#i loved every bit of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellaarknight · 8 months ago

Text

You need to read this piece. It's absolutely beautiful and complex. Very well written, runs smoothly and the plot is just chef's kiss. Oh my gosh!!!

This fic is absolutely amazing.

❝ 𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN TWO YAKUZA HEIRS ARE FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO MARRY YOU ?? ❞

✧ pairing: yakuza!satoru gojo x f!reader x yakuza!suguru geto

✧ summary: you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, inspired / dialogue / scene concepts taken from the manga “yakuza fiance,” (which the fic is named after), reader's age is ambiguous, but all are 20s+, violence (as expected from mafia / yakuza stories), blood, stsg have tattoos, implied satosugu (just a passing mention of dating briefly), stsg have sadomasochistic tendencies, a little ooc, switch! gojo (very sub gojo), switch! geto, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), double penetration, sex (p in v), creampie, poly relationship implied ending,

✧ wc: 18,476

“I don’t want to marry either of you,”

And your statement is met with confused stares — and normally stares like this wouldn’t be terrifying to the average person, but these were not average men you were dealing with.

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were anything but average — in many ways.

Both were incredibly handsome — Satoru was blessed with a piercing blue gaze of the heavens and snow white locks that could stun any person into silence, and Suguru was no slouch either — with long inky black locks tied into a neat bun and his sharp features and his almost all too alluring smile — the two of them looked like they belonged to a modeling agency. Both were also brilliant, attending one of the best high schools in Tokyo, before going to the best university, leading in their respective specialities (Satoru studying physics, while Suguru chose literature).

And, the two were both the heirs to two of the most dangerous Yakuza families in all of Japan.

But right now, they are your biggest problems, personified.

Their families were both vying for your hand in marriage — thanks to your meddling grandfather who shipped you off to Tokyo to get a would-be Yakuza husband — your yakuza family hoping to broker peace after decades upon decades of fighting with one of the other two biggest yakuza families around — the Gojo and Geto families respectively.

“Excuse me?” Suguru speaks first, a single eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his crisp white button up.

“I’m not here for this yakuza bullshit. I’m trying to live my own life — and I’m not in the mood to get swept along in my grandfather’s wishes for me to get married,” your hand is in your bag, fingers curled around your collapsible metal pole, “and I don’t care to know either of you, I don’t really care to stick around you — especially because all its earned me is the disdain of all the other students who have crushes on you — so how about we simply tolerate each other for this year?”

Satoru whistles, “how disappointing,” his eyes raking over you from head to toe, “you’re worse than your reputation — we heard you were a stuck-up, spoiled rich girl that would do anything to get her way, but turns out you’re just normal,” he sticks out his tongue and makes a gagging noise, “how boring,”

“Truly tiresome,” Suguru hums, his bangs falling in his dark gaze, “I was looking forward to a woman who could match up to us — maybe fuck me up, punish me, and strip away my dignity — type of girl who’d ruin my life, do you understand?”

You stare at him, lips parted, brow furrowed, “What?”

“In other words, we were hoping you were much more interesting than you were — as you are now, you’re just useless,” Satoru sighs dramatically, his pink lips curled in a smile, “bor-inggggg,”

“You might as well go back to Osaka, or wherever it was you came from,” Suguru shrugs, hands in his pockets, as he pulls a cigarette and a lighter, “you could stay, but as it stands, you would be better off back home — maybe it would even start a war — that could be fun, Satoru,” he remarks, his grin growing more sinister by the minute, as he places the cigarette between his lips, and lighting it.

“Let’s actually not be so hasty, Suguru. She could have some use,” he holds out his fingers to frame you between them, “could be worth something if we have her work at one of our families clubs — selling her body. She could make some use for us,” he says cruelly, “Otherwise, go back home, and let them know we’re the ones not interested in you,” he says, brushing past you along with Suguru.

And you couldn’t decide which one of their smiles were the most bone chilling — and why you couldn’t quite find your voice in that moment. And you didn’t — not until you finally reached home, your phone ringing.

“How’s it going, dear granddaughter?” you could hear the grin of the old coot even over the phone — and how could you tell him you wanted to go home now? You had hoped to go there to give two rejections — not earn two of your own. You hoped to stick out the year before leaving this place behind, if only to appease your grandfather.

“I’m fine, but I think…I think I’m homesick,” you sit on the edge of your bed, hunched over, hand holding your head up, propped against your knee.

“Why’s that? Did something happen?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“You’re not coming back home,” and your hopes fall, “one year, you have to stay one year no matter what. Don’t care if you have to fight with every bone in your body and fiber of your being — last a year,”

“But why—”

“Make those boys fall for you, and then break their hearts, heh — your grandfather is a heartbreaker and I know you can do the same,” and you know his lips are curled in a smile not too dissimilar to the two men you met today, “don’t forget where you come from — and what you’re worth,” and he cuts the line, as you stare at your phone, before tossing it away and lying back.

Well, you know what you had to do.

~~~

“Morning,” you know where’d they be — the only free period they had together that they spent in the dining hall with their entourage — including some girls who had been harassing you about how you knew the pair — ones you had suspected in fucking with your locker, smearing mud all over your shoes. A small retaliation for capturing their precious crushes’ attention.

The two heirs only stare for a moment — it had been two weeks since they had seen you, “thought I had gone home?”

“Surprised you didn’t,” Suguru remarks, utterly disinterested from the look in his eyes, despite the smile plastered on his lips, “guess I lost the bet, Satoru,”

You raise an eyebrow at Satoru, “you thought I’d stay?”

“Thought you'd stay to take me up on my offer to sell your body,” he holds out his hand as Suguru slaps a stack of bills in his palm, “did you?”

“I did actually,” your lips curl, as their gazes slide to one another, before you drop a bag on their table, “one kidney, 5,000,000 yen,” and you take delight in the smiles that slide off their expressions, as they stare at you, Satoru looking over the lip of the bag before you knocked it over and let the stacks of money spill over the table, “it took two weeks since it took a while to arrange and recover, but it was well worth it,”

The pair only can stare — expression unreadable and words seemingly stolen from their mouths, as you only smiled down at them, your gaze digging into their faces like daggers.

Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, “How did you—“

“Friend of a friend,” you shrug, “I’ll have to be on a low sodium diet and probably do blood work a little more frequently but you were right about one thing — I was being weak,” you lift up your shirt to show the bandage on your side, their eyes wide, as they can only stare, “I won’t be making that mistake again,”

And you place your foot up on their table, leaning in, as the mask slips from your face, and your anger surges forth, “listen here, you masochistic fuckers, I’m not scared of either one of you. I don’t care if I have to crawl home choking on my own blood, I’ll be sure you’re choking on each other’s as I drag you both to hell. I’m staying here, whether either of you like it or not,”

“You can’t talk to them like that—“ one of the girls pipes up, her lips twisted in a frown.

“I can talk to them however I want - do you know who I am? I come from a family just like there’s but we actually know how to cover up our crimes,” you chuckle, head tilting, “do you know how easy it’d be to get rid of you two?” Your gaze slides to the other girl, “it’d be all too simple — and trust me, I’d get my hands dirty if it’s the two of you,” your lips curl into a wide grin as you add, “after all, you guys did me the favor of dirtying my shoes already,”

And the two blanch white, all indignance replaced with genuine fear — and you had never known someone could look at you as someone to be feared.

And you didn’t know you would like it so much.

You staple the smile on your face again, as the two heirs still sit speechless in their seats, eyes glued to you, “Well that’s all,” you slide back, “I have to head to class—”

But then your wrists are caught — pulling you back, as you find yourself pinned on either side by the two heirs, your body tense, before your gaze slides between them, “What?”

“Marry me,” they both say simultaneously — and you gape at them.

You are pushing them back, palms pressed against their chests, but find yourself met with two immovable objects, instead trying to squirm out of their grips. “What?” And their grips loosen enough for you to take a step back, but their hands remain around your wrists.

“I have to have you,” Suguru presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, dark gaze lidded as he looks up at you, and a shiver climbs up your spine, “I’ve never been so terrified or turned on in my life — it must be love,”

Satoru is the same, mesmerized with eager words, “I want you to do what you promised, Princess — ruin my life,” Satoru’s lips curled in a wide grin, “want you to completely fuck me up, dominate my entire life — and there’s only one way to do that, marry me,”

Suguru only scowls at Satoru, “You know Satoru, it’s very rude to propose after your best friend does,” Suguru’s gaze slides to him, “she’s mine,” and his other hand finds your shoulder, pulling you against his chest, even as you struggle against their grips, “her family reached out to mine first,”

“Fuckers, I swear to god, let me go—“ but they act as if they can’t hear you, a current of possessiveness sweeping their thoughts away.

“So what? Her family decided to ask for my hand — looks like yours wasn’t good enough,” Satoru only grins, pulling you against him instead, his breath warming your flushed skin, as you grimace, “and I’d make her happier than you ever would.”

“Want to take this outside, Satoru?” Suguru’s glare sent chills down your spine, but Satoru’s lips split into a smile so wide, you were afraid his head would crack in two.

“Why? Feeling lonely? Go by yourself,”

And finally you stomp on Satoru’s foot before elbowing Suguru in the stomach, drawing groans from both boys, as you stumble away from them, whirling to face them, “Don’t treat me like your goddamn property or that I’m a prize to be won,” your words slip like venom from your lips, “don’t ever fucking touch me without asking,”

“Of course, we’re sorry,” Suguru only grins after, holding his stomach, but he still looks all too delighted, “you should reprimand us like the scum we are, isn’t that right Satoru?”

Satoru nods, pouting, “Yeah we deserve more of a punishment,” and your skin crawls at their eagerness.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you two, but I don’t want anything to do with it,” you walk away, hiding your dumbstruck expression, but the two only followed you.

“You can’t just walk away from us, you have to decide who you want,” Suguru calls after you, their long strides meant they caught up all too fast, and you’re armed with your collapsible pole now, pointing it at both of them.

“Two minutes ago, both of you thought I was normal and boring,” your eyes narrow — was this another plot to just sell you to some club?

“And I’m sorry about that sweetheart,” Satoru’s arm is around your waist again, while Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, “we were clearly wrong — and you have to take responsibility,”

You stare at them, “for what?”

And he’s leaning to whisper in your ear, “I’m so hard for you right now,” And you’re whirling on them with the pole, but they both expertly dodge your assault, before you’re hurrying away. But they let you go, watching after you with a grin.

“This is going to be fun,” Suguru remarks, looking at his best friend, “I can’t guarantee I won’t kill you for her hand,”

Satoru only smirks in reply, “You stole the words out of my mouth, Suguru.”

~~~

It had been a week — a week of you trying skillfully to evade the two yakuza heirs.

And you had failed. No matter how fast you left your classes, where you hid, where you sat — the two always found you. And now you have resorted to sitting outside to eat your lunch, being careful to avoid any stray glance of your presence. You sat, back against the building, as you held your head, bento box in your lap — how long until they would get the message? How long until they figured out you wanted nothing to do with them?

Your grandpa had told you to make them fall for you, but you didn’t think you had too much more to do with how the two were following you around, dogging your every step.

How would you last another year?

You opened your bento — at least for once, you could enjoy your lunch without one of them—

“There you are,” and your lunch nearly goes tumbling out of your lap, but you grasp it, keeping your food from spilling out of your bento, and you turn to meet the gaze of Suguru, leaning against the windowsill, “you’re a fast one, sweetheart,” his head tilted and lips curled in his signature smile.

“How the fuck did you find me so fast?” you stare at him, brow furrowed, “it’s barely been five minutes, and this campus is huge,”

“It’s the power of love, of course,” you cringe, and he laughs, bringing his knuckles to his lips, “oh rather, it’s the power of the tracking device I slipped in your bag,”

And you blink, “You what?”

He shrugs, “Well how else would I have found you so quickly? I’ll slip it in your shoe next time,” and he sighs, as you dig through your bag, before turning it upside down and letting your things spill out on the grass, “besides, there’s a good reason I’m tracking you,” and you find the tracker before stomping on it, digging your heel into it, crushing it into the dirt, “there’s been a kidnapping of another Yakuza heiress,”

And your eyes flit to him, and he’s still smiling at you, “Who?” you continue to collect your things, shaking out textbooks and examining your things for any other hidden trackers.

“You’ll learn tonight — come to the compound tonight — you’ve been formally invited by both my father and Satoru’s father,” and he’s hopping out of the window, fingers brushing yours as he hands you your pencil case, and he’s all too close now, his warm breath warming your lips.

“And if I refuse?” and his lips curl in a smirk.

“You’d be offending not only my family, but Satoru’s as well—” and he’s rising to his feet, offering you a hand, “and it might end in an all out war, but that would be just fine for us — would it for you?”

You glare at him, taking his hand reluctantly, as he helps you to your feet, and you brush the dirt from your skirt and legs, “Fine, what time?”

“After school, Satoru will be waiting by the gates for you,” he smiles, as he settles next to you, pulling out his own lunch, and you tilt your head, “oh are you curious about me? I have my own business to attend to,”

“Is that what the other bastard is up to?” and he chuckles at that, taking a bite of his food.

“Something like that.”

~~~~

“Took you long enough, pretty,” the Gojo heir’s eyes drag over you like spotlights as he leans against the gate outside, the other students staring as you two speak, whispering as they walk by, slowing down to either catch a longer glance at Satoru or hear a bit of your conversation, “with being so quick to leave for lunch, I thought you’d be just as quick leaving the building,” and he’s offering you a drink from the vending machine that you reluctantly take.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being a spectacle,” you grumble, as you power walk away from the burgeoning traffic jam that Satoru was causing, and he follows behind, “why do they all stare anyway? They know you're a yakuza, don’t they?”

“Part of the draw,” he shrugs, the hiss of his own soda filling the air as he pops it open, “everyone wants what they can’t have, but don’t worry, I only have eyes for you, sweetheart,” you grimace as he sips at his soda, raising an eyebrow, “so what can’t you have?”

You both finally reach the heart of the city, bustling with people left and right — the one thing you couldn’t get used to from the quieter life you led, “Some peace and quiet, apparently,” you adjust your bag on your shoulder in a tighter grip, if only you could lose him in this crowd and be done with all this shit, but it wasn’t that simple, and then it occurs to you, “did you put a tracker on me as well?”

“Nah, I just used Suguru’s,” he smiles, as he downs the rest of his drink with his head thrown back, before crushing the can in his hand and tossing it away in the recycling bin nearby, “plus, I didn’t have time, been busy with other things, unfortunately,”

“What things have you—”

And you’re suddenly tugged into an alleyway, an arm around your neck and a hand clamped over your mouth, “Don’t struggle, it will only make it more difficult for you,” the man whispers in your ear, as another two men draw closer to your sides, “we’ll kill you if you do,”

You can’t scream, but you don’t need to — because the man who grabbed you screams first.

“Who the fuck are—” and he screams, his hands slipping from your side, the thump of his body against the pavement making you flinch, as you slowly turn to find Gojo, as he only glares at the other men, before his gaze slides to you, softening with a smile.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, come here,” and you swallow, before taking shaky steps to his side, and he’s pulling you behind him, “wait here,”

It happens far too quickly.

Or maybe it’s just a blur now. Because now he’s beaten the three men into submission, their scarlet blood splattering against his uniform, the wet squelch of their flesh as he punches and kicks them, his shoe digging into their sides. He winds his fist back again.

“That’s enough,” you say hoarsely, swallowing thickly, “they’re barely alive,”

“More than they deserve,” he mutters, before sighing and grabbing one by his shirt, fabric straining against the dead weight of the man, and pulls him close, his hand connecting with his face as he slaps him awake, “You hear me? Listen,” he shakes him, until the man’s eyes blink open, bleary, “You see me? Don’t forget my face. You touch her again — and it’s the last thing you’ll see before the afterlife, got that?”

“Yes,” the man slurs.

“That’s my girl,” he jerks his head at you, “she’s mine and if you or any of your stupid friends or family see her, don’t talk or touch her, much less even look at her,” and his lips curl again, “or I promise my family and the Geto family will slaughter you — until there’s nothing left.” and he drops the man onto the ground, “let’s go,” he mutters, shaking the blood off his knuckles, before using the inside of his uniform jacket to wipe the rest off.

“Your uniform, it's—” and he glances at the blood seeping into the fabric of his jacket and crisp shirt, and you’re digging through your bag, “I have my hand towel and some—” and he’s shaking his head.

“I have a sweatshirt I can wear in my bag,” and he’s tugging off his uniform jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, and you can’t look away fast enough — not before seeing the tattoo littering his back.

A large lion against his back, seemingly roaring, against a backdrop of bamboo, stared back at you, as your breath catches in your throat — he wasn’t just a spoiled heir, he was a real yakuza. And what he did to those men — his eyes met yours again, as he tugged the sweatshirt on, lips still in that ridiculous smile — it was likely the least of what he could really do to them.

“Oh, sorry, guess I never told ya,” he pulls the orange sweatshirt down, pulling a pair of sunglasses on, and your horrified expression in the circular black rims stare back at you, “sorry for scaring you, sweetheart,”

“You’re really—” you cut off, heart caught in your throat. Yeah, you had spent too much of your life surrounded by men covered in tattoos, but these two — their auras — were on another level that was simply — terrifying.

“A yakuza?” he finishes, peering at you over the rim of his sunglasses, “Surprised it took you this long to figure out — thought you had that pieced together a while ago — what? I assume your family shielded you from that kind of violence — probably had guards on you 24/7 so no one would mess with you. Well you aren’t in Osaka anymore,” his fingers intertwined with yours, his larger hand engulfing yours as he tugs you along away from the alley, the faint groans of the men disappearing into the ambient noise of the city, “Stay close, princess.”

And you flushed, biting your lip. There was a lot you didn’t know, but you knew you better learn — you spare one glance back at the alley — and quick.

