Love & Company || R. Sukuna
love & company || r. sukuna
❦ biker ryomen sukuna x female biker reader || non-curse au
❦ oneshot
❝ you're beginning to lose hope of ever fixing your bike as the moon rises over the horizon when a man built like a brick wall and covered in tattoos stops to help you out. he's standoffish and his words are cold - but as it turns out the version of him you see is soft. who knew this man could ever become your best friend, let alone something more? ❞
❦ warnings ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. friends to lovers. fluff. hurt/comfort. p in v. fingering. oral (f! and m! receiving). degradation (slut). choking. pet names (princess, brat, woman, girl). size kink. rough sex. unprotected. biting. hair pulling. manhandling. toxic relationship (not sukuna). manipulation (not sukuna). reckless driving. use of alcohol and cigarettes. reader is implied to be short/small mostly in comparison to sukuna but he's huge so. ooc warning for sukuna given that this is modern and i want him to be more realistically human. i probably got some of the bike information wrong.
❦ words ; 24.2k.
masterlist
A cool evening wind chills your skin as you hunch over your bike on the side of the road. You’re thankful for your thick leather jacket to protect you from the brisk winds, but it doesn’t make it easy to work when your thoughts continue to stray to the fast-approaching night.
Your Kawasaki motorcycle puttered to a stop an hour ago and you’ve been on the side of the road ever since. Of course it would happen today of all days, where your patience runs thin and you want nothing more than to be curled up in bed.
Your small array of tools that you keep for times like these are finally proving useful, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as you run out of things to check. You’re almost certain the issue is a clogged fuel line at this point but without the necessary tools to check, you’re fresh out of ideas on what to do aside from calling a tow truck.
The sound of another passing motorbike is grating on your ears as someone speeds by on a bright red Ducati and you want to curse them out just for having a working bike, but to your surprise, they circle back a minute later and pull up next to you.
A broad-shouldered figure steps off the bike, pulling a dark helmet off and giving his head a shake, running a hand through his pink hair to give it a naturally windswept look. Tattoos line his sharp jaw and scars litter his right eye. Deep near-crimson eyes lock on you, a mildly cold expression spread over the tall man’s features. He’s just about the textbook definition of what you would think of as a ‘bad boy’.
He looks you over before taking in the state of your bike. The sight of you covered in grease and oil sitting in defeat on the ground is amusing to him to say the least- you don’t much look the part of a biker between your small figure and approachable stature but one look at your bike and attire tells him not to judge a book by its cover.
“Need a hand?”
Unfortunately for the tattooed man, he’s caught you in a bad mood.
“No,” you grumble, picking up your wrench and dipping back into a rhythm of checking everything.
“I’ve got more tools than just a wrench,” he offers. Your intense gaze looks him over again, surveying the black leather hanging off his shoulders and red helmet that matches his bike tucked under his elbow.
“I can handle myself,” you insist, not keen on accepting a stranger’s help, especially given his cold expression.
“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” he retorts with a click of his tongue. “Just askin’ if you want a spanner or pliers.” His eyes flicker to the moon rising in the sky. “Or a flashlight.”
You follow his gaze out to the rising moon, its light not offering enough of a look at your bike to be all that helpful as night begins to fall.
You sigh, wiping perspiration from your forehead with the back of your hand. The man’s lips quirk upwards in a minute smirk at the sight of the grease you accidentally wipe on your head. He thinks it’s cute.
“A spanner would be helpful,” you give in, pulling a pair of pliers from where you’d set them down beneath your knee to show you did at least have a couple of tools handy.
Pulling his hands from his pockets, the tall man turns to the backpack he’d set on the ground behind him. He sets his helmet on the seat of his bike and pulls out a spanner, handing it to you in place of the torque wrench you’ve set at your side.
He’s silent as you thank him and begin adjusting the spanner’s size to detach the fuel line. Standing in silence, he does little more than watch given that you don’t seem to want his help.
When the fuel line finally detaches, you groan as you realize you’d been right about the problem the entire time and the line is blocked. Without an air compressor, there isn’t much you can do to get your bike running again and your shoulders slump in defeat.
“Now d’you need a hand?” He asks with a raised brow and a small smirk.
The look you shoot him is fiery and he’d be a liar to say he doesn’t think your attitude is cute. It suits the strange vibes he gets from you in the best of ways.
“I’ll just call for a tow,” you insist, still refusing the help of the stranger you know nothing about, aside from the fact that he has just about the most high-end street legal sports bike in pristine condition and you find it to be pretentious.
“Suit yourself. I can fix it for free, though.”
You press your lips into a thin line, brow furrowed as you look over his features. The man practically towers over you, he’s built like a tank and dwarfs you in every sense. His expression is aloof, giving away very little about him. You have no reason to believe he’s lying though, so with a sigh, you give in and hand him the spanner he’d lent you.
The man lowers himself beside you, disconnecting the other side of the fuel line entirely as he begins pulling apart the carburetor. You sit back, watching your bike attentively as though he might do damage to it, but his fingers move deftly as if this is all muscle memory to him.
“What’s your name?” You ask as the silence stretches on. It’s a surprisingly comfortable silence, as he grabs a rag and water bottle from his backpack. He glances at you as he wets the rag and begins cleaning the carburetor.
“Sukuna.”
“You know your way around a bike.”
“Been riding for a while.”
You nod. Despite his kind actions, his words are distant and frigid, so you decide not to push the subject.
It’s silent for a while as you sit with your hands splayed on the asphalt behind you, watching his actions. Your eyes survey the man hunched over your bike, admiring the smooth lines of the tattoos that line his jaw, more ink just barely visible along his neck from beneath his jacket. His hair looks freshly dyed and his right eye is dotted in long scars that have you wondering what happened.
If the situation were any different, you might be hesitant to accept his help, but in truth you’re too tired to complain.
It’s not much longer before your bike is back together. Wiping his hands with the rag, he nods to the bike.
“Give ‘er.”
Pushing yourself to your feet, you turn the key. The engine flips once, twice, three times, before finally sputtering to life.
“Oh my god, thank you so much,” you sigh in relief, shaking your head. “I thought the issue was the fuel line,” you groan over the sound of the engine.
“It is. You need to replace it, this should get you a few miles away though.”
You nod affirmatively, reaching down to hand back his tools. Sukuna dumps them in his bag and throws it over his shoulder.
“You’re a lifesaver, I don’t know how to thank you,” you tell him, your mood no longer sour as your bike continues to roar, thankfully not dead on the side of the road anymore.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He simply shrugs.
“Let me buy you a drink, or something,” you insist in spite of your exhaustion, though his cold demeanor doesn’t give you much hope that he’ll accept anyway, so you figure you’ll be able to get some rest regardless of the offer.
As he turns to grab his helmet, you half expect him to start his bike and drive off without another word, ignoring your offer entirely. It’s just the impression he gives you, but he surprises you.
“Keep up, then.”
Your brow raises and before you have a chance to complain that you’re covered in a layer of sweat and grease and you’d meant at a later date, his bike is roaring to life.
You scramble onto your own bike and follow him closely. Sukuna is half-shocked when you actually pull up into the parking lot of a small bar right behind him, pulling your helmet off and shaking your head in an effort to fix your hair.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t find everything about you intriguing. From your bike to the way you ride and your feisty disposition all packaged in such a tiny figure compared to him, he thinks it’s cute. Maybe even something more than that.
He leads the way to the bar wordlessly as you complain about the grease coating your body, but he barely notices the oil marking your skin. He’s used to it, if anything, from working on his own bike.
You aren’t even sure if he’s listening given his flippant attitude and lack of response, but you drone on regardless. It’s better than silence.
Choosing to ignore your frustrated rambles, he orders a whiskey and glances in your direction.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” you tell the bartender with a sweet smile, waving your hand in the air like you don’t much mind what exactly you’re drinking. It’s your turn to surprise Sukuna.
“Don’t think I caught your name,” Sukuna says as you lean over the bar beside him.
You tell him your name with a sweet smile, your mood clearly improved as you take the whiskey and damn-near down it in one swift movement.
When your eyes land on Sukuna again, he’s smirking. He’s not really sure what to make of you nor you of him, but he certainly likes it.
Though you both elect not to have any more alcohol in favor of driving home later, conversation comes easily for the rest of the hour. At least, as easily as it comes for Sukuna.
“Where’d you get your bike?” You ask decidedly, trying to make conversation with the stoic individual.
“A shop up north.”
“Looks like it cost a pretty penny.”
He hums in approval.
That’s about how most conversations with him go, so when you throw your jacket on and insist you should get home, you’re admittedly surprised when he pauses and holds his hand out expectantly.
You stare up at him curiously. Not once had you gotten the impression he was interested in any of your conversations, yet now he wants something from you? You can’t decide what to make of this, what to make of him.
“Sorry, um,” you stare down in confusion at his expectant hand, mouth opening and closing as you try to decide what to say.
“Your phone,” he instructs and your pretty eyes widen as you stare up at him, the difference in stature between you both now incredibly apparent as he dwarfs you when standing over you.
“Oh!” You stare at him with pursed lips and pull your phone out, opening it to your texts. He sends himself a text and hands your phone back wordlessly, before turning his shoulder as he walks out abruptly, leaving you further confused.
Chasing after him, you just barely catch him as he kicks his bike’s stand up and throws his helmet on.
“Thanks again!” You call after him. He glances over his shoulder and though you can’t see his expression behind the dark visor of his helmet, he smirks back at you before driving off.
As you just barely make it back home on your sputtering bike, you manage to replace the fuel line and shoot him a text.
11:53 PM You || fixed the fuel line. thanks again, youre a lifesaver
11:55 PM Sukuna || thanks for the drink.
In all honesty, you figure that’s the last you’ll ever hear from him, but you quickly find out that the cold disposition he gives off isn’t really all there is to him when he asks if you want to go to a bike show a week later.
He fails to mention that his youngest brother Yuji would be joining you for the show, but as you walk the show floor with him and his younger sibling, you realize his brother likely just got all the conversation genes.
Sukuna is still aloof, he doesn't say much to you outside of comments about the bikes and even though he’s the one that invited you, you still can't tell if he enjoys your company. Although he’s quiet, his presence is surprisingly alluring and you're grateful to have someone to listen to your ramblings, even if he doesn't seem interested.
As you walk the length of the convention hall, weaving between crowds of people that seem to part at Sukuna’s menacing figure, Sukuna pauses to look at gorgeous black Yamaha. You barely catch the way he silently stops, managing to point out the pause to Yuji just in time to keep you all from getting separated.
“Don’t think I’ve heard him talk this much in ages,” Yuji comments with a raised brow. You tilt your head towards him, following his gaze to Sukuna.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” the younger man scratches the back of his head. “I don’t have my license yet but I like lookin’ around. He’s usually pretty snippy about which bikes I should be looking at,” he shrugs. “You guys must have a lot in common for him to be so chatty.”
Chatty, you practically scoff to yourself. The man barely said ten sentences to you.
You do notice the way he shoots Yuji a glare or groans about his chatting on occasion, though. Not once does he direct that at you.
Even still, you don't expect him to keep inviting you out. Ten sentences isn’t exactly something to form a friendship on.
Continuing to surprise you, you still hear from him. Next thing you know, you’re invited to ride with him and his brother Choso, invited out to dinner with a group of his friends and he even accepts your invite to see a horror movie with a couple of your friends.
You’re quick to learn that Sukuna is just like that.
Sukuna’s mild and somewhat haughty disposition is something you grow accustomed to as you learn how to talk to him. Though you find yourself talking mostly at him, you realize that’s just how he likes things. He pays a surprising amount of attention to your words, though you don’t tend to notice until he shows it through actions later.
He shows up to your work with takeout on his lunch break when you mention you forgot your lunch. He goes shopping with you despite his distaste for malls when you tell him you need some new clothes. He’s more agreeable when you’re around and his friends are quick to point it out, insisting you need to be there at all times to make him more tolerable, though they’re mostly joking.
He does treat you differently from the rest of his friends. You figure it’s just because your friendship is new, though.
After being invited along on a ride down the highway to a neighboring small town with Sukuna’s friend Uraume and his brother Choso, you eye up Sukuna’s plate. You’d ordered no side with your meal but god his fries look good. You shoot him a curious glance, met with his typical aloof expression, if not one of mild irritation. Glancing again at his fries, you reach over to steal one, pleased when you pop it in your mouth.
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, muttering under his breath about you ‘being a brat’ and how ‘you should have ordered a side’, but it’s all a show as he lets you steal another one when you smile sweetly at him.
When Choso follows your act, wanting to try the fries as well, Sukuna swats his hand away with a hiss. “My plate isn’t a buffet,” he growls contemptibly. Choso wrinkles his nose, shaking his hand of the harsh slap.
When Sukuna gets up to use the washroom, Choso waits until he’s out of earshot to comment.
“How the hell did you get away with getting some of that asshole’s fries?”
You shrug. “Dunno. He just let me.”
“Grumpy bastard…”
Again, you insist you just don’t know him well and he’s being kind so the action is brushed off.
A week later, Sukuna insists you tag along with his buddy Toji to get drinks, but when you arrive at the meeting spot and pull your helmet off, Sukuna is haughtily arguing with the raven-haired man.
“C’mon, it’s cheap. Their food’s fine.” Toji insists with little more than a raised eyebrow and an unamused sigh.
“What food?” You ask with a smile as you saunter over to the two much taller men.
“Red’s,” Toji responds gruffly, his unamused expression turning to one of intrigue as he realizes you must be Sukuna’s friend. “You must be y/n.”
You grin at him as he smirks.
“Toji,” he introduces himself. “Now can ya tell this asshole that Red’s is cheap?”
Sukuna’s arms are crossed over his chest. “We can do better for cheap.” He all but hisses, his eyes fixed in the distance.
“I’ve never been,” you glance between the two with pursed lips, mentally chuckling to yourself at how much you have to look up to both men. “I think it sounds good.”
Sukuna’s arms fall to his side as his fiery eyes lock on you. He pauses for a moment, sparing a glance at Toji, but those deep eyes return to you with a begrudging sigh as he grumbles something under his breath.
“Fine.”
Toji’s eyes widen as he dangles his keys from his hands, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he fists the keys as he gets ready to get in his car and head to the bar. He pauses before opening the door, a shit-eating grin spread over his scarred lips.
“Think I need ya to tag along more often, y/n.” He catches the tilt of your head and chuckles. “Think ya tame this shithead a bit.”
Sukuna roars something at Toji as he tries to catch him before the door slams and the car speeds off, leaving you giggling at the interaction.
Toji’s not the last to point it out, either.
You don’t think much of it, though. Sukuna just shows he cares through his actions and that’s how you come to know him as your best friend.
Sukuna is, of course, smitten with you. He adores how perfectly you seem to understand him. He loves the way you invite him along to everything with your friends despite his tendencies to scare others off. He loves that in spite of the trouble he gets himself into, your opinion of him never changes. He loves that you text him about stupid things, and that even when his response is inhospitable, you continue to text him like you would any other friend.
Because you’re his best friend. And he won’t admit it to anyone, but you know. He knows you know.
You get him.
So of course when you excitedly text him about your date, you have no way of knowing that his naturally cold responses are no longer his usual tone. They’re frigid, maybe even mildly snarky, but over text you don’t see the way his brow is knit tightly in contempt.
When he meets your boyfriend for the first time, you notice the strange tension between your best friend and partner. Your boyfriend brings it up but you had warned him in advance that Sukuna comes across that way, so you brush it off as little more than Sukuna being himself.
Yet, you notice the little things. You’ve known Sukuna for a long time now. You notice the way his jaw tightens when he sees your boyfriend lean down to kiss you at a dinner for your birthday a year into your relationship. You tilt your head questioningly at him from across the table, a silent query, but he doesn’t give you a response, that mild expression never once leaving his eyes as he leans back in his seat.
“Kuna?” Your sweet voice pulls his attention down to you when you pull him aside as everyone is saying goodnight outside the restaurant. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.”
You cock your brow at his flippant response, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “I know you well enough to know you’re lying,” you insist with an expectant look.
God, that look makes his hardened expression falter. Sukuna is well aware that he’s unapproachable, scary even. His form is built and he towers over most everyone, not to mention his constant disinterested expression and the tattoos he sports.
You often tease him for his ‘resting bitch face’.
Yet here you are, hand on your hip, so small and sweet, a fire lit behind those gorgeous eyes of yours. Cute.
“It’s just been a long day, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He knows you don’t believe him, but it’s the best you’re getting and you know that as well as he does. Hurt flashes through your eyes and he does feel a pang of guilt, but he keeps it locked away as he sighs and pulls something from the pocket of his leather jacket. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
Your wide eyes look up at him in shock. You’d insisted no one should get you a gift, but when you texted him this morning and told him your boyfriend, so cheerily talking to your friends behind the two of you, had forgotten your birthday, he couldn’t leave you empty-handed in that way.
You gingerly reach out and take the box from him. You know what it is instantly and the way your cheeks redden, the way it shocks you to silence has him smirking, mostly to himself. His hands remain in his pockets, his unamused expression locked on your hands that hesitate as you slowly open the velveteen box.
Lying so beautifully strewn in the box is a necklace you pointed out to him when you’d gone shopping together what must have been years ago now. A gorgeous silver chain lays delicately holding a dainty bejeweled star with your birthstone in the center. Of course he’d been paying attention. He always does.
“You didn’t,” it’s all you can manage as you stare at it in disbelief. To your surprise, Sukuna is smiling softly down at you, a rare sight that you want to burn into your retinas.
“You deserve a good birthday.”
You know it’s a dig at your boyfriend, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Maybe that should be a sign, but you’re too caught up in the moment as tears brim your eyes.
“This was so expensive though, I- I- can’t-”
“You can and you will.”
You know when Sukuna demands something, he means it. This is one of those times.
Tears threatening to spill, you wrap your arms tightly around his toned middle. If he weren’t a giant in comparison to you, you might have bowled him over with the force you hug him with.
Sukuna relishes in the moment, memorizing the feeling of your body in his arms, the way you bury your head into his chest, hiding your tears in his hug as they inevitably stain his white V-neck, but he doesn’t care. His arms wrap tightly around you, one of the rare times he returns one of your affections.
When you part from him, using your free hand to wipe your eyes, Sukuna takes the box from you, moving to put the necklace on with ease. He moves like every action he takes is practiced as he confidently clasps the necklace around your neck.
“It’s beautiful,” you hum as you look down at it, running a delicate finger over the pendant.
The salmon-haired man hums mildly. “‘Course. You chose it.”
You examine his eyes, your expression unreadable as you contemplate Sukuna’s actions.
He may be agreeable around you, he may be willing to make compromises with you that he won’t for others, but this is new for him. This is sweet, and he knows you’re thinking such a thing too when he meets those pretty eyes staring up at him. He doesn’t care anymore, though.
He wants you to be happy.
When your boyfriend confronts you about the necklace later that night, you tell him the truth. Maybe you hope he’ll realize he fucked up. Maybe you hope he’ll right his wrongs.
Instead, you end up in an argument as your boyfriend insists that his mistake in forgetting the date was honest but that Sukuna overstepped boundaries.
Maybe your best friend did, in truth.
And so as your boyfriend snaps when you defend your best friend and the argument takes a turn for the worse, maybe it shouldn’t be that same best friend that you turn to. Maybe that will just make things worse.
But the phone only rings twice before he picks up.
He sounds tired, his voice coated in sluggish exhaustion as he mumbles a ‘hello’ on the other line. You hear the rustling of sheets on the other end, a pang of guilt clawing at your throat as you know you’ve woken him up.
“Kuna?” The tone of your voice is foreign to him. Meek, strained. Even earlier in the night when you had confronted him about his cold disposition, your tone still held that unwavering strength and fire that he loves about you, so this wakes him up.
Leaning up on his elbow in bed, he squints at his phone.
“It’s three in the morning, y/n.”
“I know.” You pause and Sukuna waits for you to explain. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that he’s listening. “We got into a fight.”
Sukuna sighs, full of disdain, though not towards you. Never towards you.
“You safe?” His voice is surprisingly soft, though you chalk it up to him being tired.
You nod, before realizing he can’t see you. “... yeah.”
He hears you sniffle on the other end of the line and has to physically resist the urge to say things he’ll regret about your boyfriend. “Right. ‘M on my way. Stay put.”
He hangs up, wasting no time in throwing on a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black V-neck. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, although it doesn’t do him any favors and he isn’t about to waste time styling it. As it stands, you’ve seen him in a worse state after some particularly wild nights that had ended with one of you on the other’s couch.
His bike roars to life outside his apartment and he’s off into the cold night air, barely grazing his skin as his leather jacket and helmet protect him from the bite. He pushes the limits of his bike and of the road as he speeds past any cars he comes across on the short drive to your house, and he’s glad he did when he spots you on your front doorstep, head in your hands in little more than pajama shorts and a tank top.
He’s off his bike in an instant, shaking his head as he takes his helmet off in an effort to fix his hair before he kneels in front of you.
You’re relieved at the sight of him, clearly fresh out of bed and having hurried right over. Your knight in shining armor. Or at least a shiny red helmet.
His brow furrows as he looks you over, spotting the goosebumps that litter your bare legs and arms.
“Shit,” he mutters as he rolls his shoulders and shrugs his leather jacket off, wrapping it around you. It engulfs your figure almost entirely, draping over you like a dress. If the situation was any different he would think it’s adorable.
You look up at him between long, wet lashes, fresh tears streaking down your makeup-stained cheeks. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying and you’re sure your exhaustion and defeat are written across your face in bright bold lettering by the way he frowns.
“Did he kick you out?”
