder, your hair bouncing with life as you do so. You blink at him, your fake lashes fluttering. You pout slightly, pinching a strand of hair and rubbing it between your fingers, “I didn’t take that long.” You mutter sheepishly. 

Sukuna pauses, his lips parting before closing. He looks to the side, “Whatever.” He bites the inside of his cheek, “It’s cold, go get a sweater.” Sukuna, unlike you, is wearing a sweater. A nice zip up to decorate his black clothing. His gold chain accentuated, while a matching gold ring rested on his ring finger. He looks nice, really nice. 

“You’re not going to compliment her?” Yuuji places his elbow on your shoulder, resting a bit of his weight on you. “Actually, you don’t have to, I already did that for you.” He winks at Sukuna, passing him a smug smirk. “I got you.” 

Sukuna bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes trained on Yuuji. “Did you?” 

You nod enthusiastically, picking up on what Yuuji is doing. “Yeah!” You take a step forward, pushing your hair behind your shoulders to reveal the earrings he gave you. “And he also gave me these earrings! Aren’t they cute?”

Sukuna laughs through his teeth, “Adorable.” 

You blink at him innocently, leaning forward to let the necklace dangle right in front of your cleavage. “He also gave me this necklace, isn’t it just lovely?” You place your hand over your heart, showing off the jewelry. “I think it’s the sweetest thing ever.”

”Go get a jacket.” Sukuna pushes himself off the door frame, “We’re getting somethin’ that isn’t hideous.” He scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. “Yuuji has horrible taste, let’s get you something nice.” He makes his way to the kitchen, leaving you and Yuuji alone in his room.  

You turn, placing your hand on your hip. “No, my outfit would be ruined if I wore a jacket.” You pass Yuuji a quick smile and thumbs up, which is quickly returned by an equally enthusiastic Yuuji. “And I like what Yuuji gave me, it’s cute.” You follow after Sukuna. 

“That shit is ugly.” Sukuna grabs his keys. “If your ass starts freezing, I’m just going to point and laugh at you.” 

You roll your eyes, “Why am I choosing to leave with you?” Your heels click as you follow Sukuna into his car.  

“Don’t know.” Sukuna smiles, opening the door for you. “Maybe you’re obsessed with me, or something.” He places his hand atop your head, patting it a few times. You sit in his car, not bothering to respond. 

—-

Sukuna parks his car, with a soft beep, before reaching for the door. The car ride here was mostly silent, other than you asking some simple questions about where he’s taking you, and if he genuinely plans on murdering you today. Sukuna’s silence is normal, you’re used to it, but after you saw how Yuuji got under his skin, you sincerely think he might murder you today. 

“We’re here.” He adds, before shutting the door behind him. You immediately go to open your door, but Sukuna locks the car with you inside, making your attempts feeble. You groan with annoyance, tilting your head to look at him through the window. 

“Unlock the car.” You mumble. 

Sukuna cups the back of his ear, smirking. You can see, and hear, him mouth, “What?” 

You lean back in the car, and really contemplate; Is this the guy you like? Someone who is a little shit, and does everything in their power to get under your skin. You giggle to yourself, nodding your head. Hell yeah. You flash him an obvious fake smile, and clasp your hands together, “Please, open the door.” 

Sukuna unlocks the car, opening the door for you, and you don’t know if he was being nice to you, or if he was genuinely trying to get under your skin. “Mh. Love when you say that.” He grabs your hand, and yanks you out of the car, slamming you against his body. “Oops, forget how clumsy you are sometimes.” 

You shake your head, “And I forget how fuckin’ stupid you are sometimes.” You hear him shut the door behind you, locking the car again. “Why can’t you be a normal boyfriend, and just open the door for me like a gentleman?” 

“So, I’m your boyfriend now?” 

You feel your face flush, pushing Sukuna away from you, “Uh–I… that’s not what I meant.” You move forward, pushing your hair behind your shoulder, “I was just being hypothetical.” You huff. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes with a knowing smirk, “Sure, doll.” 

You cross your arms over your shoulders, small goosebumps erupting over your skin. “Ugh. I hate that nickname.” You immediately notice you’re in the parking lot of a mall. The biggest one in the city. You’ve only been here a few times, considering you’re more of a shopper, rather than window shopping person.  

Sukuna walks right behind you, hand on the small of your back. “I hate you call me ‘Kuna.” He grimaces a bit, “That shit is so stupid.” 

“That nickname isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.” You pause, letting him come to your side and looping your arms over his right one. Sukuna doesn’t even flinch, nor does he pull away, if anything, he moves his arm to allow you to grab it better. You cling onto his warmth, “I think knowing that you hate it, make me like it even more.” 

“I feel like the only reason you were born was to annoy me.” He pushes open the doors to the mall, and the bubbling sound of various conversations and mall music floods your ears. The smell of food and sweets entering your senses.

You wrinkle your nose, “Don’t say that. It makes it seem like we’re soulmates, or born for each other.” You shake your head, turning your head away from Sukuna so he can’t see the smile on your lips. “Gross. Imagine?” 

“Fuck you, too.”

You giggle, squinting, as the sun from the skylight beams in your eyes. “You know, I’ve been wondering, why don’t you have a girlfriend?” You think of the blonde girl for a second, she makes you scowl. “Or, are you more into the casual hookups.” 

Sukuna places his sunglasses over your eyes, they’re a bit big on you, but look nice nonetheless. “Relationships are… not for me.” He clicks his tongue, “I already told you about my last relationship, and it was…” 

“Bad?” You push your hair from your face, making sure it looks good with the new added accessory. “But, wasn’t that back in highschool? Wouldn’t it be a good idea to give relationships a go since it’s your last year in college?” You laugh to yourself, “Unless you’re planning to die alone.” 

Sukuna pinches your nose, “No, dumbass.” He naturally looks at the way you’re holding him, close and comfortable. “I just—I don’t think I was ready for a relationship. I had shit going on, the things I told you.” 

“That’s oddly mature of you, ‘Kuna.” You let your head rest on his arm, “So, in other words, you were the problem?” 

“I’m never the fuckin’ problem.” Sukuna laughs to himself, more cockily than anything. “But, enough about me. Tell me about you, virgin. Any middle school relationships?” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “You keep calling me a virgin, and I will literally leave.” 

“Sure.” 

You look up, trying to think. “I mean, I had a crazy ex, but it didn’t last that long.” 

Sukuna snickers to himself, ”I think you were the crazy one.” 

“Oh yeah, I definitely was.” You shrug, “But, that’s a given.” You almost fall when Sukuna abruptly tugs you into a store, your heels clicking frantically behind him. “Sukuna! I’m in heels, you can’t pull me around like that.” You whine, but it doesn’t last when you look around the store. Observing the products for sale. Clothing, shoes, jewelry, and bags. 

You blink a few times, trying to identify the clothing store by the layout, but find yourself coming out flat. Although, Sukuna seems to be more familiar with the layout, keeping you close to him as he leads you to the back of the store without a word. You notice the glass case, velvet decorators holding shining jewelry.  

You push the sunglasses up to the crow of your head, “Wait, you weren’t joking about the—“ 

“Of course not.” Sukuna stops, pushing you in front of him, “I hate that you’re wearing somethin’ another man gave you.” 

“That ‘other man’ is your brother, Sukuna.” Your eyes are trained on various necklaces, rings, and earrings, sparkling like diamonds–they are diamonds–in the light. “You shouldn’t think that way about your brother.” You lightly scold, but you don’t really mean it. 

“Pick something.” Sukuna doesn’t bother to respond, “Anything you like, I’ll get it for you.” 

You blink a few times, you don’t believe him. “You’re joking.” 

“Do you want me to be?” Sukuna’s on his phone, doing god knows what. “Anything. And make sure you hurry up, before I change my mind.” 

A lady dressed in a pencil skirt, and a white collared shirt makes her way to you, smiling kindly. “Is there anything you have in mind? Or, are we just browsing?” Her hair is pulled in a tight low bun, her bright blue eyes decorated with some cat-like glasses. 

“She’s looking for somethin’ nice.” Sukuna says, phone pressed to his ear. “Anything you think would suit her?” 

This feels so overwhelming, Sukuna’s buying you something, he’s actually going to buy you something. Is this why Yuuji was pointing out the necklace, did he know this was going to happen? “Uh…” You thickly swallow, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Uh—“ 

The lady nods her head, almost ignoring you. “Come here, child. I think I have something that will match your skin perfectly.” She starts walking to the right of the display, leading you to more bubbling jewelry. “Do the two of you have a price range by chance?”

You immediately open your mouth, wanting to say something along the lines of ‘anything cheap,’ but Sukuna places his hands over your ears, his phone snuggling held between his ear and shoulder. Sukuna says something to the lady, but it’s muffled and quick, and it’s returned with an enthusiastic head nod. He lets go of you, he bends down, his mouth near your ear as he whispers, “Pick out anything you like.” He takes a step back, patting your head, and speaking to the person on the phone.

You hesitate, but move close to the display, eyeing the array of colorful diamonds. You glance over your shoulder, eyeing Sukuna, before looking at the lady again. You lean in close, whispering, “What did he say?“

The woman glances at Sukuna, before reaching down and pulling out a rack of necklaces, along with matching earrings. “Which one do you like?” She grabs one of the necklaces, it’s simple, a silver chain, but the diamond is stunning. Wrapped in silver lining, and lined with smaller diamonds. “We also have some matching earrings, if you want to take a look at them.” 

You laugh nervously, toying with the ends of your frilly dress. ”Oh, but that seems like a lot of money.” You glance at the matching earrings, “But, they are pretty. Maybe not for me, though…” 

“Oh, sweetie, everything that’s covered in diamonds is made for women. The more the better.” She waves off with a playful smile, “I’m sure your fiance wouldn’t mind showering you in them, either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, taking a small step back, “Oh, we’re not–” 

“Of course not.” Sukuna pinches a strand of your hair, twisting the strand around his finger. “Anything for the wife, right?” The woman nods enthusiastically again. 

You want to pass Sukuna an uncertain glance, but are unable to find the opportunity when the woman reveals a beautiful bracelet. One that calls to you far more than it should. “That one is… nice.” 

You love it. 

The woman nods, “That’s wonderful, do you want to see the matching set that comes with it?” She reaches down in the display again, revealing the matching jewelry. She holds it close to your skin, the necklace gleaming with little to no light. “I think it fits with you perfectly, maybe a nice set of nails to match?” She turns to Sukuna for his opinion. 

You turn to look at him too, not for his opinion, but to gauge why she was asking for his opinion when you’re going to be the one wearing it. But, you're quickly shocked to see he’s already looking at you, “Well? What do you think?” 

Your lips part, blinking your long lashes at him in a bit of shock. “I…” You look back at the jewelry near your skin. It’s lovely, it really is, but do you deserve to have it? How expensive is it? You look at Sukuna again, softly saying, “I really like it.” 

Sukuna nods, placing his hand on your head. “We’ll take the set.” 

The lady nods, collecting the things and placing them on a velvet tray. You feel bad, velvet alone means expensive. “Can I get a name?” 

Your name leaves Sukuna lips with ease, and you can’t help but adore the way it sounds on his tongue. It feels a bit intimate, despite it being something as simple as your name, but hearing him say it… feels good. 

You really like it. 

You watch as she moves to the register, whispering, “Are you sure?”

Sukuna tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes to the side. “Yeah? What? Do you not think I can afford it?” He leans down, getting close in your face to whisper, “Do you really think I’m that poor?”