~~~

You both arrive back to the compound, as you’re funneled into a room, you get a glimpse of Suguru in an adjacent hallway, his clothes as bloodied as Satoru’s was, if not more. His dark eyes catch yours and his lips curl, as he holds his hand up as a greeting, mouthing, “Yo,”

You’re shepherded away to sit, and soon enough, Satoru and Suguru join you, as you fidget in the middle of the room, the three of you sit on cushions, while another cushion directly in front of you. Your fingers can't help but toy with the ribbon on the front of your uniform — what if this was just a ruse to sell you off? Maybe they even found out about you selling your kidney? Anxiety swirled in your mind, dragging down your body to even the tips of your toes, your body buzzing and stinging with thoughts.

“This really is just a talk to discuss the missing Yakuza heiress,” Suguru cuts through your thoughts, as you stare at him, slack jawed, and he only shrugs, leaning back against his hands flat on the floor, “you’re not hard to read, sweetheart,”

“Besides, if we wanted to kill you, why not let you die in that alleyway?” Satoru chimes in, ever so helpful, as you glare at him, before his gaze slides to Suguru, “did you take care of that like I asked, Suguru?” and he nods, and before you can ask a question, the door slides open.

Instead of the heads of the household, a yakuza comes in, sunglasses stare back at you, his dark brown hair slicked back, shaved on the sides of his head, as he stared down at the three of you, “The heads won’t be able to make it to this meeting — something has come up,”

“Yaga, good to see you,” Suguru chirps, while Satoru only sighs, hands behind his head.

“Glad to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed since you’ve been away, old man—“ and Satoru earns a fist to his head, “ow!”

“Keep it up and you’ll get something worse than a whack to the head,” Yaga grumbles, taking his seat, “you must be the girl,” he eyes you up and down, “I’ll get straight to the point — the Akazawa heiress is missing. She’s assumed to be kidnapped,” he hands you a photo of her — shoulder length black hair, her eyes look past the camera, her head tilted downwards, but her hazel eyes pierce through the picture.

“How long has she been gone?” Suguru asks, “any chance that she just ran off?”

“There’s a chance she’s been sold off for a couple hundred thou,” Satoru remarks, crossing his arms, “people would pay a premium for a yakuza heiress,” and his eyes slide to you, and you glare back.

“We don’t know — maybe she ran off, maybe she’s been sold, maybe there’ll be a ransom coming in at one point or another, or maybe she’s dead—” and you bite your lip, “but we can’t take the risk, especially since we have a similar heiress under our care now,” Yaga says, crossing his arms with a hefty sigh, “that being said, you’ll be staying at the compound until further notice— your things have already been brought here,“ you gape at him, mouth nearly hanging open, “and you’ll have Satoru or Suguru with you at all times — their schedules have been rearranged to have class with you,”

“But—“ and Yaga shoots a look at you that silences your protests.

“These orders came from the three heads, including your grandfather, would you like to defy them?” And your mouth clamps shut, your head falling.

“No, sir,” Yaga rises, leaving, but not before ordering the two heirs to show you where you’ll be staying, “and any real threats to you appear, and your classes will be made online and you will remain under guard in the compound,” Yaga adds before disappearing behind another door.

“It won’t be that bad, Princess,” Suguru grins, as they walk you to your room, “now we can really get to know each other before we’re married,”

“Don’t you mean before we’re married?” Satoru says, as Suguru only smiles back at him.

“I would rather not marry you, Satoru, dating you for a week was enough—“ and Satoru opens his mouth to reply.

“I’m not marrying either of you,” you rub your head, feeling the beginnings of a headache creeping on your temples — you barely could make it through the day with enduring the amount of insanity these two already inflicted, you were sure you’d murder one or both of them if you had to spend 24/7 with them, “we should be keeping a low profile from now on, not going out—”

“Except for the dates we have planned,” Satoru says, offering you the key to your room, and you unlock the door, stepping inside.

“Especially not for those.” And you slam the door shut and lock it.

Your eyes take in the boxes that surround you, full of the things from your apartment, and sigh.

Fuck, this really was your life now, wasn’t it?

~~~

“Why are you staring at me?” you can’t ignore Suguru’s stare in the subway, even when you refuse to meet it. The light from the windows flooded into the subway, flickering as the carts sped by, as the two of you hung onto the grab handles. Your usual peaceful ride to university was now impeded by Suguru who stood by your side, his eyes seemingly glued to you.

“I see that your left side is slower to respond than your right,” and you shift under his gaze, “that’s why your bag is always on your left side, so you can spot a threat easier and have a stronger grip, smart,”

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you figure that out?”

He shrugs, “From observation — I also move a little slower on my left — I even blink slower,” and you face him, staring into his eyes, trying to notice any difference between the two eyes. The only thing you could see is how pretty they really were — dark and lidded, not as bright or striking as Satoru’s, but just as mysterious.

“I can’t tell,” you tilt your head, and he only smiles.

“There isn’t a difference, but I got you to stare into my eyes, didn’t I?” and you glower at him, your remark cut off by the influx of people flooding into the cart. Fuck, you never had seen it this full before. You forced yourself not to cringe under the tight quarters — you could handle this, it wasn’t a big deal, even as the people sandwiched themselves all around you, anxiety biting at your nerves. And then you’re knocked around by the crowd as the cart jerks, but then, Suguru is pulling you lightly so your back is pressed against a wall and he’s caging you in, his body protecting you.

Your breath catches — he’s so close, “You don’t have to—” and your gazes meet again, your breath catching, your bag caught between your bodies. He’s nearly pressed against you, the heat from his form seeps into your own. And he smells good, despite the sticky heat of the summer lingering — something musky but sharp at the same time — what was that scent?

“You seemed uncomfortable,” he says, his hand holding onto the grab handle above, “this seemed like the easiest solution, especially so I can protect you — it would be much easier to shield you with my body this way,”

“Shut up,” you grumble, as he chuckles, before you’re sighing, “I’m not used to taking the subway — I used to have a car that took me back and forth,” you chew your lip, “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t take care of myself,”

“Makes sense to have you driven — as a yakuza heiress, they wanted precautions,” Suguru nods, his eyes sliding around the cart, “you never know,”

“Is that why your eyes keep scanning the subway cart?” you raise an eyebrow.

And his lips curl, “I did say I’d protect you with my life, didn’t I?”

“Did you mean that?”

A chuckle escaped his lips, a noise that makes your breath catch, as the cart jerks again, pressing you both even closer, “I never say anything that I don’t mean, princess.”

~~~

“Is following me around really necessary even after classes?” you hadn’t bothered to pull your usual disappearing act — it was counterproductive in multiple ways (the first being that either of them would find you and the second being you had to be glued to one of their sides at all times), “it’s not like someone is going jump from the shadows and kidnap me on campus.”

“You don’t know that for sure, do you, princess?” Satoru drawls lazily, as he twirls his dinner knife around his fingers with a skill that said he’d done it a million times before — probably instead of doing the thing he was supposed to be doing, “a man comes up behind you while you’re studying or shopping, presses a weapon or gun to your side, just out of view, and he’s got the perfect hostage,”

You raise an eyebrow, “You sound like you’ve done it before,” and the knife stops between his middle finger and pointer, the tip pointed at you, as he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Don’t get jealous, sweetheart, you’re the only girl I’d want to kidnap,” he leans forward and swipes a mochi from your plate — even though he had already ate his own — and you scoff, as you turn your attention back to your neglected dessert, choosing to use your brain cells to focus on your food instead of this psycho.

“How lucky,” you mutter, as you stab your remaining mochi instead of your escort, “do the two of you have to take shifts like this? I’m surprised the two of you aren’t glued to my sides 24/7 together,”

“We thought it was only fair the two of us split our time — and as much as I’d like to spend each and every hour with you, we both unfortunately have other responsibilities to tend to,” and he takes a bite of the mochi, “plus, this way, we get to spend time with you alone without the other interfering, and trust me, if I saw you with Suguru,” his lips curl, “I’d interfere,”

“Well you don’t have to be worried about that, because I don’t plan on being with either one of you,” you reply, “I’m here to finish school and go home as soon as I can,”

“You won’t be saying that once I make you fall for me,”

You get to your feet, as you pull out your wallet — but Satoru waves you off, already pulling out his card for the waiter, “You’d have a better chance making me fall for you if you tripped me,” you roll your eyes, as you round the booth, and quick as a light, you trip right into his arms, your body bumping against his chest as his arms steady you. A hand tilts your face up to meet cerulean eyes filled with mirth, “did you trip—”

And then you spot the chair leg you had tripped over oh-so-gratefully, “I don’t need to resort to those measures to make you fall for me, princess,” his finger traces your jaw with a featherlight touch, “I have plenty of other ways to do that,”

You get to your feet properly and shove him away, as he chuckled, as you rolled your eyes, “Maybe in your twisted dreams, but—” And Satoru is tugging you away from the booth — a tight arm around you waist, as you stammer, “what the fuck are you—”

“Guy’s been following you — just spotted him from a distance,” he murmurs, and your shoulders tense, resisting the urge to look back, “just keep walking with me, don’t worry,” his arm gently squeezed you, “won’t let anything happen to you, princess,”

“Don’t call me that,” you murmur, as he leads you back inside the closest building, “where are we—” and he’s pulling out his phone, texting several people.

“Getting us a ride in case I need to get you to safety, and letting Suguru know of the situation,” he offers you a small grin, “I could send you back, but that would be that and you will be on lockdown. Things might be getting a little more interesting from here — so it’s your choice, will you stay or go?”

You considered your choices — you could run away from this, go back to the compound, but going back was a guarantee that you would be stuck 24/7 in the compound and stuck there for the remainder of your time here. And these two would take full advantage of that. Plus, your mind wandered to the girl who had been taken — you wanted to know more about what happened to her and why you were being targeted next.

“Let’s go,” and his lips curl. The two of you round several street corners, Satoru’s arm remains tight around your waist, as he leads to a more and more secluded corner of the city, “is this the right move?” your hand wanders into your pocket, fingers around your collapsible pole.

He sighs dramatically, “Do you have such little faith in me, sweetheart?”

“Considering the two of you are insane, yes, I do,” and he clicks his tongue at you, “where—”

And someone punches you, fist connecting with your left cheek as you stumble sideways into the wall of a nearby building. You hear the cock of a gun, your eyes catch sight of the weapon pointed at Satoru. You caught a glimpse as your eyes flicker open, several men stand behind him, all bearing weapons of some sort.

Your ears ring, as you clutch at your head, as you struggle to get your balance, your vision in your left eye blurry from the impact, “Come with me, and your girlfriend won’t have to watch you die,” you feel something warm run down your nose, and you touch it — scarlet stains your fingers.

Fuck.

Your eyes flicker back to where Satoru stands, eyes flickering to you, a shiver running down your spine at his hard gaze — not a hint of euphoria left — his lips a thin line, and his fists clenched, “I’ll fucking kill you,” his words leave in a whispered hiss, and quick as lightning, the gun is knocked from his fingers, and Satoru’s got him pinned down, fist winding back to punch his head in. The other men don’t hesitate to join the fray, just as Satoru doesn’t hesitate to take them down, blood spilling from their bodies as they fall one by one.

You said you would be stronger — that you wouldn’t let this happen again. You weren’t some person who needed to be sheltered away. Your fingers clutched at the pole in your pocket, pulling it out, as you slowly uncollapsed it — you were a yakuza heir, just as much as these two were.

One of them got up to shaky feet, lifting up his knife to stab Satoru from behind, “DIE!” and you slam into his side, hitting over the head with the pole — a grisly crack as the pole nearly snaps against his skull.

“Fuck off and die!” the words leave your lips as you taste your own blood dripping from your nose. And you can feel Satoru turn to see you, eyes wide as he stares — your words burn as much as your head hurts, as you wipe the blood from your nose.

And the men are all down now, as Satoru walks over to you, and his fingers reach gently for your face, as he examines the blood dripping, “it’s just a nosebleed,” you say, and his gaze softens ever so slightly, before darkening, as a groan comes from the man that punched you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your heart flutters at his gentle touch, the calluses of his fingers against your cheek, as he pulls tissues from his pocket to wipe the blood from your nose.

And his eyes linger on your face for a moment, before he turns to the culprit, fingers clenched tightly around the napkin soaked in your blood.

He drags the man up by the collar, shaking him, a gurgled groan leaving his bloody lips, “You might want to go, sweetheart — I have to make sure I let this one die for ever laying a hand on my woman—“ and you clasp your hand on his shoulder, shaking your head.

“He’s half dead already — you don’t need to finish the job,” and he pouts, shaking the man again for good measure.

“You said he should die—“

You shrug, “People like this aren’t worth the trouble of killing. And you don’t need more problems on your hands — so if you’re doing this for me, don’t bother. Let’s just go,”

And you see his lips slowly curl into a grin, as he pulls you into a hug, arms around you waist, as he runs his fingers through your hair gingerly, “I didn’t realize you cared, sweetheart,” and you frown, “don’t want me getting in more trouble, huh? If it’s for you, I’ll oblige, but you owe me one,” and his fingers slide under your chin.

“Oi, is the party over without me?” A familiar voice calls, Suguru walks over, several other Yakuza in tow, his sleeves rolled up, as he takes a once over of the situation, seemingly uninterested in the scum, his eyes falling on you and Satoru, lingering on the blood that still was trickling from your nose. His eyes narrowed, “which one—”

“It’s already taken care of, Suguru,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, “but for your information,” he kicks the one who had punched you in his side, forcing him to roll over, a slight groan escaping his lips, “that’s the one who hurt her,”

Suguru nodded, stepping over the bodies as if it was nothing more than a spill that had been yet to be cleaned up, as his hand brushes over your chin softly, drawing close, a sharp gasp leaving your lips when his fingers decide to travel to your nose, “It’s not broken, just bleeding, but I should still get her checked out at the compound,”

“You?” Satoru furrows his brow, “you’re going to leave me—”

“To clean up your own mess? Yes, I am,” Suguru smiles, “because it’s my turn to keep watch,” as he shows his watch, already well past midnight, “and I should be getting her back to the compound,” the two glare at each other, a tension settling over the scene that you were far too done with.