“It’s a long story,” you mutter, just barely audible.
“I got time.”
There’s a note of contempt that floats between his words and you know just as well as he does that he’s resisting the urge to beat down your door and knock some sense into your boyfriend.
Your mouth opens then closes enough times that Sukuna grows impatient, muscles in his jaw clenching as he grows closer and closer to busting down your door when you finally find words.
“We’ve been fighting on and off since we got home,” you admit. Sukuna raises a brow. That was four hours ago. “He was pissed about- about-” you stammer over your words, biting your lip as you fiddle with the necklace that sits beautifully around your neck. Beautiful like you.
“Me,” Sukuna dryly finishes your sentence.
You frown and he knows he’s right. Of course. Maybe the necklace was overstepping this time, but he’d watched your shitty boyfriend step on you more times than he could count and hadn’t once said a word. He respected you and your fiery demeanor entirely too much to ever want to see you upset.
Yet no matter what path he chose, it seemed you would be upset regardless.
“He took my phone and went through everything,” you clear your throat as your voice cracks mid-sentence, staring down at the phone in your hands. The screen is cracked and Sukuna isn’t sure if he wants to know whether it was shattered before today or not.
Your words set him ablaze in anger. It burns like an itch on his skin and it takes every last ounce of self control that he has to hold himself back and just listen. The contrasting cold air is nice on his skin, soothing what little fury it's able to with its brisk touch.
“Do you remember that photo we took together on Halloween?”
Sukuna nods slowly. He knows exactly where this is going. It was well over a year ago, before you’d started dating your boyfriend, when you had convinced Sukuna to dress as a king and you his queen. He’d had a surprising amount of fun with it and with enough alcohol flowing through his veins, his words had grown more frivolous. He’d spent all night calling you his queen or his princess, pretty much until the moment he’d thrown up, the words ejecting from his dialect along with the alcohol. Regardless, the proof was in the texts between you from that night.
At some point in the night, you’d gotten a photo taken clinging to his shoulders, a calm smile on Sukuna’s lips as he’d carried you with ease. It made him smirk the following morning recalling the memory, glad it hadn’t disappeared with the words or alcohol.
Regardless, he’d missed his chance to shoot his shot, growing too accustomed to having you around to consider you didn’t see his change in attitude around you as anything more than friendly, so he’d retreated to his usual detached self.
Clearly that detachment wasn’t enough for your boyfriend as you flip him your phone screen. So it is newly broken.
God give Sukuna the strength to sit still.
“And you’re outside now, why?”
“I felt sick, I needed air.” You shrug, fiddling with your phone in your lap. “He got mad that I walked away and we ended up fighting again, then he slammed the door in my face.”
“He kicked you out,” Sukuna states matter of factly, venom dripping from each and every word.
“He locked me out,” you shrug again, but Sukuna doesn’t care for the details. You have no keys, not to your bike or your house, no jacket, you’re in shorts and a tank top… jesus.
“What a fucking prick.” With that, he’s on his feet and you know he’s about to slam his fist on your door. Or through it. Sukuna may be kind with you but the bad boy persona he sports isn’t a persona at all- Sukuna would not hesitate to knock your boyfriend clean out. He’d been to jail before, one more time wasn’t a big deal if it meant keeping you safe.
“Kuna.” He pauses at the plain tone you say his name in. It’s not a warning, it’s not scolding. He doesn’t know what to make of it. “Not now.”
He huffs and clicks his tongue. His jaw clenches as his shrunken, furious pupils stare down at you, but when he notices your legs are shaking from the cold, he relents.
“Fine.” The word is grumbled as his hands reach for your waist and lift you to your feet with little more than a hum when you’re standing at your full height, barely reaching his broad shoulders. He leaves a hand on the small of your back, setting his helmet over your head and zipping his jacket up over your small frame in an effort to keep you safe when you climb onto the back of his bike.
Sukuna glances back at you as you cling to his toned abdomen, his bike pulling away quickly. Riding with Sukuna is familiar. Though you normally follow him, his quick riding pace and not-entirely-legal maneuvers don’t scare you the way they once did, because everything Sukuna does feels practiced, rehearsed.
Pulling into his apartment building, he pulls the bike into a parking spot and lets you hand him the helmet as you follow him up to his apartment.
It’s a bit of a mess, dishes sit in the sink, empty bottles and cans littering the counter and a garbage bag sits at the door, but it doesn’t matter because you’re warm and you’re safe and it’s not like he’d let you take the couch anyway given the current situation.
Sukuna moves to at least tidy the couch, fully expecting you to make yourself at home like you always do, but when he turns to see you’re staring at the ground in the entrance, his jacket wrapped around you like a blanket, he frowns. That’s not like you.
In fact, in all the years you two have known one another, Sukuna’s never seen you so spaced out.
“Did he hurt you?”
It’s his best guess as to why you’re so out of it, but when you shake your head, he’s simply at a loss.
Sukuna doesn’t do comfort. He’ll watch your favorite movies with you and make you food, but he doesn’t do words of comfort. He’s a man of action, and although the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on is standing in his apartment, he doesn’t dare to act on the stray thoughts running through his mind, even though he knows you deserve to be treated right.
Coming to stand in front of you, he sighs.
“Whaddya want me to do?”
Anyone else would assume he’s irritated with your presence, but you know it’s a genuine question. Your friend doesn’t know what you need and he’s trying his best to figure it out. He’s trying to help.
“Can I have a blanket?” You ask him, shoulders hunched in exhaustion.
There’s silence in the apartment as Sukuna moves to his bedroom to grab a blanket.
“The red one please!” You call after him as though that isn’t the one he’s already grabbing. He knows your favorite.
Returning to you, he drops the red blanket in your arms, his heart twisting as you pull his jacket off and hand it to him in exchange.
“Can I, um, come in?”
Sukuna raises an eyebrow questioningly, subconsciously fiddling with the tongue piercing in his mouth. Not once have you ever asked him to come in. You always, always, made yourself at home, even though it was much to his dismay the first few times you’d let yourself into his apartment in spite of his grumbles and irritated huffs.
Sukuna’s reaction is all the permission you need as you realize he must find the whole situation strange, but everything feels foreign to you. It’s not like you haven’t stayed at Sukuna’s before, it’s not like the couch isn’t your second bed, it’s that you feel like you’re betraying your boyfriend by being here.
Not that Sukuna would do anything anyway, you know he doesn’t see you in such a way. You may be his closest friend but he’s never once shown any sort of other interest towards you. Even if he did see you that way, he’s just not that kind of person.
Still, you gingerly sit at the edge of the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping yourself in the massive blanket. Sukuna moves to sit beside you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. He looks at you expectantly, waiting to see what you want to do, if you want to talk.
But you don’t answer, and Sukuna is at a loss of what to do. A contemplative silence settles over you as he leans his head back against the couch, eyeing you and hoping you’ll say something.
“Can I ask you something, Ryo?”
The use of the nickname he lets only you call him quirks his brow as he realizes you’re serious.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
That’s… not what the gruff man was expecting to hear.
His jaw tightens as his piercing eyes stare down at you. He rubs a hand over his face as he tries to make sense of the question, too tired to be thinking this deeply over something. He stares at you pensively as though the world rests on this one response.
“Yeah. You’re pretty.”
Your eyes fall to your knees and the way Sukuna’s head tilts, you’re sure he thinks he’s made a mistake.
“Thanks, Kuna.”
“The fuck did that prick say to you that has ya askin’?”
You hesitate, avoiding his discerning eyes as Sukuna’s chest surges with anger. Your best friend’s fist clenches in his lap as he leans forward, examining your expression.
“What the fuck did he say?” Sukuna’s voice is monstrous, but you could never fear his anger knowing he’s never once directed it your way. You know he’s irritated you haven’t answered yet, but even between his irritation and the gruff tone he uses, he could never scare you.
“He told me I couldn’t do better than him.”
“And?” Sukuna pushes demandingly, his fingers clasping the back of his couch so hard you wonder if he has the strength to crush it.
“That he’s way out of my league and should have chosen…” you trail off, not oblivious to the way Sukuna quirks a brow for you to continue. When you meekly whisper your friend’s name, Sukuna’s seething.
Fury practically drifts from his body like smoke and to your surprise you do hear the couch creak beneath his hand.
You’ve only ever seen Sukuna this angry once before.
Sukuna’s closest friend aside from you, Uraume, often accompanied you on your trips to the bar with Sukuna and would join in on your rides with their own bike. The two of them were two peas in a pod, similar in all the ways you weren’t, but if anything it made you closer to Uraume for having an understanding of Sukuna.
For that exact reason, you’d spotted Uraume’s discomfort a mile away when someone began hitting on them. Uraume could handle themself, so you didn’t think much of it until the man’s hand was tightly gripping Uraume’s arm.
Alarmed, you pointed out Uraume’s discomfort to your drunk best friend and he didn’t hesitate to clock the man hitting on them.
So when Sukuna is on his feet with a familiar rage brewing and doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, you know you have to calm him down before you’re bailing him out of jail again. It’s not something you want to make a habit of.
“Kuna, it’s okay.”
“No!” He hisses, swinging his hand through the air as he stares at the door.
“Please, I’ll be okay, I promise,” you try to insist, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“It’s not okay for him to say shit like that to you,” he growls, glowering from where he stands over you, eyes on the door. He wants to leave, you know he does.
“It’s not, I know, but it’s not your problem.”
“Not my- What the fuck don’t you get?”
Your eyes widen at Sukuna’s question. His voice is frigid as ever, but for once you feel the shards of ice pricking your skin.
“What?” Your dumbfounded and hurt question hangs in the air momentarily as you try to process this outburst.
Sukuna’s scarred eye twitches as he runs his tongue over his teeth. He huffs out a breath as he sees your expression, forcing himself to calm down so as not to make this about him. He doesn’t want to say something he regrets, and he certainly doesn’t want that icy tone to be directed at you, ever again.
“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.”
Your shoulders fall at his words, his chest heaving as he stares at you with an unidentifiable emotion.
“Where’s this coming from?” Your brow knits tightly over the bridge of your nose. As you subconsciously chew on your lower lip, Sukuna has to do everything in his power not to stare at your lips.
“Look, I just care, alright? Or somethin’.”
You barely know how to react to your best friend’s admission of care for you. Not once has he ever shown an ounce of his care through words. Sure, he’s shown it in other ways, but this is a first for him.
His gaze is fixed on the kitchen, so he barely notices when you stand up and set your hand on his arm, your thumb comfortingly rubbing his arm.
“I appreciate it, Kuna.” You tell him with a tired smile, doing your best to reassure him that you’re okay in spite of the situation. “Just… can we please just watch a movie or something?” You’re too tired, too worn out to handle everything going on right now and you’re afraid the buildup of emotions in your chest will overflow if you don’t distract yourself soon.
Sukuna’s focus fixes on your hand on his arm, the way it seems to burn into him in a way he’d long grown painfully familiar with. It wasn’t uncommon for you to grab his arm and drag him somewhere, or hug him each time you said hello. Hell, the Halloween you’d both gotten entirely too drunk, you’d been on Sukuna’s back half of the night giggling and telling him, your King, where to take you.
Yet this time, the burn hurts. It hurts him to see you here with dried tears on your cheeks. It angers him to know your boyfriend had gotten away with treating you in such a way for so long.
He lets out a breath through his nose and takes a seat on the couch again at your insistence, watching as you drape the big blanket over the both of you. And god is it cute when you do, making sure he’s completely covered from the waist down like you’re tucking him in.
When you lean back against the arm of the couch, slinking comfortably back into the cushions and grab the remote, Sukuna feels his body begin to relax too, allowing himself to focus on your wellbeing here and now rather than the fact that he wants to pummel your boyfriend.
He’s not shocked when you flip through options and eventually settle on a Studio Ghibli movie he knows you’ve seen a million times because he’s seen it one too many times.
You know he doesn’t mind although he isn’t the biggest fan of the movie. Either way, it’s nearly five in the morning and you both know you’ll be asleep before you know it.
–
The next morning as cool air pours through a window and birdsong decorates each blow of the breeze, the pounding of your head is a rude awakening. It’s too early for you to be up given that you were awake so late, but your phone seems to think otherwise.
Your eyes flicker open blearily, and you lean up in bed with a yawn, realizing suddenly that you’re in Sukuna’s room and he’s nowhere to be found. Sitting up fully, you bring a hand up to your temple, pressing on it in an effort to ease the pain as you search for your phone, finding it eventually on the floor a small distance away.
Hopping down from the tall mattress, you yawn as you stare at the screen, your heart clenching at the sight of the contact photo on-screen as your phone rings. Your boyfriend has his arms wrapped around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both grin. With the way your screen is now shattered, it looks almost like a scene from a movie in the way it’s practically screaming a warning at you.
You’d spent far too much time alone with your thoughts the previous night. Hell, even with Sukuna’s comfort, his disdain for your boyfriend had been a bit of a wakeup call. Still, your thumb hovers over the green button.
“Hello?” Your voice is broken as you answer the phone.
“Thank god baby, I was so worried about you. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you outside last night, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
You take a couple of steps forward, walking towards the living room as your eyes lock onto the tall man draped over the couch, his limbs entirely too long for the cushions. He must have carried you to his bed at some point and taken the couch.
Your stomach twists as you realize your boyfriend’s words are all lost on you, you didn’t hear a single one. You’re not sure when you tuned him out, or how long you’ve been staring at Sukuna when your boyfriend’s words pull you from your thoughts.
“Y/n? Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, I’m a bit out of it. What did you say?”
He sighs in frustration on the other side of the line and you wince as his tone gains a familiar edge. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you so we can talk.”
“I- um-” you pause, brow furrowing as you stare at your best friend, who begins to shuffle from his uncomfortable position on the couch as your soft voice awakens him from slumber.
“Y/n?” Your boyfriend’s voice cuts through the haze again, but you’re at a loss for words as Sukuna lifts his head, irritation written across his face at being awake, but when he flips over on the couch and spots you, his demeanor softens.
“Yeah. You’re pretty.”
Sukuna’s words ring in your head over and over and you bite your lip. He pushes himself up on the couch, moving to stand a small distance in front of you in three long strides.
Sukuna may not have a way with words, but you never had a hard time telling what he was thinking just by the way he looks at you. As he stares down at you with a tilt of his head, you know exactly what’s going through his mind.
Like that, it all clicks. Of course he hated your boyfriend. The signs were always there, you just didn’t pay them any mind. The reason he was colder than usual towards your boyfriend is as obvious as the sun in the sky.
Sukuna thinks you’re pretty. He wasn’t trying to comfort you when he said that. That’s not who Sukuna is. That may as well be an admission that he would move mountains for you.
“Y/n, baby? What’s going on? I want you home, now.”
Your chest twists at his tone and as your eyes meet Sukuna’s, you wonder if your phone is loud enough for him to hear when his lip twitches.
You clear your throat, your eyes never once leaving Sukuna’s from where he stands with tousled hair, wrinkled sweatpants and a bare chest. It’s not unfamiliar to you, you know Sukuna is beyond hot. You know Sukuna could take anyone he wants home and you know he has a streak of doing so, but now that you think about it, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen Sukuna with anyone, and you know why now.
“You left me outside all night in the cold.” Your voice is meek, still mindlessly chewing on your lip as you stare at the tattooed man’s eyes, now lit ablaze with a fire that hadn’t been there earlier. “You know what- I should go.”
“What? Baby, come on we need to talk-”
“I have nothing to talk to you about. We’re-” You pause, your stomach stirring uncomfortably as all of your emotions seem to collide and collapse within you. You feel the tears that threaten to spill, your composure that threatens to break as you ball your hand into a fist at your side.
Sukuna’s hand twitches beside him as he does everything in his power not to lean down and kiss you then and there. He wants you. He wants all of you. He wants to show your boyfriend everything he’s about to lose.
He wants to make you his. He wants you to make him yours.
Yet, all he can reasonably do is set a hand on your upper arm. He can’t be selfish. Not when you’ve come to him in your time of need.
“We’re done.”
“Nonono, we are not done, hold on-”
“I’ll come grab my bike and my things soon-”
“-let’s talk about this, I just made a mistake, okay-”
“-goodbye.”
“Don’t hang up, baby, hold on, fuck-”
Your hand falls to your side as you stare up at the taller man.
He doesn’t say a word as a tear runs down your cheek, shortly followed by a sob wracking your body. Sukuna’s hand moves from your arm to the back of your head as he pulls you into his chest, holding you there as you cry against his bare skin, tears wetting his toned pecs.
It’s not his ideal morning, but at least he can shamelessly say now that he wants to rearrange your boyfriend’s face with his fist.
He won’t say it anyway, though. He knows better.
Your best friend doesn’t say anything but his actions speak volumes as he holds you to him protectively, unmoving as he envelops you into his form. He exhales deeply as he holds you tightly to his body, his fingers gripping you tightly. It’s reassuring to know you have him in your time of need and eventually your tears begin to subside.
You blink your wet lashes against his skin as your warm breath fans his chest and abdomen. He shoots you a disgruntled look as your lashes tickle his skin and he jolts at the feeling.
“Don’t be a brat,” he warns through gritted teeth, but it holds no malice.
You chuckle through tears. “Sorry, Ryo.”
He rolls his shoulders and holds you again, letting your face fall against his chest once more. This time, you’re careful to keep your eyes closed to avoid tickling him.
He’s surprisingly patient with you as he lets you stand there, only moving to take and silence your phone when he grows frustrated with the vibration.
When you finally settle, he leads you back to the couch, tossing his shirt and the blanket off the couch and onto the floor.
“Did you move me to the bed?”
He hums affirmatively, his chest warming as you smile at him. “Thanks, I could have taken the couch though. It looked a bit too small for y-”
“No.”
You breathe out through your nose in a half-hearted laugh. There’s never any use arguing with him when he’s made up his mind, so you give it up. Oh well.
“Can I stay here for a bit?”
You figure Sukuna will huff and puff and make a show out of it but he nods easily.
“Thanks,” you sigh, sinking back into the couch.
You stare at the ceiling. What a morning. You’ve barely been awake for ten minutes and your heart is pounding in your chest just from sitting beside your best friend, someone you’ve known for years.
Someone you’d long pushed any attraction for down into the depths of your heart in an effort to save yourself the heartbreak of being with someone who seemed to have no interest in you. Hell, you’d once thought he was emotionally unavailable, and yet…?
You can’t help but stare.
He’s exhausted, you’re not sure how much longer he’ll be able to stay awake as his head bobs down onto the back of the couch, mouth slightly ajar as sleep settles over his form. You smile softly at the sight, swallowing at the yearning feeling of wanting to settle into his warmth, though you know you shouldn’t.
You’re a mess. You’ve heard your boyfriend- ex- say things you aren’t ready to admit to yourself that leave fresh stinging wounds. Hell, that’s an entire can of worms you don’t want to touch right now. Your belongings, your bike, your entire life is all trapped in his house, in the house of someone that-
God why had you let him step all over you like that? It leaves you frowning as your heart twists and clenches uncomfortably. You loved him. Deep down, you know it’s the reason. You convinced yourself he loved you too.
You curse yourself for overlooking your feelings for Sukuna, for pushing them down. He’d always cared deeply for you, the signs had always been there, yet you never paid them any mind.
Chewing on your lower lip again, you get to your feet and grab the blanket off the floor, draping it over him. Your thumb brushes over the faded black lines that race over his shoulders and down his collar bones as you tuck the blanket over his shoulders.
He hums subconsciously, a serene smile pulling at his lips.
You smile back, turning to get some rest yourself. When Sukuna kicks his foot out suddenly and damn-near trips you, you let out a surprised yelp, spinning around to confront him.
“What the hell, Kuna?” You harshly snarl at him.
His lidded eyes just barely open, your reaction earning a smirk from him. There’s his feisty best friend.
“C’mere, it’s cold.”
It’s not cold, and Ryomen Sukuna is not sly, but your stomach flutters and your heart jumps to your throat anyway. Your shoulders fall to your sides in surprise, unable to be frustrated with him.
He flips the blanket up, his arm extended over the back of the couch. His expression is mild as usual but when you take him up on his offer and plop down next to him, his racing heart tells you everything you need to know.
Pulling your knees up onto the couch, you let him pull you against is chest, your head resting on his broad shoulder as he barely lasts a minute before the rhythm of his breathing steadies and his head falls back on the couch again.
You’re not long for the world of the waking either as you succumb to the temptation of sleep on his warm chest.
When your eyes flicker open again, your head has fallen into Sukuna’s lap and he’s splayed in what looks like an uncomfortable position with his arm and leg hanging off the couch. His head is still leaned back against the back of the couch with his mouth hanging open as soft snores part his lips.
It’s not the first time you’ve seen him asleep. You’ve spent many hungover mornings at his apartment and vice versa but now in the gentle morning light with the distant sound of birdsong as the only noise disturbing his snores, he looks peaceful.
You shuffle on his lap in an effort to get a better look at his serene expression, but his strained groan suggests that you may have awoken him earlier than he would have liked.
“Can ya cut that out?” He grumbles without opening his eyes as he reaches down and adjusts your head to lay more on his abdomen.
The irritation in his voice doesn’t hold a candle to the sincerity in which his arm now cradles you against him and you giggle, to which he opens an eye to observe you.
“Sorry,” you hum. He exhales as he closes his eyes again, sliding further down on the couch.
You lay in bliss on his toned and horribly attractive bare chest for what only feels like a few minutes before his eyes peel open and he’s drinking in the sight of you, his gorgeous best friend, smiling at him from his chest.
And oh my god, Ryomen Sukuna is blushing.
Would you really be his best friend if you didn’t point it out?