You huff, a small laugh leaving your lips. “Oh yeah, definitely.” You cross your arms over your chest sassily, “I’m scared my mere existence is too expensive to you.” You wave off. 

Sukuna feels his eye twitch. “Oh really?” 

You smile, nodding your head innocently, “Mhm.” You hum. 

“Pick out somethin’ else.” Sukuna says, pushing you towards the clothing rack. “Anything.”

You almost trip over your footing again, the extra dangles of jewels connected to your heels jangling. “Stop with the pushing!” You whine, grabbing onto his wrist to stable yourself. 

“If you fall, I’m going to laugh.” Sukuna mumbles behind you.

“Ah, yes, I’m so lucky to have you.” You whisper, but you turn your attention to the clothing racks. Dresses, and other articles of clothing decorating the hangers and shelves. 

A dress catches your attention, and you instantly reach for the price tag, trying to check the price. Sukuna is quick to grab your wrist, stopping you from looking at the price. He grabs the dress, holding it to your body. Seeing if it would fit you. 

“Don’t look at the price.” He tells you nonchalantly,  placing the dress on his forearm. He turns on his heel, walking towards the changing rooms, “Lets go try this on.” 

You hesitate to follow, glancing at the other dresses and being tempted to check the price, but Sukuna’s words repeat in your head. It’s a choice you make, not at all influenced by Sukuna’s orders, but you decide not to check the price. 

“Hurry your slow ass up.” 

“I’m going slower just because you said that.” 

— 

The dressing room is small, but one of the nicest you’ve ever been in. The mirror is framed by bright LED lights, and the bench is covered in soft leather. The rack holds your empty hanger, the dress sticking to your body. 

You glance at yourself in the mirror, struggling to zip up the dress up your back. A small, but frustrated, sigh leaving your glossy lips. “I hate zippers.” You let your hands drop down to your sides, sitting on the seat. 

Sukuna knocks on the door, “You finished in there?” He places his forehead on the door, “You’re taking to fuckin’ long. Hurry your–” 

You open the door abruptly, making Sukuna’s head meet straight with yours. You flinch, but immediately add, “I can’t zip it up.” You take a few steps back, a silent invitation for Sukuna to enter. “Can you help me?” 

Sukuna scoffs, but you can see him trying to hide a smile. “Looks like you can’t do anything without me.” He steps inside, the door closing and locking automatically behind him. “What a lost baby you are.” He coos. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring how your stomach flutters with his condescending tone. You must be going crazy, liking the way he talks to you? Yeah, you must be going crazy. “Just help me out, ‘Kuna.” You turn your back to him. 

“Yeah.” Sukuna places his hand on your lower back, pinching the zipper to your dress. He thinks it’s cute, a small heart pendant that matches your skin perfectly. “This looks nice on you.” His mouth is near your ear, and you feel the dress tighten around your chest. 

“You haven’t even looked at it.” You mumble back, placing a hand over your chest, “And, it’s like really tight on my chest.” You giggle, “I don’t think it fits.” 

Sukuna looks at you over your shoulder, glancing at your reflection. “Looks good.” He murmurs, eyes drinking up how wonderful you look in your dress. “I like when things are off the shoulder… easy access.” He runs his lips over your shoulder, pressing kisses against your skin. 

You shake your head, naturally leaning into Sukuna. “Can you…” You thickly swallow, a slow exhale leaving your lips, “Like not, for one second.” You feel your lashes flutter, “We’re in–” 

“Public.” Sukuna finishes for you, “But, isn’t that what makes it fun? Knowing that we can get caught?” He lets his hands travel down your body, “Five minutes.” He presses another kiss into your shoulder, “Give me five minutes.” His tone is… desperate, almost begging in a way. 

It makes your mind a bit hazy, turning to look at him. “One minute.” Your hands are on his shoulders, stabilizing yourself. 

Sukuna kisses your forehead, smiling as he mumbles, “Three minutes.” 

You narrow your eyes, tilting your head back and gritting out, “Thirty seconds.”

Sukuna obnoxiously sighs, slouching into himself, “Fine, one minute.” You giggle, lifting yourself on your tippy-toes and pressing your lips to his. Sukuna grabs your chin, pulling on your bottom lips to slide his tongue in your mouth, adoring the way your hands tighten around his shoulder. 

You pull back, looking past his body. Sukuna naturally leans close again to kiss you, but you press your lips together. “I feel like we’re being loud.” You whisper, your face feeling hot. “Can you like… not–” 

“Kiss you that loud?” Sukuna snorts, but that laugh is cut short when your palm presses over his mouth. 

“Shh!” You shake your head, a small but embarrassed smile on your lips. “People are going to hear us.” You whisper, moving your hand from his mouth to the collar of his shirt. “Mostly you. I swear…” 

“I’d fuck you here if you’d let me.” Sukuna says, his eyes half-lidded. “I’d do so much shit for you if you’d let me.” He kisses you again, and with his desire filled words, along with his skilled hands, you give in. Not bothered that someone can hear the sloppy kiss ensuing between the two of you. 

Sukuna’s hands moving to your ass, then to the back of the dress. Unzipping it from your body and pulling it down your frame, the fabric pooling at your feet. You feel yourself gasp, eyes widening with realization. Holy shit, wait, you’re wearing–

Sukuna breaks away from you, and you’re tempted to press your hand over his eyes, but you keep them firmly on his shoulder. Diverting your eyes as he bluntly eyes your body, the way your lacy underwear hugs your hips, and your bra digs into your soft tits. 

“Fuck.” Sukuna instantly kisses you again, grabbing your waist and pulling you alongside him, plopping you on top of his lap as he sits on the seat. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.” He mumbles against your lips. 

You giggle, moving your hands to pull at the straps of your bra. “Mhm? You like it?” You run your tongue over his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth and softly sucking on it.

“Fuck yeah.” Sukuna pushing his hips into your pussy, “Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel what you do to me?” He drops his head, kissing your neck and softly sucking on your skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make your body shiver. “Can I see ‘em?” He’s begging, his tone a bit more high pitched, and the tips of his ears red. 

His tone makes you dizzy, and you feel drunk of his words. You nod your head, your glossy bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and tug down the cups of your bra. Exposing your skin to Sukuna, and you can feel his dick twitch beneath you. 

You whimper. 

“Fuck yeah.” He groans, his hips twitching. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He wraps his lips around your nipple, his tongue circling around your sensitive nerves. 

You slap your hand over your mouth, arching your back into Sukuna. He smirks, “What? You like it when I do this?” He whisper, his voice raspy and deep, “You like when you get me hard in public, wanting to fuck you so everyone in this fuckin’ store can hear how good I make you feel?” 

“Why can’t you ever shut up.” You mumble back, rolling your hips into his dick. Straining uncomfortable against his Sukunas, a very visible dick print in his pants. “I swear, you always–” 

“You wet?” He mumbles, running a long stipe from the bottom of your tit, to the top of your collar bone. “Your pussy a droolin’ mess right now, huh? Wet, and waiting to be stuffed with my fat cock?” 

You feel your hips twitch, and you don’t mean to, you really don’t, but you nod. You look at him with your bright shiny eyes, hand clutching his chest, while you lean over for a kiss, nodding your head without a true thought other than Sukuna. “Please, I want you so bad, ‘Kuna.” 

You can feel his cock twitching between your lips, thick and hard. You subtly suck on your bottom lip, it’s coated with Sukuna’s and your saliva. You thickly swallow, your pupils blown. You really just want him inside of you, you want to feel the head of his cock deep inside your throat, your tongue sliding around his girth. Or, his cock spliting you open and he rams his cock inside your pussy. 

Your bottom lip wiggles, “Can I–can I…” You whimper, I want to suck his dick. 

Sukuna feels his jaw tick, but before he can so much as skim his finger over your sensitive clit, someone knocks at the door. “Is everything fitting alright in there?” An associate. 

Yet, Sukuna isn’t even given the chance to respond when you push your lips against him, ensuing a messy kiss between the two of you. His eyes practically rolling with how desperate and aggressive you’re being from a few words. 

Fuck, you’re so… perfect. 

You finally pull away, a catty smirk on your lips as you whisper against his lips, “I don’t like the dress.” You pick up your original dress, slipping it over your body. Sukuna’s still looking at you, “And, I’m hungry, can we wrap this up?” 

Sukuna feels his eyes twitch–well, that’s not the only thing twitching–and scoffs at you. So, now you’re toying with him. Right. Sukuna takes a moment to regroup, before responding, “Yeah, we didn’t like the dress.” 

There’s still a smug smile on your lips as you giggle at his almost dumbfounded expression, you move it close, swiping your thumb over his bottom lip. “You have a little something here.” 

Sukuna bites the inside of his cheek, watching you turn away from him and slipping his hard erection into the waistband of his boxers. If you want to play that game, keep doing it. Fine, he’ll play along to this little game you’re seeming to pull. 

Sukuna has never considered himself a masochist, but being around you is starting to feel like torture. A small ich in the back of his head which he can never scratch unless you're touching him, or begging him to touch you. 

Maybe, just maybe, he likes you a bit more than he originally thought. Which… is saying something. 

— 

You reply to a text Nobara had sent you a while ago, ignoring the obvious way Sukuna seems… pent up, as he stands right next to you. You place your head on his shoulder, leaning your weight on him while your fingers tap diligently at your screen.

“Happy with yourself.” Sukuna mumbles underneath his breath. 

“Mhm.” You turn off your phone, tucking it into his front pocket. “Very proud, actually.” You play with his fingers, toying with the gold ring decorating his ring finger. “You have really nice hands, by the way..” You slightly add. 

Sukuna huffs, but it sounds more like a laugh rather than an annoyed sigh. He shakes his head as he turns away, “You’re so weird.” 

“It’s me flirting with you.”

Sukuna scratching the back of his neck while mumbling, “No wonder you’re single.” 

You slap his arm, “Heard that.” 

“Didn’t say anything.” 

“Mhm, sure.” You roll your eyes, following at Sukuna’s side as he moves to the cashier. And as much as you don’t want to, you’re looking at the monitor displaying the price of everything that is to be scanned. 

Sukuna notices. In fact, he knew you would be aware and looking at the price. 

The woman tilts her head with a smile, “Can I get a name?” Sukuna says your name again, which makes the woman dip her head under the counter, looking for your items. “Also, will you be using cash or credit with this purchase?”

“Credit.” Sukuna currently responds, but you can see him patting his pockets from the corner of your eye, his hand landing on your phone, and pulling it out. He curses underneath his breath, “Shit, I think I left my phone in the dressing room.” He raises his eyes to your face, placing a hand on your head, “Can you go grab it for me?” 

You pout, but nod your head nonetheless. 

Sukuna nods in approval, “That’s my girl.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “I’ll be waiting for you.” You hesitate to move, looking at the register, then back to the area of the dressing rooms. He taps your arm reassuringly, “C’mon, go grab it for me.” 

You feel your heart flutter, but don’t let him see it, muttering a small, “Fine.” Before making your way to the dressing room. You enter the room the two of you were in not even a few minutes ago, glancing over the area and looking for his phone. 

You can’t see it, which makes you huff in frustration. You’re rushing a bit, trying to see how much money Sukuna is wasting on you. Hopefully, you can actually pay him back a bit, maybe take him to an expensive dinner. 

You move to the seat, glancing at the crack between the wall and the soft velvet. It isn’t there. 

You drop to your knees, tilting your head to the side to see if it fell down on the floor. It isn’t there. 

You look at the seat again, resting on your knees. It isn’t there. 

You look around the room, seeing if it fell… anywhere else, but… it isn’t there. It isn’t here.