You sigh, stepping past both of them, walking over the bodies splayed out on the floor, “Let me know when you both decide,” you yawn, hands in your pockets now, “I need sleep,” and Suguru follows behind, and you don’t see him turn to smirk at Satoru.

~~~~

You swore someone was watching you.

A presence loomed over you, hovering slightly, as you shifted in your sleep, a sigh parting your lips as you turned, still caught between in realms of deep sleep as you drifted in and out, eyes fluttering open a moment, and caught sight of a shadow.

No, it was nothing. It was nothing. And then you’d wake to sunlight filtering through your windows, eyes fluttering open, but you would still wake with the lingering touch of someone else against your face.

But each morning you’d check the locks, and it would be locked, with no signs of tampering — and you’d be left wondering if it was a dream or not.

It had been like this for the last week — you’d sense a presence, for a split second of what you thought was consciousness, and then it would be morning again.

And finally, you decided to stay awake, a knife you had pilfered away from the kitchen under your pillow. You let your eyes drift shut, drifting in and out of a half sleep, until you hear it.

The slow slide of the door opening, and the soft close of the door behind. The person takes nearly soundless steps towards you, before leaning above you and you feel the faint brush of hair against your skin, before leaning back with a quiet sigh.

Suguru?

And his fingers slide through your hair softly. He watches over you, quietly, until you turn to face him, eyes open.

“You know it’s really creepy to break into a woman’s room in the middle of the night,” and Suguru blinks, before his lips curl in a small smirk, “and it’s even weirder when you just sit there to watch her sleep,”

“Just trying to make sure you’re safe, sweetheart,”

“In a locked room?” And he shrugs.

“I broke in easily,” and you scoff, as he rakes his own fingers through his hair, “who else would keep an eye on you?”

You sit up, crossing your arms, “Surprised you and Satoru aren’t in here,”

“We take turns,” and you stare at him, as he leans back against the wall, “all we do is keep watch princess — would you have let us in otherwise?”

You open and shut your mouth, before you find words again amidst the haze of frustration, “I’m not so fucking helpless that you both need to sit here and watch me sleep,”

“We have been doing this since the threats began nearly and you only noticed recently,” he points out, his eyes catching the faint light of the moon, as cautious and patient as Suguru was — his expression as indiscernible as a new moon was, “and it’s only because Satoru had gotten sloppy,” he shrugs.

You rub at your temples, “you’re not the only one who is a yakuza—“

Suguru tilts his head, “Princess, you don’t know what it means to be one — not even your fingers have never been bloodied, and it should stay that way—“

Your fingers close around the handle of the knife as you lunge at him — you snapped. You were tired — tired of the men in your life running your life — your grandfather, these yakuza heads, and these two idiots — all of them treating you as if you were spineless.

And you weren’t.

His hand darts out — and it happens quickly. The knife clatters against the hardwood, and he’s pinned you underneath him.

You glare, embarrassment licks at your cheeks like flames — you had placed your fingers on the stovetop and what were you expecting other than to get burned? You can’t meet his gaze, and you’re expecting another lecture or sanctimonious attitude, but instead, his fingers skim your cheek, “You should pick your battles wisely, sweetheart — because not all of them will let you off the hook,” and he leans close, breath warming your lips, as your eyes can’t help but squeeze shut.

Only to wince after a sharp flick to your forehead.

And his weight leaves you at once, your head turning to find him examining the knife you had stolen, “You should also choose a better weapon than a kitchen knife — especially one as dull as this one,”

You scowl at him, “Well, how else will I defend myself?”

And he smiles, shrugging, “Isn’t it simple? Use the weapons already at your disposal,”

Your brow knots together, “What weapons?” And his hand is sliding the door open, as he casts one more glance over his shoulder, lips curled in that insufferable smile.

“The ones sworn to you.”

~~~~

“You’re staying home tomorrow from class,” the thermometer is plucked from between your lips, the white haired yakuza scrutinizing your room, cerulean eyes catching the pile of tissues you had failed to stuff properly in your trash bin, “how long have you had this, Princess?”

You lay bedridden and pouting as you draw the covers over your face — you had not been feeling well this whole weekend, but you developed a fever last night. You thought it would be gone by the morning, “Just since this morning,” and he’s tugging the covers away, his brow wrinkled, and then you see it, bandages on his forehead, “when did you get hit on the head?”

And he blink, fingers running through his hair, “This? It’s nothing,” and you raise an eyebrow, “if you must know, it’s just my punishment for taking you into the thick of things the other day,”

Your brow wrinkles, “Who—“

He waves you off, “It’s not important — the important thing is that you get better — can’t have my future wife succumbing to the flu, now can I?” And you scoff.

“I’m not your future wife,” you mumble, and you hear a small chuckle from him. And then your muscles begin to grow heavy, eyelids fluttering shut under the weight of exhaustion, and your skin feeling far too cold for your burning insides, “Gojo, I’m not—“

And you slip into darkness.

You can feel the world around you move, the sounds of wind brushing against your skin, and the flicker of lights in your eyes. Your lips part, a desert inside your mouth with no oasis in sight, “where—“

A voice quietly shushes you, fingers raking through your hair gently, lulling you back to sleep. Was it your grandfather? No, he never coddled you like this. Not even he had his yakuza to look after. You were expected to care for yourself —- you couldn’t show weakness.

Not as an heir — even if you were just a kid.

And when you do wake for a moment, it’s with some prodding, a voice whispering for you to open your mouth at the press of a medicine cap to your lips, and your eyes flutter open to catch a glimpse of blue eyes — so you do, swallowing it with water.

You fall into the arms of sleep again, only waking to your head slightly aching, and a distinct void in your stomach. You reach around blindly for your phone, and find that it’s still Sunday, nearly the evening. Your eyes adjust as your gaze spots the last glimmers of the sunset in the window.

How long have you slept? Like four hours? You sighed, slumping back into bed, as you stretched. Your fingers pressed to your forehead, still a slight fever, but it was definitely lower. Maybe you could sleep for a bit longer, and you turn on your side only to find a familiar, not-so familiar sight. Your lips can’t help but curl a little. Again there is someone in your room, but instead as your eyes flutter open you see that Satoru has dozed off.

You hold back a chuckle, as you slowly get up, drawing a little closer. His head was against the wall, slightly tilted, soft breaths leaving his lips, arms crossed. He had a prescription medicine next to him along with a water bottle. Your fingers reach for the medicine, and you glance it over — seeing that it was prescribed earlier today for you.

Your brows knit together, when did you—and then it comes back to you slowly — the lights, the sound of wind and cars — he drove you to a hospital. And his shoulder starts to slip

And then you reach for him, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

That’s when he grabs you — his eyes fly open, as he grabs you by the wrist, pulling you close, his hard topaz gaze cuts through you, until it slowly fills with recognition. His fingers digging into your wrist loosen ever so slightly, as he blinks.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” but his fingers don’t leave your wrist, “are you feeling better?”

“I am,” you admit, as his other hand reaches up to brush against your forehead and then neck, sending hest crawling up your skin for a different reason.

“Looks like the medicine worked,” he sighs, leaning back, “guess I can scratch beating up that doctor off my list,” and you furrow your brow, “it was a joke, Princess,”

“Why did you take me?” You asked and he tilted his head, “I mean you could have had me looked at here, so why did you—“

“As much as my father pays for these services, they don’t work weekends, usually — we do have an on-call physician, but,” he shrugs, as his thumb brushed back and forth against your wrist, right where your pulse was, “I didn’t want to wait,”

And your eyes slide to the bandages around his head, “but you couldn’t get that checked out?”

“Worried about me? I’m touched, Princess,” and your fingers reach for the bandages and brush against his locks, “hey, you—“

“It’s coming loose,” you lean over and slide your hands until you find where it’s coming undone and tie it tighter, fingers brushing against his soft locks — noting the undercut you hadn’t noticed before, “there,”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as your eyes meet his and your breath catches, your face an inch or two from his. And he looks different in the dark of the room, illuminated by the last vestiges of sun that were quickly fading into the night — softer.

“Why did you take care of me?” And he blinks a moment, taken aback and he tilts his head, “someone else could have—“

“I wanted to,” he cuts you off gently, “why would I let someone else do it when I could? It was the least I could do,” and it was your turn to tilt your head, as he adds in a whisper, “I let you get hurt. I should have sent you home,”

“If you had tried, I would have stayed anyway,” and he chuckles.

“I know,” he murmurs, “and I know what it’s like to tough through things as if you’re invincible — as if nothing can touch you — and it’s only a matter of time until it does,” and your fingers brush against the bandages on his head, as you dare closer, less than a breath away.

“Maybe I should make you take your own advice,” you whisper, and his lips quirk upwards in a smirk.

“I’d love to see you try, Princess,” he adds with a grin, “you know I’d love to submit to you anyti—“

And you swallow the rest of his sentence with your lips, a chaste brush that leaves your entire body burning for more — a spark to kindling that you told yourself you wouldn’t start. But, your lips part his to see his soft gaze meeting your own, before finding your lips again, how could you not?

“I’m going to get you sick,” you manage between kisses, lips meeting and parting, as he chuckles against you, a vibration sending a shiver that definitely wasn’t from your fever.

“You’re worth it, Princess,” but he kisses you one last time, noses brushing, before your stomach rumbles loudly in the relative silence of both of your soft pants. You flush, and he can’t hold back his laugh, as you smack his shoulder.

“Shut up, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, thanks to someone,” and he’s still laughing as you try to smack him again, but he catches you by the wrist.

“Don’t forget, I really like it when you punish me,” his lips press to your wrist, your breath catching for a moment before you hit him again on the chest regardless. And he laughs, leaning on his hand, “oh what will I do with you, sweetheart?”

You scowl at him, rolling your eyes, “You can start by getting me dinner,” you grumble, and he repents, getting to his feet, “Satoru?” And he pauses, eyes flickering back, “thank you,” you manage, biting your lip all the whole, unable to meet his eyes or see the smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Princess.”

~~~~

You hadn’t seen Suguru or Satoru all week.

Once a sought after rarity l, but now a foreboding concern. Satoru had been away on business — you didn’t care to know what, but you knew he’d come back only more clingy than ever. You chewed on your lip — especially after the kiss.

Fuck. You kissed Satoru, you buried your face in your hands, what the fuck were you doing? Could you use the excuse that your fever had rendered you momentarily insane? No, Satoru would only crack a joke saying that he’s crazy for you too.

What was your plan? You were only trying to bide your time for a year — not become further entangled

You lay back on your bed, as you scroll through your phone — but Suguru was a different story. You heard from Satoru that he had returned. Yet now there was some random yakuza checking in each hour — and even worse, keeping you confined to the compound.

And a small part of you did worry for them as you tossed your phone aside — those fools may have death wishes but that didn’t mean you wished the same.

You leave your room, sighing as you explore the compound. You had done your fair share of exploring, but you had never wandered into Suguru or Satoru’s quarters. You had been told by each of them where their rooms were, only for you to glare at them for providing you the implication. But now…maybe it was useful.

You walked through the halls — seemed like most people were away at the moment. When Satoru had captured those people who had attacked you both, there was information learned about who was targeting you and of where that girl who was taken could possibly be. But it’s not like you were able to find that information out — unless you went looking yourself.

Satoru and Suguru’s rooms were close to each other’s — but Satoru’s room was locked, as you tugged at the door to no avail. You glared at the handle as if it was the white haired idiot itself, before turning to Suguru’s door.

You pressed your ear to the door, it was silent, not a single noise inside. You pull at the door and it opens. You step inside — the room is neat, a desk in the corner, along with a bed on the opposite side, but not much else. There were a few other things — a dresser with a few containers tucked beside it and a small bookcase against the wall near the desk lined with books on each shelf.

It wasn’t what you expected — though you didn’t know what to expect. You stepped into the room, glancing around, as you approached the desk first. You rifle through the papers, finding nothing relevant — only papers from class and a few scattered notes that had nothing but addresses and initials scribbled.

And then the door opens, you freeze, before you slowly turn to see Suguru, his clothes tattered, blood dripping from his arms and soaked through his white button up. His gaze is dark and heavy, until he finds your eyes, his brow wrinkled.

“What are you doing?” no ‘sweetheart’ or ‘Princess’ — just a question.

“I was looking—“ but you bite your lips, as you watch his shoulders slump, “what happened—“

And he draws closer, as you slowly take steps back, until he’s looming over you, his arm pressed above you, “Princess, you shouldn’t get involved in these things, unless you want to end up like this,” and the smell of death rolls off of him, the heaviness of his gaze could drag you down to the depths of hell — but you didn’t care.

“Sit down,” and he blinks, before you’re pressing him onto the bed, “I’m going to get a first aid kit and some bandages,”

“Sweetheart—“ but you’re already out of the room, returning with a first aid kit and bandages, “where did you—“

“Well after that first time Satoru and I got jumped by those people, I figured it would be good to stock up on things,” you pull out scissors and tape, and you dampen a washcloth you had stored in the kit with a water bottle you had grabbed. “Take off your shirt,” he hesitates, “getting shy?”

Suguru’s lips curl, before he sighs, unbuttoning his shirt, “You know I rather you hurt me than take care of me,” and you scoff, as you busy yourself with preparing the materials to tend to him.

“Well it looks like someone else already did that for you,” and your eyes meet with his bare chest, the red and black ink of his tattoos encroached onto his shoulders, but more than that — bruises bloomed on different parts of his body, scars from old wounds of various ages littered his skin, and dried and fresh scarlet clung to his skin from fresh cuts.

You take the washcloth, slowly starting to run it over his body, the white cloth marred with his blood, he doesn’t flinch even as it cleans his cuts or wounds.

“Why are you doing this?” And your eyes meet his, his amethyst eyes cut through you.

“Because you’re hurt,”

“Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean you have to help,” you sigh, as you urge him to turn so you can clean his back next, the sight of his tattoo on his back unsurprising now as you continue to clean it.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to either,” he gives a soft chuckle, “what’s your goal here sweetheart?” You urge him to turn again, as you begin to clean the blood from his arms.

“Do I need to have a goal?” And he turns to face you, leaning even closer, as his black locks fall in his eyes.

“Everyone has one — didn’t you have one for coming in here?” And your hesitation is all the answers he needs, “curious about what’s going on with those people after you, huh?”

There wasn’t any use lying now, “Wouldn’t you be?”

“I would be, but I wouldn’t get caught, now would I?” and you scoff, as his lips curl, “we have been tracking the group that we suspect has the heiress, and we have been interrogating the people that you and Satoru secured,” ‘secured’ — more like nearly murdered by the way Satoru acted.

“And where were you?”

He sighed, “Dealing with some loose ends — and some other business that my father had me deal with,” and he adds, “I had to make sure a message got out — so no one would ever attack you like that again,”

And why does your heart squeeze at the thought, “Why are you so willing to tell me?” And your hands begin to clean and wipe his palms. And you set the washcloth down, beginning to bandage some of the larger cuts and wounds, and his fingers intertwined with yours, as you glance up.

“Because you deserve the truth,” he shrugs, “and even if I lie, you’ll figure it out, so why not tell you to begin with?” And he leans even closer, fingers skimming your cheek, “plus I don’t keep secrets from my future wife,”

“I’m not marrying you,” but you don’t pull away, as he’s even closer now.

“Well, you said never before — and I’ve worn you down to a ‘not’ — it’s only a matter of time,” and his words make you want you to pull away, to scoff at his words and leave, but you don’t.

Why can’t you?

“And I thought Satoru was the one full of himself—“ and his lips find yours, his kiss was more insistent, his fingers find your jaw, featherlight before it finds purchase on the back of your neck. You could taste the faint taste of blood, lingering on his lips,

“And you also thought Satoru was a good kisser,” he smirks, as his lips ghost down your jaw, nose brushing against your cheek, as you pause — how did he— “well now you know what a good kisser is actually like,”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, he tilts his head, his thumb cupping your chin, and your lips find the other’s, his forehead pressed to yours. Then his phone rings, and the moment’s broken. He pulls away just as fast, as he turns to answer his phone, “Hello?” he listens, a man’s voice on the other end, “I understand, okay.” and the call ends, as he offers a smile to you, “I have to deal with some business, but I’ll be back later. And then it looks like I’ll be your escort while Satoru is away.”

“What business—” but he’s brushing past you, going to his wardrobe to grab a fresh shirt, buttoning it swiftly, before pulling on another jacket, as he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.

“You know better than to ask me that,”

“But you said you would be honest,” and he shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his lips, as he heads out of the room.

“I didn’t say when.”