“Kuna?”
“Hm?”
“You a lil flustered?”
Sukuna’s brow furrows deeply. “I am not.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It’s warm in here, you’re laying on top of me and we have a blanket,” he refutes with an edge to his voice that tells you that you’re poking a nerve.
You also know him well enough to know it’s faux anger, playful if anything.
“Funny, I was told it was cold a couple of hours ago.”
His lip curls, chest rising and falling beneath you as he huffs. “You push my buttons.” You can see from the way a muscle in his jaw works that he’s fiddling with his tongue piercing.
“I could push more than just your buttons,” your voice drips with confidence, lowering an octave at the implication. You pull a hand out from beneath your chin, running a dainty finger across the length of his collar bone.
Sukuna’s pupils dilate in an instant, his attention drawn to your finger. He swallows hard, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk. All signs of his contempt forgotten, warmth swirls in those gorgeous eyes of his, but the smirk on his lips is devilish.
“Careful, princess,” he warns in a gruff voice that has you clenching your thighs together with wide eyes. Sukuna’s brow twitches as he feels your legs shuffle, entirely too happy with himself at getting such a reaction from you all from two words. He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you as you hide your face in his chest, heat radiating from your cheeks.
Tension is ripe in the air between you both when you finally meet Sukuna’s intense gaze and it makes a question pop into your mind.
“How long?” The words are blurted out and Sukuna shifts beneath you to get a better view.
“What are you on about?”
“How long have you liked me?”
Sukuna’s scoff hits the air before he can even register he’s made the noise. “Go get ready or whatever so we can pick up your shit.” His brow is pulled into a tight scowl as he all but shoves you to the ground.
You barely manage to catch yourself before falling on your ass, rolling your eyes as you steady yourself.
“Kuuuna!” You coo with a grin, but before you have a chance to tease him any further, Sukuna lunges at you. “Wait, wait-”
You shriek in protest as he barrels into your legs, effortlessly lifting you over his shoulder. He pays no mind to any of your protests, nor your kicking and squirming against him as he dumps you with little grace on his bed.
“What-”
“Stop complainin’ and go change or shower or whatever y’ gotta do. I want your bike back.”
Sitting up as you attempt to reorient yourself, you blink a couple of times and manage to call his name out just before he’s turning away.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” you tell him, staring down at your pajamas.
“You’ve been leaving shit here for years, find something in my closet.”
“Have I?” You wonder aloud, suddenly realizing your hungover mornings passed in his apartment are likely the culprit for many missing outfits. “Wait, why do you want my bike back?” You realize suddenly, but he’s already shutting the door to his room and leaving you in tranquility.
Standing in the silence broken only by distant birdsong and the muffled sounds of traffic, you find your gaze lingering on the door where he once stood.
How long? You wonder to yourself. How many signs, how many signals had you missed or brushed off all these years under the assumption that your grumpy best friend was just that- your best friend?
You set a hand over your fast-beating heart, trying to steady the pace it’s beating at as emotions run rampant through you. Between the shock of realization of Sukuna’s feelings and the shitty night you’d had- your birthday, by the way- you can’t help the shaky exhale that parts your lips.
It’s a lot to take in.
You take your time showering, enjoying the way the warm water rinses away all signs of the prior night. It’s a warm respite from the days that are beginning to grow frosty as winter approaches. Most importantly, the white noise of the water falling drowns out the steady stream of jumbled thoughts flowing like a river through your mind.
Perusing Sukuna’s closet, you do manage to find more of your clothes than you had expected.
“My nice leggings were here the whole time?” You mutter to yourself as you pull them from a pile of pants. Along with them, you manage to find a pair of jeans, more shirts than you’d care to admit, an old jacket and a hoodie.
Pulling on a form-fitting black low-cut shirt and a red leather jacket, you poke your head out of the bedroom door.
“Why’d you never give any of this back?”
Sukuna’s leaning out the window with a cigarette held between two fingers. He blows a puff of smoke out into the cool fall air before turning to you. He’s still in his sweatpants but has pulled his shirt on.
“I used to bring ‘em back to your place when I visited but they always ended up back on my couch,” he shrugs simply. “Wasn’t worth the time.”
“I didn’t know it was this much clothing.”
“Your memory’s shit.”
“Ouch,” you hold a hand to your heart, feigning being hurt.
He stubs out the cigarette, waving the smoke out the window with his arm before shutting it. “Done in there?”
You nod and exchange places with Sukuna as he showers. He takes less than a quarter of the time you did and is out with the most effortlessly cool style that you can’t help but be jealous of him.
His typical black leather jacket hangs off his shoulders with a vintage Harley Davidson shirt beneath. He sports ripped jeans on his lower half and blackout shades sit atop his spiked pink hair.
“See something you like?”
You barely manage to utter out a pathetic ‘uh’ before Sukuna’s chuckling at you as he catches you eyeing him from your place on the couch. He makes his way around the couch, patting your shoulder encouragingly.
“Let’s go.”
Shaking your head to clear your mind, you get to your feet and follow Sukuna to the door, stopping him before he can leave.
“Hey. Can you stay on the sidewalk while I talk to him?”
The tall man pauses at your serious tone, examining your expression. “Why?”
You know why he’s asking.
“I’m serious, Ryo. I don’t want you two fighting.”
“He treated you like shit, y/n.”
“I- I know.”
His jaw clenches. “The piece of shit deserves-”
“I know, okay? Please, this is what I’m trying to prevent. Besides, if you get into trouble, I’ll leave your ass in jail this time.”
His head falls back, eyes closed as he comes to terms with just how serious you are. He rolls his shoulders backwards once before nodding. “Whatever, fine.” His tone drips with exasperation and anger and you can only hope at this point that he means what he says.
“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, falling into place beside him as he leads the way down to his bike.
Though you rode behind him less than twelve hours ago, somehow it feels different today as he places his helmet on you and pulls you tight to his broad form. His feisty little backpack, so cute in his helmet. He’s not oblivious to the way your hands roam his abs either as a smirk pulls at his features. It’s a sweet momentary distraction from his searing anger.
It takes every ounce of self control that Sukuna has to stay at his bike as he watches you ring the doorbell of your own house. Thank god for the cold air keeping his anger from simmering through his skin. He’s sure he’d be a pile of molten anger otherwise.
You shuffle uncomfortably at the doorstep, knowing entirely too well that this is going to go poorly. You were practically asking for a fight by showing up with Sukuna but what better option do you have? Your wallet and keys are still sitting soundly on the nightstand of the bed you’d spent the last several months sleeping in. At least, that’s where they should be.
It takes a moment before the door creaks open, your ex’s surprised wide eyes staring back at you.
“Shit, thank god you’re home-”
You barely manage to duck from his grasp as he attempts to pull you into his embrace. Your heart pounds hard in your chest as you face your ex, whose face contorts to one of pain when you duck away from him.
“I told you-” You mentally curse yourself as your voice breaks. Closing your eyes, you readjust and face your ex with confidence. “We’re done.”
“We need to talk,” he insists, his voice sickeningly sweet, and it almost makes you want to gag the way he swings between sweet nothings and manipulative cords that twist your heart.
“We talked for four hours last night. There’s nothing left to talk about!” You swing a hand through the air for emphasis as your voice rises, staring at him in disbelief. “Just let me in, I need my keys and-”
His arm swings out to block the door, knuckles white as he grips the frame of the door. His brow curls upwards in… frustration? Irritation? Anger? Pain? You’re not sure. “This is your home. You belong with me.”
You swallow the bile in your throat like a stone straight to the pit of your stomach. Once words like that would have made you swoon, now you feel as though you’re a deer in the headlights staring at a man you don’t recognize. A man who holds the barrel of a metaphorical gun.
You spare a glance behind you for reassurance, spotting Sukuna sitting at his bike. If it’s possible for a man to have smoke spewing from his ears, Sukuna is the spitting image of such a thing. His face is red with anger, hands clenched at either side of his body as he tries desperately to hold himself back.
He still remembers the way you excitedly told him about your new boyfriend. About how sweet he was, how kind he was. Although it pained him to know it was someone else making you happy, he was just glad you were happy. But when you had invited him to meet your boyfriend, Sukuna couldn’t help but feel as though the man didn’t match your description.
He’d tried to convince himself he was just being jealous, but the more time he spent around you, the more he noticed.
The last straw for Sukuna was when you had invited him, your boyfriend, and some of your closest friends along to see the latest installment in the Predator franchise. You’d stopped for dinner first and your boyfriend had insisted on ordering for you.
Sukuna hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he had found it strange when a salad had been set in front of you. Not once had Sukuna ever seen you order a salad. Well, he had, but as a side. Never as the entire meal.
He’d tried to brush it off but when you’d decided on popcorn at the movie and your boyfriend had insisted you didn’t need it, Sukuna made a point of ordering a large one and sharing it with you.
Now as you look back at him uncertainly, every bone in Sukuna’s body screams to move. Yet his brain tells him to listen to you. He takes a breath in an effort to stay calm, deciding to respect your wishes.
“You brought him here?” Your ex pales as he follows your line of sight.
That seems to give you the confidence to face him again as anger sears through your blood. “You left me outside alone! He came to get me!” You search his face for any sign of remorse. When you don’t find it, tears prick at your eyes. Over a year spent together and he can’t even show you an ounce of kindness.
“I told you baby, it was a mistake!”
“No- No. No, a mistake is forgetting to turn off the sink, not leaving me outside in the cold with nothing but a broken phone.” Your voice drips with venom as the cold of the previous night envelops you in its memory, a reminder that this is for the best.
“Your phone isn’t broken, get over it y/n.” You glance down at his fist as it balls at his side.
“You shattered it.” You deadpan.
“Can we forget about the phone? For fuck’s sake.” He lifts his fist in the air to bring it up to his forehead as he attempts to calm himself down. “Look-” he shoots Sukuna a glance before smiling, his voice growing honeyed. “We’ll figure things out, okay? Why don’t you come in?”
You hesitate. You see the red flags as clear as day now that the fog has lifted, and you know Sukuna is grateful when you pleadingly look at him. His signal to come beat the shit out of your ex. Well, no, it isn’t. But he wishes it was.
Regardless, he’s up the front lawn to the door of the small house in an instant, standing behind you with all the self-control he can physically muster.
“We’re having a private conversation, would you mind-”
“Whatever you can say in front of me, you can say in front of him.” You insist, backing into Sukuna as your ex reaches for your arm. You’re thankful in this moment that your closest friend is nearly seven feet and built like a brick wall as it could never really matter who he’s up against, he’ll always be the scariest one in the room.
Your ex’s mouth curls into a snarl, eyeing Sukuna’s hands that rest easily on your upper arms.
“You’ve gotta be-” he grumbles to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hand that isn’t blocking you from entering the house. “Come on baby, you know you belong with me and not-” he cuts himself off as he shoots Sukuna an icy glance.
You shift uncomfortably at the tone he uses as he says that you belong with him, growing uneasy the longer you’re in his presence. Steeling your resolve, you straighten yourself and muster as much confidence as you can.
“This isn’t about Sukuna. You left me outside in the cold last night and I called my best friend to get me,” you tell him without missing a beat. Sukuna is practically grinning behind you as your ex’s jaw clenches but you don’t see the exchange between the two men. “Oh, and I don’t belong with or to anyone.”
Sukuna squeezes your arm in reassurance.
“I need my keys and wallet. I’m taking my bike and some clothes.”
Your ex mulls over your words before relenting finally, just as you’re beginning to think you’ll be without belongings. “Fine, but he stays outside.”
You glance up at Sukuna, whose expression is unreadable. “Fine,” you agree, slipping from Sukuna’s grasp and into the house. Your ex goes to close the door in Sukuna’s face, but a steady hand stops him just as you dash out of sight into your old bedroom.
“Let go of the door, man.”
“Leave the door open, man,” Sukuna warns mockingly in a sneer.
“She’s my-”
“She’s not. She’s not yours. She doesn’t belong to you.”
“Go fuck yourself, Sukuna.” He rolls his eyes, pressing more of his weight against the door, but it’s nothing compared to the bulk Sukuna packs.
“Consider yourself lucky I’m not rearranging your face right now,” his deep eyes blaze as he leans closer to your ex, his words dangerously low. If ever Sukuna is thankful that he knows he’s a scary person, it’s right now as your ex flinches back and relents, leaving the door open and leaving Sukuna at the door.
Your ex disappears from Sukuna’s sight and he stands up straight, turning to the side as he stares at your bike. He knows you can handle yourself, but he still doesn’t love the prospect of you being alone with your ex for any period of time.
Sukuna especially hates how long it takes. He’s not sure how much you need to pack and he can’t make out whatever you’re talking about with your ex but each passing moment he grows less patient and less willing to wait outside.
Just as he’s thinking of stepping inside, he sees your tiny figure with a backpack and a suitcase, keys dangling from your fingers and your wallet held firmly in your hand. The relief on your face when you lock eyes with Sukuna is somewhat heartwarming, but what isn’t is the way your ex tries to grab your wrist as you make your way to the door.
You pull against him but his grip fastens.
Sukuna sees red. He sees red and he doesn’t think twice about stepping into what was once your house.
“Don’t touch her.”
Your eyes widen at the sight of Sukuna making his way towards you with gritted teeth. “No, no, no! Sukuna! It’s fine, I can handle this!” Your hand with your wallet and keys flies up as you maneuver yourself between him and your ex.
Your ex’s hand doesn’t loosen even when your arm physically blocks Sukuna from laying a beating on him.
You take a breath, looking between the two men. “I’m leaving. Please let go,” you say softly, so calmly it almost breaks Sukuna’s heart that your ex’s actions seem so normal to you.
“We aren’t done talking-”
“We are. I’ll be back for the rest of my things later.” You tug your wrist again, sending a pleading look to your ex, but his grip only tightens. “Please let go.”
“Y/n, please. Please, we can work this out.”
“Let go,” you tell him firmly, ignoring his words.
“Please-”
“I don’t know if you’re incapable of listening or if you just want your head bashed in, but I’d listen to her.” Sukuna’s voice is a warning, dripping with malevolence you’ve never heard from him before. His chest is pressed hard against your free hand and you aren’t sure you can hold him back much longer.
“Ryo,” you plead, looking between the two men as you try to pull your wrist again. Your ex’s hand twitches at Sukuna’s words before loosening and falling to his side. You breathe out a sigh of relief, glancing down at the bruising markings his fingers left behind.
“So he’s Ryo now, huh?”
You glare pointedly at your ex, knowing that one wrong word will have him with his face caved in.
Sukuna’s intense stare never once leaves your ex, but he does allow you to hand him your suitcase and gently tug his forearm to follow you out the door.
Your ex watches from the door as Sukuna follows you to your bike. His intent gaze has your hair standing on end but you choose to ignore the feeling in favor of hopping on your bike.
The sound of your bike roaring to life puts both you and Sukuna at ease and you ride down the driveway, stopping next to his bike. He jogs after you with your suitcase still in-hand.
Sukuna is quiet, which isn’t unusual for him but you can practically feel the anger coming off of him in droves like smoke. Kicking your bike’s stand out, you hop off and flip his Ducati’s storage compartment open, pulling out a couple of straps to secure your suitcase to the back of your bike.
“Ready?”
You pull your friend’s attention from your ex finally as your hand comes to rest on his bicep. His eyes travel from your face to your arm that rests on him, where he can see the way your wrist is reddened and sure to bruise.
Realizing the sight of your reddened arm has his jaw clenching with anger, you move it behind your back and out of sight.
“Kuna, please.”
His intense gaze examines yours as the breeze faintly ruffles his spiked hair. He’s completely still apart from the muscle working in his jaw as he thinks over his options at this moment, but his chest heaves as he sighs in exasperation and gives in.
“Whatever,” he growls, shooting a poisonous look back at the door that your ex hasn’t moved from. Sukuna haughtily pulls his helmet on over his head, flipping his visor down before getting on his bike and accelerating quickly.
Based on the way Sukuna weaves through traffic and carelessly speeds through lights, you know he’s furious. You pull your bike into the parking spot next to him a couple of minutes after he pulls in, finding him pacing in the parking garage.
Shutting off your bike and pulling off your helmet, you approach him with angled brows, trying to reassure him. “Thanks for coming with me, I appreciate it.” He’s blinded by rage and you’re not even sure if he hears you. “Kuna, I’m okay,” you insist, reaching out to put a hand on his arm but he still brushes past you.
Sighing, you unload your suitcase from the back of your bike and return the bungee cables to the storage compartment of the Ducati as you let Sukuna blow off some steam.
Once everything is ready to go up to Sukuna’s apartment, you turn your attention back to him.
“Can we go up to your place?”
“He hurt you,” Sukuna hisses with pupils the size of pinpricks. It would be intimidating if you didn’t know that anger was directed elsewhere.
“It’s nothing really, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Fucking asshole, I should have-”
“Nope, we’re not going into that. I don’t want to know what you think you should have done.”
You grab your suitcase and begin rolling it through the parkade to the elevator, relieved when you hear a frustrated grunt behind you and a pair of keys clinking. The ride up to his apartment is silent, shrouded in anger.
Really, you should be the angry one but if anything, you're more relieved. Relieved that you have someone like Sukuna to stay with, someone who’s so willing to come get you at three in the morning when you need him most.
Sukuna swings the door to his apartment open, slamming against the doorstop loudly before creaking shut. His hand flies to his pocket as he trudges across the apartment, tossing his leather jacket on the couch and leaning out the window as he lights a cigarette.
A puff of smoke leaves his mouth as he swings his head back with closed eyes.
Shaking your head, you decide not to give him a hard time for his bad habit and give him space as you busy yourself with setting the couch up nicely for yourself to sleep on given that you were now homeless, among other things.
Sukuna takes his time at the window, stubbing out his cigarette when it’s barely an inch long and finally approaching you from where you sit on the floor looking through your bag, taking inventory of what you have and what you’ll need to pick up eventually.
Your pretty face smiles up at him when his shadow blocks your view and he finds himself relaxing more from the sight of you than he had from the nicotine.
“Are you okay?” You tilt your head, noting that he seems more calm now and he nods.
“Should be askin’ you that.”
“I’m okay. I mean it,” you insist.
His eyes flicker down to your wrist again but he knows better than to doubt you and he knows you can handle the pain. Sitting down on the couch behind you, he leans back and watches you quietly.
“I got the things that were most important, but hopefully I can go back and grab everything else eventually,” you note, more to yourself than him. He still hums in acknowledgement. “Why’d you want my bike back so bad, by the way?”
Your friend leans forward on his knees. “So I can still go for rides with you.”
“What, do I make a bad backpack?” You tease with a grin that has Sukuna’s shoulders falling to his sides as his anger subsides completely.
“Hard to drive when you’re feelin’ me up, princess.”
Your lips purse as your cheeks redden, caught off-guard by his nonchalant smirk. You’d felt up his abs a bit during the ride to your old place, sure, but being called out still had the tips of your ears heating up.
You stubbornly avoid his gaze, going back to figuring out if you’d forgotten anything. Deep chuckles resonate from behind you as your new roommate ruffles your hair and gets to his feet.
“By the way we’re goin’ out tonight.”
You tilt your head, eyes following Sukuna as he saunters over to the fridge and pulls out an energy drink.
“Where’d you have in mind?” You ask curiously, not entirely sure you’re in the mood to go out.
“That new rom com movie or whatever that you wanted to see is showing tonight. I got tickets.” He reaches back into the fridge and pulls out your favorite beverage, tossing it to you.
You barely manage to catch it, mumbling a thank you. “I don’t really know if I’m up for it,” you admit, staring at the drink in your hands.
“I already bought the tickets,” he shrugs, laying back on the couch again. “Suck it up.”
Your nose wrinkles in distaste but you know it’s likely for the best that you’re out of the house so you do, in fact, suck it up.
It quickly becomes time for the movie and you find yourself back in the parking garage a couple of hours before sunset.
“Can you drive?”
“You gonna feel me up again?” Sukuna raises a brow at you, but a hint of a smirk pulls at his lips.
“... Can I?”
Your confidence catches him off-guard and he blanches, his lips parting as he stares at you. His eyes flicker to your lips and that single action has your heart beating fast and hard in your chest. The fluttering in your stomach as you wait for him to react is enough to make you wretch and you consider yourself lucky that he seems to pull himself together as his lips tug upwards into a sly grin.
He takes a step forward, dipping his head down to whisper in your ear. “Don’t stray too low while I’m drivin’.”
You’re left choking on air as Sukuna’s tone sends a jolt of electricity straight up your spine, setting your entire body ablaze. Your eyes trail the length of his body, pausing as you watch him pull his leather jacket over his thin white shirt. The way his muscles ripple and tense with each movement has you swallowing hard as you realize just how built and toned he really is.
You’re thankful you aren’t caught and are spared from Sukuna’s teasing as you hop onto the back of his bike, purposefully making a show of feeling up his abs. Moving from his pecs, across the peaks and valleys of each set of muscles, down until you take pause as you feel the waist of his pants connect with the tips of your fingers.
Sukuna groans, looking over his shoulder before he puts on his helmet. “Not while I’m driving, got it?”
You nod at him, batting your eyelashes sweetly. He huffs, adjusting the crotch of his pants before pulling his helmet on. He waits for you to follow suit before pulling out of the parking garage and heading to the theater.
Sukuna’s warmth is both a beacon of hope and a searing flame to your skin. A comfort and an exciting new idea to explore. You hold onto him tightly, your body melting into his heat as he drives much more carefully with you hooked onto him than he had earlier in the day.
Sukuna pulls into a spot by the front door of the theater and waits for you to let go before hopping off of the bike himself.