Did someone steal it? You furrow your eyebrows. Maybe, that’s how I can pay him back, by buying him a new phone. You probably need to get a job, again. 

You leave the room, but not before passing it a final glance, hoping his phone would magically appear in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, it doesn't, so you’re forced to leave empty handed. 

You’re thinking of ways to tell Sukuna he may need to return the things he just bought you in favor of a new phone, but your thoughts come to a halt. In fact, your whole body comes to a halt. 

Your heart drops into the hole that opened up below you. 

Just like Sukuna said, he’s waiting for you at the entrance. A small bag in his hands, stuffed with tissue paper, and his hand tucked into his pocket. But, standing next to him, is a blonde woman. 

She’s saying something to him, but you can’t hear it. It could be the distance between the three of you, or the soft music the store is playing. It could be both, but you shake it off, pushing yourself forward. 

She doesn’t scare you. Sukuna doesn’t even like her, he likes you, so you shouldn’t be worried or intimated. Sukuna starts saying something back to her, and much to your dismay, you only pick up on the last thing he tells her.

“–and you’re ugly, so.” Sukuna shrugs. 

That makes you abruptly laugh, pulling the attention of both of them to you. You blink a few times in embarrassment, before waving a kind hello at her. “Hey, I remember you.” You giggle sweetly, “You’re the crazy… ‘ex,’ right?” You add air quotes. 

Her eyes twitch, a promite scowl on her lips. “Oh, this tacky piece of–”

“Here.” Sukuna hands you the bag, “Don’t worry about her, she wouldn’t leave me alone.” You swear you can hear him mutter, ‘Annoyin’ ass bitch.’ Under his breath, before asking, “You ready to go eat?” 

You smile, nodding your head, not passing the girl a second glance. “Yeah, I’ve been starving.” You loop your arms around his, resting your head on him. “Good to know. I can’t believe she’s trying to get back with you.” You flash her a smile when he pulls you away, adding a sweet, “Such a pathetic attempt to use, too.” 

She’s dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond, but she doesn’t even get the chance to respond because the two of you are long gone. As much as Sukuna doesn’t want to talk about what happened, he knows you want to. 

You tilt your head at him, slightly pulling away from him in favor of curling your fingers around his hand. “What did she want?” 

“She wanted to hook up.” 

“Oh.” You look away from him, “Well, what did you say?” 

“Nothing that you wouldn’t be aware of.” He squeezes your hand, ignoring your confused look. “C’mon, use that pretty head. I’m sure you can figure out what that means.” 

You pout, not bothering to dwindle on it for too long. “I thought you’re the type to like to make me jealous? Why didn’t you do that this time?” 

Sukuna pinches your cheek, a bit hard. “You weren’t around.” 

You close one of your eyes, pulling away from his touch. “What does that mean?” You use your free hand to rub the cheek he pinched, muttering a small, “Ow.” 

“If you aren’t around to be jealous, then there isn’t any point to entertaining any other girl.” He rolls his eyes, scowling to himself. “Besides, she’s annoyin’ as hell.” Sukuna can feel your gaze on him, it’s cute, you look like you’re a bit flattered. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, grabbing his sunglasses from the top of your head and flipping them down over your eyes. It’s a bit of a separation. Separating him from what? He doesn’t know what exactly. “Don’t let it get to your head.” 

You laugh to yourself, “Too late. Oh!” You tug on his hand, “I couldn’t find your phone, so… I think we may need to return what you bought me to get you a new one.” 

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, a bit confused, before closing his eyes and subtly laughing to himself. “No, I don’t need to do that.” He looks straight again, “I–uh, It ended up being in my pocket the whole time, so don’t worry.” 

“Oh.” You feel your eyes furrow, before opening your mouth again. 

“We have reservations at six thirty, which means we still have little over an hour to burn.” Sukuna doesn’t even let you respond, “Anything you have in mind?” 

“Not really.” You look around the mall, trying to think of something to take up time. Something that would take time, and isn’t necessary to spend money on. You come to a quick realization that nothing is possible without having to put down at least some form of payment. 

Bummer. Maybe, you can pay for a karaoke room, or some credits at an arcade… 

“Actually, I have an idea.” 

You take a few steps away from Sukuna in caution, much like a cat backing away from a barking dog. “I don’t think I’m excited.” 

Sukuna laughs, stuffing his hands into his pocket, “You shouldn’t be.” 

—

Over an hour later, and a fresh set of french tip nails, you’re sitting across Sukuna in another fancy restaurant. The booth you’re sitting at is on the second story, and has an amazing view of the people walking outside below. You can see some clouds crowding over the sky, and can’t help but wonder if it’s going to rain. 

You turn back to Sukuna, looking at your nails again. “I think I need to get my nails done more often.” You mumble, clearly admiring them with the bracelet and ring Sukuna bought you not too long ago. 

You didn’t even know the set came with a ring, but you’re not complaining. It’s gorgeous. Easily one of the most valuable things you now own. 

“D’you like it?” Sukuna asks nonchalantly, eyes also trained on your hands decorated with the fresh jewelry. 

“Mhm.” You lower your hand, grabbing your drink. “It’s nice, Sukuna, I really like it.” You take a sip, and add a quick, “Thank you.” Almost embarrassed to say it aloud. Sukuna leans back his chair, hands resting in his lap. He doesn’t respond, nor does he give any indication to hearing what you just said. That makes you even more embarrassed, “Hey, asshole, I said thank you.” You huff, “Can you say something back?... Please?” 

Sukuna tries to hide it, but you can see him fighting the start of a smile, “I heard you.” He grabs his drink, an alcoholic beverage of his choice, “I know you’re thankful, don’t need to tell me.” You pout, which makes him laugh, “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart, I know you can’t handle putting your ego aside.” 

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” You bite back, “Last time I checked, our biggest argument was over you refusing to–” 

“Don’t remind me.” Sukuna says, “Besides, I’m trying to mak–” He pauses, cutting himself off, before taking another sip of his drink.

You bite the side of your cheek, smiling to yourself. “Okay.” You play with your shoes, your feet toying with your heels. “Do you like my nails?” You flip them to him, it’s your third time asking this question, but you like his response. 

“I already told you what I think about your nails.” 

You flaunt your fingers, “I want to hear it again.” 

“Yes. They’re nice.” Sukuna grabs your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm. Your stomach flutters from it, it feels so… loving. A single act done between two lovers, and a part of you craves more of it. “I can get them for you more often, if you like them.” 

“It’s weird seeing you like this.” You softly say, pulling your hand back and resting it in your lap. “I feel like you’re going to poison my food, or something.” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes, jutting a thumb in a normal direction. “Yeah, let me just sneak into the kitchen.” 

You nod, an eager smile growing on your lips. “Let me come with you, maybe we can recreate the Lady Gaga music video from Telephone.” You point an accusing finger at Sukuna, “Wait, only if you let me be beyonce–no, I want to be Lady Gaga.” You look to the side, thinking again, “No, I’m a liar, Beyonce.” 

Sukuna snorts, resting his head on the palm of his hand. “You’re so weird.” He mumbles, before quickly correcting it to, “You’re so different.” 

You feel your expression fall, eyes narrowed at him. “Wow. Thanks.” 

“I’m not insulting you.” He takes his drink in his hand, swirling the liquid in the cup. “Just… stating an observation.” His full attention is on you, and it feels a bit overwhelming. 

You laugh, feeling a bit tense, and joking, “Is that why you like me?” 

“I don’t…” Sukuna pauses, diverting his eyes from you, before looking away, “Nevermind.” He mumbles into his palm, “I’m just saying it’s… I don’t know, relaxing? Doesn't feel like you’re being fake.” 

“Why would I be?” You tilt your head to the side, “I mean, sure, I wasn’t your biggest fan when we first met, but I didn’t… completely hate you.” You lean forward, supporting your head with the back of your hand underneath your chin. “It was like, seventy-six percent.” You’re smiling. 

Sukuna laughs a little bit, “I didn’t completely hate you either.” He pretends to think, “It was… ninety seven percent.” 

“I’m changing my answer. It was ninety-nine percent.” You shake your head, “But, uhm, yeah. I don’t know, you were annoying, but I always sort of… liked you, in a weird way.”

Sukuna gives you a boyish look, “Yeah?” 

You look at him, a soft expression on your face. Content. “Yeah.” You play with your bracelet, running the tip of your fingers over the gems. “Is this your way of calling me special?” 

“Not at all.” Sukuna watches as your eyebrows furrow, you’re always so expressive. “I’m insulting you, actually.” 

“Such a lover boy.” You sarcastically add, but your attention is drawn away from him when your phone vibrates. You’re tempted to look at it, but you know it’s rude to–

“The blonde girl texted me.” Sukuna softly says, a very clear bothered expression on his face. “I can’t believe she got another number.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, glaring at him. “You know, it’s considered rude when you’re on your phone during a date, ‘Kuna.” You’re tempted to snatch the phone away from him. You don’t know if it’s because you’re jealous, or upset he’s on his phone during your dat…

You feel the color from your face drain. Wait. You didn’t say that. You didn’t just say that to Sukuna’s face. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, searching for Sukuna’s expression. But, there’s nothing, not any form of emotion or indication to disagreement–or agreement–to what you just said. 

“Yeah, but I’m not actually on it.” Sukuna says, “I’m just checking a notification.” 

Is he… agreeing with you? Does this mean that this really is a date? Telling Nobara and Yuuj is one thing. But, having Sukuna blatantly agree with you, is a completely different thing. 

You cross one foot over the other, trying to look at his screen, but he puts his phone face down on the table. “What did she say?” 

Sukuna slides his phone to you, “Check.” 

You nod, grabbing the phone and pulling it into your lap. “You know, I thought you would be more secretive with your phone.” You flip it right side up, clicking the unopened text message, quickly putting in Sukuna’s password which you happened to remember. 

“Nah. I don’t really have anything on my phone I would want to hide.” Sukuna leans his head back, “Well, nothing from you at least. Maybe from Uraume or Yuu, though.” 

“I thought Uraume knew everything about you.” You open the message, cringing at the abrasive text about you. 

“They do.” Sukuna nods to himself, “They know how I like my food, and what happened when I was younger, but that’s… all.” 

“Hm.” You turn off the phone again, “Apparently I’m a… ‘selfish bitch,’ who… ‘can’t keep my hands off what doesn’t belong to me.’” You scoff, “Are you cheating on me, ‘Kuna? Or, did I really snatch you away from this girl?” 

Sukuna shakes his head, “Gross. Don’t even fuckin’ joke about that.” He sighs, rubbing his temples. “I can’t believe I let her over.” 

You furrow your eyebrows in thought, wait a minute… “Wait, what’s her name?” You laugh to yourself, feeling almost a tiny bit bad. “I just realized, this whole time I’ve known her, I don’t even know her name.” 

“She knows your name.” Sukuna says without a thought, “She wouldn’t stop talking about you when she was over for a project.” You hear him mumble, “It’s actually sad how obsessed she is with you.” 

“Maybe, I should go date her then.” You joke, taking a sip of your drink. “It honestly seems that she likes me more than you do.” 

“You think so?” 

“You just said she’s obsessed with me.” You mutter, twirling your straw. “I need the person who likes me, to be absolutely obsessed with me, ‘Kuna. They shouldn’t be able to function without me.” 

Sukuna gives you a half smile, “Yeah?” 

“If you like me, why aren’t you obsessed with me?” You tear your gaze away from Sukuna when your waiter comes to your side with your food, sliding a plate of your favorite steak. 

“Maybe, I am.” 

You snap your head up, “Wait, what did you say?” 