~~~~

“We have to tell her,” Satoru stood, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall of the compound. Suguru clicks his lighter again, flicking it on and off — he had quit a few months ago when you had told him that you hated the smell. And he didn’t miss it, but he still carried the lighter — old habits die hard, “the pictures we got — they are getting better at tracking her without us noticing. And these other fires we’re being sent out to deal with — it’s leaving us with less time to protect her,”

“Do you have to?” Suguru asked, flicking his lighter closer, the silver outside glinting in the low light of the moon, “isn’t it safer for her to stay in the dark for now?”

“Staying in the dark doesn’t mean she won’t put herself in danger one way or another without us knowing,” Satoru shrugs, “she said even if I had sent her home that day that those men were after her, she would have came after me,”

Suguru gives a terse chuckle, “I don’t doubt that she would,” he sighs, gaze towards the inky darkness of the sky, dotted with faint stars that he couldn’t see but knew were there — just as these threats were, “if she found out that her grandfather was threatened too? There’s no way she would wait,”

“So what do we do?” Satoru scratched the back of his head, “we could send her back home — she might be safer there than here,”

“Her grandfather told us—“

“I know, but what choice do we have, Suguru?” he sighs, and Suguru can’t help but quirk his lips.

“You know if we do this, we may have to fight her grandfather to stay engaged with her,” And Satoru smiles, shrugging.

“I know, but we can handle it, can’t we?” Satoru leans back, “we’ll just have to fight him on it. Why? Are you afraid?”

Suguru gives a short chuckle, “Since when have you known me to be afraid of anything?” And he turns his gaze towards the door, “so when should we tell her?”

But they don’t notice that you’re pressed against the door, your fists clenched. And they were right about one thing — you wouldn’t wait.

~~~~

CRACK!

Fuck, your eyes burned as you tried to open them, the sharp pain in the back of your head radiating all over, as your eyelids refused to open. What happened? You tried to hold your head, only to have your wrists strain against something rough — rope? The fibers dig into your wrists as you try to stand, only to find them bound to something else.

“Finally awake?” it was a woman’s voice — and your eyes still can’t quite open — fuck, this wasn’t part of your plan, “take your time, they said they wanted you in pristine condition so I can’t have you falling apart on me later on,” she scoffs, her footsteps receding away, and you could hear the quiet murmurs of other voices — men, by the baritone.

Your eyes burned as you adjusted to opening them, still fighting the urge to flutter them shut under the pain. The dim light swung overhead, a warehouse from the bare floors and even barer walls and ceilings overhead, barely illuminated in the flickering exposed lightbulbs hanging over the middle of the room.

“Where am I?” You choked out, voice wavering in a way that made you want to grit your teeth and chide yourself for the fear that seeped into your words.

The quiet click of heels came closer, “Don’t recognize me? Well I suppose you never did see my face in person,” and you knit your brows together as she stepped closer, leaning in far too near for your comfort, “I should thank you for your efforts in trying to find out what happened to me. It made it far easier to kidnap you,”

Her hazel eyes were even more startling in person.

“The Akawaza heiress,” you stare at her — her hair had grown a little past her shoulders now, ends slightly curling at them, “I thought—“

“I was missing? I was,” her lips curled, running her sharp lacquered nails through her black locks, “but it was my choice,” the screech of chair legs scraping against the floor makes you flinch ever so slightly, as she sits in front of you, her legs crossed, “I’m being rude — how is your grandfather?”

“Fuck off,” you spit, and she clicks her tongue.

“And here I thought you had manners, but I suppose the city’s changed you, little princess?” she hums, leaning back, wood of the chair creaking as she did, “or maybe your boyfriends did,” you say nothing, scoffing, as she sighs, “or knowing your grandfather, you probably didn’t have any to begin with,”

Rage fills your veins, lava bursting from them as the venom leaves your lips, “Don’t talk about my grandfather like that—”

“Why shouldn’t I? You never cared for the yakuza before, right? Is your grandfather not included in that equation? Or maybe it was because he kept what he did behind closed doors, and never bothered to tell you the truth,” and you’re not fast enough to stop your brow from furrowing, and she latches onto it, “Oh he didn’t tell you, did he?”

“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” you murmur, and she laughs at your remark, her nails clicking against the forearm of the chair — lacquer on wood that began to grate on your nerves, “can you get to the point of all this shit? Why the fuck am I here?”

“Because your grandfather is picking and choosing who he favors — and so I decided to take his heart, and I’ll only give her back if he gives me what I want — ” and then you see the way her lips curl and her jaw is cut, and it occurs to you.

Your grandfather had said he was a heartbreaker.

“You’re his granddaughter,” and she smirks, her nails falling still.

“Do you see the family resemblance?” she leans against her hand, elbow against the arm of her chair, “it would be nice to meet you — if I didn’t have to possibly kill you,”

“So you want to be the heiress? I never wanted to be one in the first place—”

“Do you think that matters?” she scoffs, “what matters is the choice your grandfather makes — and he’s chosen you — with no regard for the other children he has had,” her gaze falls downward, “do you know what it is like to watch your mother vye for the approval of someone who never truly cared for her in the first place?”

Your gaze falls downward, “I don’t know,” you admit, “but is all this worth this? What do you think he will even do for me?”

“He’ll meet my demands, and each hour he doesn’t, he’ll get another finger of yours,” she pulls a knife out, the blade glinting in the dim light, as she rises to her feet, your body straining back as she draws close to you, running the flat of the blade down your cheek, “should I start with your left hand or right?” she pulls the blade back, and you smile, “what—”

And you lean your head back and smash your head against her own. The crack of your skulls colliding rung in your ears, along with the knife clattering to the ground, as you felt warm droplets ran down your face, and she stumbles back, clutching at her forehead, scarlet staining her face and fingers, “It’s funny you think that I came to you without a plan — how do you think I found you?”

“It wasn’t on her own,” and a hand on her shoulder, before she’s pinned to the floor. Satoru’s eyes slide to you, a smile on his lips, as she’s struggling, trying to look for her men, “looking for your goons? Suguru has taken care of them by now, unless he needs my help,”

“Akari isn’t the only one who likes to hear herself talk,” Suguru runs his fingers through his hair, “Satoru, you haven’t even untied her,” his footsteps echoing as he approaches you, bending down to pick up Akari’s knife.

“A little busy at the moment, Suguru,” Gojo has Akari pinned with one hand, “unless you’d like her to get away,” and Suguru shrugs, as he slips the knife under your restraints and cuts them off, “are you doing alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, just my head’s aching,” and Suguru pulls a cloth from his pocket, wiping the blood from your face, your eyes closing and nose wrinkling as he does, “did you call my grandfather?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a death wish,” Satoru replies as he hauls Akari up and hands her off to his associate to take her.

You get to shaky feet, “Hold on,” you walk over, grabbing Akari by the front of her blouse, silk wrinkling under your grasp, “fuck with me or my family again, and I won’t be so lenient,” you shove her off, and then you add, “but I’ll talk to my grandfather about some sort of possible arrangement for your mother,”

And then you wave the yakuza off and they take her away — assuredly to Kyoto to be dealt with by her grandfather.

“Are you really going to talk to your grandfather about her?” Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s the least he could do since he caused me to be targeted,” you grumble, rubbing your wrists, as Satoru takes his suit coat off and places it around your shoulders, before a smirk pulls at your lips.

Suguru tilts his head, smiling, “Well, how would he feel if he knew you got kidnapped on purpose?” And you shrug.

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

~~~

“I’m surprised you guys agreed to my plan,” you hiss as Satoru takes a damp cloth to clean the dried blood from your face, while Suguru is knelt, bandaging your ankles — their rough and bruised hands somehow still gentle, “I thought you would never let me wander into danger,”

“Well, we knew we had to do something when we realized you were listening to us, didn’t we, Princess?” Satoru snorted, and you could hear the smile gracing his features — even with your eyes shut — “and this was the best way to ensure you weren’t hurt,”

“Relatively,” Suguru adds, as he finishes bandaging one ankle, “did she do anything else to you?”

And Satoru’s hand pauses as they both wait for your answer, and you shake your head, “No,” and Satoru pulls the washcloth away, your eyes fluttering open to meet two skeptical gazes, “really, I’m fine,” your lips curl after the two of them look away, Satoru turning to grab a bag of ice for your forehead, while Suguru busied himself with bandaging your other ankle, “is this threat the reason my grandfather sent me to Tokyo?”

The timing had lined up — Akari had started the threats not a few months before — after she had reached legal age, the perfect age to contend for the position of successor to her grandfather. And by sending you here, your grandfather thought he was putting you out of immediate danger — but he didn’t know Akari would make her way to Tokyo.

“More or less,” Satoru sighed, as you flinched when he pressed the ice pack to your head, the condensation from the bag already clinging and dripping down your face, “the geezer wanted to find the source of the threats against you—and by sending you here, to your potential fiancés—“

“I would be safe protected twofold by two of the biggest families—“ and you blink, pulling the ice pack away from your face, “the engagements — that’s why they were leaked — it was to protect me,” you mumble, “so that means—“

“You can go home if you want, Princess,” Suguru says, looking up at you, expression as inscrutable as it always was, “the engagements were only pretense,”

“You both knew?” And Satoru sighs, scratching the back of his head, and why does it feel as if his nails are carving out a piece of your heart.

“The old coot swore us to secrecy, we didn’t have—“

“But, everything, the two of you…the engagement—it’s over,” you say slowly, gaze falling downward. You should be happy, relieved, thrilled — you could go home, what you wanted to do from the start. You could get your own apartment or transfer to a different university—and leave this behind, a bad dream washed away by the events of a new day. So why?

Why did it hurt?

“Don’t tell me you’ll actually miss us, sweetheart?” Satoru teased, a force more than anything — bittersweet worded coated in a sugary sarcasm, “because I very well may propose here and now,”

You almost scoff, but Suguru beats you to it.

“A proposal now? Seems like finishing early isn’t what you just do in bed, Satoru,” Suguru scoffs, as Satoru shoots a glare over his sunglasses, “she’s only eager to get home now isn’t she? "If she isn’t so eager,” he adds, “then she would stop the one she wants from leaving her room, wouldn’t she?”

And Suguru is slowly getting to his feet, while Satoru also turns to leave — and you don’t think—but you were sure that you truly hadn’t thought a single sane thought since you had arrived in Tokyo—

You grab at the fabric of both their shirts, fingers clutching at it, as your lips curled when they glanced back at you.

“Who said either of you could leave?”

~~~

“You’re going to have to use your words,” you murmured, fingers ghosting Satoru’s jaw, a delightful shiver parting his lips as you smiled at him, sat spread at the edge of your bed, “what do you want?” You stepped closer, between his legs, daring even closer.

“Sweetheart, you know what I—“ and a low groan leaves his throat as your fingers slide to the nape of his neck to tug at his snowy locks, “please—“

“I know you love this,” you murmur, leaning to press a kiss to his throat, smiling against his skin, “you said you wanted me to hurt you, so it looks like you’re getting your wish,” your eyes slide to the other, sat in a chair, “I know you like to watch, Suguru, so you must be enjoying yourself,” and you’re further unbuttoning Satoru’s shirt all the same — crisp white button up definitely creased and wrinkled as it fell open, tugged out from his slacks.

Suguru��s fingers flexed against the grain of the wood of the armrests, his muscles taut, his lips a tight line that only matched the fabric of his slacks straining against his erection. The corner of his mouth twitches, and you smirk.

“I didn’t hear an answer, Suguru,” and you’re placing another kiss on Satoru’s neck, a whine leaving his throat, while your eyes find Suguru’s amethyst gaze darkened to nearly black, his knuckles white against the wood, as you lean down to lick a stripe up Satoru’s neck, who bites his bottom lip.

“I’d enjoy it even more if I could touch you, or me,” Suguru adds through gritted teeth, “Princess—“

And you click your tongue, “You had such patience when you were watching me sleep — so where’s that patience now?” Your fingers graze Satoru’s erection through his slacks, and his head is falling back, as Suguru shifts in his seat, not so subtly adjusting himself.

You undo Satoru’s belt, unbuckling it with ease, as his cock slaps against his stomach, and you didn’t know it was possible for a dick to be pretty, but Satoru’s was — a deep flush settled over it, pearly beads of precum dripping from the ruby tip. And a distinct heat begins to throb between your thighs.

“You can touch yourself,” you tell Suguru, his legs twitching to get up, “but you can’t cum until I tell you can,” you run a finger up Satoru’s cock, teasing the weeping tip, a groan leaving the snowy haired man’s lips, “strip, Suguru,”

And he does, you hear the click of his belt, the sound of fabric rustling, as your fingers tease the slit of Satoru’s cock, gathering precum on your fingers, drawing a grunt from his lips. You can hear the distinct sound of Suguru spitting in his palm, his hand beginning to work at his own cock.

“Both s’good for me,” you murmur, as you stroke Satoru’s cock in earnest, the quiet moans from both their mouths sending a ribbon of need to your already dripping cunt, “can’t wait to fuck you both, make you my toys,” and you’re pressing a kiss to Satoru’s tip, his pretty, pink lips parting, as his head rolls back again, “but you’d both like that wouldn’t you? Maybe I shouldn’t let either of you cum, make you beg me all night,” as your tongue traces his lovely vein up the side of his cock, “what do you think, Toru?” And your mouth finally closes around his dick, sucking hard that draws a hiss from his lips, fingers fisted in the sheets.

And Suguru isn’t doing much better, the sounds of his hand squelching and the moans leaving his lips growing louder and louder.

“Please, Princess, I’m close, I can’t—“ and you click your tongue, a pout on your lips, as you pull away your touch, “baby, I—“

“Can’t let either of you cum so fast,” your eyes slide to Suguru, his cheeks flushed a lovely pink that reaches even his ears, as his hand slows, his cock twitching in his fingers, “gotta make you earn it. It’s only right after all the shit you put me through right?”

It’s a cycle, a cycle of you bringing them both to the edge of orgasm, only to tell them to stop. Their sweat slicked brows wrinkled, as you worked them up once again and again and again — you had lost track of how many times.

“Please, please, sweetheart,” and you knew you could get Satoru to beg, but you didn’t think it would be this easy, and you let his dick brush against your throat, as you let him fuck your throat, hips jerking, “fuuuuck, I need to—”

And you’re pulling your lips from his cock with a pop, glancing at Suguru whose black locks are beginning to come loose from their neat bun, more of a mess now than he had been fighting yakuza earlier, and all because of you.

“Suguru? Wanna cum?” you ask, smirking as his gaze raises to meet yours, a desperate look that tells you everything you need to know, “be a good boy and tell me,”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, as pre drips down his knuckles, “fuck, Princess,” he’s shaking his head, “ I want to cum, please — I need—”

And your lips curl, “cum for me,” you murmur before you’re wrapping your lips around Satoru again, his tip brushing against your throat, sucking hard, his fingers finding purchase in your hair. And he’s cumming hard, his hot release slides down your throat, nails digging into your scalp, nearly never ending — even as you pull away, his cum paints your face and lips, and drips onto your clothes. His cerulean eyes glazed as he looked down at you between his legs, a string of spit and cum connecting you to his cock.

And Suguru was no better. He had cum hard all over his hand and the floor, his cock still somehow half hard, his body slumped back in the chair, as his chest heaved. His hair tie had long fallen away, his long black locks brushing against his shoulders.

You lick your lips clean of Satoru’s cum, wiping the rest away with the back of your hand, “Made such a mess,” you tsk, as you get to your feet, slipping off your shorts and shirt, before leaning down to kiss Satoru, and he’s still sensitive by the way he jolts against your touch, before melting into it, his tongue parted your lips with ease. And fuck, you hoped he couldn’t see how wet you were — nearly dripping down your thighs at this point.

And you’re pulling away, your thumb dragging down his lips, as his teeth try to catch the finger between them, but you’re too quick. You turn, a smile on your lips, you make your way over to Suguru.

You’re wiping up the mess on the floor with your shirt before kneeling, “made such a mess, Sugu,” and he’s staring at you through half lidded eyes, his fingers brushing your cheek, “did I say you could touch me?”

“You never said I couldn’t,” he murmurs, and god, his voice is far gone, raw and nearly guttural, as his fingers found purchase in your hair, “and I think I earned it after your little performance—“ and he hisses when you lean in, tip of your tongue teasing his slit and licking the dripping cum off his half hard cock, “fuck—“

“Not yet,” you smiled, as you started to lick his cock clean of his cum, “but maybe if you’re good,” he grunts as you sink is cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around his length, licking and sucking — and fuck, he was already twitching in your mouth.

And then he’s easing you off his dick with a tug of your hair, and you’re glancing up at him, a question on the tip of your tongue, but he’s swallowing it with a kiss, as his hands slip down your body to haul you nearly into his lap. Calloused palms find their way to your hips, squeezing lightly, as he pulls away, cupping your chin with his thumb.

“Suguru—” and you yelp as he picks you up with ease, placing you in Satoru’s lap whose hands wind their way around your waist, his fingers already beginning to tease your hardened buds through your bra, a gasp leaving your lips, as Suguru placed his on your neck with a smirk as he murmurs:

“Let me show you how good we can be, sweetheart.”