“Popcorn?” He asks you mildly, hands in his pockets.
“Um, that’s alright.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I don’t need popcorn.”
“Don’t need or don’t want?”
You pause, your brow knit as you silently question what he means, but Sukuna’s seen this play out before with your ex and he wants to break this habit.
“Do you want popcorn, y/n?”
You run a hand through your hair, exhaling quietly. “Yeah, it’d be nice.”
Sukuna nods, surprising you as he grabs not your forearm or bicep as he usually does, but your hand. His much larger, veiny hand folds over yours, his fingers tangling with yours. Your hand is so small in his and even the feeling of your hand against him feels like a reminder of just how cute you are to him.
Your cheeks are surely dusted in a red glow, but you don’t mind given the surprisingly pleasant eagerness in your chest.
With popcorn in-hand, Sukuna leads you into the theater, taking you to your seat and relaxing into the reclining chair. He lifts the arm rest between you, not once disconnecting your hands like it’s the most natural action in the world.
And in all honesty, it is. Everything with Sukuna is easy. It feels right. It feels right in a way you’re not familiar with and it’s exhilarating.
Given the cheesy scenario he set up for, you half-expect Sukuna to make a move during the movie, but his thumb simply continues to rub soothing lines over your knuckles.
It’s after the movie that he surprises you.
Bounding down the stairs ahead of Sukuna as you tug him along with you, you’re practically gushing about the movie that you’re positive he barely paid attention to. It isn’t his style of film but he doesn’t mind either way.
“-I mean come on, how can you not love Owen Wilson in that role?”
“Mm.”
“-and it’s so charming watching him start to learn and care about her world-”
“Mhmm.”
“-oh my god and when she realizes she loves him and she shows up at the tournament-”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Despite how little he has to say about the movie, he’s just happy you enjoyed it.
“-and when he gets her flooowers?-”
Sukuna chuckles as you continue to gush over the movie at him. Still hand-in-hand, he tugs you along, quietly listening to your rambles as he makes his way to his bike. His chest swirls with anticipation as you pay his actions no mind when he turns towards the storage compartment of his bike as you continue rambling on.
It takes only a moment for his hand to reach the delicate item he’s in search of, deftly wrapping two fingers around the dainty object. Keeping his hand behind him, he turns to you with a soft smile. Lidded eyes stare at you with mirth, an expression that isn’t typical for Sukuna, so your rambles begin to fade into silence as you tilt your head curiously at him.
“Flowers, hm?” He asks, pulling a beautiful, blooming red rose out from behind him. He holds it out to you, pulling you closer by the hand that’s still intertwined with his as you purse your lips in disbelief.
“I- I-” You stammer over your words as your mouth goes dry, eyes fixed on the gorgeous flower held in Sukuna’s fingers.
It’s almost a strange sight to behold- the same man you’d seen passed out on your couch dozens of times, the man you’d had to bail out of jail on more than one occasion, the same man who grumbled and complained every single time you went to Red’s Bar- now holding a dainty little rose for you.
“W- when did you even have time to get this?” You shake your head, it doesn’t matter. “Sukuna, this is so much I-”
His brows raise as your rambles begin again and although he’s flustered you more times than he can count over the years, he’s never seen you genuinely nervous like this.
“-you really didn’t have to do anything like this for me-”
“Y/n.”
“-taking me to the movies is already a big deal and I know the last day has been a hassle for you-”
“Y/n,” Sukuna chuckles this time, his grip on your hand tightening as he squeezes it in an effort to get your attention.
“-I didn’t get you anything, I don’t-”
“Y/n,” Sukuna leans down, capturing your lips against his. His lips are soft and the kiss is uncharacteristically sweet. His hand slides out of your grasp, sliding up your arm and coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer to him. He parts from your lips with a smirk. “Shut up, princess.”
You stare breathlessly at him, eyes flickering wildly between his eyes, his lips, before resting down on the rose again.
“Take the damn flower.”
“R-right!” You gingerly reach out, holding the stem as you bring it up to your nose. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”
“Well, someone had to,” it comes out as more of a grumble as his brow furrows, but his fingers curl into the skin of your waist as he speaks, betraying the meaning behind his words.
“Mhmm, someone.” You agree teasingly, smiling up at him. “Thank you, Kuna.” You rise up onto your tiptoes, resting a hand on his chest as you lean up to kiss him, just barely able to reach his jaw.
His chest vibrates in a content hum. “So short,” he mocks, tilting his head to meet your lips again. Pulling his other hand from his pocket, he pulls the flower from your fingers, setting it in the storage behind him and finding your waist to bring you flush against him.
Your hands slide up the length of his hard musculature until you find his neck. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at his nape and another hum slips from his lips, swallowed by your kiss.
He leans down to meet your height better as the kiss gains urgency, years of pent up emotions flooding from Sukuna’s every movement. His fingers curl into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer.
“Kuna?”
He grunts into the kiss, smirking against your lips when he slides a hand from your waist down to your hips.
“Can we-” you breathe out between kisses, “-go home?”
Sukuna parts from your lips, examining your expression with blown pupils, so wide you can barely see the deep color of his irises. He swallows hard, his chest rising and falling fast as he nods silently.
You let out a surprised squeal when he grabs you by the hips and effortlessly lifts you onto his bike.
“-can do it myself,” you insist but Sukuna doesn’t register your words, too caught up in the intoxication of your smell, your feel, your taste. He wants more.
Hopping on the bike in front of you, he waits for your helmet to be on before he starts his Ducati and throws his helmet on. Your hands take their place around his toned abdomen, sliding down without a moment’s thought.
“Behave,” Sukuna hisses loud enough that you hear him even over the sound of his bike’s engine. He doesn’t need your visor up to know you’re smiling innocently at him.
He clicks his tongue and speeds out of the parking lot back towards his apartment. Though he’s still more careful driving with his sweet little backpack clinging to him, you’re not oblivious to the fact that he is driving quicker than usual.
Relaxing against Sukuna’s toned back brings with it a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s strange, despite him speeding through traffic and the sparking tension between you both, it’s easy to close your eyes and relax against him.
It’s not a feeling you’ve had with your ex for a long time. Although you ignored the flags throughout your relationship and defended him when he didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t always that way, but Sukuna has always been a safe and worry-free escape from the world for you. Since the first day he drove into your life, since you first realized that Sukuna enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.
He’s a hard book to read and an easy presence to be in.
Your eyes flicker open, not realizing you’d grown so relaxed holding onto him that he’d already pulled into his parking spot, parking beside your Kawasaki.
Sukuna instinctively moves to get off his bike, expecting you to follow him, but pauses when you move rather sluggishly behind him. Pulling his helmet off, he shakes his head in an effort to fix his hair before he eyes you over his shoulder.
“You gonna get off?”
To anyone else, it might come across as aggressive, but his tone is mild as ever.
“Sorry, Kuna.”
You exhale and push off the bike with a hand resting on Sukuna’s shoulder blade. He watches you curiously, tucking you under his shoulder and leading the way back up to his apartment.
Pulling out his keys in the elevator, he ducks his head to get a good look at your expression.
“Tired?”
“No! … Well, yeah, but I was just relaxing,” you tell him and he hums, his eyes swirling with mirth. You cross an arm over your chest, your breast pressing against your arm. His eyes flicker to the sight, pupils dilating as he swallows hard. “See something you like, Sukuna?”
Your lidded eyes and purring voice has the taller man teetering on the edge of self control. His mind reels with thoughts that aren’t appropriate for the elevator and the moment the door opens, he’s making his way to his apartment like a man on a mission.
Desire pools between your thighs at his eagerness, made more apparent in the way he fumbles at the door with his keys.
It’s not even a second after the door is closed and he maneuvers you against the door, helmets on the ground as his fingers move to flip the lock behind you before they travel up the side of your body, admiring your curves before he cups your face.
He captures your lips, hungry to taste you again. He wants to devour you, he wants to mark you and make you his. Your lips move in tandem with his, matching his fervor with equal eagerness.
Your fingers rake his chest, thumbs sliding over the length of his collarbones. The feeling of his broad chest beneath your hands drives you crazy and you press back against him, your breasts pressing against the expanse of his chest.
“Kuna, wait,” you breathe, chest heaving as you part from him. Vermillion irises lock on you as he pulls back, his fingers gripping your waist almost bruisingly. “This isn't…” You pause, your mouth opening and closing hesitantly.
“Out with it,” Sukuna encourages hoarsely.
You shoot him a wry smile at his blunt impatience. “This isn’t just a hookup for me, you know.”
He raises a brow at you. “You think that’s what this is for me?” You might even assume he sounds offended.
“No! No,” you clarify, shaking your head as your pretty eyes go wide. He rolls his shoulders, leaning his face closer to yours as he intently watches you. “I just… I-” you pause again, avoiding his intense gaze.
“It’s not a one night stand, y/n.” Sukuna’s pupils shrink as he speaks solemnly. He feels you relax in his grip, your eyes coming up to meet his. “Relax n’ let me take care of you.”
Your cheeks redden at your best friend’s boldness and you shuffle as you press your thighs together.
“I better not be your rebound, y’know.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, the elbow holding him up against the door sliding down as his face grows closer to you. God, he’s tall. He’s tall and built like a monster, and between the size of his hands, his muscles, not to mention his height… Your wide, almost timid eyes flicker down to his crotch. He catches the action and smirks. “Don’t get nervous now,” he leers.
“I’m not!” You squeak, the blush spreading to the tips of your ears. “And… you’re not a rebound.” You grab his shirt collar as you pull him in for a kiss, much sweeter than the covetous one you’d shared a minute ago.
Sukuna’s eyes flutter shut as he finds himself relaxing into your touch when you slide your hands up his neck and into his dark, undyed undercut.
“I like you, Ryo.” You admit when you pull back just enough for the words to reach his ears. His smirk can be felt against your lips.
“Fuck, you’re hot.” In true Sukuna fashion, that’s his way of reciprocating your admission, because he doesn’t do feelings. But you know. You know exactly what he means.
You grin against his lips, giggling like a giddy school girl who’s just seen her crush smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles at your sudden timid delight.
“You’re such a loser,” he chuckles, his hand moving from your waist to hold your chin. He kisses you softly, your giggles persisting against his lips. Your fingers curl gleefully in his hair when he pulls back with impishly narrowed eyes. “You’re makin’ it hard to kiss you.”
“Sorry,” you chirp, your eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s just cute- you’re cute.”
“Me?” He pulls back, standing at his full height and making a point of showing off his broad shouldered stance. “Cute?” He tilts his head quizzically as if to prove a point but if anything, you find the strands of hair falling out of place over his forehead cute.
“Yeah, you.”
“I’ll show you cute,” he grumbles, and suddenly you’re lifted off the ground effortlessly. You shriek in surprise in his ear as you grasp at the back of his leather jacket. He mumbles something about you being a brat before dumping you on the couch and crawling over your body.
His form looms over you and you’re both suddenly very aware of the immense size difference between you both, something which might be one of Sukuna’s favorite things. He loves how tiny you are, how easily he can handle you.
Sukuna takes pause, his usually dour gaze filled with longing, admiring what he’d wanted for so long as you stare back at him with wide eyes. He loves the fiery attitude you always sport, but this flustered side of you is new to him and he drinks it in like a drug.
Your chest rises and falls quickly, eyes darting from his arms that cage you in, down the expanse of his chest that peeks through his V-neck, back up to that alluring tattooed face. His sharp jaw, his ever-present smirk, his intense stare, it’s all so goddamn sexy and you’re flustered to silence like a deer in the headlights being hunted by a wolf.
“Funny, you seem to have lost your bark,” he comments tantalizingly, dipping down to kiss your jaw. Now with your body trapped beneath him, he feels the way your hips twitch. “What happened to the brat from earlier?”
You swallow down a moan as his voice sets you ablaze. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, fingers gripping him tightly. You take a breath to readjust and bat your lashes up at him as you push through the sudden nerves that seem to chase you. “Brat? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kuna.”
Sukuna grins, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “There she is,” he hums, bringing himself down to his elbows to kiss you wholly. His lips move urgently against yours, tongue swiping your lower lip almost immediately. He groans when you grant him access by parting your lips, drinking in your taste. You gasp in surprise as his tongue piercing grazes your tongue, a strangely pleasurable new feeling.
Your hands slide from his biceps up his neck, keeping him close, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. When you shift beneath him to clench your thighs as heat pools in your lower abdomen, he groans.
“Fuck,” he hisses into your mouth, catching you by surprise when he nips your lower lip. He pulls back for only a moment but in that split second the look on your best friend’s face tells you everything you need to know. You’re his prey, and he’s about to devour you.
“Kuna-!” You gasp in surprise when kisses down the side of your neck, leaving behind purple bruises as he sucks and nips at the side of your neck. Reaching the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, his teeth graze your skin before gently sinking in, testing the waters with a glance at your face.
You whine, squirming beneath him.
Sukuna withdraws with a smirk, running his tongue soothingly over the reddened skin. “Kinky little thing, aren’t you?” He purrs, rolling his hips against you so roughly you whimper. “Shit,” he mumbles and returns to his ministrations, his hips rolling against yours like a dog in heat.
“Sh-shut up, Kuna…” you groan, rutting your hips up into him. His movement stutters with pleasure and he nips your skin again in response. “Darlin’, hold onto me,” his husky voice commands against the skin of your ear.
“Hm? Ah-!”
Sukuna slides a muscular arm beneath the small of your back, pressing you to him and urging your arms to cling to his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up, holding your small frame to him in one arm.
He carries you to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him as you press kisses to his collarbone, leaving behind marks of your own. He hums, plopping you down onto the bed and standing to shrug his jacket off and unbuckle his belt, letting it and his jeans drop to the floor.
You’re sure your face is red as a tomato, pupils dilated as you admire his body, your gaze landing on the boner that’s pulling the fabric of his black Calvin Klein boxers taut. You swipe your tongue out over your lips, bringing your lower lip between your teeth.
Your best friend grins, pulling you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You let out a surprised gasp, gripping at the sheets at either side of you.
“G’nna take my time n’ treat her right,” he purrs, falling over you as your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He could be talking about you or your pussy, it doesn’t matter either way.
He lifts your shirt up over your head and you arch your back to make it easier. You’re so pliant for him and he adores your obedience, adores the desperate, lustful look in your eyes.
“Shit, girl,” he mumbles, his eyes eating you alive on the spot as he admires your body. You’re so small in comparison to the way his figure looms over you.
Catching your gaze, he squeezes one of your breasts, slipping the other from the fabric of your lace bra to press the warm flat of his tongue to your nipple. You jolt as pleasure buzzes through your body, moaning when he sucks the hardened bud between his lips. The cool metal of his piercing intensifies the pleasure when it grazes your skin and causes goosebumps to raise on your arms.
Your hands find his hair, tugging enough that Sukuna smirks against the plush of your skin.
“So needy,” he hums. Your thighs clench around his waist as the vibration of his voice against your skin rocks through you.
Your lidded eyes stare down at him and you take the opportunity to tug his shirt off. He complies, tossing it across the room. His heavily tattooed chest, abdomen, arms- he’s gorgeous and you can barely believe he’s standing over you right now, eyes for only you.
“Kuna,” you mumble between moans, jerking as he flicks your nipple with a smug grin.
He mutters out a ‘what’ before sinking his teeth into your breast. You gasp, eyes widening and bucking your hips against him as your head swings back into the mattress. As you arch your back for him, Sukuna deftly slips your bra off.
“Stop being a tease,” you plead, the hard length of his cock twitching against your core as you tighten your legs.
“A tease? What do you want then, hm?” His voice is cocky, knowing. He wants you on your knees begging.
“Kunaaaa,” you groan, laying the back of your arm across your eyes, suddenly timid.
Sukuna clicks his tongue, pulling your arm away from your face. He grabs your other arm and holds them both down above you with one large hand. “What do you want, brat?” His face is inches away from yours now and he rolls his hips against your core teasingly despite the ache he feels.
“I-” you pant, pausing to look at his intense stare. “Wan’ you to eat me out.”
“Yeah?” He hums, lowering his head so that his lips brush yours. “Thought you had manners?”
“Please, Kuna,” you beg in a whiny voice. Sukuna smirks, getting to his knees at the edge of the bed and draping his arm over your hips to hold them down as he sprawls your legs out before him.
“Fuckin’ soaked for me,” he groans, his breath warm against the fabric of your panties. He wastes no time hooking his fingers through the fabric to pull them aside. His digits brush your folds as you buck your hips in a desperate attempt at friction.
Chuckling softly, Sukuna languidly licks up your cunt, savoring your taste with the slow movement. You squirm beneath him, raking your fingers through his hair as you try to buck your hips towards his tongue.
“Patience,” Sukuna hums and flicks his tongue out to circle your clit. His piercing grazes the sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes go wide with pleasure.
“Such a- hah- asshole- ah-!” Sukuna doesn’t give you the satisfaction of teasing him as he pushes his long tongue into your dripping chasm, your walls clenching around the muscle in ecstasy.
Sukuna groans as your fingers tug his hair. He lets you buck your hips into his mouth and ride his face, relishing in the sound of your moans and pants.
The feeling of his tongue inside you is already so intense that when he brings a thumb up to flick your clit, the sudden desire that pulses through your body straight to the knot tightening in your core has you bucking your hips in surprise. His grip on your hips fastens as he holds you down again, keeping you from squirming out of his grasp.
The desire and heat pooling in your core quickly grow in intensity as Sukuna’s experienced tongue plunges through your folds, drinking up your arousal.
“K-Kuna- I- I’m gonna-” your words are mere babbles as you try to speak through the bliss, your orgasm steadily approaching.
“Let me taste it, princess.”
The feeling of his voice with his tongue within you, the way his piercing suddenly flicks your gummy walls, his thumb on your clit, the way he calls you princess, it’s so much that your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, causing your body to jolt and jerk against the mattress.
Sukuna’s thumb leaves your clit as he holds down one of your thighs to keep you from crushing his head as you moan and pant out his name while your body spasms. He slows his ministrations to drink every last drop of your orgasm before flicking your clit with his tongue one last time, pleased when you jolt.
He pushes himself up, wiping your slick from his chin with the back of his hand.
“Shit, you’re hot,” he mutters. You barely have a moment to come down from your high before he’s pulling you to the floor by your waist, dropping you on your knees. His hungry expression and throbbing cock tell you everything you need to know as you look up at him through your lashes.
Your fingers curl around the waist of his boxers as you pull them down his thighs. His rock-hard erection slaps against his abs as you free it from the confines of the fabric. Sure, Sukuna is a monster of a man at nearly seven feet tall of solid muscle mass and you’d felt him grinding against you, but your eyes still widen at the sight of his cock.
You feel your mouth water as you stare at the angry red tip, veins protruding and pulsing with desire on either side.
“Think you can take it?” He asks and although it’s a teasing and husky tone he uses with you, he is genuinely asking as well. You nod eagerly and he grins. “Good girl,” he purrs.
Bringing a hand up to his cock, you wrap your fingers daintily around the thick base, looking up at those glimmering vermillion eyes as you run your tongue from base to tip, eliciting a heavy groan from the man.
“Christ,” he groans, his head flying back in pleasure. You smirk and take the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the leaking slit before teasingly pulling back with a pop!
His hips shudder as he does everything in his power to stop himself from using your mouth, to stop himself from shoving his cock down your throat with no warning.
“Needy, Ryo?”
You don’t expect the way that sets him off, lights his desire ablaze anew as he fists your hair and leans down with a clenched jaw to look you in the eyes.
You whimper in surprise, closing your thighs from where you sit on your knees as your cunt pulses from the way he handles you so roughly.
“Let’s get it straight right now which of us is needy,” he growls with a smirk, eyeing the way you shift your thighs. “You gonna be a good little slut for me?”
You nod up at him, pupils dilating as he tugs your hair. He grins, narrowing his eyes. “Words, woman.”
“Yes, Kuna,” you purr back at him. The wild look in his eyes intensifies as he receives your consent and pushes the tip of his cock past your lips. His jaw goes slack in pleasure as you swirl your tongue around the head, lapping up his precum.
“Shit,” he groans out, watching as you take his cock without breaking eye contact while he thrusts further into your mouth. You gag when he reaches the back of your throat, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes and you shut them as you take his length. “Ah ah, look at me. Takin’ me so well.”
Sukuna knows you can’t take his entire cock in your mouth, he knows there’s a fairly large size difference between the both of you. It doesn’t stop the way he pushes your head down on his cock watching the way tears run down your cheeks as you so obediently let him handle you.
Saliva runs down the length of his cock and you bring a hand up to the base, pumping what you can’t fit in your throat. His hand pulls your mouth off his cock, adjusting his hand to hold your head back against the bed so that he can relentlessly fuck into you, massive cock hitting the back of your throat and gagging you with each thrust.
He throws his head back as you pump the base of his shaft while he fucks you, being his perfect little doll. His abs flex and twitch when your muscles tense as you swallow around him.
“Such a nasty fuckin’ throat.” He barely gives you any time to breathe as his pace increases, along with the pace of your hand to match. His chest heaves as he moans, letting you dig your nails into his thigh for purchase while he uses your throat.
His cock twitches as you moan when he hits the back of your throat and his eyes shut tight with pleasure, jaw going slack. When he jolts again with the next thrust, you know he’s close so you hum contentedly, sending vibrations up his shaft and causing his hips to jerk erratically as he chases his high.
“F-fuck,” he groans out before his hips stutter and your eyes widen when his cum unloads down your throat, thick ropes of salty sweet arousal swallowed as he keeps himself warm within your mouth. You move your lips slowly around his girth, milking every last drop of his orgasm. You pull back after a moment to allow yourself a chance to breathe, panting as you stare up at him.