Sukuna shakes his head, passing you a confused look. “Nothing.” He silently thanks the waiter with a head nod, “What did you say?” 

You roll your eyes, “I hate–” Sukuna raises his eyebrows. “Ugh, nevermind.” You wave it off, “But, seriously, what’s her name?” You pick up your fork and knife, “I just realized I’ve been beefing with a girl I don’t even know the name of.” 

Sukuna parts his lips, but then looks to the side, scratching his chin in thought. “Actually…” He hides a smile, cutting a piece of steak and placing it in his mouth. “I don’t… know.” 

“You slept with someone you don’t even know the name of?” You gawk, cutting into your meat in a similar manner. “Jesus, Sukuna, I didn’t think of you like that.” You tease. 

“I’m sure I did when… ugh…” He shakes his head in disgust, “I can’t remember it.” He shrugs, “Who cares. She’s the past.” 

You hum thoughtfully, “What’s my name?” 

Sukuna doesn't even look at you when your name leaves his mouth, quick and without a second thought. In fact, it comes so naturally to him, he doesn’t even stop from cutting into his food. “Why?” 

Knowing that he knows your name, and can’t even remember the other girl… That makes you feel good. There’s a subtle smile growing on your lips, and Sukuna notices it. 

You take a fry from his plate, “Tell me more about you, ‘Kuna.” You scoot closer to him, 

“You know more about me then I know about you.” He leans back, “Why don’t you tell me somethin’ about you instead.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “I thought I talked too much?” 

Sukuna laughs, and it’s genuine. “You do.” 

“Hypocrite.” You point at him with your fork, “You’re setting me up for failure here.” 

“I don’t mind you talking.” Sukuna says, “You just… never stop talking.” 

“You’re making me insecure.” You look at your food, “You’re supposed to not make me insecure.” 

Sukuna tilts his head, “I thought I was obsessed with you?” 

“…You are.” Your voice waivers. 

“Then, don’t get in your head.” Sukuna shrugs. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, before slowly saying, “I still think you’re setting me up for failure.” You shake your head, “No, delusion is the better word here.” And you’re not even talking to Nobara, someone who agrees with you no matter how crazy. 

“You are delusional.” 

I’m very delusional, but you don’t tell Sukuna that. “You know, for agreeing with me all the time, you’re never right.” You sigh, pushing your hair out of your face. “But, what do you want to know about me?” 

“Why’d you put up with me for so long?” Sukuna says underneath his breath, but quickly adds, “Why did you decide to become president of the ASL club? You’re not–completely–deaf.”

“Not everyone who learns ASL is deaf, ‘Kuna. I’m sure you saying that has to be some sort of… I don’t know, hate crime or something.” You laugh to yourself, ignoring Sukuna’s eye roll, before continuing, “Uh, but, I started learning about it because of my mom.” You push a vegetable on your plate with your fork. 

Sukuna nods his head, “You’re also learning about Kinesiology because of your family, right? Tryin’ to become a physical therapist.” 

You almost forget why, and how Sukuna knows that, but your mind travels to the dinner you shared with his grandpa. “Yes.” You play with your bracelet, “I mean, what I told you grandpa was true, somewhat.” 

“Somewhat?” 

“I didn’t tell him… everything.” You pop the base of your heel off your foot, “Sorry…” 

Sukuna shrugs, “Don’t apologize, that shit gets annoying. Not everything is somethin’ you need to apologize for.” He rolls his eyes, “In fact, my old man should be apologizing, tryin’ to get up in your personal life. So annoying.” 

You shake your head, “Well, uh… I want to become a physical therapist because of my mom.” The restaurant feels silent, the only thing you can hear is your mom’s voice in the back of your head. “I've wanted to become one since middle school.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything for a minute, which you appreciate. He’s giving you time to regroup. “You don’t like talking about your family.” Sukuna’s full attention is on you, “Did something happen between you?” 

“No.” You bit the corner of your lip, eyes fluttering slightly. “I… love my family, more than anything.” You don’t know how you feel about Sukuna asking you so many questions, but… knowing that he wants to get to you, makes you feel a pocket-size amount of happiness. 

Sukuna grabs the vegetable from your plate, and pops it into his mouth. “Why didn’t you move in with them?” 

You’re sure the question isn’t meant to be mean, so you don’t let it get to you. “They live in a different state. So, it would be a bit impossible.” You laugh, “I actually visited them the week before I moved in with you.” 

Sukuna nods, “Yeah? How’d that go?” 

“I–” You squeeze into yourself, “Did I ever tell you why I started learning ASL?” 

“I’m assuming it's also the same reason you’re becoming a physical therapist.” 

You laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah. My… uh, my mom has been struggling…” You take a deep breath, “I feel bad, I feel like telling you this is going to ruin the mood.” 

“Probably.”

“You’re not helping!” You turn away, but fight off a smile. You sigh, before looking at your food, “Well, uh, I’ve wanted to become one since middle school, since that’s when my mother first started… uhm, experiencing seizures.” 

Sukuna seems taken aback by this, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. “Really?” He takes a sip of his drink, “Do you know the reason?” His tone is… different. It’s more distinguishable than it’s ever been before. No–that’s a lie. It sounds exactly how he did when telling you about his past. He sounds…vulnerable. 

“Uh, we don’t know exactly, but we think it may be some form of epilepsy.” You smile to yourself, and it’s a way to comfort the twisting feeling in your stomach. “I was–I was home the first time it happened, back in middle school.” You reach over and steal another fry from his plate. “I didn’t know what to do when it happened.” 

“I’m sure no one would at your age.” He places another fry on your plate, “Sounds terrifying.” 

You nod your head meekly, “Yeah, it was.” You thickly swallow, “But, uhm… I’m fine–it’s fine now.” You tap your foot on the ground, “Well, I mean, she still deals with seizures, but it’s way less frequent.” You awkwardly laugh to yourself, “I—they’re still scary, and rare, but I know how to handle them as an adult.” Even if you need to come home for a short amount of time to make sure, without a questionable doubt, your mom is indeed okay, and not going to leave you forever. 

“I couldn’t imagine.” Sukuna says, his features soft. 

“Yeah, uhm, but…” You push your hair out of your face, shaking your head slightly. “My dad was home that day, thank god, and ended up taking her to the hospital. I couldn’t come, but waiting in the house for them to come back… honestly I wish he would’ve just taken me with him.” You half smile, “It was horrible.” 

You can remember the thoughts rushing through your head like the event happened yesterday. How much you blame yourself, and how mad you were for not doing anything, even though there was nothing you could do. You thought that your mother would abandon you for not helping, or disown you for standing a few feet away from her with tears streaming down your cheeks. Not only that, but you thought she was never going to come back from the hospital. You thought that was going to be the last time you saw her. 

You press your lips together, feeling them wiggle ever so slightly. 

“She came back.” There’s something somber in Sukuna’s tone, but you wouldn’t be able to pick it up with any form of expression on his face. Part of you wonders if it hurts Sukuna to hear you talk about your family, or anything related to closeness. 

“Yeah.” You nod softly, “She came back.” 

Sukuna lets out a breath. 

“But, she was different.” You move your hand to your face, cupping your jaw delicately. “She looked different. She wasn't my mom. Or, so I originally thought.” You thickly swallow, hand still rubbing your face. “I grew up with a mom who would quirk her face in the most interesting way to the littlest things. Her smile–god…” You smile to yourself, “Her smile could light up a room, Sukuna, I adored it more than anything.” 

“You’re like that.” Sukuna says without a thought, “It’s really funny. You’re very expressive.” He rests his head on the back of his hand, “I’m sure you took that from your mother.” 

You beam, “Thanks.” You push your meat around on your plate, “But, in my younger twelve year old mind, I thought she was a different person. She wasn’t… mom.” You gesture your hand to your face, “She couldn’t–she couldn’t move her face, and it seemed… heavy.” You narrow your eyes, “It weighed down.” 

Sukuna nods. 

“Turns out the seizure ended up paralyzing her face.” You place your weight on your side, “She couldn’t really move anymore–I mean, obviously, but… it was weird, you know? Seeing someone so expressive not be able to move their face?” 

Sukuna can imagine that. He experienced it with his brother, after their argument. He went from a bubbling boy, to someone who couldn't so much as crack a polite smile. “Yeah, I understand.” 

“Not only that, but she couldn’t talk anymore. I mean–she could, but it wasn’t the same. It was hard, and… muffled. It was painful.” You play with the ends of your hair, “So, my dad would always put aside some time to massage her temples, jaw, anything that was uncomfortable.” You nod to yourself, “And, like I said, she could talk, but she was… she wasn’t comfortable talking.” You’re mom only expressed her embarrassment to speak due to her paralysis when you were in highschool, and it broke your heart. 

It’s your mom. 

“So, she wanted to learn a different way to communicate with people. One that didn’t, you know…” You point at your lips, “Involve mouths. So, that was my introduction into ASL.” You look outside, watching people pass you by. “I mean, it’s fascinating, no? A universal way of communicating.” 

“You work with children that are deaf, too.” Sukuna says, trying to learn more information. 

“Oh, absolutely.” You beam, “I love children, and while I’m thankfully my mom isn’t deaf, many people are. So, if I already knew the language, why not honor it in some way of giving back to the community.” You look away, a bit sheepishly, “It sounds like I’m boasting, but I’m not… I’m just… incredibly thankful. I want to… pay my respects, I guess.” 

Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you, if anything, from a stranger's perspective, it would look as if he’s admiring you right now. “Why’s that?” 

“Well, like I said, my mom seemed different, but she wasn’t.” You move your hands to the seat, “She’s always been the same person, but she found a different way to be expressive. A different way to be herself.” You move your hands to hug yourself, a content expression on your face. “She found a different way to love me. Even if it was silent.” 

“You’re…” He looks to the side, “You’re a good person, you’re better than me.” He places his utensils down. You didn’t even notice he finished his food, shit, you should really hurry up and finish yours now. “It’s admirable. No wonder you and Yuuji get along so well.” 

“I love Yuuji.” You mutter with fondness, “But, yeah, that’s why I wanted to help teach people how to speak in a universal way. So, everyone can communicate and express themselves. No matter what their language, or situation is.” You laugh to yourself, making a mouth with your hand, “Sometimes, words are some of the hardest things to express, you know?” 

Sukuna sighs, nodding his head with exasperation, “Oh, I know.” He lightly kicks you under the table, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s clear he’s messing with you. “I mean, that’s why you were mad at me for a week. Just because you couldn’t say you had a thing for me.” 

“I didn’t—“ You huff, taking a final bite of your food, and pushing your plate away. “I think you’re going crazy, absolutely insane.” You shake your head, “But, yeah, that’s the “tragic” story behind my life. I’m not too mentally unstable.”

Sukuna nods, “I’m sure.” He looks to the side for a moment, “But, I’m… It’s good to know more about you now.” He doesn’t know how to phrase what he wants to say, but from the humble look on your face, he’s thankful you understand.  

You lean back, patting your stomach, “But, I’m full.” You mumble, melting into your seat. “I’m dying to take a nap, or walk around or something.” Your eyes widen with excitement, “Oh my god, what if we went to a trampoline park? I can do some amazing flips.” You boast.

“I’ll get the check.” Sukuna looks to the side, peering past the seat of your side of the booth. “Should I take some dessert to go? Maybe you’ll get hungry after all the jumping.” 

You immediately want to say yes, but you already don’t feel good with how much money he’s spending on you, so you say, “It’s okay, I’m already full.” You stretch dramatically, “I think I’ll be good to be honest, if anything I can just buy some snacks from a convenience store or something.” 