~~~~

“Tell us what you want, princess,” Satoru murmured in your ear, his warm breath doing nothing to help the needy heat between your thighs, the one that Suguru was knelt between, his large palms spreading you before him, “is she as wet as I think, Suguru?”

And Suguru catches your gaze, a wicked smile on his lips as he replies, “Wetter, she’s a mess, aren’t you?” you bite your lip to stop a whimper from leaving your lips as his fingers graze the growing wet patch on your panties. And your squirming only makes Satoru grunt, his erection pressed against you, the friction doing little to help either of you.

“Fuckers,” and Satoru clicks his tongue, a smile on his lips as he turns your head.

“Think I have a better use for that mouth of yours, sweetheart,” and his lips find yours, right as Suguru toys with the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, Satoru swallows the small noise that escapes your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as it does.

And god, you already can’t even think straight.

Satoru’s fingers are pushing up your bra, teasing your nipples, as Suguru pressing a kiss to your dripping cunt through your soaked underwear.

“So pretty,” Suguru murmurs, and Satoru’s lips part from yours, gaze darkening as he drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, and he tugs your drenched panties down, “and your cunt is even prettier, isn’t it princess?”

And you were — your gorgeous pussy was glossy with your pre, dripping all over his fingers when he parts your messy folds, “Bet she’s even tighter, isn’t she?” Satoru murmurs, as his dick twitches against your ass, “

You whine as his words warm your aching pussy, your eyes flickering downwards, as Suguru’s lips graze your inner thigh, and you already know Satoru’s pouting.

“You’re taking your goddamn time, Suguru, when do I get my chance?” He grumbles, nose brushing against your neck, as you can’t help but chuckle.

“You got your turn, and now it’s time for you to watch,” and your giggle turns to a soft gasp when his lips press a kiss to your clit, “and sweetheart, can’t wait to see how you’ll punish me for this later — because I’m not stopping until you beg me to,”

Your lips part with a reply, but he pulls a moan from your lips instead as his tongue drags up the length of your weeping entrance. God, fuck, how did you taste this good? His tongue flicked against your puffy clit, drawing lazy circles, your slick already drenching his chin and lips.

“So fucking good, baby, s’good f’me,” and your fingers are threading their way into his dark locks, pulling him even closer, his lips closing around your clit to suck, “could live in this pretty cunt,” he grunts, the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance.

Your head falls against Satoru’s shoulders, a groan fell from his lips as his cock dragged against your ass, your slick drenching his thighs and cock alike, “can’t wait to sink my cock into you, fuck,” Satoru murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt rang in his ears, and he could imagine how wet and warm you’d be once he sunk into you, inch by inch.

And he couldn’t wait — he needed to do something.

Satoru’s fingers found their way down your body, tweaking your nipple before one large palm dragged slowly down your front, until he found your clit right above Suguru’s face.

“Toru,” you gasp, as his fingers pinch your clit and Suguru glares, pulling his lips away for a moment, only to sink a finger back in insteas, drawing a moan from your lips, “Sugu—fuck—“

And it’s too much, one more touch and you’re cumming, body falling back into Satoru, as Suguru fucks you through your orgasm. Your release runs down their fingers, as Satoru lifts his hand a moment to lick his fingers clean.

God, you’re too pretty for your own good, Satoru’s eyes drag over you — your kiss ruined lips, skin shiny from your sweat, and the way your eyes were lost in an endless pool of lust.

“Suguru was right, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” Satoru grin, gently turning your head, and you’re panting, nose wrinkling ever so slightly at his words, and he tuts, “don’t believe me? Well I can fix that,” and his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, swallowing your moans, as Suguru continued to finger fuck you.

Suguru’s finger stretches you open, fluttering, knuckle deep, as your precum drips down his fingers.

“Remember who’s fucking this cunt, sweetheart,” and Suguru is, another finger parting your needy folds, and between Satoru rubbing your clit and Suguru’s fingers curling to find that one spot, drags against your insides, “fuck, how are we going to fit, Satoru? She’s still so tight,” Suguru grunts.

You pull your lips from Satoru’s, a whine leaving your lips, “More, please, I need—“ and a third finger joins the other two — but it’s not Suguru’s.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking soft,” Satoru groans, pressing soft kisses to your skin, only serving to make you keen at their touch, and your walls flutter around their fingers.

“Fuck, we’re trying to fuck her open and she just keeps getting tighter,” Suguru grunts, while Satoru’s lips find your earlobe, sucking, just as he adds another finger, a moan escaping your lips again.

Suguru’s fingers fuck at a steady pace, fucking deeper and deeper, while Satoru’s are faster, pistoning in and out while dragging against your walls — and it’s not long until they are working you up to a second orgasm, it’s too fucking good — and they both find that spot in you that has you seeing stars.

“I’m g’nna—” and Satoru finds your lips in a sloppy kiss, saliva slipping from the corner of your mouth. And you cum, even harder, your swollen folds clamping down on their fingers as they continue to fuck you unendingly through your orgasm. Your lips pull away, only to moan their names, again and again, until they finally slow down.

“Good girl,” Suguru murmurs, pressing sweet kisses to your thighs, while you come down from your high, walls flutter around nothing at the praise, while Satoru nips at your neck right above your racing pulse. And your eyes find Suguru lazily palming his weeping erection, as you lift your bare foot to rub against it, making him hiss, while you rub against Satoru teasingly.

“Don’t forget who’s in control,” you kiss Satoru again, before biting his bottom lip, and he’s melting into your touch, “and, you were good,” your foot rubs against Suguru’s cock again, drawing another pretty groan from his lips, “but now it’s time to be obedient.”

And they are — as you have Satoru sit back against the pillow lined headboard, because if it was anything you knew now — Satoru loved to be controlled, while Suguru liked the illusion of control, even if he didn’t have even a bit of it. So you have Suguru kneeling behind you, as you climb into Satoru’s lap, a small groan leaving his lips as your cunt grazes his hard cock.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you, Toru?” your fingers run through his hair — and god, his undercut was so fucking hot, as your fingers found his cock, letting the tip tease your soaked folds, as you line yourself up, “tell me what you want,”

“Fuck, princess, y’know what I want,” and a whine leaves his throat when you let his tip sink into you, only to pull out.

“Come on, nothing else to say? You always love running that mouth, don’t you? You wanted this, wanted me to ruin you, didn’t you? Well here we are,” you hum, as you press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth, “beg me,”

And his dick twitches, painfully hard, and the words spill from his lips, “Please, please, sweetheart, use me, use my cock as a toy, want you to fuck me so bad, make me yours—” and you’re sinking onto his cock, his length parting your folds, as moans fall from both of your lips. And he bottoms out, your hips meeting his as you do, and you can feel every vein, every ridge, every inch notched inside your walls.

“Toru, fuck, s’good, s’big,” it feels too fucking good, and he’s so long — god, he was brushing against places you never even dreamed of reaching. And your pussy clenched at the thought of how deep he would go when he would start thrusting.

“Sure you have space for me, Princess?” Suguru leans back over to press kisses all over your face, before finding your lips in a heated kiss, “might be too tight of a fit,” his nose brushing against your cheek.

“I’ll make you fit,” you murmur against his lips, your hands against Satoru’s chest, as you shift to cup his chin, “get behind me, Sugu,”

Suguru smirks, slipping behind you, pressing himself against your back, dragging his cock teasingly against you, “So needy — you’re worse than Satoru,” and Satoru makes a noise of protest, but your walls flutter, making his back arch, “want me inside you, sweetheart?” And his tip teases at your entrance, brushing against Satoru’s cock, causing all three of you to moan, “tell me how much you want us to fuck you, how much you want both of us inside you,”

“Fucker, I swear to god,” you turn your head, your glare undercut by the desperation on your face, “just fuck me—

And Suguru sinks into you, your head falling back against him, as both of their cocks stretch your cunt out. You were so fucking full. And the way your walls clenched around them was nearly enough to make them cum. Their groans come in unison.

“Fuck, Princess, you don’t have to break our dicks off — we’ll fuck you again,” Suguru grunts, his rough palms sliding to your hips to squeeze them.

“S’good, sweetheart, so fucking right for us,” and you can’t think straight with the two of them inside of you, and you’re moaning.

“Please, move—“ and they oblige, beginning to fuck you. You moved against Satoru, riding him as best you can, while Suguru fucked you from behind, his balls slapping against your ass.

Suguru drives into you at a steady pace, causing you to rock against Satoru, your hips pressed against his, as they both drive deeper and deeper into your wet cunt.

“S’good, so pretty,” Suguru presses sweet kisses to your neck, while Satoru’s eyes flutter open to meet yours, “I’m close, Satoru—“

“Me too,” Satoru manages, and his hips begin to meet your thrusts, “you gonna cum for us princess?” And he finds your gaze, the fucked out expression enough to nearly make him cum right there.

A whine leaves your lips, as they continue to fuck you, and you know you’re so close. And then they find that spot in you again, and you’re falling apart, lips parted in a moan, both their names on your lips. You clamp down on them, toes curling as you cum, and neither of them can last. Their hips stutter as they give sloppy thrusts, until they both cum,

They groan your name as they spurt their thick cum inside, notching themselves as deep as they could, continuing to fuck their cum inside you with messy thrusts.

A whimper escapes your lips between pants, as your arms and legs shake from your position, utterly fucked out. You three stay like that for a moment, both of their sweet nothings they murmur to you falling on deaf ears.

And then finally they are shifting you onto the bed, pressing soft kisses to your face and neck, as your eyes flutter shut. There’s shifting on the bed, as one of them leaves for a moment, and you make a noise, only to be reassured that he’ll be right back.

Your eyes finally flutter open to find Satoru and Suguru cleaning you up with a wet washcloth, and your gaze finds both of their own. Your lips curl at the sight of them, their gentle gaze enough to make your heart ache.

“Come back,” you whine, and they both chuckle, as they begin to finish drying you off, before tossing the washcloth into the wastebasket, and crawling back beside you. They help you pull a shirt on, before settling in.

“So needy,” Satoru murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, even as he buries his face in your chest, his warm breath tickling you as you run your fingers softly through his white locks. And Suguru presses himself to your back, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his arm around your waist, and yours resting on top of his.

“What will we do with her?” Suguru mutters, and you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“Shut up,” you mumble, your eyes beginning to feel heavy, as you give into the warmth that enveloped you from their bodies, as it lulled you to sleep. And your lips curled into a smile, a smile that had you wondering right before you slipped into sleep—

When was it that you fell for them?

~~~~

You couldn’t do this. Not to them.

That’s what you had decided come morning — waking up between entangled limbs and soft breaths against your skin — how could you? You felt Satoru shift closer to you, as you leaned into his touch, running your fingers through Suguru’s black locks. You were addicted to their touch only after one night, and now you had to spend the rest of your life without it.

It was the only way.

This whole thing was ridiculous to begin with — you never cared to be involved in the yakuza to begin with. You wanted a normal life — or at least as normal of a life you could have with who your grandfather was. You had never expected to end up wrapped up in all of this — and in both of them.

But you didn’t know if you could choose between them — and you knew, you had to. It wasn’t fair to either of them — not when they had asked you to choose last night and they had indulged you in both of them. And now, you didn’t want to let either of them go.

So you had to let both of them go.

You shifted slowly to sit up, Your fingers traced Satoru’s cheek lightly, as you toyed with a strand of Suguru’s hair. They both still stayed fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the early morning, deep in the embrace of sleep after the events of last night and the last few weeks. You didn’t want to be someone like your grandfather — you didn’t know what you wanted and that was enough of an answer wasn’t it?

The two shift in their sleep, and your body grows heavy, your back still aching from last night, as you lie back down beside them, running your fingers over both of their arms.

Even if you had your answer, you didn’t have to face it for another few hours. And their bodies shifted, Satoru burying his face in the nape of your neck, while you rested against Suguru’s chest. This was enough — enough to last you a lifetime, wasn’t it? Your eyes fluttered shut, sinking slowly back to sleep. You had told your grandfather you’d break their hearts —

—but you didn’t know you would be breaking yours as well.

~~~

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Satoru narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, as Suguru stepped aside to show the empty room you had left behind — a bare husk with nothing left behind, not even a note.

It had been a day.

When Satoru had woken up beside you, he could have sworn he was still dreaming, even as he grazed your skin gently with the back of his knuckles, he still couldn’t quite believe it. And when he spotted Suguru pressing kisses to your cheek, he knew it was real.

“How long have you been awake?” Satoru raised an eyebrow, “it’s not fair to have your fun while we were asleep,”

And Suguru rolled his eyes, as he rubbed the back of his knuckles gently against her cheek, “I just woke up, and all I did was kiss her, you idiot,”

“Not fair, that means I have to kiss her too,” Satoru murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheek, and one even to your nose. Your nose wrinkles in your sleep, and Satoru’s lips quirk upwards, “she’s so exhausted from last night still,”

“She is,” Suguru hums, as he tilts his head, “what are we going to do about last night?”

Satoru pauses a moment to consider, “Well, what is there to discuss? She chose us both, didn’t she?” Satoru leaned close to you, to press a kiss to your head.