His chest heaves and his cock twitches every few seconds, telling of the orgasm he’s just had. Still, his eyes burn with desire when he finally opens them.
He reaches down to pick you up and sets you at the edge of the bed on all fours roughly.
He squeezes your ass before slapping it once. Your body jolts in surprise as you gasp.
“Princess, you on any birth control?”
“Mhmm, you can go raw.”
You hear him mumble a curse beneath his breath. “You tell me if it’s too much,” he tells you, catching the way you glance over your shoulder at him and nod.
In spite of the rough way he uses and handles you, he’s still very attentive to your pleasure and comfort.
He pays no mind to the fact that you actually liked the panties you’re wearing as he physically tears them off of your body, tossing the ripped fabric aside. You whine in complaint, shooting him a look from over your shoulder.
“I’ll buy ya new ones,” he huffs, returning his attention to your body.
Squeezing your ass in both palms, he leans down and buries his face in your pussy, licking a stripe from your clit to your dripping entrance. He hums at how wet you still are, moving a hand up your spine to hold you down and keep you arched for him.
His teeth sink into the plump of your ass and you squeak at the sudden burst of pain that quickly twists to pleasure when he soothingly laps over the mark he’s left.
He slides his hand down from squeezing your plump ass to glide a finger through your lubricated folds. You lean into his touch, gasping when he suddenly plunges one long finger into your lubricated pussy.
Your walls are tight as they pulse around his long finger. He eases another digit in, pumping them slowly as he realizes just how tight you are.
“Relax, darlin’,” he hums soothingly, curling his fingers against your walls a couple of times before he finds your g spot. His voice is such a stark contrast to his rough tendencies, but it’s soothing to have him so worried for your comfort.
“Ryo, f-fuck-” you moan out as his fingers languidly curl against your gummy walls which gradually relax against his long fingers. With a couple more pumps of his fingers, he pulls them out, leaving you pulsing around nothing and craving his touch as you shift your hips in search of friction with a whine.
Sukuna grunts when he lines himself up with your plump cunt, pumping himself a couple of times before he slowly eases his tip into you. Your eyes widen at the delicious burn of the stretch, fingers curling in the sheets as you adjust to his massive size. And god this is only the tip.
You cry out, the feeling of his girthy cock filling you up blurring your vision as the pain transitions to pleasure before the process begins all over again with each movement he makes. His cock throbs, making you feel impossibly full.
Sukuna wants to ruin you, he wants to tear you apart on his cock, but he doesn’t want to hurt his sweet little best friend, so he watches the way your face contorts in mild pain, waiting for your expression to relax as he slowly feeds you his cock, inch by inch.
“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’,” Sukuna purrs, his thumb stroking your back in contrast to the fact that he’s still holding you down and keeping you arched for him.
His cock head brushes your cervix, pressing against it as he bottoms out, fingers curling against your back at how tight you’re squeezing him as he waits for you to adjust.
Your shoulders relax beneath his touch and you whimper as he slides his cock out to the tip, setting a moderate pace so as not to shock you. The feeling of his thick, veiny cock is like nothing you’ve ever experienced, his size just so much to take that you moan and whine with each thrust of his cock into your tight hole.
You grip at the sheets beneath you, gasping as Sukuna speeds up his thrusts and presses you hard into the mattress, muffling your moans.
“Kuna- mmph,” you let out a muffled whimper, jolting when he slaps your ass roughly, no longer holding back.
“F-fuckin’- shit-” he groans, his fingers gripping your skin bruisingly as he holds you in place. He leans forward, sliding his hand from your back to your neck, restricting your airflow subtly. Pleasure tears through your spine as he leans forward and pushes in deeper with each thrust, pulling moans and screams of his name from deep in your throat.
“K-Kuna, I’m- hah- close,” you whimper, words muffled by the sheets beneath you. He loosens his fingers from your neck, grabbing your waist with both hands as he pulls your ass closer to him, pounding into you faster as he chases his own high.
“Shit, y’r such a good lil slut for me,” he groans, feeling your walls tighten around his thick length with each thrust.
Pleasure tightens deep within your core, knotting and curling as he fucks you so deliciously that your juices are already dripping from your cunt around his hilt. His eyes lock on the sight and he throws his head back in pleasure, his own high not far behind.
With one last hit against your cervix, your orgasm hits you like a goddamn truck, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before as your entire body shakes and jolts, your knees and legs giving out.
If Sukuna wasn’t holding you up, you surely would have collapsed as stars cloud your vision and you moan his name like a mantra. Your eyes are glossy and your mind delirious as he continues to fuck you through your high, your walls milking him in a way that has him quickly climbing towards his release.
With only a few more erratic thrusts that have you whining under him in overstimulation, his cock twitches suddenly as his entire load fills you up, mixing with your juices and dripping out of your swollen lips down your thighs that Sukuna is still holding up.
He moans as he slowly lets your body go and you sink to the mattress, panting beneath him as his cock slips from between your thighs. His eyes flicker to your pretty pussy, his cum leaking out with each pulse of your walls. His chest heaves as well as he slowly gets to his feet and walks to the side of the bed, sliding up against the headboard.
Sukuna pulls your body up from where you’ve collapsed, wrapping his arms around you as his sweat-slicked skin sticks to yours. He’s much gentler now, looking you over for any signs that he might have hurt you accidentally, but when you finally open your eyes, they’re glossy with pleasure and filled with adoration.
He can’t help the way he genuinely smiles, not a common thing for the tepid biker, but when you grin and giggle in return, it makes his heart jump.
He practically turns to putty in your hands and as you silently bask in the afterglow of the best sex of your life and lean into Sukuna’s embrace.
“Wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” He asks after a moment and you’re surprised by the way his fingers softly graze your skin.
“You were great Kuna, don’t worry,” you answer, yawning afterwards.
He hums in relief, leaning his head back for a moment before taking it upon himself to get you cleaned up before you pass out. Grabbing a towel, he wipes your thighs and tosses the towel in a hamper at the edge of the room before pulling the covers over your figure and crawling in behind you.
“Ryo?”
Sukuna hums quizzically.
“Do I get to know how long now?”
“You’re a brat,” he growls in your ear as he pulls you flush against his chest, his arms folded around your middle.
“Yeah yeah, just answer the question,” you grouse, rolling your eyes. You have an inkling of a feeling that you know when he realized his feelings for you, but you’re curious nonetheless.
He sighs, knowing you’ll never let him live this down. “Dunno. It’s been a while,” he avoids the question.
You flip in his arms to face him with raised brows. He groans, avoiding your gaze.
“I guess around the time you got with your ex,” he admits, his eyes locked on the wall behind you as he tucks your head under his chin to avoid your intent gaze.
“Is that why you stopped seeing people?”
“You noticed?”
“Kuna, you had a new girl under your arm every time I saw you for a while.”
He grunts, pulling you tighter to his body.
Giggling, you kiss his collar bone. “That’s sweet.”
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls heavily as he lets out a long sigh. You can practically feel the way his cheeks are heating up as you tease him, something that you’d only managed a handful of times in all the years you’ve known him.
“Sorry, am I embarrassing the big bad motorcycling bad boy?” You push, squeaking in protest as Sukuna wastes no time in shoving you away from him in an attempt to push you off the bed. “Wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry!” You insist, looking to him for mercy as you cling to his arms, clutching desperately at the flexed muscles.
“And?”
“And…” you search for the words he’s looking to hear in his eyes, gripping his arms tighter. “I won’t do it again?”
“And?”
“I’m sorry I ate the rest of your leftovers this morning?”
His brow furrows. Oh shit.
“I mean… no I didn’t. They’re still there,” you mumble, avoiding his judgemental gaze guiltily.
Sukuna’s hold on your shoulder begins to lax as you teeter at the edge of the bed, threatening to drop you to the floor. You scramble to try to grip him tighter.
“I’ll buy you new food!”
Sukuna sighs and drags you back to him. You let out a relieved puff of air against his chest, snuggling back into his warmth. “Jus’ wanted you to say when it was for you.”
You tilt your head up at him, only able to see his chin. “When what was?”
“You know. When you realized what you think of me or whatever.” Sukuna’s gruff tone is telling that he isn’t used to such sincere conversations. Although you’ve known him a long time and he’d told you about damn near every sexual encounter he’s had, Sukuna’s most record-breaking relationship was a shocking three months.
Of course, Sukuna isn’t a romantic, and she didn’t know him well enough to know that he was putting in effort, so it didn’t last long.
“Oh. When I realized I like you?”
He grunts.
You hum in thought, moments throughout your friendship scrolling through your mind like a slideshow.
Of course, your forefront thought is when Sukuna first stepped off that stupidly well taken care of Ducati and surprised you when he managed to not only get you home on a running bike, but let you buy him a drink. He’s always been ridiculously attractive, but no, those weren’t feelings.
You think of all the times you hung out with friends and they would point out his change in behavior. You’d always think on the statement, watch the way that aloof look of his turns mild when he faces you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.
You ponder on the time you’d called him on a whim early in your friendship when your date had bailed on you. Sukuna did not want to see the cheesy romance movie you had tickets for, but he’d sucked it up and shown up. You’d offered to buy him dinner as a thank you, but he paid regardless. It was the kind of thing a real date would do, but he’d complained so much you brushed the thought away.
When you were entirely too obsessed with Game of Thrones and insisted he be your king in a big fur cloak for Halloween, maybe then something had changed.
“You want me to be some guy from the show you like?” He’d grumbled and guffawed over having to dress up at all, insisting he’d been planning to put in minimal effort.
“Pleaaase, Kuna?” You were practically on your knees by the time he’d agreed with a roll of his eyes. “You’d make a good Robb Stark,” you insist before second-guessing yourself. “Well, if he was grumpy and kind of a dick.” You shrug, grinning up at him as he shoots you a begrudging look through narrowed eyes.
It only takes you a few days to put together the costume given the abundance of medieval king and knight costumes around.
His arms cross over his rugged chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut by the movement. “You can’t be serious.” He stares at the tight faux leather coat you hand him with a scowl.
“He wears something similar!”
“I’m not wearing this.”
“Please, you said you would!” You pout at him as you sport your best puppy dog eyes.
“No.”
You jut your bottom lip out, taking a step towards him as you shove the leather top to his chest. His eyes narrow, gears turning in his head until he shuts his eyes, giving in.
Your eyes light up as he pulls the top from you, groaning as he pulls it on over his shirt. It’s tight on him, which you expected given Sukuna’s sheer size, but it’s a strangely hot look on your rugged best friend. Even more so when he lets you drape the cape over his shoulders and set a cute little crown on his head.
“No, absolutely not,” he hisses, slapping your hand away when you try to clip the crown in place with a bobby pin.
“You’re such a pain,” you tease as you try again, holding an extra pin between your teeth.
Standing back, you admire your work as you receive a very unamused look in return. Sukuna’s build makes for a very kingly stature in spite of the contrasting tattoos and it makes him hot. In fact, you’re half afraid someone will whisk him away at the Halloween party given how nicely he’s cleaned up.
Your lips twitch downwards at the thought. You don’t want him to be whisked away. You want your king by your side.
“So?”
Snapping you from your thoughts, your eyes light up again. “You look great,” you tell him with a grin. His eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize.
He hums, examining your expression. “Well, go get ready then. Gonna sweat through all this leather n’ shit.”
“Oh like you aren’t used to leather,” you roll your eyes, but you oblige, getting your matching Talisa Stark outfit on.
When you return to Sukuna sitting on his couch, you muster your best impression of your character. “My king?”
Your best friend’s attention turns to you, eyes widening as you approach him in a floor-length queen’s gown with a matching gray cloak and a crown pinned into your hair. “Shit, y’ look good,” he breathes out.
Your cheeks heat up and you scratch at the back of your neck. “Thanks, Kuna.” You clear your throat and your mind to the best of your ability as you offer him a hand. “Ready?”
He hums, taking your hand before grabbing his keys and offering you his arm. “My queen?”
You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the first spark. The first real spark. As he loosened up throughout the night and repetitively called you his princess, you knew you were spent. Each and every time he used the name had you giggling up a storm and while you’d brushed it off as intoxication at the time, you knew the truth deep down.
So when he’d returned to his aloof self the following morning, you swallowed down your feelings.
You couldn’t bear the thought of losing your best friend and he didn’t have a good track record with relationships. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared, even now.
“Halloween,” you utter finally, unsure of just how long you’ve been silently contemplating an answer in his arms.
“Figures,” his chest rumbles in brief laughter.
“You knew?”
“Nah, thought it was the alcohol.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. That’s why I started dating other people.”
Sukuna doesn’t respond but he buries his face into the crown of your head, drinking in your warmth, your intoxicating scent, and your soft skin against his as he closes his eyes.
No more other people, you’re his.
“Was it me callin’ you my princess?” He asks of the night you realized you’d caught feelings.
“That, and you make a good Robb Stark.”
He snorts. “I remember being told I was a dick.”
You shrug, smiling against the warm skin of his chest. “I don’t retract that statement.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head and warmth spreads through your body as you relax against him, eyes closing as exhaustion spreads across you like a warm blanket. You know the kiss is a sassy retort, but it shamelessly works on you.
“Fine. I retract my statement.”
“That’s my princess.”
–
“Can you stop moving so much?”
Unsurprisingly, Sukuna’s got an attitude today and he absolutely plans on making it your problem as he huffs.
Your gloved hands work carefully to thoroughly cover every last strand of his short hair with dye. You know very well the only reason he’s being such a menace today is because you’d suggested a change in color and he’s afraid it’ll look bad.
In all your years of knowing him, he’s always had the same pink hair, so you were thrilled he was allowing you the honor of dying it back to its original color, black. You’d actually insisted on orange or red, but black was the only thing he was willing to compromise on.
You make your way back around him and find his scowling face looking up at you. Covering the last few strands of hair over his forehead, you boldly sit on his lap.
His demeanor changes in an instant as you straddle him and his hands eagerly find your hips and begin roaming up your waist and back down to your thighs. You shoot him a warning glance as you accidentally smudge some black dye on his forehead, but he pays you no mind as he continues his ministrations.
“Kuna,” you warn sternly, trying to wipe off the black marking before it leaves a stain, but it’s too late. You sigh and look over your work.
“Just a quickie, c’mon,” he insists with a grin.
“I don’t want to be covered in black dye,” you retort and Sukuna groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “How long do I gotta wait?”
“Thirty minutes.”
He frowns, eyes following your movements as you pull off your gloves and throw them in the trash of your shared apartment. He can’t for the life of him tear his eyes from you as you proceed to wash your hands before grabbing a damp towelette to wipe at his forehead.
Suddenly feeling like a child as you take care of the marking on his forehead, he swats at your hand.
“You’re a menace,” you mutter, avoiding his hand with practiced precision as you wipe away any traces of hair dye from his face.
He smirks, he likes the way you tease him and if anything it only makes him want to bend you over the table more.
Still, when you pull back to inspect his face and leave a gentle peck on his lips, he knows you don’t mind his attitude.
You know it’s all a ruse of sorts. Not around others, but around you it is.
Dating him for so many years came with its fair share of complications, especially given that Sukuna’s communication skills were about as good as those of a rock. He often didn’t pick up on small signs that you were bothered by things and vice versa, as he’s a tough book to read.
Regardless of any small arguments, nothing ever got out of hand surprisingly. You can’t imagine your life if Sukuna hadn’t shown up to get you the night your ex kicked you out. What Sukuna lacked in the department of emotional understanding, he made up for with his actions.
Although he very rarely says it, you know Sukuna loves you.
Each and every ‘I love you’ is met with a kiss, a squeeze of your arm, a tug towards him.
Sukuna has his own way of showing you he loves you.
He picks you up from work with flowers, shocking those around you when the grumpy-looking tattooed man hands you flowers that surely won’t make it home in great condition on his bike, but it doesn’t matter.
He runs you a bath when he fucks you into oblivion and your legs give out. It may be his own hand that inflicted your weakness, but it doesn’t matter because he shows you just how much he cares for you through his aftercare routine.
He makes your coffee with far too much milk and sugar for his own taste and complains about it the whole time, but it doesn’t matter because he still does it every morning for you.
Sukuna loves you, and he knows that you’re aware of it.
When it comes time to wash his hair, he closes his eyes when you help him wash it in the sink. Your fingers move so delicately, taking care to wash out all the dye.
When he dries his hair with a towel and sees the way you delight at the sight of his freshly jet-black hair, he chuckles.
“Why do you never grow your hair out?” You ask, running your hands through his spiked hair. The color suits him and brings out his eyes in the most stunning way, you’re sure you have stars in your eyes from the way you’re staring at him.
“Dunno. The other color looks good,” he shrugs.
“It does!” You agree with a grin, “but so does this!” You insist. “It’s hot.”
He hums, looking himself over in the mirror. In truth, he doesn’t mind it. He only really indulged you because you’d insisted, but it worked out given what he had in mind for the night. It would look good in photos.
“When is Shiu getting here?” You ask curiously, interrupting Sukuna’s thoughts as your short arms wrap around his middle from behind.
“Hour from now.”
You gasp suddenly. “I need to clean up.”
“I can clean you up,” Sukuna smirks, lifting his arms in an attempt to see your face from where you stand behind him.
“Kunaaa,” you whine. “I need time to get ready.”
He groans dramatically. “Fine,” he grumbles, watching as you prance away happily to get ready.
You, Sukuna, Choso, Toji, Shiu, and Uraume were all going out in celebration of Toji’s newest addition to his family, a young boy. It was surprising that he was the first to settle down, but when you’d met his wife, you could see that she was his world, the way he relaxed at her touch and his own edge calmed in the same way Sukuna’s does around you.
Sukuna lays on his bed, watching as you choose a gorgeous black dress that hugs your curves so delectably that he wants to tear it off of you then and there. The whole time, he fumbles with something in his pocket, grateful when you don’t notice the small box accidentally fall from his grasp and onto the bed.
You chat with him about your work the whole time. Sukuna’s mind is elsewhere but given that he’s never all that chatty, you don’t notice. Looking yourself over in the mirror, you let out a relieved breath when you manage to be ready with only a couple of minutes to spare.
“Y’ look gorgeous.” Sultry words are whispered in your ear, followed up by a kiss to your neck as your boyfriend comes up behind you. His hands rest softly on your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder, bending down to your height.
You watch his actions from the mirror, the way his lidded eyes look over the curves of your figure, the way he slides his arms so delicately around your middle to envelop you in a tight hug, it’s these moments that you treasure the most.
The quiet moments where you simply enjoy one another’s presence.
Your lives are so busy that you don’t always get time to yourselves, so melting into his arms in that moment, you wish it would last forever.
Of course forever is a long time, and Shiu certainly doesn’t have the patience to wait in his car that long for you both. You’re not entirely sure why Sukuna doesn’t want to take your bikes, but you don’t push the subject. Your boyfriend’s mind is a mysterious place.
Your group gathers at a restaurant that’s a bit fancy for everyone’s tastes, but Uraume had insisted on it given the occasion. The real surprise was that Sukuna had dressed up a bit as well, sporting a sleek black pair of slacks, a black long sleeve button-up, and a red tie. His ensemble went well with your black dress.
Over the years, Sukuna’s friends had become your friends, long before you started dating, even.
Choso and Yuji were like your little brothers, and Uraume and Toji your closest drinking buddies. They got along surprisingly well with your friends too, especially Choso and Yuji who, unlike Sukuna, seemed to have a talent for getting along with everyone. Shiu generally only tagged along when Toji was around, but their banter was always welcome.
As Toji shows off photos of his son Megumi alongside his daughter Tsumiki, you notice Sukuna whispering something to Choso, casting oddly uneasy glances in your direction. Frowning, you glance over yourself once as though there’s something wrong with your outfit. No… it looks fine. So what’s Sukuna being so secretive about?
You brush it off as nothing, sure you’re overthinking things… until he pulls Toji aside after the man finishes showing off photos of his son.
You tilt your head quizzically to Uraume as you lean over towards them, ensuring Sukuna can’t hear you.
“Is Kuna acting weird to you?”
“Yes,” Uraume follows your gaze, narrowing their eyes. “Perhaps he misses Toji?”
“Are we talking about the same person?” A small smirk quirks up the corners of your lips.
Uraume laughs lightly with you. “You’re right,” they agree, but the thought doesn’t leave your mind.
It’s not like Sukuna doesn’t have off days like everyone else, but this is a strange change of demeanor for him. He seems strangely fidgety, as though he can’t sit still. His leg had bounced under the table throughout most of dinner and he was strangely eager to get the bill.
He had been horny all day, the best guess you have is that maybe it’s that and he wants to get home.
Still, it doesn’t explain him being so secretive throughout the night. In fact, he’d barely spoken a lick to you. Which isn’t entirely uncommon, but in place of words he would normally find comfort in your touch. Yet tonight it felt as though you’d hardly seen him despite sitting next to him most of the night.
You resort to asking him about it later, though an uneasy feeling tugs at you the more you notice it.
You’re almost grateful the dinner is over when it is as you intertwine your fingers with Sukuna like nothing is wrong. Shiu leads the way across the expanse of grass by the restaurant to his car one lot over, chatting with Toji as you and your boyfriend trail behind.
With Choso and Uraume a short distance behind you, you figure now is as good of a time to ask as any.
“Is everything alright, baby?” You tilt your head to look at your boyfriend.
Something glimmers in his eyes, an emotion you don’t recognize. That’s odd.
“‘Course.”
Well, that’s not reassuring.
“Okay… Nothing’s wrong?”
He shoots you a small smirk, kissing the top of your head.