“If that’s what you want.” Sukuna dismisses, trying to ignore the voice barking in the back of his head who noticed you eyeing the cookie cake. 

You nod, also looking to the side to see if you could spot a server, and when you do, an idea pops into the back of your head. Not only that, but you also pop your heel off your right foot. “Oh.” You point behind Sukuna, “I see our waiter, want me to flag him over?” 

“No. It’s fine.” Sukuna turns over his shoulder, making clear eye contact with the male. You take this time to scoot closer to the table, lifting your foot. You can’t help but smile at the waiter when he comes over, batting your eyelashes innocently at him. 

Sukuna thinks it’s a bit odd, but doesn’t dwindle on it for too long. “Uh, we’re ready for…” He pauses for a second, before, “Actually, I was hoping if we could take the cookie cake to go?” 

A part of you now feels bad for what you’re about to do, but you’re already dedicated to the bit, and can’t back down now. Sorry Sukuna. 

The waiter nods, “Of course, I can add that to your bill here.” 

Sukuna nods, “Yeah, that would be–” He stills, almost stumbling over his words, but he catches himself. His eyes landed on you, before nodding his head, “Uh, yes, please do that.” You slide your foot further up his leg, resting it comfortably on his knee. 

The waiter nods again, this time a beaming smile on his lips. “Of course.” He points in the direction of the kitchen, “Do you also want me to get you a to-go box? Pack everything you didn’t finish?” 

Sukuna thickly swallows, feeling the pressure slowly trail up into his inner thigh. Before resting right over his crotch, applying an amount of pressure that accidentally makes his eye flutter. He shakes his head, “No, we’re–we finished everything, it’s okay.” He lowers his hand, gripping your ankle with a fair amount of pressure. “Get the check.” 

The waiter seems a bit put off by Sukuna’s abruptness, but doesn’t dwindle on it for too long. He merely nods again, “I’ll go get your cake, and the check.” Then, he’s off again, leaving you and Sukuna alone in the booth. 

Sukuna’s glaring at you, and you’re trying to hide a smile. You finally look at him, batting your eyelashes innocently, “What? Is somethin’ wrong?” You wiggle your foot in his grasp, his finger ever so slightly slipping underneath your sock. 

“I’ll kill you.” Sukuna says, “No, that’s a lie.” He lets his other hand trail over your calf, running the tips of his fingers over your shin. “If you want to play dirty, I’ll make it filthy.” He lets his fingers trail further down your leg, and goosebumps emerge from your skin. 

It feels good.

You thickly swallow, subconsciously scooting closer to the table in an attempt to get Sukuna to touch more of you. “Really?” You hum, fluttering your lashes at him, and Sukuna must be a saint from how much self control he has. “I think I play nice for you, ‘Kuna.” 

Sukuna feels his fingers twitch around you, along with something else not too far away from that. If it were up to him–if you would let him–he would fuck you right here on the table. “Yeah.” He whispers, leaning closer to the table and adding, “You want me to fuck you here? Make your little clit all red and sensitive? Nothin' but sweet thoughts about how good I’m making you feel?” 

You hate–love–what his words do to you. “Maybe…” You mumble, eyes almost rolling at that thought of Sukuna–

“Too bad.” Sukuna quickly pulls your foot, making you almost fall underneath the table. Your forearms resting on the seat, while your lower body completely under the wood, your foot and calf now perfectly resting in his lap. 

Which, consequently, is exactly when your waiter decided to come back with the cookie cake and the bill. You make eye contact with him, your body below the chest hidden by the table. You pass him an awkward smile, trying to pull yourself back up, but due to Sukuna’s firm gaps, you’re positively stuck. 

The waiter places the bill on the table, along with the cutely packaged cookie cake. “Uh, are you–uh, are you okay?” He tilts his head, “Should I call for–” 

“She’s fine.” Sukuna takes the bill with his free hand, “This is actually an intervention, and she’s just relapsing.” 

Your jaw drops, but you quickly rebut with, “Says the one who was shooting cocaine off my ass before we entered!” You turn to the waiter, “You should’ve seen it, it was a long line, too.”

Sukuna’s smiling, shaking his head while handing the server a hearty amount of money. “Keep the change.” He pushes your foot off him, sliding off the booth. 

You giggle, shimming your foot into your heel and quickly following after him, but not before adding, “You might want to wash those.” You pass the waiter a playful wink, before grabbing onto Sukuna’s arm. You can hear Sukuna laughing besides you, pushing the door open for the two of you. “I hope you tipped him well.” You shiver from the cold air biting at your skin. 

“I did, don’t worry.” Sukuna shakes his head with a final smile, “Besides, I’m pretty sure those were my coke dollars.” 

You feel your eyes widen, “You’re joking.”

Sukuna pinches your nose, “Of course I am.” 

You let out a breath of relief, “I was about to say.” You glance back at the restaurant, “We might’ve actually re-created the Telephone video by accident.” 

“Oh yeah, with a few coke dollars.” Sukuna sarcastically adds, “Sure, might as well start dancing right now.” He pulls out his phone, flashing the camera on you. 

“Telephone!” You make a phone with your hand, smiling into the camera. But, your smile falls, your eyes shrinking from the bright light. “I can’t believe you record with flash.” You lean in close to his camera, your eyes practically touching it, “You’re really weird.” 

“Says the one yelling ‘telephone,’ like an idiot.” Sukuna laughs at how the camera distorts your face from so close, “I’m sending this to Yuuji, he’s going to laugh at you.” He stops filming, and it takes you a moment to readjust to the lack of light. 

“He’s going to love it.” You giggle, “If anything, Yuuji is going to be rushing to come join me.” 

“He would always fiend over Just Dance.” Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes discreetly, “It was the one video game I could never beat him at.” 

“Wait, we have Just Dance at the house?” You narrow your eyes at Sukuna, poking his arm, “The fact you haven’t told me about this until now has to be a crime.”

“I'll get your own Just Dance.”

You giggle, resting your head on his bicep, “You get it Sukuna.” You look around, blinking innocently. “But, are we going home now? We’ve been out for some time now.” You can’t deny how your feet are starting to ache from your heels. It’s not too bad, but it’s noticeable. . 

“Still got one more thing to do.” 

You softly sigh, slouching into yourself, “Okay.” 

—

The sound of distant Christmas music is playing, accompanied by the decorations of the building with Christmas lights. “I didn’t know the city did this.” You feel breathless, glancing over the lights decorating the town. “Maybe I need to get out of the house more…”

“Every year when it’s December.” Sukuna leans on the wall behind you, letting you admire the center plaza of the city. The massive tree decorated with Christmas lights, and a massive golden star at the top. “People come together and put ornaments on the tree.”

You snap your head to look at Sukuna over your shoulder, “And we don’t have one?!” You narrow your eyes to him, “People are totally going to be judging us now that we don’t have something to put on the tree.” 

“You can buy something to put on the tree.” Sukuna points to a small building not too far from you, “There’s a small business that allows you to pick out little ornaments to put on the three.” 

“That’s so cute!” You grab his arm, “We should do that!” Before Sukuna can respond, you’re pulling his hand behind you to the small store. But, you stop, “Actually, you wait here, I’ll pick something out.” 

Sukuna furrows his eyebrows, “But–” 

“Trust me.” You point at him sternly, “Don’t follow me.” You don’t need him paying for anything else. 

Sukuna shoves his hands into his pockets, your small shopping bag resting right at his wrist. “Bossy.” 

You’re quick to glance over the ornaments, trying to pick out something fast to not leave Sukuna waiting for too long. You can feel the dread of remembering what happened last time creeping up the back of your head.

“Hot men can’t be left alone too long.” You mumble to yourself, softly cupping an ornament with a pink cat. It makes you laugh. Unlike Yuuji, Sukuna wasn’t at all puppy like, cat like would be the better way to describe him. No, this cat ornament is the best way to describe Sukuna. 

You’re quick to pick it out, pay for it, and bring it back to Sukuna. Practically skipping to him with the ‘thank you for buying,’bag in your hands. “I got something!” 

Sukuna nods, “I would hope so.” He watches as you open the bag, pulling out the ornament. It almost makes him crack a smile, but he keeps his composure. “Should I ask why you bought that one?” 

“It’d make you a good boyfriend.” You lift it to his face. 

Sukuna turns his head away from you, “I’m not asking anymore.” 

“I’m so glad you asked!” You bring it to your face, pressing it right next to your cheek. “I got it because it’s literally you.” You look at it again, “Just way cuter.” Sukuna makes a face, but you're tugging him along again. “Put it on the tree, then we can take a picture of it together.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just watches as you scurry to the tree and pick out a place–no, you don’t like that place, it’s too close to an ugly ornament, you actually want the space three ornaments away from it. You glance back at him, “You sure you want that place?” 

“Yes.” You point at it again, “Don’t ask too many questions, I’m indecisive.” 

Sukuna laughs, grabs the ornament from your hand and places it on the tree. “Is that good?” He moves to the side ever so slightly, letting you look at the placement. But, he mumbles underneath his breath, “It better be.” 

You nod, “Yes. It’s good.” You poke his chest, “Jerk.” 

“I’ll hang you on the tree as an ornament.” He grabs your waist, and picks you up. “Don’t move.” 

You shake your head, smiling with a giggle, placing your hands on his shoulders, “Wait, you going make me flash someone Sukuna, put me back down.” You wiggle your feet back and forth, your heels slowly peeling off your feet. 

“Good.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him into a hug, “Wait, before you put me up, we have to take a picture.” Sukuna gently places you back on the ground, which you think is rather out of character for him. Still, you flinch from the contact, the pressure being put back on your sensitive feet. 

Okay, now you remember exactly why you’re a Converse girly. You’re starting to find the pain to be a bit unbearable. 

“Picture.” He mumbles, reaching for his back pocket. “I’d rather be caught dead than in a picture with you.” He shakes his phone, before placing it in your hands. 

“If you’re going to bitch about it, just give me my phone.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “I swear, you make it so hard for me to want to be with you.” 

“It’s not hard.” Sukuna leans down, grabbing your wrist and lifting his phone with your hand. “You just make it hard.” 

You flip to the camera, angling it so the picture would get both of you. “Good thing we’re never going to be together.” You press your cheek against his, turning your head ever so slightly so your lips are touching his cheek. “Ever.” 

And, for some goddamn reason, Sukuna can’t help but crack a small smile at that. Just in time for you to snap the picture. 

“See, that wasn’t at all bad.” You lower the phone and click on the picture, “I literally look so cute too.” Which you can’t help but thank god about, usually you don’t even like the way you look in facetime calls. “And… I guess you look okay.” 

“Back on the tree.” He goes to pick you up again.

“Stop, you're going to make me drop the phone!” You try pulling away from him. Yet, you take a small mental note about how easy it is for Sukuna to move you around, lifting and pulling you with ease. 

“I’ll get a new one.” 

“But you can’t replace the photo!” You hug it close to your chest, “Wait, send it to me, I want to put it as your profile picture.” You reach into his pocket, pulling out your phone, but Sukuna–for some reason–seems to be a bit panicked by your hand. 

“Wait, don’t–” 

You giggle, “Wait, what? You scared I’m going to accidentally touch your–” You watch as something falls to the floor when you pull your phone out of his pocket. “Oh, you dropped something.” You bend down to pick it up, before blinking a few times, your hand inches away from the–the…

You feel your face explode in heat, your hand retracting back almost in fear. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my… You slowly tilt your head back, looking at Sukuna. “Uh, I… my bad.” 

Sukuna isn’t looking at you, his hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn’t even say anything, which you think is odd considering his quick tongue, and brass never censoring mouth. 