“She did,” Suguru props himself up with his elbow on his side, “I thought you weren’t one to share,”

And Satoru shrugged — he wasn’t one to share, he wanted what was his to be his alone, but with you — the more people to protect you, the better, “If it’s what makes her happy, I don’t mind,” and he adds, “and I don’t mind if it’s you that I’m sharing with,”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, a chuckle on his lips, “Is that so? Well, good,” as he runs a finger through your hair, “because I feel the same.”

But Satoru supposed you didn’t.

“When did she—“

“My father told me she contacted her grandfather this morning, and let them know she was leaving — and her single request was to send us away on business so we wouldn’t be able to stop her,” and Satoru gives a bitter chuckle.

“So that’s it?” Satoru crosses his arms, “why did she—“ and he cuts himself off, “have you tried to call—“

“I’m blocked, I assume you are too,” Suguru shook his head, a silence settling over the two of them that Satoru chose to break.

“Do we go after her?” And Suguru pauses, his brow wrinkling a moment, before he sighs, shaking his head.

“If she comes back, it has to be her choice,” Suguru slid his hands into his pockets, “otherwise, we’re back to square one,” and he adds, “and I don’t think I can go back after last night.”

Suguru steps away, heading back down the hallway, and Satoru follows.

No, Satoru thinks, sparing one glance at the empty room, before pulling the door shut, neither could he.

~~~

“Why did you come back?” You set another box down, wiping the sweat from your brow, your grandfather simply watching as you brought your things back into your room.

“What a warm welcome,” you scoff, as you head back out to pick up another — the other staff had offered to help, but you had waved them off, lifting another box, your back still aching — and now you were starting to regret it. But you knew if you didn’t do something to distract yourself — your phone taunting you on the top of your desk — you’d do something you’d regret.

And you’d already filled your quota for the next six months at least.

“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” the geezer sighed, as he watched you bring the last of the boxes in, “I’m glad you’re back and the matters are all settled — but,” he tilts his head, “you seem more miserable than before,”

“I’m just tired,” you reply, but his furrowed brow says he’s unconvinced, as you grab a box cutter and begin to open up the boxes, beginning to sort through your things, “and still trying to wrap my head around the fact you lied to me,”

And he sighs, “this isn’t about me right now — it’s about you—“

“How convenient,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” And you can’t help but freeze for a moment, until you force yourself to continue unpacking, pulling out some of your clothes from the box, “which one is it?”

The question stabs between your ribs like a well thrust sword between the ribs, finding the center of the problem — along with your heart.

“Gramps—”

“So it’s both of them?” and you whirl on him, your eyes narrowing, and he chuckles, holding up his hand, “I didn’t spy — I just took a guess,” he sighed, as he pulled out your desk chair and took a seat in it, “and it looks like I was right,”

You swallow, your eyes falling to the floor, “I didn’t cheat, if that’s what—”

He laughs, “I know you aren’t like me, little one,” he leans back in the chair, hands folded in his lap, “you aren’t one to lie — because I know there’s more you hate than liars,” and his gaze grows a little sadder, “And I’m sorry I had to become one of them,”

You grit your teeth, “I’m not mad at you — I’m just—” you choose your words carefully — because you’re angry, you were upset — upset that he felt as if he couldn’t trust you, “wondering why you didn’t tell me the truth,”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “My past isn’t something I’m proud of, and I wanted to deal with it without involving you,” he sighed, “after everything with our family — I didn’t want to give you another reason to distance yourself from me,”

“Lying to me isn’t a better option than that,” he rubs the back of his head, “you have to make it right for Akari and her mother — as well as if you have any other kids—I don’t need to know,” you add, when he opens his mouth, “it isn’t fair to them,” and it would be no fairer to not choose between Satoru and Suguru.

“You’re right,” he raises a brow, “is that the problem? You can’t choose between the two of them, eh?” and your gaze refuses to meet his, “have you talked to them about it?” and your silence serves as an answer, “then I think you should take your own advice and talk to them about it,”

“What will that do?” you murmur, “they still will want me to choose—”

“Do you know that for a fact?” he crosses his arms, “I think you owe it to them and to yourself to talk to them, and to your grandfather who can’t stand to see you this miserable at home,”

“Do you think it will change anything?” and he shrugs.

“Maybe it will or maybe it won’t,” he tilts his head, as he pulls out his phone to call you a car, “but if it’s a chance for you to be happy, isn’t it worth taking?”

~~~~

“I want to marry you both,”

And again, your statement is met with confused stares, as you had all but pulled up to their compound and entered to find them seated together discussing business in a side room — and their stares were still anything but average — but to you now, they meant so much more.

“Not marry you right now, but maybe eventually,” adrenaline was surely pumping through your system, right? That’s probably why your hands were shaking and your mouth was dry, but even so you knew you needed to say it before they spoke, “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I told myself after we first met I wouldn’t be a coward, but I was when I ran away, and I don’t have any excuse,” you swallowed, “but I know what I want — and I want both of you, as selfish as that feels,” guilt crawled up your throat at the statement of that sentence, as if begging you to swallow the words that spilled from your lips back up, “and I don’t know how either of you feel — but if we were to do this, I would want us to be honest and—”

And the screech of their chairs takes you aback, and you felt your cheeks burn, was this it?

But instead of brushing past you, they stand in front of you, one of them tilting your head upwards to meet their gazes.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart,” Satoru’s lips curled, his hand cupping your cheek, “I know we said we wanted you to hurt us, but not like that,”

“Sent us away just to ghost us,” Suguru clicked his tongue, his fingers still under your chin, “I’ll have to plant a tracker on you again,”

You shake your head, “Wait, what? Are you both okay—”

“We did say we’d kill the other for your hand, but,” Suguru presses a kiss to your forehead, “But now we realize the more eyes watching you, the better, and,” he shrugs, “we don’t mind sharing if it’s just with the other,”

“And I know you’ll prefer me sooner or later,” Satoru adds, earning a glare from Suguru, as you only chuckle, “Suguru is always so grumpy—ow!” Suguru smacks on the back of the head, as the black haired yakuza wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his front.

“And you are always too busy running your mouth,” Suguru replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “sure you can handle both of us in your life?” and you pull Satoru close too, letting his lips brush yours, before turning and pressing a kiss to Suguru.

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourselves that?” you say, as the two of them wrap an arm around you, “I am supposed to ruin your lives after all.”

✧ a/n: so this has been a longtime coming. i was supposed to be working on prof geto (5) + my nanami celebration fic but this took over my life and wouldn't let go until i finished. so i hope you guys enjoy!! and this is my reminder why i don't write multi partner scenes like this often because its....difficult. thank you to @gaylatteart for reading and putting up with me <333

✧ taglist: @midmourn, @whore-for-hawks, @ekaterinatepes, @satoryaa, @mandysfanfics, @sodoney, @sukunasfavoritehole, @kazbrkker, @satorugirlie, @itsbokutosjuicyass, @santos4, @levanadragoneel, @talkativetranscendant, @abiiebibie, @simply-a-s1mp, @jolynelovesrain, @deegausserr, @xxemmarldxx, @biancaness, @satoniko, @ackermanbby, @rintoriss, @kentocalls, @marionettte, @bear-likes-mushrooms, @forest-hashira, @catsgomurp, @k1t0u, @rat-loves, @forest-fruits-jam, @wishingforanother, @roseified, @spider-fan72, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @gojolvrr34, @chosobun, @chuuyasboots, @nanamis-baker, @hanxyy,

#oh my fucking hell #this was a #masterpiece #such a beautiful fic #so complex with so many layers #oh my goodness #I loved every bit of it #beautiful #extraordinary #i love this so much #satosugu #gojou satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #hellareads

9K notes · View notes

emphism · 20 days ago

Text

“his “cool boy” morning routine includes [ . . . ] and grabbing a shampoo bottle to wash his face before realizing, mid-lather, that something isn’t right.”

kashi you are hilarious

i laughed for the first time in years at that last line

“if sukuna could have it his way, he’d profess his undying love for you [ . . . ], quoting some shakespeare nonsense [ . . . ] or whatever the old dead guy used to write about.”

LMAO

“old dead guy” 💀💀

“sukuna leans against the wall outside the school gates, trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible”

my man my man

“his day’s been an absolute dumpster fire—between toji’s soap opera, shiu’s cryptic smirks, and some freshman mistaking him for a guidance counselor (how? how does that even happen?)”

author, i read the quote in parentheses exactly as you intended me to

trust

“he’s just about had it. and then, [ . . . ], you step out of the school building. sukuna swears he hears a choir of angels, some harp strings, and maybe even sees a glowing halo over your head.”

okay but seriously, you should become a comedian or something kashi

between comedic relief and the perfect angst and fluff, i can't decide which i like more

““shut up, gojo,” sukuna growls, shoving the clipboard back across the desk. “you got it, your majesty,” gojo smirks, giving a mock bow.”

gojo is totally giving me kuzco vibes

i can see it

““yo,” he grunts back, hands jammed into his pockets like they’ve been superglued there.”

SUPERGLUED?

to be fair, his hands have been in his pockets for 80% of the fic

i swearrrr

““sukuna, i just asked if i should shave my head for charity,” you deadpan.”

why is every character in this fic a stand-up comedian

“sukuna drags himself into the house, tossing his bag onto the floor like it’s personally offended him.”

the words “relatable” and “sukuna” shouldn't belong in the same sentence

““you’re welcome!” yuuji chirps, unpausing the movie. “don’t forget to do the hiya part!” [ . . . ] sukuna groans and leans back in the chair. he’s not about to karate chop his way into a promposal.”

i have no words

im dead

this is the funniest shit ive read in days

“it was the weekend—not the artist, fortunately, but the actual day—and the irony of hearing the weeknd's "reminder" on loop in his brain from all those tiktok promposals wasn’t lost on him.”

WHAT???

KASHI

you deserve a medal for how hilarious this is

i'm putting the “laughing my ass off” in lmfao

““a hipster-owned flower truck parked near a cafe, [ . . . ] the owner had a man bun and greeted him with, “peace and petals, brother.”

PEACE AND PETALS???

HOW DID U EVEN COME UP WITH THAT

PEACE AND PETALS ???!!????

EYJEYJEYAKAPDJ

““yeah, but they come with vibes,” man bun said, gesturing to the arrangements like they were ancient artifacts. sukuna turned on his heel and walked away, muttering, “i’ll give you vibes, idiot.””

this whole bit had me running around the room

CUPID'S DUMBEST SOLIDER ౨ৎ RYOMEN SUKUNA X READER

summary: ryomen sukuna, king of the school and reigning bad boy extraordinaire, has one rule: prom is for losers. but apparently, his too-good-to-be-true girlfriend (seriously, what are you doing with him?) thinks promposals are cute. so now he’s stuck planning the most over-the-top, cringe-inducing spectacle known to mankind. armed with zero artistic talent, a ton of misplaced confidence, and multiple dumb ideas, sukuna’s on a mission to prove that he’s boyfriend material. will he survive the humiliation of public vulnerability? will his classmates ever stop laughing at him? and more importantly, will you even say yes after watching him trip over his own ego mid-promposal? spoiler alert: sukuna might hate prom, but he doesn’t hate you — just don’t tell anyone or his bad boy reputation is toast.

warnings & tags: all characters except yuuji are high-schoolers [aged eighteen]. 100% sfw and crack. lots of high-school and social media related drama. sukuna is ooc but he's a loverboy. slight angst, misccommunication and misunderstanding, reader gets bullied. mentions of drugs & vaping. reader is sort of preppy [only when compared to sukuna], implied stsg and tomema. mentions of: yuuji, choso, gojo, geto, shoko, nanami, toji (zenin), naoya, yorozu, mei mei, uraume, mamaguro, wasuke itadori, mai and maki zenin.

a/n: i'm writing this because i'm thinking about my last year of highschool a lot. please enjoy <3

‼️i recommend reading on ao3 :) thank you for being here!

chapter one: love at first “you’re kidding, right?”

prom sucks.

sukuna's decided this long before he even knew what it was, back when he was a kid and thought dances were just for the weak. now? the banners are inescapable, plastered on every wall like wanted posters, except the only crime being committed is how much glitter they used. seriously, who thought this level of sparkle was necessary? he doesn’t even want to look at them, let alone read the overly enthusiastic “prom countdown” in bold bubble letters.

but here’s the kicker—you’re excited.

you. his girlfriend. the only person he’s ever willingly given his jersey to, the one he pretends not to care about but secretly loses his mind if you’re even five minutes late to meet him after practice. you’re actually grinning at the posters, casually mentioning how it might be “fun.”

fun. the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, much like the time he accidentally puffed on his teammate’s fruit-flavored vape, pretending he didn’t low-key enjoy it. and now, just like back then, sukuna refuses to admit the truth: the idea of seeing you all dressed up, looking at him like he’s worth more than a fistfight and a bad attitude, is enough to make his brain short-circuit.

“you know,” you say one day, glancing over your shoulder at him as you tug on his sleeve. “prom doesn’t have to be a big deal. it’s just one night.”

“then why’s everyone acting like it’s the olympics?” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. he keeps his eyes firmly on the ground, not on the way your smile softens like you already know what’s going on in his head.

because of course you know. you always know. it’s annoying.

but the thing is, sukuna’s always been a fighter. he knows how to take a hit, how to deliver one back, how to keep moving even when his ribs feel like they’re cracking under the pressure. this, though? asking you to prom? it feels like trying to fight blindfolded in a ring full of glitter bombs.

“you’re thinking too hard about it,” you tease, leaning closer, and he has to resist the urge to snap back with something sarcastic. instead, he just grumbles something incoherent, hoping you’ll drop the subject.

spoiler: you don’t.

“come on, it might surprise you,” you add, giving him that look—the one that makes his chest feel annoyingly tight and his brain feel like it’s melting. and just like that, sukuna knows he’s doomed. he doesn’t even know how you managed to turn this whole thing around, but here he is, contemplating how to ask you to prom like it’s some epic quest.

but for now? he’ll just keep glaring at the posters, convincing himself it’s all for you. definitely not because he’s secretly imagining what it’d be like to see you under those stupid lights.

yeah. that’s it. it’s for you.

why is sukuna losing his absolute mind over asking you, of all people, to prom? it’s not like you’re some untouchable deity perched on a golden throne. you’re just you—the one person who’s seen him shirtless and sweaty post-practice and didn’t immediately gag. the one who has the audacity to call him “cute” after he’s just finished smashing someone’s face in and honestly? he still hasn’t forgiven you for that.

and yet, here he is, spiraling like a damn teenager—which, fine, he technically is, but that’s beside the point. this isn’t just prom. this is war. but why does it feel like he’s already lost?

he doesn’t even know when this whole “you and him” thing started.

oh wait. yes, he does.

cue the flashback: sukuna, bloody and bruised, crouched in an alley after picking a fight with college kids who were built like linebackers. he was sure this was it. the end. game over. then suddenly, you appeared, haloed by the sun.

or maybe that was just his swelling eye playing tricks on him.

“are you seriously bleeding again?” you’d said, hands on your hips like you were scolding a toddler who’d colored on the walls. you looked so annoyed, so unimpressed, so... angelic? he doesn’t know. blame the blood loss.

“what’s it to you?” he’d snarled, expecting you to walk away like everyone else. but instead, you crouched down, pulled out a first-aid kit from god-knows-where, and patched him up right there. like some feral stray, he’d just sat there and let you.

and then, because subtlety is not in sukuna’s vocabulary, he’d yelled at you a few weeks later to “just be my girl already,” fully prepared for rejection. except you’d said yes. casually. like it was no big deal.

liar. it was a huge deal. he’d wanted to cheer so loud they’d hear him across town. instead, he’d just grunted and said, “fine,” as if he hadn’t just won the lottery.

now, here’s the thing: sukuna doesn’t “do” feelings. or labels. or mushy crap like this. but somehow, you’ve made it your personal mission to take care of him, and the worst part? he lets you.

so, yeah, obviously he needs to “man up” and ask you to prom before some other idiot gets the idea. the thought of someone else—someone less deserving—getting to stand next to you in those ridiculous photos everyone takes? absolutely not.

but how is he supposed to ask you?