“Nothin’s wrong, princess. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
You sigh, unable to help the feeling that he has something up his sleeve, but also able to recognize that whatever he’s plotting, he clearly has no intention of telling you. Regardless, you’re relieved that his nonchalant attitude seems to have returned. Maybe it’s nothing to worry about after all.
You miss the way he glances between the two groups, nodding to both as you sigh and give in.
“Alright, Kuna. I love you.”
Sukuna stops to face you and you blink at him perplexedly. Time seems to stand still as his chest rises and falls so quickly, he’s sure you can hear his heart beating out of his chest as he fumbles in his pocket for a moment.
You open your mouth to question him but your words die on your tongue when your boyfriend swallows hard before making a quick movement down onto one knee and your eyes go wide, your heart pounding in tandem with his.
It’s just the two of you in that moment, all sounds drowned out by beating hearts, lights and movement a blur behind you both. Everything is just Sukuna. Just you.
“Y/n,” he begins hoarsely. His voice shakes slightly and he curses himself for it but he doesn’t dare look away from your gorgeous wide eyes.
Your lips part, a lump forming in your throat. It feels as though it could choke you and you swallow hard but it only seems to encourage the tears you had yet to notice welling in your eyes.
“I had this whole speech planned,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Practiced n’ everything.”
You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you bring one up to your mouth to suppress your shock and awe when he pulls out a small red velvet box.
“But I don’t think that shit's for me. So I decided to keep it simple.”
Nestled delicately within the box is a gorgeous silver ring with a beautiful diamond held delicately in the center. The ring splits into three separate parts just before the gem that all twist with smaller jewels around the metal.
“Marry me?”
Although he very rarely says it, you know Sukuna loves you.
From the way he holds you to the way he listens and kisses you between words. From the way he brings you lunch at work when you forget to the way he drives more carefully when you’re cuddled behind him on his bike.
Sukuna loves you, and he knows that you’re aware of it.
And you love him too.
“Yes!”
masterlist || husband!sukuna headcanons & more || husband!sukuna smut oneshot
a/n ; please follow/like/reblog/share if you enjoyed ♡
More Posts from Grapesandraisins and Others
Baby You're a Star
Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!
Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader
Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation (M and f) back shots, threesomes on set w/ Suguru and Sukuna, cum drinking, weed smoking, drinking, lots of longing, pining, obsessive, he can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru because that's how I NEED HIM, a lot of mentions of sex, cum, etc- it's about porn so lol. A lil bit of angsttt, a lil bit of cuteness, demisexual reader, hoe Satoru what a pair.
Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood part, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC 10k!
Based on Pornstar Satoru- Playlist- Chapter Two (coming soon)
Chapter One
Satoru Gojo was one of the most famous pornstars there are, and the baddie arched right in front of him, sucking on one of the other most famous stars’ cock - Satoru’s best friend Suguru Geto - shows exactly why he is. When he slams his latex covered cock so deep inside her she screams, squirting all down his cock while she chokes down Suguru…
That’s not just for the camera.
Satoru knows every spot on his co-stars, shouldn’t it be fun for them too? He never would let a single one of them not cum several times, hence the long, long line and insane demand he has. The amount of onlyfans collab requests he gets, along with shoot after shoot, he has to be extremely picky, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t eat up how desired he was.
Even now, he winks right into the camera, knowing how many people were watching this livestream, gripping his costar’s hips and slamming his cock so deep, while Suguru is gripping her face delicately, moaning. Blue eyes and violet eyes meet the camera, dual smirks while they make this girl shatter for them, until they know it’s time for the money shot.
She’s eagerly on her knees, at the most perfect angle in the room they use as a stage, fully lit with pro lighting, and the comments and tips from this livestream are going insane, all while she looks up at both of them. Satoru takes off his condom, while she strokes him, sucking his cock and then Suguru’s, so huge and heavy, though Satoru loves to brag that he’s just a little longer, and Suguru brags he’s thicker.
They love competing, including who cums more, both of them moaning, though Satoru is a little more occupied with how good his abs look in the camera, fuck they’re glistening really, as she starts jerking them off now with practiced hands. Suguru looks at Satoru then, brushing back dark locks.
“I’m gonna cum way more than you this time.” He murmurs, so that the camera’s couldn’t hear, but the girl stroking them giggles a bit, clearly fucked out.
Satoru stretches his arms up, folding them behind his head, as the strokes get faster, as she laps up his milky precum from his perfect pink tip. “Nah, no way, I will this time.”
“So competitive, hmm?” She says, drawing their attention, then she hits that twist just right, and Satoru and Suguru are cumming all over her eager face, her hands, her open mouth, shooting milky ropes and groaning out.
Satoru gets paid to cum on pretty girls faces, and he gets paid a lot, with his best fucking friend - just how do you beat that? He grins as the livestream is popping off, and Suguru is delicate in swiping their cum all over her for one more money shot, Satoru leans over, stroking himself right on camera once more, to the many happy tips and replies of all his fans.
“And that’s a wrap.” Satoru’s cocky voice follows a click, as he takes in just how much they made, whistling. “Goddamn, we should celebrate.”
“Um… guys…” Satoru turns then, as his co-star is covered, and he laughs a bit, rushing to grab soft wet wipes for her.
“I’m sorry, shit!” Him and Suguru carefully clean her up, and now her manager walks in, along with Satoru’s and Suguru’s, a freshly cleaned costar hugs the two of them.
“Thank you for letting me join, my OF is gonna blow up!” Satoru smiles then, while their managers all spread out the cut.
“Of course, you did great.” She beams, hugging Suguru now.
“Amazing, love.”
“You all are the best!” Soon it’s just Satoru and Suguru with their managers, and Satoru is yawning, bored, still not dressed, cock just swinging and still huge on semi hard, much to his manager’s annoyance.
“We have a big shoot tomorrow, don’t be out partying.” He says, avoiding Satoru’s cock in his vision so much Satoru laughs.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Satoru and Suguru absolutely listen…
Not.
They’re smoking a blunt right in the middle of a Hollywood party, lit off their asses, perhaps they partook in a little coke to celebrate, but who’s to say, just a residue of white in their nostrils to really know. They’re surrounded by women, free drinks all over of the highest quality, to celebrate breaking the bank with the star they shot with, why should they turn it down?
Satoru Gojo loves his life, really.
It feels good, it’s always busy, full of pretty women and an insane amount of money and fame, shit he loves to read comments on himself, but he wouldn’t admit it, about how badly everyone wants him. And why wouldn’t they? Satoru finds himself attractive as fuck, first and foremost. But at times, alone in that penthouse when Suguru would leave for days at a time…
Sometimes he got a little lonely, if he was being honest. Hollywood was full of fake and fleeting friends, and even costars wanted his fame, his cock, his money, not really him. But that was something Satoru shoves far, far back, instead returning his mind to the party at hand, a sea of bodies in a huge mansion right on the coast, littered with entangled and dancing bodies.
It all seems perfect, until Satoru sees someone walk in, a pretty girl who just doesn’t fit in, she just sticks out, nervously clutching a teddy bear cased phone, pushing up her tortoiseshell glasses. As Satoru leans forward, and Suguru hands him a blunt, he can’t get his fucking gaze of the girl, her baggie tan sweater, white pleated skirt and converse.
She stands out completely from the half naked women, many blondes with fake bodies, fake asses, fake tits… not that Satoru minded, he loves all tits and asses, silicon or not. But you look natural, your lips don’t have all that filler, the lips you’re biting, but when your teeth release them, they’re still full and fucking gorgeous, just a bit glossy, the low soft lights glinting off them.
The music of the party fades, everything fades, it’s like some stupid nineties rom com where the room parts, and it’s just this girl. A sweet girl with her hair falling over one shoulder, the other bare, and if Satoru could pick a body part that’s oddly turning him on, it’s your bare shoulder, your collarbones, with a pretty necklace that looks like it must be your zodiac sign.
Someone comes up to you then, handing you a glass of champagne, and he watches you shift a bit, looking down shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes traveling up and down your body, dying to know what your outfit is hiding. Your eyes catch his suddenly, a sweet, shy smile that just fucks him up, it’s like you’ve punched him in the fucking chest.
“Satoru… Satoru… earth to fucking Satoru… M’gonna smoke all this blunt myself, then-” Satoru finally realizes Suguru is calling for him, when he waves a hand in front of Satoru’s face, ruining his field of vision.
“Who is she?” Satoru and Suguru know most of the industry, sex workers and actors alike, and he sure the fuck has never seen you. Suguru eyes you then, his lips quirking up as you look down shyly once more, poking at your phone.
“I don’t know, she’s pretty though.” Satoru scowls, and Suguru leans back on the crushed velvet couch, purple as his eyes, handing Satoru the much smaller blunt than he previously saw.
How long had he been staring?
“Looks like a good girl, don’t corrupt her.” Satoru glares deeper, blue eyes glinting as he snatches up the blunt, wrapping his lips around the tip and inhaling that smoke deep in his lungs, leaning back and blowing the smoke up in a puffy cloud.
“Just curious, looks like she doesn’t belong here.” Suguru shrugs, taking the brown paper tube back, ashing it in a tray along a dark black table, humming a bit to himself.
“We don’t date.”
“And?”
“She doesn’t… she looks like… she dates.”
“Huh, you can tell that?” Satoru raises a thin brow, and Suguru sighs, smirking a bit.
“I know lots of things.”
“Yeah, whatever… I’m talking to her.” Satoru stands up now, brushing his hands down his white dress shirt a bit, taking a breath.
Fuck is he nervous!?
Satoru Gojo, who strokes his dick on the camera, who grins as people comment that they want it in their mouths, their cunts, fuck- their asses, all their holes - filled up with his white cum. Satoru Gojo who is the top .01% of anyone on his OF, who has pro roles in the highest quality porn there was, was not a shy or nervous man, especially with women.
Why are his hands sweating then? His blood rushing through his ears every step he takes closer to you, your eyes lower a bit, so shy and cute and fucking precious, he has to smile a bit at you, drink in his hand, his other in the pocket of his dark armani slacks. He casually leans over a bit, as your eyes meet his, behind dark shades, his grin bright and enigmatic.
“Hey sweetheart, Satoru Gojo.” He expects you to notice maybe, but you just smile, oblivious, holding out your hand, small in his huge grip, and Satoru has some insane urge to kiss it, that he gulps down.
The fuck is this.
This feeling just touching your skin, inhaling your scent, fuck you smell sweet like some cupcake, you have him intoxicated as his eyes dart to those lips, teeth indentations he feels an urge to run his thumb across. Your eyes look up from behind your own glasses, as the two of you just hold hands for a moment, just a moment, and Satoru can hardly describe just what it is drawing him like a magnet.
You give him your name, and he repeats it, making your own heart race just a bit at the tall stranger, when his blue eyes glint as he slides off his shades, snowy lashes lowering over beautiful blue irises, your breath is caught in your chest. Swirling blue storms unlike anything you’ve ever seen, so intense and beautiful it’s almost difficult to look right at.
“Are you new to the area? Or…” You giggle a bit, sipping on the bubbly champagne that tickles your nose just a bit.
“I look that out of place huh?”
“No, you’re cute. Very cute. Pretty.” He’s stuttering damn near, Satoru fucking Gojo, watching the flush that decorates your cheeks, as your lips touch the rim of the glass, and he can’t stop thinking how much he’d like to kiss those little bite marks away.
“Thank you, that’s sweet.”
“Sweet is not what I’m usually called.”
“Oh really? What are you usually called?”
“Daddy.” You nearly snort out your champagne then, covering your face in a fit of laughter, and he pouts now, swirling those shades casually.
“Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. They all do, they can’t help it, you know.”
“Mmhmm.” You’re giggling so much you snort, so cute Satoru can’t help but laugh with you, the first genuine one he’s done in a minute, not so forced to always appear so carefree. “I snorted, oh no!”
“It’s cute.” He brushes your hair between two of his fingers, and the both of you pause now, taking a breath, your lids lower just a bit, stepping closer, like Satoru himself is pulling you with his gravity. “What brings you here?”
“My friend invited me! She said seven, so I came a little early… but she’s not even on her way.” You sigh then, and he smirks just a bit.
“LA time is different. Twenty minutes late is on time, and forty minutes late is ‘fashionable’. No one comes early.”
“Shit!” You smack yourself in the forehead, and he takes your hand once more, enveloping your little one in his own.
“I can keep you company, want another drink?”
“Um… sure.”
Soon the two of you are sitting on one of the many couches in the taupe and white decorated mansion, the splashing and screeching of people in the pool mixing in a cacophony with the people dancing and the music inside. Satoru’s enraptured as you begin to talk, soft and thoughtful, while sipping on another glass, his arm just a bit across from you, behind your neck, fingers brushing your soft cashmere.
Every time he does you heat up that much more, you haven’t been with someone you felt this comfortable with in… maybe, ever. The instant feeling that he’s a sweet guy, natural, funny, and you almost wonder why he’s wasting time on you, with all the elegant women in various states of undress. But his eyes don’t even leave yours, his beautiful azure depths.
You can’t be so interesting or beautiful, sure you are very pretty, but more soft and sweet and not the Hollywood babes that were all over. But he’s laughing right with you, he soon starts busting out purple and white fuzzy weed, breaking it up and starting to roll a blunt, and you’ve never thought about being a paper until you watch a wicked pink tongue dart across it, long fingers sealing it.
“What’s wrong, don’t smoke, sweets?” The nicknames make you shift nervously, he’s too charming, too handsome, fuck not even handsome…
Pretty.
He’s too pretty to be real.
“Are you an actor, or model?” You blurt out, you don’t have much… thought before your words. He blinks a bit in surprise, flipping that blunt to smoke it now, lighting it up, you watch the orange and red of the cherry as he inhales.
“Hmm, a bit of both.” He exhales the puff of smoke, leaning closer to you, so close his thigh brushes yours, just that alone has your tummy fluttering.
“What are you in? I’d love to see your work.” Satoru starts coughing now, uncontrollably, eyes wide, as you stare in concern, coming to tap on his back. “Are you okay!?”
“Shit… yeah…” He’s coughing more, covering his mouth before looking away a moment, taking a breath.
Satoru was not ashamed of what he does for a living, and he never fucking will be either, but suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, am I being nosy?”
“No, no… want a hit?” Clearly trying to avoid the question, you wonder… was he in some flop of a movie or something?
“I’ve never smoked.” You’re looking down again, those converse pointing in as you shift once more, so adorable he really can’t stand it.
“Never?” You shake your head, and he grins, teeth glinting as he leans even closer, holding the blunt up high, the smoke swirling around the two of you, creating an even headier atmosphere, like you could get high off him.
“No…”
“Let me be your first.”
“What now!? You’re teasing me!” You cross your arms as he bursts into laughter, taking another hit.
“You’re too adorable not to.” You can’t help how good that makes you feel, he makes you feel… reckless, this stranger. “I can blow it in your mouth?”
“Blow it in my…” You bite your lip again, Satoru leans forward, thumb releasing it from your row of teeth, and the action makes you both pause.
“You bite it too much.” He murmurs softly, and just touching your soft lips, thumb touching the plush of it, is hotter than cumming on a girl’s face this morning, in fact he’s not done something so sensual.
The man who last night was banging a co-star in a mating press, the night before he had two women, one on his face, one riding his cock. The other day, him and Suguru shared another girl, this time dual penetrating her, fuck they were both in her pussy- she clearly was miraculous to take it. This week alone he’d done six shoots, with the best Hollywood had to offer.
But this girl blushing, who’s never smoked a blunt, is so fucking sexy he barely holds back.
He’s leaking precum from your proximity.
“Will blowing in my mouth get me… um, high?” Your words shake him from his revelry, where he’s still touching your pretty little chin, making him clear his throat, plastering on a cocky smile like your scent alone doesn’t have him throbbing.
“A little, but not as intense as a hit yourself. Call it shotgun, you’ve really never heard of it?”
You shake your head, scooting closer and leaning forward, that tan and brown sweater falling just a little more over your shoulder, as your lips are too close. Any other girl by now Satoru would have on his OF, or have in a bedroom, a bathroom, maybe just here on this couch for everyone. He’d have his fingers on them, have them sucking him off.
But he’s just enjoying barely touching you.
Satoru shakes his head, wondering if he’s so high he’s imagining how intense this must be, but looking back down into your pretty eyes behind your glasses, he can’t shove it down. “Trust me?”
“Should I?” He wiggles his brows, grinning.
“Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe it’s a ploy to kiss you.” You’re giggling again, sighing now, and tilting your chin up, your hand resting on his thigh, while he cups your face.
“I doubt you need to ploy anyone into kissing them.”
“Never have before, no.”
“Then… I trust you.” You lean forward again, eyes fluttering shut, your lashes just barely brushing the glasses, and he pauses, before inhaling the blunt deep into his lungs, tilting your chin up and opening your lips.
“Suck in.” His words carry far too much intent, when he blows his smoke directly into your mouth, and you do just that, sucking in all the smoke you can, as he sighs into your sweet mouth, lips full and plush on your own.
Fuck.
Satoru blows all the smoke, and you’re sucking it in. “Good girl.”
Fuck.
You almost die then, coughing a bit, embarrassingly wet for him, and this is not normal. You’re a girl who has to have a relationship to have sex, you’re a girl who has to really know someone, feel so comfortable, but Satoru Gojo was completely wrecking you now. You let the smoke go, the fog rising, when he leans low once more, one hand pulling you closer.
“Another?” He asks in a whisper, you can’t stop but nodding, watching his plump lips circle that blunt again, and he’s blowing it back in your mouth, pulling you closer, while you inhale it deep. He pulls back a bit now, as you’re holding it, sighing. “Blow it back in my mouth.”
You do as he asks, and soon your tongues touch, sloppy and drippy wet, making you whine out from the back of your throat, the sound making Satoru fucking feral. You kiss fully, your hand slipping up his shirt now, lightheaded from the smoke and his ardent kiss, how he possesses your fucking mouth, and the blood rushes to your ears, your head so light and fuzzy.
“Fuck…” His words come out in a low growl, pulling you even closer, until one of your thighs is over his, and he’s pressing a kiss across your jaw, up to your ear, you’re gripping his soft, expensive shirt like your life depends on it, whimpering so softly only he can hear. “Taste so sweet, do you everywhere?”
“I… huh… I… mmm…” You’re dizzy when he nips your ear, a big hand brushing your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he pulls back, eyes so bright, his pupils shrunk to little pinpoints now. “Gojo…”
“Satoru.”
You’re blushing furiously, eyeing your surroundings, when you’re soaked now, it feels so… naughty but exciting, fuck. You have to gather yourself, taking several shaky breaths, as he’s leaning down further, your heat against one of his thighs now. “Satoru um… I need a moment. That was intense.”
“Shit, of course.” He pulls back, taking his own breath, putting out the blunt now, eyeing the glossy redness of your now swollen lips.
He can picture them so perfectly wrapped around the tip of his cock. So innocent, did you do that? Would he have to show you, direct you? The perfect angle of your eyes, the way to open your mouth, how to take him deep down that little throat, one he can imagine seeing his cock bulge out of. All the thoughts are running insane while you lean back a bit, hands loosening their grip on his shirt finally.
“Want a drink, sweets?” You nod now, your eyes are so dilated they look black, glasses just a little fogged from his breath and the smoke.
“Yes, please. You didn’t tell me um, what movies can I find you in?”
“Like looking at me?” He’s cocky, conceited, but you just nod a bit, making him falter now. “Indie films, low budget, obscure.”
“Oh? I love indie flicks!” He grimaces now, a girl who’s never smoked weed and screams inexperienced may not like him if she knew he cums on girls' tits and their faces for money.
He wants to just say it.
But…
“You’ve not heard of ‘em. Let’s get you a drink, hmm pretty?” You nod shyly, standing with his help, and soon the two of you have made it in the center of one of the main party rooms, there are women getting lines done off them, men with several women on them at once, all kissing, grinding, along with those dancing. And now Satoru has your hips in his grip, showing you how to roll them.
You’re not a dancer, a little awkward and off beat, but you’re laughing, a pretty peal of a sound that melts him, and he can’t remember the last time he has had so much fun, as he does working you in a figure eight, kissing your neck teasingly. You’re ticklish, he really notices when his fingertips graze your hips under your sweater, earning your little gasp and look up at him.
“Cute.”
“You keep saying that, like I’m a little kitten!”
“Maybe you are. Or a little bunny.”
“Oh!” You’re giggling though, when you turn and get just a little dizzy, but he captures you, and you finally say it. “Um… why talk to me?”
Satoru frowns now, thin brows together, as the song is slower, and you’re damn near grinding against his thigh, with how he holds you. “What do you mean why?”
“You’re so… there’s so many…”
“Shh.” He puts a fingertip to glossy lips, taking a breath. “I’m enjoying myself, are you sweetheart?”
“Yes but…”
“Want a secret?” You nod and he leans down, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You’re the prettiest girl here.”
“No way!”
“Mmhmm, and I’d know. Expert.” You tuck your face against his chest, giggling again, as your arms wrap his torso tighter.
“You’re being too nice.”
“No, just saying what I think. But your cheeks turn a really pretty color, don’t they?”
“Shh.” You look back up, eyes glittering, and it takes everything for Satoru not to take you then and there, lap up that heat he can feel emanating from your surely pretty little cunt. You peck a kiss on his neck, earning a little exhale, when Satoru pulls your little body even closer against his, so huge, tall, hard, everywhere. “Satoru…”
Suddenly your friend hits your field of vision, pausing and widening her pretty eyes as she takes in the sight of you two. You clear your throat, tapping Satoru then, whose hands are dangerously close to gripping your ass, your scent overtaking him, the feel of you in his arms driving him insane with need. He blinks a bit, as he then turns where you’re pointing.