You feel a sharp puff of air leave your lips unexpectedly, before you cup your mouth, giggling into your palm. Before erupting into a laughing fit, absolutely dying in your kneeling position. 

“You’re such a child.” Sukuna remarks above you, but he’s still not looking at you. 

“You think I’m the child?” You pick up the small square, the gold packaging crinkling underneath your touch. “Sure, but here, you’re… Trojan magnum condom.”

Sukuna snatches it from your hand, sliding it back into his pocket. “Shut up.” 

You stand up, opening Sukuna’s phone to search for your contact. “I can’t wait to tell Nobara about this.” You whisper underneath your breath, “Also, what did you change my contact to?” 

Sukuna furrows his eyebrows at you. “Your contact?” 

“Yeah.” You open up his messages, and feel your finger pause in its spot. Your eyes stop on the second most recent message, your contact. 

“You named yourself.” Sukuna adds obviously, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. “Don’t tell me you already forgot that shit.” 

You take a moment to respond, a bit stunned that Sukuna kept the name. “Y-Yeah, sure.” You pretend to roll your eyes, resting your weight on your right leg, leaning ever so slightly. “My memory isn’t that bad.” 

You’re trying not to think about how Sukuna kept the name, or how he already has a picture for you. The one he took to supposedly, ‘send to Yuuji,’ which coincidentally is something Yuuji has never brought up to you. 

Just send the picture, you mentally tell yourself. Opening your message history and glancing at the most recent one he sent you. ‘Going to your club, keep sleeping. Lazy.’ So, he did tell you about it, but in your crazed, worried, panic, you didn’t even bother to glance at your phone. 

“You done?” Sukuna asks, arms crossed over his chest. “Or you looking for something to annoy me about.” 

“You know me too well.” You hand Sukuna his phone back, wiggling your shoulders playfully. “I also sent an old picture of you dressing as Sailor Venus. A little gift for putting up with you for so long.”

“I hope you die.” Sukuna shoves the phone into his pocket. 

“Oh.” Your eyes trail behind him, glancing at a cute ornament. “Wait, that one is so cute. Let’s change the location of our ornament.” You take a few steps forward, “I kinda’ wish I got one like that now.” 

“Why?” Sukuna glances over his shoulder, “It’s not even that cute.” 

“What?! It totally is.” You place your hands behind your back, “A cute and simple pink heart, what’s there not to like about it?” You look to the side, “Maybe, I should go buy one for our own tree.” You think aloud. 

“We don’t even have a tree.” 

“We can get one.” 

“I’m not spending money on something that’s going to be up for less then a month.” 

“I’ll buy it!” 

“With what money?” 

“I just want the damn ornament!” 

Sukuna blinks a few times, before glancing at the tree, then back at you. A smirk splits his lips, and it makes you uneasy. He tilts his head to the side, leaning down close to your face. “Then, take it.” 

Your lips part, before your eyebrows furrow in anger. “I’m not stealin–” 

“Shh.” Sukuna places his hand over your mouth, practically glaring at you. “Don’t yell something like that, you’re going to draw attention.” He leans his hand over your head, intending to reach the ornament, but you stop him. 

“Are you kidding? Someone put that up there, you can’t just steal it ‘cause I like it.” You push his hand to the side, “Someone put it up there, someone like us.” 

“Us?” Sukuna asks, but… it doesn't seem like he’s making fun of your choice of wording. It sounds more like… he’s asking for clarification on what you mean. What does ‘us’ mean?

“Yeah. Us.” You look to the side, pushing your hair behind your shoulders. “Another… uh, couple.” You touch the tip of your finger to your bottom lip, “Two people spending their afternoon together, and not knowing what to…” You point your finger between the two of you, “...what to call this.” 

It is silent between you two, no words exchanging. 

Sukuna looks at you for a few moments, looking at your hands, before looking at your face. He nods, “Yeah…” He turns away, hands in his pockets. “Let's go home. It’s getting late, and we’re an hour out.” He turns on his heel, starting to walk away from you. 

You press your lips together, not completely sure how to feel. To take a final glance at the tree, looking at your cat ornament, before walking after him. You sigh, closing your eyes to regroup. 

Fine, it’s fine. He’s not telling you no, he’s just… agreeing with you?

You take a step forward, and quickly feel your foot slip, almost twisting your ankle in an awkward position, but you catch yourself. Stopping in your tracks to readjust your standing. 

Sukuna looks over his shoulder, “You almost fall?” 

You narrow your eyes, straightening your posture. “No.” 

“Right.” He cocks his head to the side, “Then hurry up, you’re draggin’ your feet.” 

“I’m not draggin’ my feet.” You mimic, walking after him, but you mentally cringe. Your feet were uncomfortable before, now they’re aching with pain. A very, very uncomfortable pain. 

You press your lights together tightly, trying to conceal the pained groan wanting to escape your lips. You truly feel this is a humbling moment, you’re not made for cute shoes, and you’re not mentally strong enough to wear them. 

It hurts. 

You shiver. 

And, I’m cold. 

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “What’s wrong?” You watch as something flashes over his face, but you can’t describe what it is. “Are you not… enjoying yourself?”

“What? No, of course I am.” You reassure, finally standing by his side, “I’m just…” In a lot of pain, and starting to freeze my ass off from the cold. “...uh, tired from all the walking.” 

“Well, we got to walk back to the car.” Sukuna points in the general direction, “So, find a way to not be tired for the next fifteen minutes.” 

“Yeah.” You shiver again, sarcastically adding, “Let me just stop being tired right now.” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep your warmth together. 

“Glad we can agree.” Sukuna keeps walking, closest to the street and now directly by your side. 

You hesitate to tell him, “I’m… cold.” Turning your face away from him so you can’t see his reaction. 

“I told you to get a sweater.” 

You feel your shoulder slump, “I know.” You slowly turn your face to him, but keep your eyes diverted. “It was going to ruin my outfit, ‘Kuna, I didn’t want to look ugly.” 

“It wasn’t goin’ to make you look ugly.” Sukuna adds, “You just overthink.” 

You huff, “Well, I’m still cold.” 

Sukuna softly sighs, and you can hear rustling, before something drapes over your head. Something warm, soft, and smells like… Sukuna. You pull it down your body, wrapping the sweat around your shoulder and slipping your arms through the sleeves. 

You zip up the sweater, burying your lower face into the sweater. Sukuna. You close your eyes, sighing with content. Sandalwood, a bit of citrus, and a toasty undertone. “I’m warm now.” 

“You better be.” Sukuna shivers, but he tries to hide it. “I’m suffering for your benefit.” 

You giggle, but mentally flinch with every step you take. Jesus, you’re in serious pain now, maybe you should've worn your normal shoes. 

“What is it now?” Sukuna brass asks. 

You furrow your eyebrows, “Are you kidding? I didn’t even say anything this time.” 

“You’re easy to read.” He tells you, placing his hand over your head. “You’ve always been easy to read.” 

“Then, why didn’t you know I liked you?” You place your hands on your hips, talking a few steps forward and turning on your heel. Walking backward while speaking to Sukuna, “If I’m so ‘easy to read,’ huh?” 

“How did you not know I liked you?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I did.” Sukuna gives you a face that can only be described as, ‘really?’ But, you quickly add, “I just… always doubted myself.” 

“Uh-huh.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “I’m sure.” 

“Well, I knew for a fact you cared for me in the least. Which is more than what you feel for the normal person.” You slip your fingers inside the sleeves, not enjoying how the cold is biting at them. “So, yeah.” 

Sukuna nods, “I remember that.” He sharply breathes out in a laugh, “I remember that scared me.” 

You tilt your head to the side, “Why?” 

“You were right.” He runs his hands through your hair, picking up a few strands. Before softly tugging on them, “Your stupid brain was right.”

“Hey.” You swap his hand away, “Just compliment me without an insult.” 

“Yeah right.” Sukuna flicks your head, “And let it get in your head? Yeah, no thanks, you’re already crazy as is.” 

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not crazy, you’re just obsessed with me.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod, “Yeah.” You smile to yourself, leaning close to Sukuna and resting your head on his arm. “Obsessed enough to carry me to the car, because my feet are killing me.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“What? But, I thought you liked me?” 

“Not enough to carry you.” Sukuna narrows his eyes, trying to gage the distance between the two of you and his car. “We’re ten minutes away, I’m not carrying you.” Not only that, but he parked his car up a hill. 

You pout, slumping into your shoulder, but you quickly perk up again, a cheeky smile splitting your lips. “Ah, whatever.” You turn around, walking forward again. “Just sounds like you’re too weak to carry me.” You peer at Sukuna over your shoulder, “I guess Yuu is just the stronger brother then.” 

Sukuna’s eye twitches, “Fuck you.” 

—

One of your airpods is in your ear, while the other is in Sukuna’s. The two of you silently listening to your downloaded music on shuffle. You’re a bit embarrassed by the music playing, some being years old back when you were in middle school, and others being as recent as this week. 

You bounce with each step Sukuna takes, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your legs sticking out from his sides. Sukuna’s hands resting on the back of your thighs, supporting you against his body while he searches for his car. 

You’re a bit sleepy, your eyes heavy while your chin resting on his shoulder. One of your hands loosely holding onto your shopping bag. Sukuna can hear you humming along to the melody of the music playing,  and even though he’s never heard of the song playing, he thinks it's nice. You yawn, “‘Kuna?” 

Sukuna adjusts his hands on your body, “What.” 

You place your cheek on his shoulder, looking at the side of his face. You adore how pretty he is, his strong jaw, deep eyes, nose, and intricate tattoos. You’re almost jealous. “Do you like me?” You poke his cheek with your finger, tracing his tattoos. 

“No.” Sukuna turns his head away from you, “I hate you.” 

You sigh, closing your eyes again, “Yeah. I hate you, too.” Right as you say that, a very familiar melody plays in your ears. A song from a movie you adore more than anything. “Do you know this song?” Sukuna pauses for a moment, before nodding. You giggle, whispering, “The sun is nearly gone.” 

“You’re a horrible fuckin’ singer.” Sukuna teases. 

“Like you’re any better.” You snap back. 

“Yuuji’s actually really good at singing.” Sukuna tells you, before softly blowing a strand of your hair from his face. “He gets embarrassed, but the kid has skills. More than you, at least.” 

“Yuuji is amazing at everything.” You laugh, “To be honest, I think I’m in love with Yuuji.” You giggle against his neck, wiggling your shoulders playfully, “You okay with knowing that, ‘Kuna? That I’m actually obsessed with your brother, and not you?” 

Sukuna chuckles, “Yeah.” He jolts you up again, “I know.” 

You hum, “That’s tailor made for two.” You whisper, “What a shame those two are you, and me.” You giggle, “Oh my god, I literally love this song so much.” You glare at him, “It’s criminal you don’t know this song.”  

“I have this movie memorized.” Sukuna adds, next to your ear. 

You playfully scoff, placing your hands on his neck, “And you think I’m cringe?” You push his shoulder playfully, “I think you might be worse than me.” 

“I didn’t watch La La Land by choice, Yuuji forced me.” Sukuna looks to the side, placing his hands into his pockets.

You slowly stop, glancing at the sun setting. It’s a bit covered by the clouds, “Yeah. I’m sure watching Sailor Moon also wasn’t a choice.” For some reason, it’s colder than before. 

Sukuna stops with you, gaze joining yours. “I was like, fourteen when it came out? Besides, that movie was horrible.” 

You gasp dramatically, popping your head back to look at his face. “Take that back.” 