“hey, wanna go to prom?” no. too boring.

“you and me. prom. be there.” god, no. too aggressive.

“i’ll fight anyone who tries to take you if you say yes.” okay, maybe, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

and what if you say no? …no, scratch that. you wouldn’t. right?

“why do you look constipated?” your voice pulls him out of his internal chaos, and he realizes he’s been frowning so hard his face hurts.

“shut up,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. you just laugh, that soft little sound that makes his chest feel annoyingly warm. “you’re so silly sometimes.”

silly? silly? sukuna’s this close to snapping back, but he bites his tongue. for now. he’ll figure it out. eventually. probably.

unless someone else beats him to it.

nope. not happening. over his dead body.

chapter two: swipe, stress, repeat

if sukuna from a month ago could see sukuna right now, he'd be frothing at the mouth. the self-proclaimed king of school, the untouchable badass who spent his time punching people and skipping class, reduced to lying in his bed, phone clutched in hand, scrolling through tiktok like some lovesick idiot?

embarrassing. absolutely humiliating.

the guy would’ve torn his own future self apart, verbally and probably physically, for this kind of behavior. but present-day sukuna? he couldn’t care less. if past sukuna had a problem, he could take it up with the tiktok algorithm because, damn it, he was busy right now.

sukuna's room is peak sukuna. the walls are painted a deep gray—an edgy, brooding shade that screams “it’s not a phase mom,” and yet the color somehow sets off the aggressively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. don’t ask why he has it. it’s your fault, anyway, since you bought it for him, and when he told you he wouldn’t use it, you pouted. now the damn thing stays on every night.

his bed is a mess of black sheets, crumpled in a way that suggests he both sleeps like a starfish and fights imaginary enemies in his dreams. the single poster above his bed is of some obscure underground metal band you probably pretend to care about when he rants, but the corner is peeling because he’s too lazy to fix it.

on the desk? chaos. protein powder tubs, half-used cologne bottles, random dumbbells, and a notebook that’s only ever been opened once—probably because he mistook it for a coaster. nestled among this battlefield of masculinity is his phone charger, tangled in a knot that somehow feels symbolic of his life choices.

but let’s talk about the tiktok doom scrolling session. sprawled on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, sukuna clears out his notifications, which are predictably 90% you tagging him in ridiculous couple reels. “this is us <3,” you captioned one, featuring two lopsided cartoon bananas cuddling. another one? a video of raccoons stealing food with the words “me and you robbing mcdonald’s after your practice :3” plastered over it. he groans loudly but still clicks the tag, because god forbid he misses one.

and then he sees it: the initials trend. he stumbles across a video with the letters r + your initial floating on-screen, surrounded by sparkly hearts. it takes him a solid two tries, but when the stupid thing finally lands on the right combination, sukuna practically slams the save button. the smug grin on his face could rival the one he wears after winning a fight. “got it,” he mutters to himself, as if he’s achieved something monumental. and maybe he has—because nothing screams romance like a tiktok filter confirming your undying love. his phone buzzes again, and it’s you, sending yet another video. he opens it, and it’s a clip of two fat seals flopping in the water together. “this is us,” you text, followed by a string of hearts. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “you’re so dumb,” he mutters, even as he saves the video.

but tonight, sukuna is a man on a mission. a stupid mission, in his humble opinion, but one he’s reluctantly accepted because of you.

his night started the same as it always does lately—on call with you while you go through your nightly skincare routine. he pretends not to care, half-listening as you ramble about serums and exfoliators, but if anyone asked why he knows the difference between niacinamide and retinol now, he’d deny it with his whole chest. “okay, goodnight,” you say eventually, and he feels weirdly warm when you pause, waiting for his reply. “yeah, yeah. goodnight,” he mutters, then sends you a five-line-long text he drafts with the precision of a tactical operation. it’s disgustingly sweet, full of things so cheesy he could probably use it as a weapon in a fight.

of course, he ends it with a selfie—him lying on his bed, shirtless but casual, because he knows you eat up this couple-y nonsense. “cute,” you reply immediately, followed by a flurry of heart emojis that make him roll his eyes and grin at the same time. with that out of the way, it’s doom scrolling time.

but tonight isn’t about your endless tags of raccoon memes or seal videos. no, tonight, sukuna is diving into the depths of promposal content.

his room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of his phone and the offensively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. the contrast between the lamp and his deep gray walls is glaring, but he’s gotten used to it—he even mumbles a “thanks, kitty” when he turns it off at night. sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by a haphazard array of items—a half-empty protein shake, a stray dumbbell, and a random sock he’s too lazy to find the pair for—he scrolls through tiktok like a man possessed.

promposals flood his feed, one after the other, and his frown deepens with every video. flowers, posters, confetti—it’s all the same. one boy after another holding a sparkly sign with some cheesy pickup line, and a group of random bystanders shrieking like it’s the second coming of christ. “yuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely noticing when he tosses his dumbbell off the bed with a loud thud! “this is how people live? pathetic.”

then he sees it: a video of a guy holding a giant poster that reads, “are you a parking ticket? because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

sukuna’s jaw drops. “oh, hell no.”

without thinking, he types out a comment: “i can do better.” and when the notifications flood in from strangers defending the boy’s cringe-worthy effort, he actually guffaws, shaking his head in sadistic satisfaction. but then a thought strikes him. what if this is what you expect? what if you want the cheesy pickup line, the sparkly poster, the ridiculous crowd cheering you on? the idea makes him physically recoil, but he can’t ignore the tiny voice in his head whispering, it’s for her.

and when he exits tiktok, his matching hello kitty profile picture with you stares back at him, painfully cute and obnoxiously pink. it’s a sharp contrast to the guy who spent ten minutes this morning threatening his neighbor’s dog for barking too much.

groaning, he sets an alarm on his phone for tomorrow morning. “five hours of sleep,” he mutters to himself, glaring at the clock like it’s personally offended him. with a dramatic sigh, he reaches over and switches off the hello kitty lamp. the room plunges into darkness, but his mind is already racing, plotting ways to outdo every cringe-worthy promposal he’s seen.

you’d better appreciate this, he thinks, punching his pillow into shape before flopping onto it. because if sukuna’s doing this, he’s going to do it better than anyone else.

—

the next day, sukuna wakes up with the vague hope that he’ll somehow embody the effortlessly cool energy of those coming-of-age movie protagonists you seem to fawn over. the universe, however, has other plans. his “cool boy” morning routine includes stubbing his toe on the corner of his bed, swearing loudly enough to make the neighbor’s dog bark, and grabbing a shampoo bottle to wash his face before realizing, mid-lather, that something isn’t right.

by the time he’s dressed in a ratty old lakers jersey his mom gave him ages ago (that’s definitely seen better days), he’s already on edge. he triple-checks that the beaded bracelet you made him is securely on his wrist. one time, he forgot it in the abyss of his bag, and you didn’t talk to him for all of lunch period. the memory alone makes him shudder. high school relationships are no joke; he’s convinced they’re scarier than any fight he’s been in. “yuuji!” he bellows, dragging his seven-year-old brother by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving cat. “we’re gonna miss the bus!”

“but i’m watching powaaaaa rangerrrrsssss!” yuuji wails, kicking his legs in protest. for the fifth time. in a row.

“i don’t care if they’re morphin’ again for the hundredth time,” sukuna snaps, hauling the squirming kid out the door.

once on the school bus, sukuna practically shoves yuuji into the front seat with his group of loud, chaotic little friends—toge, the broody one, and nobara, the one who’s probably already plotting world domination. “don’t cause trouble,” he growls, earning a cheeky grin from nobara and a half-hearted glare from toge. then, sukuna retreats to his rightful throne in the backseat. people probably think he’s texting some gang leader to set up a fight or maybe coordinating a weed deal. but no. you know what he’s actually doing?

writing you the sappiest good morning text imaginable.

with his phone held at a suspicious angle, he types furiously:

good mornin sunshine ❤️❤️❤️ sorry this is late. woke up thinking about you and totally forgot how to function lol. you’re probably already looking perfect but don’t forget to eat breakfast okay???? can’t have my girl passing out and making me look bad 😏. also did i ever tell you your bedhead is cute? bc it is. anyway have a good day baby i’ll see you in school soon. love you.

he stares at it, debating whether it’s too much. but then again, you’re the type who sends him texts like, “did you know sharks existed before trees? good morning !! <3 :3” so he figures he’s safe. after hitting send, he leans back with a satisfied smirk, like he’s just conquered the world. if anyone dares to ask, he’ll lie through his teeth about what he’s doing. but deep down, sukuna knows he’s whipped. totally and utterly.

—

sukuna’s morning ritual of chaos continues as he practically shoves yuuji toward the elementary school section, muttering curses under his breath while dodging questions about his bracelet.

“but when can i get tattoos like yours?” yuuji asks, for the millionth time this week.

“never,” sukuna snaps, ruffling yuuji’s hair just hard enough to mess it up.

“but why nooottt?” yuuji whines, pouting. “they’re cool! toge said they make you look like a bad guy!”

“tell toge to mind his own damn business,” sukuna growls, ignoring the way yuuji’s tiny friends scatter at the mere sight of him. when one of the kids starts crying, he scoffs loudly. elementary schoolers are weak.

with yuuji safely deposited, sukuna sprints—yes, sprints—to the high school section, expertly weaving through crowds of students. if anyone asks, he’ll say it’s because he’s late to class, but really, he’s looking for you.

when he spots you at your locker, a familiar warmth floods his chest, but he quickly shoves it down, replacing it with a carefully practiced scowl. if sukuna could have it his way, he’d profess his undying love for you in the most dramatic way possible—on his knees, quoting some shakespeare nonsense about your ethereal beauty or whatever the old dead guy used to write about. but alas, his bad boy reputation is at stake.

so instead, he settles for a gruff, “yo,” as he leans against the locker next to yours, arms crossed, trying to look casual. you glance up, smiling brightly. “morning! did you sleep okay?”

“yeah,” he lies, conveniently forgetting the part where he only got five hours of sleep because of tiktok research.

you go on, oblivious to the way he’s fighting the urge to smile like an idiot. “ugghhh, i got up five minutes late today. five whole minutes!” you pause dramatically. “so i didn’t have time to pack my stationery, and now i have to use my backup stationery pouch from my locker. do you know how annoying that is?”

“devastating,” sukuna deadpans, nodding solemnly. “truly, the world is cruel.”

“right?” you huff, pulling the pouch from your locker. “like, what if the backup doesn’t have my favorite pens? what am i supposed to do then?”

he watches you, amused, as you rummage through your locker like your life depends on it. secretly, he loves how animated you get over the smallest things, but god forbid anyone else find out. “wish i had backups,” he mutters, half to himself. “my locker’s just got junk. extra shoes, pants, a charger, and, uh…” he pauses, eyeing you carefully. “a vape.”

you turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “a vape?”

“it’s not mine,” he says quickly, standing straighter. “holding it for a friend.”

“sure,” you tease, smirking. “it’s true!” he insists, trying to look indignant but failing because you’re smiling at him, and it’s making his brain short-circuit.

as you shut your locker, you start rambling about your next class, and sukuna does what he does best—stands close, nods occasionally, and tries to act nonchalant. inside, though, he’s cataloging every word you say like it’s gospel, marveling at how even your complaints sound cute. he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pretending not to care, but the truth is written all over his face: sukuna is hopelessly, ridiculously in love. and it’s a problem he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

as you and sukuna make your way down the hallway, everything seems normal—or as normal as a high school hallway can get. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, lockers slam shut, and a cluster of juniors are trying to tape a "kick me" sign to someone’s back. sukuna’s tuned most of it out, but that’s when the universe decides to test his patience. smack dab in the middle of the hallway, it happens.

“oh my god!” you squeal, tugging on sukuna’s sleeve.

he already hates this.

in front of you both, a whole crowd has gathered. there are girls crying into their hands, boys hooting like it’s a football game, and teachers yelling about how this is a fire hazard, which no one is listening to. and at the epicenter of it all is none other than gojo satoru.

“suguru!” gojo announces, holding up a bucket of kfc chicken in one hand and a bouquet of roses made entirely out of dollar bills in the other. “you’re the butter to my biscuit, the drumstick to my chicken, and the love of my life! if you don’t go to prom with me, i’ll throw myself into oncoming traffic!”

“oh my god, he’s so dramatic,” you whisper to sukuna, but your voice is dripping with excitement. “this is adorable!�� sukuna blinks at the scene, trying to process what’s happening. “adorable? this is a migraine waiting to happen.”

meanwhile, geto—poor, unsuspecting geto—is standing there looking like he’s debating whether to run or laugh. “satoru, what the hell?” he finally manages, his voice somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“it’s love, suguru!” gojo declares, dropping to one knee for added effect. “say yes, or i’ll never recover!”

“that’s definitely not true,” sukuna mutters under his breath.

“shh!” you scold, hitting his arm lightly. “this is so cute!”

“it’s cringe,” sukuna grumbles. “he’s holding chicken.”

“the chicken makes it better!”

“the chicken makes it worse,” sukuna counters, crossing his arms. but he can’t deny that the bouquet of dollar bills is kind of genius. if he had to respect one thing, it’s that. geto sighs loudly, clearly resigned to his fate.

“fine,” he says, shaking his head but unable to hide the small smile on his face. “i’ll go to prom with you, satoru.”

the hallway erupts.

girls start crying harder, like their hearts have been ripped out of their chests. “geto’s off the market!” one of them wails, collapsing into her friend’s arms. the boys cheer, probably just glad they don’t have to be involved in anything like this. and gojo? gojo lets out a triumphant yell, pumping his fist in the air. “i told you he loves me!” their friend group immediately piles on, clapping geto on the back and hyping up gojo like he just won the lottery. you, meanwhile, are clutching sukuna’s arm and bouncing on your toes. “oh my god, that was so cute!” you gush. “did you see the chicken? and the bouquet? sukuna, that was so sweet!”

sukuna looks at you, then at the chaos, then back at you. he feels a headache creeping in. “sweet? that was... loud.”

“you’re impossible,” you say, laughing as you let go of his arm to keep walking.

but sukuna isn’t laughing. oh no, because now there’s a new problem: he has to top that. as he follows you down the hallway, he rubs his temples, muttering to himself. “chicken and dollar bills. great. what’s next? fireworks? a live band? a damn parade?”

you glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “what are you mumbling about?”

“nothing,” he snaps, quickening his pace to catch up.

but inside, he’s panicking. topping gojo satoru’s level of absurdity is a tall order, and sukuna isn’t sure whether to be pissed off or impressed. probably both. one thing’s for sure, though: he has his work cut out for him.

sukuna finally wades through the chaos of the hallway—largely composed of gojo clinging to geto’s foot like a very loud termite—and drops you off at your first class of the day: english language and literature. you sigh dramatically, digging through your bag and muttering about how your lack of highlighters is basically a crime against academia. “how am i supposed to annotate macbeth without my stationary pouch?”

sukuna, leaning against your desk with all the casual confidence in the world, rolls his eyes. “it’s not that deep.” but then, in a move that makes you freeze, he pulls a neon highlighter out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “use that,” he grunts, like he just handed you a scrap of paper, not an intimate act of love.

you blink at the highlighter, then at him, like he just gifted you the moon. “did you just—where did you even get this?”

“don’t ask questions,” he snaps, already looking like he regrets the decision. (he definitely stole it from someone’s pouch months ago.) but you’re staring at him with so much adoration it’s almost embarrassing.

“this is... this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me.”

sukuna freezes. “you’re joking.”