“My friend!” You’re grinning then, and Satoru’s heart drops just a bit, when he recognizes her, since he’d been inside her just last week.
Shit.
“Come meet Satoru!” You’re bouncing practically as you drag Satoru by his hand, and your friend smiles just a bit, as Satoru clears his throat, and you’re adorable and oblivious.
“We’ve met.” You blink a bit in surprise at her words, looking at Satoru, who’s put back on his shades, hand that was on the small of your back falling.
“Oh, where? A movie set? She does some acting too!” Your best friend takes your hand then, as Satoru looks away.
“Yeah, a set. Um, can I steal you baby?” She asks, brushing your hair back, you nod with a pretty smile.
“I’ll be back!” Satoru smiles a bit, cursing softly, when Suguru comes walking up to him, sipping on a whiskey, eyeing the two girls.
“Didn’t you…”
“Fuck her friend? Yep.” He answers with a pop of his lips, hand brushing his hair back then, sighing. “Shit I really like her.”
“Like her or want her?”
“Both. More. Shit.” Suguru contemplates his friend, then eyes you and your friend together.
“Her friend is Jenna Juggs?”
Satoru’s lips quirk up a bit. “She is indeed. Fuck I need a drink, I am sure she won’t want to talk to me now.”
“Since when do you care?”
“Shut up.” Satoru’s all pouty, and you frown now, looking up at Jenna, who is tugging you far away.
“What’s going on? You always say I need to try to meet someone!”
“Yes, but…” She sighs now, looking over at him, then back down at you. “You really don’t recognize him?”
“He said he’s in like… indie films?” She snorts just a bit then, shaking her head and sighing.
“Indie films huh. Babe aren’t you on my OF?”
“To support you! I’ve never looked, oh god.” Jenna giggles, sighing.
“I thought you peeked a bit huh?”
“No. I read my porn.”
“So classy.” You both giggle, and you feel blue eyes boring across the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you look over your shoulder.
“I’m not any better than you because you like to watch or… participate. But anyway, what’s OF have to do with it?”
“We… collabed last week.” You watch her shift a bit, eyelashes lowering as she now giggles at the memory, and you feel your tummy clench just a bit, eyes catching Satoru’s again, he’s leaning against a counter, ignoring everyone that comes his way with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“Collabed as in…” She nods a little, and you exhale. “Oh.”
“He’s a huge name, like the top porn star there is, him and his friend over there.” You see him now, long dark hair, as tall as Satoru, leaning against the counter right with him, but Satoru still hasn’t peeled his eyes off you. “It was a big deal to get him to join, and he’s really sweet but…”
“But?” You raise a brow now, and your friend brushes her hair back, looking in their direction again.
“He’s amazing in bed, like the best I’ve had.”
“Ah… that good?” You’re clearing your throat nervously, drinking your glass slowly, trying to ignore the odd feelings in your tummy.
Were you really envious right now?
You shouldn’t feel this way, she’s your best friend and you don’t even know him, but also you could never just…
Could you?
“He hasn’t dated a single girl in the eight years he’s done porn, him or his friend, notoriously single even for the industry.”
“Shit are they together?” She laughs a bit then.
“People certainly ship them but…”
“Ship, like characters, are they that famous?”
“Mmhmm. Now if you just want to have fun, he’s amazing but I know you.” She puts one of her hands on your shoulders now, cool thumb running little circles on your bare shoulder. “You’re sweet, innocent and you want love.”
“I’ve done things!”
“With how many people?”
You sigh now, drinking the rest of your drink in a gulp. “Just my ex.”
“That’s what I figured, and that’s fine baby, if you need a connection, or something deep? He’s not it. That’s all, I see how much fun you were having, and I don’t want you hurt if he gets… what he wants and goes. In this industry how you see sex is very different.”
“Ah. I get it, you think he just wants to…” You can’t even say it, fuck you’d been wet, ready, and you were never like that with a stranger, your experience as a demisexual just is limited, where you crave connection, comfort, and meaning behind sex, you can’t just ‘have fun’.
But he’d had you questioning it all, because you felt something in that kiss- was it just his experience?
“He’s walking sex, I can’t blame you one bit. And I support anything you do- shit I highly recommend it. But you…”
“Yeah no, I am not into hooking up. I’m glad you told me but… something about him…” You trail off then, swallowing nervously, as her hands come to your sides, and she hugs you closely.
“I know, it doesn’t mean you can’t talk to him, but you had to know.” She nibbles on a nail then, lashes lowering. “He gives mean backshots, if you go that route.”
“Jenna!” You’re both giggling, and the party goes on then, the two of you smiling and waving as you keep finding each other around the room, soon Jenna is good and sauced, and you know you need to make sure you both get home okay. But you can’t help but stop by Satoru before you go, nervously fidgeting with your hands in front of you.
“Hey sweets, heading out?” He asks softly, a hand coming to grip your wrist, swallowing it with his long fingers, you eye the connection, feeling yourself heat up at it, trying to remind yourself, it’s him ‘dripping sex’ it’s his job. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty enough not to fuck for a shoot, maybe he’d actually like to know you a bit, but her words hit hard.
“Satoru, do you date?” Your words make him pause. “Not me, just in general.”
“Do I date?” He blinks a bit, lips opening, then shutting. “She told you.”
“I would never judge, my best friend does it, if anything I’m envious that you all can just do that.” Your eyes are glimmering just a bit, now his hand slips up your wrist, thumb brushing the delicate veins there, sighing. “I just wanted to clarify that part.”
“I haven’t dated since like college, no.”
“And you’re…”
“Twenty eight.” You nod a bit now, calculating, a good eight years since he’s dated- since he’s been in the industry. “I was enjoying our time.”
“I was too, very much. Got me high you know.” He grins then, and you can’t help but smile back, heart racing in your chest - and you realize it, Jenna is right. What you’re feeling from one meeting could hurt you. “I’d still like to be friends?”
“Friends, hmm?” You nod as he leans down, his other hand pressing against the nip of your waist, pulling you against him, watching the catch of your breath, the dilation of your pupils. You’re biting that lower lip again, a little soft whine in the back of your throat escaping.
“I’d love to be. I really like you, Satoru.” He melts for you then, at your cute little smile, your hand slipping up his chest. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”
“So did I. Friends, then, I could use some.” He kisses your lips softly, a mere brush, that’s not what friends should feel from a little kiss, right? That ache between your thighs, your pulse racing, as he can’t stop thinking how good you feel in his arms, thinking he’d like you to stay.
“Me too, maybe you’ll make me a stoner, hmm?”
He laughs then, genuine and charming. It’s hard to think of him ‘giving Jenna backshots’ a mix of sweet and charming, you try to remember just that. “So she didn’t have a bad review for me?”
“Quite the opposite, you’re apparently the best in the industry.” The softness and break in your voice makes him pause, usually he’d be cocky about hearing that, but he doesn’t know just how that makes him feel. “I haven’t watched your kind of work, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t think so. Too obscure.”
“Clearly.” You both laugh softly again, you are leaning back now, taking a breath, trying to remember yourself, but it’s hard when all you can think of is his lips.
“Can I have your number?” Satoru Gojo has never asked for a girl’s number, but he damn near gets giddy when you nod, slipping out your phone, giving it to him then, which he saves under your name.
“I don’t do casual, I’ve never even kissed someone I’m not serious about. Um… but I really had fun.”
That innocent?
He figured close to it but…
“Did I corrupt you so much in one night?”
“Maybe so. I have to get my friend home safe, so I will talk to you sometime?”
“Any time.” He brushes your hair back again, kissing your cheek once more, your eyes shut at how good it feels, sighing.
When you’re gone, Satoru does not like the feeling left.
The rest of the party is dimmed now, he can’t stop thinking about you, about watching you inhale that smoke, about watching your cute, shy little fucking smile, but why would you like him, he fucked your best friend last week. And you’re clearly a good girl, a sweet girl, and that’s what he would do - corrupt you.
But the thoughts of corrupting you start taking over, so intense he can hardly stand it, imagining teaching you everything. How to arch your ass up just right for him, have you cum so hard you’d squirt and drip down his cock, fuck he’d love to watch your eyes roll back in your head, as he hits spots he’s sure no one ever has, cumming so hard you cry pretty tears.
It’s so ridiculous he’s throbbing, and as some of his co-stars come and flirt with him, he can barely give them a little smile, a playful wink, turning down the endless opportunities tonight with one excuse- ‘he’s tired’ - is about all he can come up with. Because what is this!?
What’s the feeling that night when you’re laying in your bed, scrolling through your friend’s OF for the first time, heating up as you scroll, you’ve seen her naked a ton, you’ve taken her pictures, but when you see her bent over, and that sexy white haired man wrapping an arm around her waist? His other hand, wrapped around her throat, and her eyes rolled back?
The scene alone without clicking play is too much, you’re trembling, imagining pressing play, hesitating. You barely know him, but something clicked tonight, you had fun for the first time in forever, but to know that you maybe already developed a crush on someone unattainable seems a cruel joke.
Hopelessly single because you’re so picky, because a lot of time your interests don’t align - how could you like someone who doesn’t think Lord of the Rings is a classic, for example - or if you’re not feeling something. Your friends think you put too much into it, they think you should let go and have fun, and maybe you did, tonight, but that was because of him.
You keep furiously flushing as you go back and forth, thumb hovering over the screen, Jenna wouldn’t care if you saw, and maybe Satoru wouldn’t, but something feels so different to you, so naughty, like inhaling smoke from his mouth tonight. You keep shutting the phone off, then turning it back on, when suddenly you get a text from him.
Satoru - Hope you got home safe, sweets.
He’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, he’s fucking gorgeous and…
He would never date.
It’s a really mean joke someone’s playing on you.
You - Thank you, I did! I hope you did too.
You can’t look at the video! Can you?
Satoru’s laid up in his bed, picturing you, god he can taste your lips on his still, swiping a hand over his face as you send some little emoji, far, far too cute, so cute you make him ache. He wonders then just what is it about you, surely you’re beautiful, but it can’t just be that.
He can’t get you off his mind.
You can’t stop yourself from pressing play.
Your breath catches when you finally do, and you see it, him fucking Jenna, looking right at the fucking camera, a smirk and blue eyes, as he thrusts up inside of her. You don’t enjoy porn, it’s not intimate enough for you- but looking at him makes your cunt throb, you touch it to find it hopelessly drenched, watching him manhandle and flip her like she’s nothing, right on her back.
You watch him put your best fucking friend in a mating press, watch him smack his cock against her tummy, pulling his condom off, cumming on her then. When you get a good look at his pretty pink tip, veiny long cock and ropes of fucking cum, you mindlessly touch your cunt, soaking your sleep shorts, crying out before you catch yourself, cursing.
You shut it off, huffing and yanking the blankets over your face.
It must be… the drinks, the smoke, him, making you act this way. A good book with meaning, a perfect man in your head, that’s what you want, what you need, right? Not whatever he was doing to your mentality, fuck it’s your friend too, how could you ever get wet to that?
“Fuck this.” You grumble, swiping away from your friend’s OF, but the image is firmly burned into your mind, of Satoru moaning with his lips parted, jerking his cock along her in pretty patterns. You pull up your book instead, filling your mind with anything and everything else, when another text pops up.
Satoru - Good night, sweetheart.
You just watched him cum, now you feel horrible, ugh! What is up with you tonight!? He’s probably being friendly and you’re over here touching your sensitive little clit watching him. You struggle to compose yourself, finally having to go wipe up, splashing yourself with cold water in your little bathroom, you dry your hands on a towel, looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment.
You look fucked up.
You finally text him back.
You - Good night, Satoru, sweet dreams.
Satoru can’t stop the dopey smile on his face, cock annoying and throbbing, and instead of letting it get taken care of, he’d just focused on how badly he wanted you, how much he can’t get you off his mind. Fuck just your shampoo and whatever heavenly fucking body spray spritzed on you made him harder to remember, how pretty you’d look in his bed, under him.
‘Friends’, you’d like to be ‘friends’.
Satoru doesn’t think anything in his mind was friend appropriate currently, not when he’s stroking himself, crying out and picturing just peppering your shoulder and neck with kisses, biting you, marking you. Leaving bruises along a perfect neck while you grip his hair, crying out, head falling back. Having your heat he could still feel on his fingers.
As you’re struggling to calm down, Satoru’s giving up, jerking off for the first time maybe in forever alone, sure he does for videos, but he doesn’t have to make himself cum often when everyone was lining up to suck him. But instead he’s stroking a famous cock thinking of a sweet girl with a brown sweater that falls just so, hiding a body he’s dying to know.
As you’re finally asleep, mind racing, he’s cumming ropes into his palm, picturing much better places for this cum- like inside your sweet little cunt - and that’s one thing Satoru Gojo does not do. Trying to come down himself, cleaning up, he looks in the mirror, seeing the pink of his own cheeks, shaking his head then.
He looks fucked up off you.
*****
While you are at work that next monday, sitting at your desk typing away, Satoru Gojo has an entirely different sort of work to accomplish, this time with his costar Sukuna, who he frequently worked with, and the two of them either popped off on each other or competed for who could make the girl squirt the most. Sukuna was currently lapping at the co-star’s cunt with his pierced tongue.
She’s she’s bent over sucking Satoru’s cock with expert suction, and he should be loving it, he’s worked with her before and she is a sweetheart and highly fucking skilled, and this shoot pays extremely well. A win win, even with Sukuna running it, currently at least his mouth was occupied. The director zooms right in, maybe that’s what’s bothering him, the cameras, the bright lighting.
Satoru’s cock is not staying hard, even as she’s choking back moans with the pink haired munch of a man going so intense, her nails gripping Satoru’s thighs so tightly, pressing in. He tries to focus on how it feels, shutting his eyes, but all he can think of is you.
Your lips.
Your eyes.
Those glasses on the bridge of your nose.
How you shift your fucking thighs, heated from desire.
God, he can’t stop thinking of you, what if you saw him on a video? Would it make your surely pretty pussy wet? He’s suddenly hard fully once more, grabbing his co-star’s hair and shoving his cock so deep she’s choking, gasping, but he can’t manage to open those eyes until the director says something then.
“Gojo, the eyes- look at the camera.” He sighs now, they were part of his money, the eyes that no one had, the ones that entranced so many, he manages to open them, eyeing the camera, but instead of his usual smirk there is a pout, and his co-star pulls back, frowning just a bit, as Sukuna pulls away from her cunt, tattooed face glistening.
Amongst the most famous pornstars, Sukuna rivaled Satoru- the alternative, rougher version perhaps to the pretty boy, he slips two fingers in her cunt, and she moans, as he eyes Satoru. “Who’s fucking her first?”
“Me, of course.” Sukuna chuckles, her cunt is so loud it’s squishing and clicking, much to the delight of the director, and Satoru has her on top of him then, as Sukuna guides her onto his cock, slapping her ass loudly. Satoru struggles, gulping as she sinks on him over his condom.
It feels warm and good but…
He can’t even look at her.
She’s bouncing up and down him while Sukuna plays with her from the back, and Satoru forgets he’s even on a set, lips parted in a sigh as he looks away, and realizes he’s gone soft again. “Is something wrong?” She asks softly, he shakes his head now, gripping her hips.
“No, no it’s fine, wanna ride him for me?” She nods, and Satoru then helps her ride Sukuna’s cock, as he kisses down her shoulder, shutting his eyes once more, trying to hide how soft he is and failing.
“Cut.” The director calls, Satoru sighs, as Sukuna moans, yanking her down his length, and her head falls back. “I said cut.”
“We can fuck while we’re waiting for him to get on board.” Sukuna grins up at her as she giggles, and Satoru glares. “Go get a viagra.”
“I don’t need one, fuck it’s just… the lights.”
“Need a break Gojo?” His director asks, and he manages a nod. “Go ahead to the dressing room, we’ll… make sure they are ready to go when you come back.”
“She’ll be fucked out before you get it up.”
“Whatever Sukuna, fuck you.” Sukuna snorts in laughter, Satoru stomps over to the dressing room, cursing then and resting his head against that door, taking several breaths and scowling at his cock. “Work, shit…”
What is this!?
A pretty girl at a party shouldn’t ruin his whole cock, ruin his enjoyment, cloud his goddamn mind, a girl who’s a - friend - what’s his problem!? He’s sitting down on the couch then over a towel, still literally naked, stroking it, once, twice, three times. Nothing helps, the condom hanging just so off his cock, when he grimaces, pulling it off and tossing it in the trash, pulling out his phone, and he pauses at your name.
Satoru - Hey sweets, I don’t have a pic for your caller ID, could you send one?
He tenses as he sees you immediately typing, cock twitching right back to life from three stupid dots wiggling. He bets you’re biting that lip.
You are.
You’re nervous as you look around your quiet workplace, you’re a graphic designer and it’s a little late, so you’re nearly alone, finishing a project, when you see he wrote to you. The man you have not looked back up, but it’s taken every bit of self control not to watch his content, and boy does he have so much, up to and including his own asmr.
That’s dangerous.
He’s dangerous.
Because you could never just enjoy him for who he is, you would want more, fuck you already feel it, the odd sensation knowing he’s likely fucking someone constantly, picturing yourself wildly for a moment with him behind you. Surely you couldn’t be a co-star, you’d flip on camera, too shy, but you keep envisioning it regardless, him choking you as he sinks deep.
Stop that.
You turn in your big black chair, spinning it just a bit, seeing the beautiful soft lighting of the upcoming evening pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, deciding it’s good lighting. Your chest rises and falls with your nerves, you didn’t know how to be sexy in photos, but do you want to?
You do.
Fuck you do.
You’re leaning back and angling the phone just so, glasses off for a moment on your desk, since they’d been giving you a bit of a headache, throwing a peace sign and parting your lips, you don’t know exactly how to pose. You knew what art was, what beauty was, but a little clueless how to angle yourself like your friend Jenna has always been able to.
After peering through a few photos, brows drawn together in concentration, you send one his way, he’s viewed it and he instantly hearts it, making you exhale, relieved that maybe he thinks it’s cute enough. But little do you know, you have him full hard now, thumb brushing his leaky tip, making him whimper, picturing rubbing his cock right on those pretty lips of yours.
God you’re just in a blouse but he can see your nipples pressing from the material, begging for him to pluck them, suck them, and he can’t stand the longing, the need making his body ache. He curses softly, wiping a sticky thumb on his towel, trying to compose himself, he’s acting like some stupid lovesick boy, not the entire star he knows he is.
And your eyes, eyes he didn’t get a good enough look at, so fucking gorgeous, it’s hard to look away, but as he does, he notices more, your bitten lips, the gentle slope of your neck, the way you have little marks from the pads of your glasses on the sides of your pretty nose. God, all of you is delectable.
Satoru - Gorgeous, thank you. Saved.
You - Thank you, Satoru um, can I have one too?
He smirks now, because if he was good at anything - aside from making women cum - it was taking the perfect selfie. He’s lifting the camera high, showing far too much of his strong chest, his rippled, cut abdomen, down to those v cuts and his veins running just above his snowy white pubic hair. Not his cock, of course, but enough for you to get the idea.
He sends it with a smirk, and you open it with a gasp, eyeing a body you saw somewhat in the shoot, but nothing looks quite like what’s in front of you right now on your screen. He’s got his brilliant eyes bright and lidded, tousled white hair, lips parted just so, making your lips tingle at the memory. You touch them longingly as you study his body, glistening with sweat.
Fuck he’s sexy.
You shift in your office chair, sighing, putting back on your glasses for an even deeper inspection- and since when are you so turned on by looks? You’re into who someone is, of course looks are great, but to have your pussy clenching over a picture is insanity.
And for Satoru to have a raging hard cock over a selfie is batshit insane, but here the two of you are, you saving an obscenely sexual photo, and him saving a demure little picture, both smiling at them. But then you frown a bit, taking in the couch, the lighting, realizing it then.
You - Are you on a shoot?
Satoru - Yes.
Why does that make you feel just a little envious of whoever gets to kiss and touch on him?
Why does it make you a little jealous of who gets him on them, his plump lips on their skin?
You shake it off, smiling tremulously as your hands shake, typing a
I know you’ll kill it, have fun! Got the pic saved thanks. <3
Satoru leans his head back again, before looking at your photo once more, rushing out before his cock decides not to work again, slipping on another condom. When he’s gripping her hips and smiling at the camera as he does, however, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up, luckily he’s so huge she barely notices, while she’s gushing down his latex covered cock.
He’s encouraging her, pressing his thumb against her clit, while she’s sucking on Sukuna, and he tries to remember how amazing his life is, and focus, surely this is something that will pass. Some infatuation, and he’ll get back to normal in no time, he’s sure of it.
Right?
******
Wrong.
After a string of highly unsuccessful shoots that Satoru’s had to push off on Suguru and Sukuna, he’s decided the only hope for it is to give in and jerk his cock to your pictures. That week you’ve sent others, all cute and innocent, but how do you manage to make him so obsessed? Every pretty inch of skin you show he’d litter with bruises.
Not that there was much skin shown, the plush of your thighs over cute knitted knee high socks, and god you’re as hot with your glasses as you were without, he couldn’t figure out what he liked more. Your shoulders are just a little bare, begging for his teeth to sink into them, since when he is so turned on by hints of skin than soaking wet costars?
The first time he jerks it, he cums so much he knows the best solution, to focus on his solo career, at least until whatever the fuck this is - this obsession - could pass. He’s making bank as he does them, actually, and he can’t help but grin as he’s become the top onlyfans creator, stroking his cock for so many of his fans, all while he can prop his phone up and look at what new selfie you’ve sent.