“Take what back?” Sukuna asks, passing you a playful look. “My thoughts?” 

You nod, “Yes, especially if your thoughts are wrong.”

“What would make my thoughts right?” 

“If they agree with my thoughts.”

“I do agree with you.” 

“Not in the right way.” 

Sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, but he shakes his head with a subtle smile. “You’re bipolar.” 

You nod, leaning into Sukuna’s neck and resting there. “Yeah.” Your tone is soft, your eyes fluttering closed. “You are too.” 

“Thanks.” Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head, continuing to make his way to his car, but you can feel him stop. The pressure of your head being removed as he looks up. “Look.” 

You sigh before looking up, but you flinch when something soft and cold hits your nose. 

Snow. 

Your lips part in awe for a moment, before you slide down from Sukuna’s arms.“It didn’t snow last year.” 

“It didn’t.” Sukuna furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly, “In fact, this place isn’t really known for snowing, like–at all.” 

You turn quickly on your heel, “Oh my god, what if us being together set off a canon event, or the start of the end of the world.” You place your hand over your mouth, “Wait, no–” 

“Stop talking.” Sukuna continues walking, “We’re literally five parking spaces away from my car, just stop talking for the rest of the way.” He reaches into his pocket, grabbing your keys. 

You roll your eyes, but walk after him. But, quickly pull the back of his shirt, making him stop walking. “Sukuna?” 

He nods. 

“Uh.” You take a deep breath, “Thank you for, uh, taking me out.” You can feel your heart rate increase, you’re so nervous to be saying this, and you don’t even know why. “It means a lot to me, and I had… I had a lot of fun.” 

Sukuna finally turns on his heel to look at you. 

You let your hand drop back to your side, “It really… uhm, it means a lot.” 

“You already said that.” 

“I’m trying to thank you here!” You can feel your face burning up with embarrassment. Why can’t Sukuna take anything seriously for one second? 

Sukuna nods, biting the inside of his cheek while subtly smiling. “I know.” He leans down, pushing your hair behind your ear, “You don’t need to thank me.” 

You flutter your lashes, looking to the side bashfully, “But, I do.” You look back at him, tilting your head up, “I really appreciate you, this was really nice.” You press your lips together. 

There’s silence between the two of you, and you don’t know how to fill it. It’s not unpleasant, and a part of you never wants to change it, you want things to stay like this forever. Sukuna touching you softly, a comfortable oura between the two of you. 

Sukuna’s eyes dip, before he lowers himself to finally kiss you. His lips are soft against yours, contrasting to the way he kissed you in the dressing room. It's loving, adoring, and longing. His tongue slips past your lips and swipes against yours, before he pulls away. 

Sukuna places his forehead on yours, “I’m… I had fun.” 

Your smile is loving, before you whisper, “I think I want to give you my gift.” You lean in close again, your lips ghosting over his, “Can I do that?” Your hands reach for his.  

He nods, before his eyes light up with a realization, “Oh, wait, I also got something else for you.” He leans back and reaches into the shopping bag that held your jewelry. 

You shake your head, “You spent more money on me?” You ask a bit dreaded. 

“No.” 

“Oh.” You blink a few times, “Then, what is it?” 

Sukuna’s holding something in his hand, and you can’t see it. But, he’s holding it out for you, waiting for you to extend your hand to take it. 

You hesitate, “Uh…” You jut your eyebrows, “Is it… a bug?”

Sukuna glares at you, “Yes, it’s a fuckin’ bug. No?” He shakes his head, “Just take it.” 

You put your hand out, and wearily accept the item–or bug–Sukuna is handing to you. Once it’s resting in your hand, you feel your heart drop. 

“Sukuna.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you?” You look up, then look back at your hand. “When did you even get the chance to steal this?” 

“When you weren’t looking.” Sukuna’s looking at the ornament in your hand, “Don’t you like it?” 

“I mean, yeah? But, this doesn’t…” You laugh, trying to hide your smile. “You know what, I love it. Really thoughtful, and risky gift.” You start moving to Sukuna’s car again, “We can put it on our tree.” 

“We still don’t have a tree.” He’s walking behind you, opening up the trunk of his car to place your empty bag inside. 

“I can make an origami one.” You think for a moment, “Wait, origami Christmas trees are real, right?” You look in the trunk, and quickly swipe at your red lip gloss you had supposedly left inside. 

“Pretty sure.” Sukuna shuts the trunk, watching as you swipe your lip gloss wand over your lips. “While we’re driving home, you can search up what’s needed, and I’ll swing by Micheal’s.” 

“Wait, but I want to give you my gift first!” You grab his hand, tugging him to his car, but you pause at the doors of the driver's side. You lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips, “Let me give you my gift first, please.”

Sukuna watches you open the door, and pull the driver's seat forward, allowing you to slip into the backseats of his car. He feels his throat bob, watching your dress ride up your ass, and letting him look at your pink lacy panties. 

How could he say no to you?

HERE'S PART TWO!

Tag(s)!: @openup-yourmind, @sherlock-holmes-jr, @maskedpacific, @gasp-a-homo, @diogodxlot, @beahappyhoeee, @tojimeow, @sukunamylovexoxo, @yoontaedotin, @sukunaloverrr, @lanadelreylover4l, @raininginthemoonlight, @blackjanexx, @ethereally-lyann, @fritzzbitzz, @lanadelreylover4l, @chayunwoo, @madamteller, @mazzd4, @haithamsbb, @c-l-ellis, @samysaha, @pi-crust, @shukiinnkm

BAD HABIT ft. BULLY! SATOSUGU

— minors dni, perverted!+bully! satosugu, uh light fluff? (mostly in the bonus?), mostly satoru x reader, fantasizing about smut (gojo), prob inaccurate college rep idc <3, pet names (princess, darling), explicit language, suggestive comments, some recording/photography, one mention of blackmail

summary; suffering exhaustion beneath a pile of college projects and exams wasn’t enough, now you’re stuck tutoring the most annoying men in the world. couldn’t hurt to take a little nap during it

wc 3.1k ??

The last few weeks have been long, nerve-wracking. It seems all your professors have co-conspired together to drop some kind of test or project, all worth a large portion of the grade and all due in the next month. Your nightly 8 hours of sleep have dwindled to a measly four, and of course, to top it all off, now your Bio Chem teacher has donned you the responsibility of tutoring Gojo and Geto indefinitely.

They had to have something to do with this, you just know it. Call it a wild hunch but there’s no way, of all the people in that class, a lot of which have higher grades than yours, that the professor would ask you to tutor Gojo and Geto. Maybe they slipped a few hundreds in the teacher’s hand or appealed to his emotions. Knowing the theatrics of Gojo, he probably gave the man big, puppy-dog eyes and crocodile tears during his fake pleas of ‘please, sir, we really want to pass this class!’.

A light knock on your door drags you out of your thoughts, followed by the familiar voice of a white-haired pest. “Knock, knock!”

You’ve been dreading 5PM since yesterday, the time they, and reluctantly you, had agreed on. Demanding they come to your dorm was akin to putting acid on your tongue, but going over to theirs like Geto’d offered would be like walking into the lion’s den.

They await you within the hall, and Gojo perks up immediately at the sight of you. He unwraps himself from Geto’s shoulders, and your suspicions that they don’t really need your knowledge only grow when you notice they’re both empty-handed, not a book or worksheet or even a flash card in sight. Though you can’t dwell on it for too long as Gojo’s immediately barging into the room.

“Princess, good to see ya!,” comes his boisterous greeting. “Nice place ya got here.” Entwined in his teasing compliment is a conniving tone; Gojo examines the various pink decor of your bedroom. “Should come by more often.”

“Negative.,” you snap with furrowed brows, terse and patience already wearing thin at Geto’s languid pace through the door.

He nears Gojo to study the photo album adorning your tack board, leaving you to prepare by getting out the needed textbooks. You ignore their childish whispers, giggles, points at the various pictures that contain you and your friends, though it causes a bout of unease to settle in your stomach. Hopping onto the tall bed, you scoot until your back’s to the wall, placing down a recently-made stack of notes and the class’s assigned textbooks. It’s a short hunt for the page you desire, somewhere lost in the middle because this professor jumped from subject to subject so often.

You clear your throat to signal it’s time to begin. “Okay. So–“

Already you’re off to a bad start as the textbook disappears from your grasp, now suspended above Gojo’s head, far out of your reach. “This looks super bo-oring!”

You spring away from the sheets, landing with a soft ‘thud’ and instantly move to crush his feet, or kick his knees in, or have him hunched over with a punch to the stomach, but your movements are halted by Geto’s sudden grasp on your waist. Head jerking to the side, you shoot him your deadliest stare, nails steadily sinking into his unfortunately clothed forearms.

“Let go.,” you bark and he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Pft. Aren’t you adorable?,” he murmurs into your neck, tone bathed in condescension. “Just relax, he’s joking.” Against your wriggling and squirming, Geto backsteps to the shiny wooden desk in your room, still clinging to your waist. “Have a seat, it’d do you some good to calm down a little.”

And before you know it, he’s descending into the cool comfort of your chair, dragging you with him to rest in his lap. Gojo slams the book shut and approaches your restrained, restless form, grinning wildly the whole time. He pushes you back to recline atop his friend, thoroughly amused at your continuous flailing. A round of delighted laughter leaves Gojo’s lips, especially at the childish kick of your legs that don’t reach the floor from your position.

“Would you let fucking go of me?,” you huff between grunts, only to be met with Geto’s thoughtful hum.

“I might when you relax.,” he finally speaks.

You twist around in Geto’s lap to jab an enraged finger at his broad chest, a disdainful scowl painted across your features. “Did you two come here to play, or did you come here to learn?”

Gojo reaches out to ruffle your hair, smirking when you slap his hand away. The book precariously wobbling on his fingertips begins to fall, caught by him at the last minute before it hits the floor. “Can’t we do a little bit of both?”

Your toes brush the rug as you scramble forward in Geto’s lap, promptly ignoring the growing hardness you feel on your behind. “If you two aren’t gonna take this seriously then get out of my room.”

Geto chuckles as Gojo heaves out a loud sigh, and holds the textbook out to you. “Fine, jeez, you’re such a little buzzkill.”

You leap up from Geto’s lap and snatch it back. “Shut the hell up and sit down.”

Tension seeps away as they obey without question. Geto claims your swiveling desk chair as Gojo flops down on the huge, pink carpet covering majority of the floor, and you settle back onto the bed, flip again to the designated page and begin going over your plans for today’s tutoring session. You can feel two pairs of eyes burning into you, but opt to just concentrate on dumbing down the material for them.

Gojo zones out immediately as you dive into the information. Ocean blue eyes catch onto the curves and dips of your body and admire the cute loungewear you have on. Snug, white shorts that hug your skin and ride up the crease of your plush thighs. He studies the curve of your ass long enough to realize he can spot pink panties barely showing through the translucent fabric. With the way you’re sitting, knees midway pulled to your chest, Gojo can see the outline of your pussy, and blood rushes to his dick as his mind goes haywire. Gojo visualizes a different scenario, one where he spikes that stupid textbook into the floor and fucks you senseless. He can imagine perfectly the look on your face as he pins you to a mattress, voice wavering through false bravado as you whine through plump lips at him to move. Complaining even though your rounded thighs are rubbing together to ease the ache of your cunt, a damp spot forming in the crotch of your shorts as Gojo peppers kisses along your neck. The view of your beautiful tits with perked nipples rubbing against his chest and driving Gojo insane until he rips the thin layers off, both the panties and shorts together to leave your glistening pussy bare for him, ready to be ravaged and abused by his cock–

“Gojo.” He hears his name, but it’s like someone calling him underwater. “Gojo.”

A sharp kick in the ribs and he’s at full attention. Geto snickers at him, still swiveling back and forward in the leather chair, and Gojo looks over to meet your sharp dagger of a glare over the textbook.

“It’d be nice if you could focus on me and not waste my time.,” you sigh in utter annoyance.

Gojo grins that boyish smile, one that makes you want slap it off his face but maybe also makes your heart stutter a tad. “Oh-ho, babe, I‘m always focused on you.”

His statement brings a warmth to your cheeks, but you’re an expert at pretending around Satoru Gojo. Rolling your eyes, you huff and backtrack on a couple paragraphs in an effort to catch him up. Less distractions for him to latch on to.

“I think I’d focus more if I wasn’t so lonely down here.,” he interrupts to sulk in your direction.

The look you give is like one a mother gives a disobeying child. “Okay? No one told you to sit down there.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, especially since Gojo perks up at the sentence. “Oh, inviting me to sit on the throne with you, princess?”

Eyes widening in disbelief, you try to sputter out a ‘no!’, but Gojo’s already sprung up and leaping into bed next to you. “No takebacks!”

You frown, brows knitted as he gets a little too comfy, squishing your favorite stuffed animal in his arms and blinking a wide-eyed look at you. Geto eyes you two and continues slow swirls in the chair, getting slightly dizzier with each rotation, but at least he’s actually been taking in the information you’ve explained. Not that he needs your tutoring, he’s up there with you as one of the top students in this particular class. But it’s hard not to read your lips when he’s been shamelessly ogling them the past ten minutes.

Sighing in defeat, you allow Gojo to curl up next to you. It’s easy to feign his attention and he pretends to read over your shoulder, though his mind is anywhere but in this textbook. If anything, this was far worse. Being in such close proximity, your alluring scent threatens to drag him deeper into your space. Instead of focusing on your body or, you know, the material, now all Gojo can concentrate on is pinpointing the ingredients of your shampoo. It’s so familiar, right on the tip of his tongue…vanilla? Maybe, but he can also catch hints of strawberry in there somewhere. Perhaps if he was a little closer…

“Can you back off a little?,” you snap at him. “Damn, you’re almost on top of me.”

Gojo smirks. “I can be actually on top of y-“

“Anyways you two can look over this.,” you ignore his flirtatiousness and stand up to get away from him. “Since you apparently know this more than me. I don’t even get why y’all asked for tutoring if you weren’t gonna listen.”

And before Gojo can object, you teeter towards the edge of the bed, land on the soft rug, and head towards the mini fridge for a much-needed drink of water. It’s bad enough you were asked to tutor them when they clearly don’t care for it, but for them to actually come and then waste your time, too? Egregious. You have half a mind to kick both of them out and tell the professor they don’t need anyone’s damn help, much less yours.

You bend over for a cold water bottle, and in the few seconds it takes you to grab it, you swear you hear the faint sound of a camera click behind you. Quiet noises follow after, almost like they’re trying to have a conversation without you noticing, but it’s silent as you turn around to continue the lesson. They’re so fucking weird. Whatever.

Drawing near the bed, you steady a hand and make ready to hop back into place, only for a strong pair of hands to hoist you up and set you on the edge. You let out a soft ‘oh!’, sincerely taken aback, and turn to look at Gojo, who’s readjusting back into his original spot like nothing has happened.

“What?,” he asks. Something about the nonchalant upturn of his lips is different than his usual smirk. Something more genuine and less smug.

Doubt clouds your vision, tugs the corners of your lips down as you glance between him and Geto, who’s halted his endless chair twirling to give a curious tilt of his head. They eye eachother, and then you again; Geto has the smallest smile, seemingly unassuming but you’re skeptical of it nonetheless.

“Nothing.,” you decide to dismiss it because you’d only be setting yourself up for failure trying to explain why it was a problem. Besides, addressing it would only serve to fuel Gojo’s numerous efforts to throw everything off track. Maybe he was seriously just trying to help. Fine, no big deal.

You awkwardly flounder backwards, making sure to put a few more inches of space between you and Gojo. All to no avail since the second you settle your laptop upon your bare thighs, he instantly closes the gap. The radiating heat of his body sends warmth throughout your skin, exhaustion catching up to pierce through your bones, and you find yourself wanting to swaddle up within blankets and go to sleep.

“The professor has a few study guides on the website.,” you yawn, keys clicking beneath your fingers until the aforementioned pdf file is loading down the screen. “Hundreds of questions but a lot of this stuff will be on the final, so it’d be helpful to study it all.”

Your eyelids flutter, and next is Gojo’s low voice in your ear. “Tired, princess? I thought you were supposed to be teaching us.”

His warm breath raises goosebumps on your skin, and you suddenly notice how cold this room is. “Fuck off.,” you mutter, shortly followed up by both their chuckling.

“Told you to relax.,” Geto voices in the most ‘told ya so’ tone ever. “Get some rest, we can take it from here, and we’ll wake you if we need something.”

It’s a bad idea, you know it’s a bad idea, but…you can’t help succumbing to a little nap. The past several days have worn you thin, and despite not trusting these two to find a drunk in a bar, let alone have unsupervised access to your room, the promise of a little sleep is tempting. You are exhausted so, against your better judgement, you bank on the fact that they have the potential of grown, mature men who won’t get up to something nefarious while you rest your eyes for a little. Surely it couldn’t hurt to put the slightest amount of trust in them, and you allow your vision to fade.

During your catnap, you have the poor luck to dream of school. Studying, finals, projects, classes, anything related to college, you conjured up an even more miserable version of it in your dream state. Though in one dream you cuddle that stuffed animal Satoru grabbed from your bed, so that’s a plus. In the dream it’s warm, snuggly, fuzzy. You smother it in your arms, bury your face into it to inhale the smell of it, a scent you’re infatuated with. You vaguely recognize it in your sleep, it smells so much like…

You awake to the jostling of your shoulders. Someone, two people actually, are talking, maybe to you? What are your whereabouts, actually?

“Ah, there she is!” The familiar voice sounds vague and foggy, loud but far away. “Have a good nap, princess?”

Harsh light beams into your eyes, tampering with the return of your sight. You hover a hand over your forehead to shield your face, peering around in a hope to get your bearings.

“I think she’s still half-asleep.,” another voice whispers, and then says louder, “Take your time, darling.”

Everything is bleary, but you can just make out the details of your room. There’s your fridge over on the opposite wall, the lamp on your desk, speaking of which, who’s in your chair? You start to sit up, wondering in the back of your mind when you laid down to begin with, utterly bewildered when you feel something, a hand, firm and warm on the bare skin of your hip. Pink bedsheets, white dorm walls, your legs, someone else’s legs stretched out beside yours…A chuckle rings somewhere to your right as you gape at these seemingly disembodied legs. Your gaze trails up to see they’re attached to a waist, a chest, a pair of arms, and then your eyes fall on the face.

“G–!”, you hesitate, stumbling backwards away from Gojo who laughs maniacally. “Get off me, Gojo!”

He scoffs, Geto huffs a laugh somewhere in the room. “You were the one laying all up under me, actually.”

“I was not!”

“You so were,” he argues, giddiness in his voice. “You were allll over me, baby. Hugging my arm, rubbing my chest, all of it. Wanna see the video?”

You gasp out, “Vi–? Video?”

Gojo fiddles around on his phone. “Yeah, check it out, sweet cheeks!”

He holds the phone out to you, and a large, empty feeling plummets to the bottom of your stomach. You, spooning him, a betraying smile spread on your lips as you nuzzle Gojo’s chest, completely oblivious to your surroundings. His hand snaked around your waist, fingers occasionally playing with the hem of your shirt or ducking beneath to pinch your hips. You whine when he does so, and in the video you see the stutter of his body, hear traces of his quiet laughter. The phone currently shakes in Gojo’s grasp from his endless giggling.

“Delete it!,” you stammer in complete disbelief. “Pervert!”

“Pervert?,” Gojo repeats your accusation. “You’re the one feeling me up in the video!”

“Get y’all’s asses out of my room!,” you shout at them, leaping to the floor to immediately escort them out. “Both of you, now!”

Gojo glares, huffs, and does his signature pout, all the while Geto chuckles hysterically behind his palm. “How rude of my tutor to kick me out after falling asleep during the session on top of trying to seduce me!”

Geto chimes in before you can tell his friend to shut the fuck up. “Surely you can spare a few minutes to make up for that time?”

“No.,” you say bluntly. “Out.”

You watch in disapproval as they grab their things, foot tapping impatiently the whole time as you hold the door wide open for them to leave through. They take their time, eventually prompting you to just start shoving them out into the hall.

“So, same time tomorrow?,” Geto teases, stumbling through the doorway.

You grimace, giving them both a last push out of your room. “Absolutely not-“

“And get some rest too, while you’re at it.,” Gojo bids you farewell with one last aggravating comment.

“Whatever.,” and you slam the door in their faces, Satoru poking his tongue out at you with a wink.

bonus!

— It’s the early hours of the morning. Geto has long since passed out, but Satoru can’t seem to get a wink of sleep. The video replays in his mind, and he tries desperately to imagine the sensation of your body laying against him. No teasing, no sex, no filthy, perverted thoughts. Just the feeling of your head on his chest again, limbs haphazardly wrapped around him. The even sounds of your breathing, warm breath brushing over his collar. Such an adorable, peaceful look on your face when you’re not glaring at him and spouting insults in a rage. Yeah, he told Geto he was taking pictures and a video as some kind of future blackmail, but, truth be told, Satoru really just wanted them all for himself.

AAAAAAAAAAAAA IM SOFT 🤧🤧🤧

“do you think we're soulmates in every universe?” 

you ask, snuggling up to sukuna, on your king sized bed — you had been served dinner and sukuna bas gone through his reports and duties as king, and now it was his sacred time with you.

“we aren't in this one.” he scoffs, wrapping his arm around you.

you pout at him, mildly offended but you expected nothing less from the ‘heartless’ king of curses, “what makes you say so?”

“i don't believes in such foolish nonesense.” he says simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“it's not foolish nonesense.” you argue, tracing lines on his chest absentmindedly, admiring his sculpted form.

“and what makes you say that?” he asks, mocking your earlier question.

you smile at him, “i mean, do you not feel a connection between us? a binding of souls? i know you love me and i’m sure you know that we are meant to be in every universe.”

“don't put words in my mouth, woman.” he huffs, caressing your shoulder.

you laugh — you know that while he might have not said it before, he most definitely thinks and feels it.

and it's true, sukuna had first fallen for you for your otherworldly beauty, and had chosen you for marriage, and that was that for a while until he started falling for you.

you, your laugh, the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about something that you love, the way you always showered him with loving words and affection that was always so foreign to him.

but he slowly started getting used to it, even reciprocating it in his own way.

“whatever you say, ryo.” you finally say, smiling sheepishly at him before blowing out the candle and rolling on your side, “goodnight.”

“hm.” he huffs, wrapping all four arms around you before slowly drifting into sleep, his mind swarmed with thoughts about how your souls could possibly be tied.

foolish thoughts, for him maybe, but maybe it was also true

because, sometime, centuries later, in the middle of tokyo in a small business coffeeshop, sukuna meets you — the all time business ceo, falls for the loving and bubbly batista who always left him notes on his morning coffee.

and he falls for you all over again.

Good lawd

better view on X

golden 🍆🍆on patre0n

if this isn’t the tru-est thing ive seen today then idk what is 🤧

Gege using his schlong whenever he draws sukuna