“Hah- I know, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” He’s winking right at that camera, stroking faster and faster, spitting down on his tip, spreading it with a lewd squishing sound as the comments go insane.
Satoru cum for us!
It’s so pretty
Want a taste
Want it in me
What a win-win, making bank for stroking it to you, all while getting his ego filled by all the comments, he’s stroking his ego with his length, smirking as his free hand uses the mouse to scroll down. “Ah, I know, it’s huge, is it sensitive, mmm… a little bit if I do this.”
He’s twisting just so, eliciting a little cry, when he sees a name pop up, pausing his movements- and you’re staring right at Satoru Gojo’s live stream, heart hammering, worried he’d notice you. His little look of shock confirms it, as his hand finally slides back down his shaft, and your eyes follow the movement, so hungry for him you can’t stand it.
When Jenna teased Satoru had a live stream - she clearly knows now that you are infatuated with him, god he’s all you can think about, daydreaming at work, in your sleep he’s kissing you everywhere with those plump lips. You couldn’t help but talk to Jenna about him again, and she sighed, smiling at you.
“You never know, people change, maybe you two should at least hang out?” You’d repeated it softly, shaking your head. “No?”
“Why would he want to?”
“Well, I heard he’s had no shoots for a bit, and is doing solo things, maybe you could peek?”
You can’t believe you’re on Satoru Gojo’s onlyfans live.
You can’t believe you fucking subscribed to him, too.
And now it’s like he’s looking right fucking at you.
Shit.
He begins stroking his cock once more, murmuring - “I see a new subscriber here, like what you see?”
He’s so pretentious.
But…
You do love it, his veiny cock, which leaks precum on his flat belly button over tense abs, pale thighs spread, muscled and perfect, god all of him was. But something was a little more than just his looks, which sounds insane, but it wasn’t those looks that made you - fuck, lowkey obsessed!?- with him, it was so much more. His eyes elicit far, far too many feelings.
You take a breath for courage, before leaving a comment.
Do you taste sweet everywhere?
Your comment sends him as he reads it, blinking snowy lashes and pausing, while on the other side you’re covering your mouth, panicking- did you really just say that, shit!? You’re taking several breaths, hand on your mouse, ready to leave the chat, as the comments pop off, going insane, asking the question over and over, but Satoru strokes his pretty cock ever so slowly, leaning forward.
He cums when he starts picturing your cute little embarrassed face, he can’t stop himself, knowing you’re watching has him so sensitive, he’s cumming so much it feels so fucking good. His moans are low and gutteral as his cum starts pouring over his slick fist, and you’re watching avidly, breath caught in your chest, heart fucking hammering, so wet it’s dripping through your panties.
You’re on the edge of your seat when he finally opens those blue eyes, to the endless tips pouring in for him, but he’s thinking of just one viewer-
You.
“Do I taste sweet everywhere?” He’s murmuring your name- you’re so dumb to have it as your real name, shit- but the way he chuckles, his eyes going insane as he lifts his hand off his cock then? “Let’s see.”
He’s bringing a white, sticky coated finger to his mouth now, sucking his own milky seed off them, cheeks hollowing as he does, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes, grinding against your seat, desperate for some fucking friction. He’s insane, surely, you’ve never even thought of it, a man sucking his cum up, it’s so sexy and just obscene it fucks you mentally.
Just who is this freaky ass porn star!?
He’s chuckling now, like he can somehow see your damn reaction from behind the screen, it’s like it’s just you and him, and not a fucking stream full of people, as the tips go insane. The comments are going so quickly he can’t keep up with them, grinning as he sucks more of his cum off another thick, long finger you’d love buried inside of you.
“Hmm, I do taste sweet.” He watches as you tip hundreds, smirking before you log completely off.
He pauses now, you’d had him so fucked up he went full out, he wonders if he’s scared your innocent ass off, sighing now, ending the stream with a laugh and a friendly little good bye, as he always does. He has made so much money it’s stupid, and surely you encouraging his little stunt helped, but now he can’t help but call you after he’s cleaned up the mess you’ve made of him.
You watch the phone vibrate and ring, jumping damn near, covering your hands with your mouth as you see his name, with his half naked fucking picture. Shit, shit, shit…
You slowly pick it up, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what- did you like the show?” His voice is so arrogant and cocky, but you hear it then, the vulnerability under his layers. “I liked that you joined.”
“You did?” Your voice is practically a squeak, he chuckles a bit, laying back on his bed now, phone against his face.
“I did. Now, what did you think?”
“You’re… really… this is embarrassing!”
“It’s not, I promise. I’m flattered.” You sigh now, leaning back in your seat, wishing the air overhead would cool your overheated skin. “Answer me, be a good girl.”
“Satoru, god.” He’s chuckling, but your nipples are pressing out, taut and needy, cunt gushing so much it’s embarrassing. “I liked it but I never do these things.”
“Then I’m more flattered. I’m taking all your firsts.”
“Stop it, you're so ridiculous.” You’re laughing with him then, softly, shaking your head. “How’d you notice me with all those fans?”
“You certainly stand out.” His husky admittal makes you feel far too much, and the next thing out of your mouth makes you question everything.
“Satoru this is stupid and reckless-”
“Perfect, sounds fun!”
“Hush.” You sigh as he grows quiet, words stuck in his throat, how he’d do anything just to see how you taste. “I watched some of you with Jenna.”
He pauses, heart hammering. “Shit, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re really good at it, um, pleasing.”
“I love to have a pussy drooling on my fingers,” he’s murmuring so fucking soft now, you’re struggling to compose yourself. “My mouth, my cock, fuck my whole face soaked, I love it.”
“Oh?”
He’s chuckling again. “Oh. Cute.”
“Shh. Give me a moment, what if you showed me some things? Off camera, please, I could never-”
“Huh!? What!?” You’re panicking again, embarrassed as he can’t believe his fucking ears.
A chance with you?
Fuck.
“Sorry it’s so rude- that’s your job, and I know you don’t date, but I thought maybe since I feel so comfortable-”
“You feel comfortable with me?” His words are softer now, your eyes shut, sucking in a breath.
“Very. Oddly comfortable, and well I’ve only been with one person, I am sitting here waiting for some romance book love I guess? It’s stupid.”
“Why’s it stupid?” He frowns as he leans his head against his mirror now, standing and trying to pull himself together, cock leaking already thinking of you in his bed.
“I don’t know if it’ll happen but, you’re so sweet and gorgeous and… I’m going on too much.”
“Just say what you want, sweetheart.”
“You to show me things.” You’re shutting your eyes again, waiting for the rejection, but he shocks you once more.
“Then I’ll send a car to get you.”
“Now!?”
“It’s LA, it’ll be thirty minutes at least, if you live where you said, over by that coffee shop on Main right?”
“You remember?”
Of course he does.
“You wanna learn, sweetheart? I’ll teach you anything.”
“Like, free?” He’s chuckling again, the sound so genuine it just makes the ache grow, you’re crazy for this, right?
“Yes free, you’re adorable. Okay then send your address and get ready. Eat something, drink something with electrolytes.”
“Wha-!?” He’s smirking as he eyes his shower, surely he has enough time to wash up for you first.
“Gonna need energy, sweetheart. Lots of it.”
When you’re standing there at the door of Satoru Gojo’s penthouse, and he leans down, his hand on the doorway, veins bulging from his bare arm, hair tousled and still damp, you know it then. When he brushes fingers across your damp hair, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling your scent, you know it more. But especially when he tilts your chin up, and murmurs - come in.
He’s going to hurt you, but you’ll enjoy the pain.
Ahhh I can't believe all the love the hcs got, like that blew me away, I SO hope you love this, and will enjoy where these two go! I always say - oh this will be four parts- but they always go longer so lol. I hope you all enjoyy I'm so excited to hear what you think!
Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay
Knowing that trans women of color started the movement in the united states and were literally immediately erased and excluded from what they started is the most deeply jading knowledge.
It is the original sin of the so-called queer community and it damns it from the cradle.
❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞
❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞
✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader
✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,
✧ wc: 16,043
✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!
“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,”
You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it.
You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead.
“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?”
“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,”
“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,”
You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?”
“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,”
“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?”
“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,”
Yup, you have a headache now.
“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?”
Why were you considering this?
“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?”
“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?”
“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“
“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble.
“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor.
And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it.
Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life.
And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this.
He said your name, “Well?”
He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did.
It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place.
“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself.
Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now.
His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was.
“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair.
“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh.
You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?”
“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,”
“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror.
“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?”
“Gojo, this is—“
“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,”
Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?”
“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,”
You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“
“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way.
“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion.
“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed.
Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most.
“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event.
And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did.
“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn.
“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,”
His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?”
You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate.
And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them.
“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“
“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled.
“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,”
The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,”
“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours.
“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,”
You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?”
He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,”
“No one can see us,”
“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,”
Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling.
“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?”
You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks.
“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?”
“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn.
“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.
“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,”
You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“
He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you.
“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare.
You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?”
Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had.
“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst.
So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,”
But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?”
You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?”
Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.”
“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“
“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,”
“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,”
You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?”
“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”
It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru.
And you really didn’t hate Suguru — it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him.
You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs.
And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend.
“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“
“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?”
But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it.
“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“
“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?”
You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,”
His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?”
“You don’t have to—“
“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm.
And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.
“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”
“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.”
“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,”
He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.”
And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—
You were already there.
You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious.
But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point.
how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended?
You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.
Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad
You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds
It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge.
This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later.
This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you—
“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?”
“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,”
“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?”
He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter.
“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?”
“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,”
“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it.
“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,”
“Gojo—“
“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them.
All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t.
He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one?
You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again.
Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen
You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy.
You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept.
You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen.
You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?”
“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?”
“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,”
“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?”
You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly.
“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?”
“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,”
He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?”
Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,”
“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts.
“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,”
But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”
You glanced at the time, he’s late.
Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground.
Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked.
Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad.
It was probably the latter.
You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel.
“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,”
You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?”
“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh.
“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch.
“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?”
“A bad rom com,”
He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,”
“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,”
He sighs, running fingers through his hair, “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,”
“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,”
“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table.
“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,”
“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,”
“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,”
“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,”
You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,”
And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?”
“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem.
It was unspoken.
Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t.
You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now.
Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever.
Your neck hurts.
The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed.
Or what you thought was your bed.
Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear.
Gojo.
Gojo???
Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears?
You really should have fucking known better.
Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer.
And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh.
Fuck. Your. Life.
He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes.
Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first.
And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?”
“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—”
And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone.
“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur.
“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace.
“What is it?”
“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?”
You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,”
Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan.
Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.
“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,”
“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,”
He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long.
“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Right. Tomorrow. The wedding.
Fuck. You were so screwed.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.
You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress.
Another knock.
“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”
You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?”
Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square.
“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,”
You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,”
“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair.
“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,”
“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?”
“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,”
“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,”
“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks.
“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,”
“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”
You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this.
A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan.
And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over.
“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it.
“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?”
“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips.
“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,”
Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in, “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his.
Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—”
“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?”
Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?”
Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.
“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,”
And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh.
“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”
Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—”
“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips.
“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—”
“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?”
His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“
Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act?
Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins.
And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru.
Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him.
Like it always never was.
The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,”
You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours.
And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—”
“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—”
“My apartment isn’t—”
“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do.
“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away.
“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo, “Gojo, what do you want me to say?”
He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“
The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“
“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head.
“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“
“But what you said—“
“I said what I had to—“
“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room.
“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“
“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?”
“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“
“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,”
“You don’t have to—“
“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,”
“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand.
“Give you what?”
And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“
“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop.
No, it was. It was, right?
“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“
“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“
“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear.
“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,”
Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,”
He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?”
“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“
And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?”
“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you.
“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?”
“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,”
His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone.
His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer.
“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards.
“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,”
“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin.
“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,”
“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.
“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,”
Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”
“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,”
“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.
And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”
“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress.
He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?”
Slap. It’s definitely a slap.
“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest.
“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?”
“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance.
“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you.
“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,”
“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders.
“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away.
“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.”
~~~~
Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name.
“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.
Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side.
And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate.
But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you.
And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —-
And he realized it was you.
“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“
“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?”
“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat.
Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you.
“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?”
Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit.
“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased.
“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,”
“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,”
“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief.
He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit.
His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm.
You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,”
And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds.
“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back.
You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined.
“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,”
And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips.
“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin.
“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,”
And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.”
Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“
“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life.
Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again.
“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off, I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.
He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body.
“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle.
“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,”
“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.
“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—”
“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—”
“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out.
“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face.
“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you.
“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit.
“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours.
He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.”
Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist.
Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips.
Fuck, it was real.
You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake.
But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more.
“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse.
“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?”
“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort.
“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body.
“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,”
You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,”
And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer.
“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?”
“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow.
“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips.
“How about we make breakfast together?”
“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.
“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised.
“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good.
“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”
And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?”
He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,”
You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?”
And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”
He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,”
“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck.
“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,”
“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile.
“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,”
And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?”
“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze.
And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,”
“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.”
You didn’t know what to do with yourself.
Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present.
And you supposed the soul wasn’t present.
You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.
You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you?
You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it.
And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview.
You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture.
Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation.
A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now?
There’s only one person who’d text like that.
Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now?
He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business.
Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly.
You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink.
Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head.
You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you.
But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that.
“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman.
“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets.
“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go.
“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,”
“I was expecting to meet
I suppose we’re on the same page,”
He tilts his head, “Really?”
“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,”
He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,”
She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her.
“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her.
“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?”
She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“
He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you.
Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways.
“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back.
Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen.
You needed to talk to him in person.
And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet.
You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt.
“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,”
“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,”
“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line.
And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,”
“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,”
And he’s blinking, “Why?”
“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—”
“But you didn’t—”
“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,”
“Why do you always push me away when we get close?”
“No I don’t—”
“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?”
“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”
He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,”
You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?”
“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?”
“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“
“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,”
“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?”
He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“
“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“
“But—“
“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?”
And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,”
“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.”
And this time he doesn’t stop you.
It’s for the best.
That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas.
It was for the best.
Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories.
And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them.
Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru.
Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did.
And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing.
Fuck. You were home.
You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye.
Gojo?
You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name.
You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops.
Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address.
Satoru was…getting married?
It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here.
You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove.
You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved.
Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot.
You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors.
You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy.
Even if it wasn’t with you.
So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now.
So you wait.
And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom.
That wasn’t Satoru.
He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding?
And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were.
“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head.
“But you—what?” and his brow furrows.
“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands.
“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.”
He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?”
You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze, “Satoru—”
His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips.
“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—”
And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it.
“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek.
“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,”
And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,”
“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake.
“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,
“Well, you don’t know until you try.”
✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).
✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz
What songs the Haikyuu!! Boys would cry to in the shower at 2am (Karasuno) fluff/crack
CW: Swearing, No angst
A/N: I was trying to find a fitting way to enter into the Haikyuu fanfic community and this seemed most appropriate. This lowkey got deep for daichi. I apologize if any part of this post sounds like one of Noah Centineo’s wannabe inspirational pinterest quote-eque tweets. It also kinda got less in-depth the longer it went on, I've been up for 28 hours going on three hours of sleep please cut me some slack.
Daichi: Daichi is the dad of the team, that being said unlike most dads (in my experience) I don’t think he necessarily tries to hide when he is feeling negative emotions from the team (his kids). He is a wonderful captain and encourages his teammates to express emotion in a healthy way rather either bottle it all up, or overindulge in the negative feelings in the name of “processing”. That being said, I feel as though because he focuses so much on his team and how to help them handle their emotions, he doesn’t really know how to handle his own. I see him as someone who saw a TikTok saying that you can’t cry to medieval tavern music, and that’s now his go to.
Sugawara: Sugawara Koshi, the mom of the Karasuno team. I feel that at this point it’s practically canon that Suga is secretly a certified hoe bad bitch, and so being a bad bitch he 100% watched the Hannah Montana movie and therefore would undoubtedly cry to the song “Climb”. I also see him crying to literally any song on Ariana Grande’s most recent album Positions, specifically “34+35”.
Asahi: Asahi would definitely only cry to actual sad songs, though Asahi could cry to anything cause he’s just a big softy like that, I also feel like he lowkey likes to be sad in a way. Really just likes to sit in the feels and process it ya know? So I would put him down as someone to cry to “You Said You’d Grow Old With Me” by Michael Schulte. I consider Asahi as a person who both really wants to be in a romantic relationship, and genuinely feels happier when he is in one. This leads me to believe that love songs would be his go to for late night cries.
Nishinoya: Noya would, without a doubt in my mind, cry to “That Bitch” by Bea Miller. Noya does a lot to make sure he always looks, acts and feels like the perfect libero. And so even when crying I have the impression that Noya would want to make sure that he knows he is still in fact that bitch.
Tanaka: Tanaka would cry to “Toxic” by Britney Spears (#freebritney). It’s just something about it I don’t know what, call it instinct but I definitely see Tanaka crying to that song. Or him and Noya and Hinata all crying to “Vogue” by Madonna and trying to do the dance to cheer themselves up.
Kageyama: Kags would cry to “She’s So Gone” from Lemonade Mouth. I think he secretly has a real love for every early 2000s-2010s Disney Channel Original Movie, and would keep a playlist just for when he’s feeling down so he can jam out. Would 100% know the whole dance to “We’re All In This Together”.
Hinata: Hinata would cry to “Mad at Disney” by Salem Ilese. This poor baby probably got his heart broken due to him having unrealistically high expectations and would just be pissed off and frustrated at the world.
Tsukishima: Tsukki would cry to “Daddy Issues” by The Neighborhood. He’s got that internalized homophobia (as much as I wish I had a shot with him there is no way he is straight) and distant older brother issue type shit. Also “When You Love Someone” by James TW, once again it’s the distant older brother issues.
Yamaguchi: Yams would cry to “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi. Another sweetie who would just really want to sink into the feels and cry about a relationship he never had. I hc yams as such a sweetheart but like at the same time his best friend is Tsukki so you know if anyone walked in he would wrap that shit right up and put on “thank u, next”.
some of y’all bout to be real mad at me. but it must be said. some of the shit u call corny/cringy is actually just genuine/cute/sweet and y’all r just afraid of expressing any type of positive emotion
Shout out to my Quirky black girls Tall black girls Short black girls Fair skinned black girls Light skinned black girls Dark skinned black girls Fun sized black girls Ivy League black girls Community college black girls Hippie black girls Trans black girls Queer black girls Nerd black girls Alternative black girls Black girls with disabilities Blck girls with mental health issues Indie black girls Afrocentric black girls Curly haired black girls Short haired black girls Long haired black girls Straight haired black girls Black girls with piercings Black girls with colored hair Black girls who love to read Black girls who play instruments Black girls who are scholars Black girls who like ballet Black girls who like to twerk Black girls who like rap Black girls who like art Black girls who like classical music
To all black girls who refuse to be subjected to prejudices and forced into a mold. I love you.
🫂
“Hamas shouldn’t have attacked”
🙃
The Israeli genocide of Palestinians has been ongoing for 70 years.
really enjoying all the videos Muslims have been posting of their cats looking like this
when the humans are up at 4 am for suhoor
if you’re reading this i hope something good happens to you today
-
marvelandlokilover16 liked this · 1 week ago -
livvvv93 liked this · 1 week ago -
sukunahs liked this · 1 week ago -
ronnie777sblog liked this · 2 weeks ago -
grandmontagne liked this · 2 weeks ago -
oliveroliveoil liked this · 2 weeks ago -
sakurapilled liked this · 2 weeks ago -
tillapril liked this · 2 weeks ago -
joviallb reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
sublimetyp liked this · 2 weeks ago -
socio-kai-path1972 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
shephard17895 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
idiotinred liked this · 3 weeks ago -
terizzathegreat liked this · 4 weeks ago -
np-cnpc-npc liked this · 4 weeks ago -
vlad-dracula-tepes liked this · 4 weeks ago -
genba liked this · 4 weeks ago -
deadpoolssidewhore liked this · 1 month ago -
backalleyclubhouses liked this · 1 month ago -
sexys-archives liked this · 1 month ago -
haokanie liked this · 1 month ago -
tt00r liked this · 1 month ago -
rintarou33 liked this · 1 month ago -
unb0und liked this · 1 month ago -
c04ti liked this · 1 month ago -
madelynng134 liked this · 1 month ago -
lunastime liked this · 1 month ago
-
lilyoftheveily liked this · 1 month ago -
sakisworld liked this · 1 month ago -
mrswhitethornbelikov liked this · 1 month ago -
xxcrazysagittariusxx liked this · 1 month ago -
pinkdoughnuts liked this · 1 month ago -
skskskvt liked this · 1 month ago -
sunootzrose liked this · 1 month ago -
starsllight liked this · 1 month ago -
achildofaphrodite liked this · 1 month ago -
adinaaaaa liked this · 1 month ago -
xxnepht4lie liked this · 1 month ago -
sunshineandcrossiants44 liked this · 1 month ago -
yaoi-enthusiasts liked this · 1 month ago -
pousivuitton reblogged this · 1 month ago -
hiccupberries liked this · 1 month ago -
namj00n-ing liked this · 1 month ago -
ghosudesu liked this · 1 month ago -
bakery-angel liked this · 1 month ago -
mmorris1012able liked this · 1 month ago -
dynamitecrackers liked this · 1 month ago -
stodgybadger517 liked this · 1 month ago
20!!! she/her/hers✨I write for Haikyuu when my mental health allows it✨
183 posts