“i’m not joking.”

he looks like he’s questioning every life choice that brought him here, but before he can respond, his phone buzzes in his pocket. it’s a text from toji zenin. the message is cryptic and infuriatingly vague: “grounds. now.”

sukuna sighs loudly, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “gotta go,” he mutters. he leans down and plants a quick kiss on your cheek before bolting out the door, and you both freeze for half a second, equally flustered. “uh—bye!” you call after him as he practically sprints out of the classroom, the beads on his bracelet jingling against his wrist.

by the time sukuna reaches the school grounds, he’s already mentally prepared for a fight. he’s even got his tough guy face on—jaw clenched, shoulders squared, the works.

but when he spots toji zenin and shiu kong standing by the bleachers, something feels off. toji isn’t cracking his knuckles or smirking like usual. instead, he’s pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s stressed.

sukuna narrows his eyes. “what the hell is this? if this is another one of your stupid pranks, i’m decking you both.”

“relax,” toji says, holding up his hands. “i’m not here to fight.”

“yet,” shiu mutters, earning a glare from toji. sukuna crosses his arms. “then what do you want?”

toji looks around, as if checking to make sure no one else is listening. then, in a voice so low sukuna almost doesn’t hear it, he says, “i need your help.”

sukuna blinks. “what?”

“you heard me.”

“no, i definitely didn’t. because it sounded like you said you need my help.”

“i did.” toji looks like admitting it physically hurts him. “look, it’s about fushiguro.”

sukuna raises an eyebrow. “who?”

“you know, my... my...” he gestures vaguely. “crush.”

sukuna stares at him. “you dragged me out here to talk about your love life?”

toji groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “listen, it’s not that simple. i need your help to... to bully her.”

“...what?”

“bully her,” toji repeats, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “you know, make her life miserable so i can swoop in and save the day. it’s foolproof!” sukuna stares at him for a long moment, trying to process the sheer idiocy of what he just heard.

“you want me to bully your crush so you can play knight in shining armor?”

“exactly.”

“you’re an idiot.”

“c’mon, sukuna,” toji pleads. “you’re good at the whole intimidation thing! you don’t even have to go hard, just—”

“no.”

“but—”

“no.”

shiu snickers from the sidelines. “told you he wouldn’t do it.” toji glares at him, then turns back to sukuna. “fine. then give me advice or something! how am i supposed to ask her to prom?”

“i don’t know, maybe try not bullying her?”

“wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice,” toji says, deadpan. sukuna rolls his eyes. “look, just—give her something she likes. flowers, chocolates, whatever. don’t overthink it.”

“flowers? chocolates? what is this, a rom-com?” toji scoffs.

“then figure it out yourself,” sukuna snaps, already turning to leave. “i’ve got better things to do.”

“like what?”

“none of your business.” sukuna snaps, already regretting every second of this interaction.

this is the point where toji is wailing, absolutely wailing, and it’s honestly one of the worst things sukuna’s had to witness, and he once saw yuuji eat spaghetti with his hands.

“you don’t get it, sukuna!” toji cries, pacing back and forth. “if i don’t get fushiguro—mamaguro, the love of my life—i’ll look like a fool for calling myself toji fushiguro all year! do you know how many people think we’re already married? do you understand the pressure?”

“no,” sukuna deadpans, crossing his arms. “because i’m not insane.”

“this is a matter of marriage or death,” toji insists, dramatic as ever. “marriage! or! death!”

shiu, leaning against the bleachers, snickers. “it’s more like marriage or public humiliation, but yeah, sure, toji. go off.”

“shut up, shiu!” toji snaps. then, in the most embarrassing move yet, he turns back to sukuna, clutching his arm like he’s begging a god for salvation. “please, sukuna. please. i’ll do anything!”

sukuna yanks his arm back with a grimace. “don’t touch me.”

“i’ll pay you,” toji adds, desperate now. “how much do you want?” shiu, ever the opportunist, pulls out a wad of cash from his jacket. “i’ll double whatever you’re thinking.”

sukuna glares at him, then at the money, then back at toji, who’s practically vibrating with nerves. the sheer audacity of these people.

“what do you two think i am?” sukuna growls, stepping closer. “someone you can just buy?”

toji and shiu exchange a look.

“yes,” they say in unison.

“you’re not wrong,” sukuna mutters, snatching the cash out of shiu’s hand.

and that’s how sukuna finds himself storming into the art room, where fushiguro—lovingly dubbed mamaguro by the school fraternity, who is also the unknowing subject of toji’s unhinged obsession—is peacefully painting a landscape.

“yo,” sukuna calls, making sure his voice sounds just gruff enough to make an impression. mamaguro looks up, confused but polite as ever. “oh, sukuna. what brings you here?”

“uh…” sukuna falters for half a second. then, remembering the script toji forced on him, he clears his throat. “your art sucks.”

mamaguro blinks at him. “excuse me?”

“you heard me,” sukuna says, louder this time. “these clouds? they look like—like… mashed potatoes!”

“mashed potatoes?” she repeats, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

“yeah! and this—this tree? it’s—it’s… ugly!”

he’s running out of insults fast, but thankfully, he doesn’t have to keep going because, right on cue, toji bursts into the room like a man possessed.

“stop right there, sukuna!” toji yells, pointing dramatically.

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard he nearly pulls something.

“how dare you insult her art?” toji continues, marching forward. “you know nothing of the beauty and grace she pours into every stroke of her brush! apologize to her, right now!”

sukuna glances at mamaguro, who’s now staring at toji like he’s grown a second head.

“um…” she starts, clearly confused.

“and not only that,” toji adds, dropping to one knee, “i, toji fushig– i mean, zenin, would be honored if you would accompany me to prom!”

the silence that follows is deafening.

“…what?” mamaguro says, her voice a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“say yes, please,” toji begs, still on his knee.

sukuna takes this as his cue to leave before his brain cells start dying en masse. as he walks out, he hears a mixture of toji’s frantic pleading, mamaguro’s incredulous laughter, and shiu’s obnoxious whooping from the hallway. “cringe,” sukuna mutters to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. on the way out, he snatches the rest of the wad of cash from shiu’s hand. the guy doesn’t even protest; he’s too busy recording the whole disaster on his phone.

normally, sukuna would use this cash for something like a new vape or a pack of cigarettes. but now? now he’s a man with a mission. he’s going to use this money for your promposal.

assuming he can think of something. preferably something that doesn’t involve dollar bill bouquets or public humiliation.

as sukuna storms off the art room steps, he’s already thinking of how he could possibly top the circus act he just witnessed. whatever he comes up with has to be cool, low-key, and—most importantly—not the type of thing that makes people point and say, "look at ryomen sukuna doing that." because if there’s one thing sukuna won’t tolerate, it’s losing to toji zenin in a battle of charm.

he stuffs the cash into his pocket, muttering to himself, “this better be worth it.” and by "this," he means putting up with high school drama, helping idiots like toji, and figuring out the best way to ask you to prom without looking like a total sap.

little does he know, shiu is already uploading the footage of toji’s “promposal” disaster onto his burner account with the caption: “zenin family downfall: live footage.”

and in the back of his mind, sukuna knows one thing for sure—he needs to act fast. whatever he does has to blow everyone away, especially you.

—

sukuna leans against the wall outside the school gates, trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible despite the fact that his brain is doing cartwheels. his day’s been an absolute dumpster fire—between toji’s soap opera, shiu’s cryptic smirks, and some freshman mistaking him for a guidance counselor (how? how does that even happen?), he’s just about had it. and then, like the climax of one of those rom-coms you force him to watch, you step out of the school building. sukuna swears he hears a choir of angels, some harp strings, and maybe even sees a glowing halo over your head.

but of course, he’s ryomen sukuna, and he’s supposed to be the "bad boy." so instead of saying something poetic like, “you’re the light of my life,” he settles on:

“what the hell took you so long?”

your indignant pout hits him like a sucker punch, and he immediately regrets his choice of words. “excuse me, mister,” you huff, hands on your hips. “i was finishing my community service hours.”

“community service?” sukuna raises a brow. “what’d you do this time? steal a library book? jaywalk?”

you roll your eyes. “not everyone’s a delinquent like you, ‘kuna. i was helping clean up the school garden.”

“right. of course you were.” sukuna mutters, trying to ignore the sharp contrast between the two of you. while you’re out here being a model student with a résumé the size of a textbook, sukuna’s résumé might as well just say “can punch really hard.”

you don’t notice his inner turmoil as you launch into your usual spiel about your packed schedule. “so after that, i had drama club practice, then i’m helping with the fundraiser for the library, and then i have to—”

sukuna zones out for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer productivity radiating off of you. jesus, she’s a walking linkedin profile, he thinks, mentally comparing your extracurriculars to his…well, lack thereof. unless fistfights, bad decisions, and looking hot in leather count as extracurriculars.

“—and next week i’m presenting at the school board meeting!” you finish, beaming.

“you know, some of us don’t have time to kiss ass,” sukuna mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in it.

“what was that?”

“nothing,” he says quickly, reaching out to grab your hand before he can think too much about it. he gives it a small squeeze, hoping it’ll shut up the voice in his head that’s been nagging him all day. you glance down at your intertwined hands, your expression softening. “you okay?”

“yeah, fine,” sukuna lies, looking away so you don’t catch the slight pink tint creeping up his ears. you let it slide, leaning closer as you walk beside him. “you know, you don’t have to wait for me every day.”

“and let some idiot try to ask you out while i’m not around? yeah, right.”

you laugh, and sukuna feels his chest loosen a little.

“you’re silly,” you say, swinging his hand a little as you walk.

“and you’re too good for me,” sukuna blurts out before he can stop himself.

you stop in your tracks, blinking up at him. “what?”

“uh—nothing,” he says quickly, his brain screaming at him to shut up. but you don’t let it go. you tighten your grip on his hand and give him a look so sincere it nearly floors him. “sukuna, i like you for you, okay? not for some résumé or checklist or whatever you’re overthinking right now.”

“who says i’m overthinking?”

“your face.”

sukuna scoffs, trying to mask the relief that washes over him. “yeah, well. you’re lucky i like you too.”

you grin, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and sukuna swears he hears those angel singing again. maybe you really are untouchable, he thinks. but then again, you’re holding his hand, choosing him out of everyone else. and maybe that’s what true love is—messy, imperfect, and way too good to be true.

—

sukuna stumbles into his room after the long, exhausting day. his feet drag on the floor as he sheds his jacket, but leaves his shoes on—he's too tired to even care about a single thing right now. his bed looks like a warzone, clothes scattered across the floor in what can only be described as a "i’m a badass" fashion, but anyone who’s seen it knows it’s just laziness masked as chaos.

one of his dumbass bandanas is hanging off the lamp, and his hello kitty nightlight still glows faintly by his desk, casting a strange aura around the room. a vape lies carelessly tossed beside his pillow, some loose change, and a stack of junk food wrappers. he’d never admit it, but there’s a half-open box of chocolate chip cookies on his nightstand because, surprise surprise, he bought it for you earlier but kept it for himself when you weren’t looking.

ryomen sukuna, ladies and gentlemen.

plopping down onto his bed, he lazily scrolls through his phone before flopping down, leaving the screen bright enough to nearly fry his eyes. as if the day wasn’t already overwhelming enough, now he’s doing something even dumber. he opens discord.

and without thinking twice, sends a message to uraume, the e-friend he’s been talking to for months, mostly while they’ve been playing apex legends. he had no clue how this strange friendship even started, but honestly? uraume was sarcastic, annoying in a way that made him laugh, and didn’t take his “bad boy” persona too seriously.

he leans back, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, holding the vape in his mouth while scrolling mindlessly through tiktok videos, making mental notes about the stuff you liked—stuff like cheesy couple memes, random boyfriend-girlfriend skits, and, of course, the tiktok videos of couples doing those “promposals.” sighing dramatically, he sends the message to uraume.

kingofcursezz: yo kingofcursezz: how the hell do you ask someone to prom without making it cringey kingofcursezz: help me out bro kingofcursezz: i'm trying to avoid looking like an idiot

he exhales a puff of smoke, irritated with himself for even reaching out to uraume about this. this is beneath him. but the thought of you—and how you’re so sweet, how you deserve the best….

yeah... he can’t screw this up. not now, not after all the effort.

his phone pings with a reply, and sukuna, having put it off for a second, glances down at the screen:

starume666: LOL starume666: are you seriously asking me this?

kingofcursezz: if you don’t help istg i’ll show up with a bucket of chicken and a bouquet of dollar bills. that’s my backup plan so you better give me something good.

he pauses to let out a tired, humorless laugh as he wipes his face. god, he’s not gonna survive this.

starume666: lmaooooo starume666: dude you’re way too hard on yourself starume666: just do smth simple but meaningful starume666: what’s the thing you know will make her smile?

kingofcursezz: uhhhhhhh kingofcursezz: how about not being a weirdo who doesn’t know what the fuck a promposal is? kingofcursezz: i’ll be the guy in the background who just buys her flowers and does the bare minimum like some jock that’s been forced into this tradition 💀💀💀💀

starume666: yeah but you’re not a jock bro starume666: you’re a bad boy 😹 so act like it starume666: maybe do something unexpected n go off-script.

kingofcursezz: i mean ig she’ll like it if i show up in a full suit kingofcursezz: but i don’t have a tux so kingofcursezz: 💀

starume666: i swear if you don’t do this right i’m flying to your school and putting a bucket of kfc on your doorstep starume666: figure out what she likes and then do that. just be honest dude.

kingofcursezz: okok fine kingofcursezz: i’ll show up and do smth kingofcursezz: if you could stop texting me like my mom, that’d be great.

starume666: [reacted 😹 to your message]

sukuna rolls his eyes as the conversation ends, staring at his phone for a long while. he can’t help but think about you and the fact that he might actually care enough to make this promposal thing work. he shakes his head and grins at the absurdity of it all. for you, though? he’ll do anything. even if it means figuring out how to pull off the world’s least embarrassing promposal.

with that, he flicks his vape one last time, sits up, and starts brainstorming—maybe a simple bouquet? or, wait—does she even like roses? the inner turmoil continues, but one thing's for sure: he’s committed to this, for you.

chapter three: flowers are expensive, but regret is worse

sukuna’s day is just one monotonous loop of chaos, like some cruelly predictable high school sitcom. the cycle starts as usual: he drags yuuji, still wailing about his half-finished power rangers episode, onto the bus. the kid still begs for face tattoos, and sukuna swears he’s about to lose his mind if yuuji brings it up again. after that, he waits for you by the school gates like some lovesick loser who’s too proud to admit it, walks you to class, and then spends the rest of his day dodging every cheesy, cringe-worthy promposal happening at every corner.

but today? today, he’s got a mission. because apparently, the hellscape of high school doesn’t just end at promposals. no, the school administration has to rub salt in the wound by charging $20 per ticket for prom.

$20. per person.

“are they funding a space program or what?” sukuna mutters under his breath as he trudges toward the admin desk, a wad of cash in hand. the admin, of course, isn’t at the desk. instead, gojo satoru is standing there, grinning ear to ear, holding a stack of offensively pink prom tickets. sukuna stops dead in his tracks.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” sukuna grumbles, glaring at gojo. “good morning to you too, sunshine!” gojo chirps, twirling the tickets between his fingers like he’s actually enjoying this. “what are you doing here?” sukuna asks, shoving the cash across the desk with zero ceremony.

“volunteering,” gojo says, batting his lashes as if he’s some kind of saint. “community service, you know? unlike you, i’m giving back to the school.”

“you mean they forced you here after you nearly set the chem lab on fire last month,” sukuna deadpans. gojo gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “how dare you? those were experiments! i’m a man of science, sukuna.”

“you’re a man of stupidity,” sukuna snaps, snatching the two tickets from gojo’s hand before he can start twirling them again. the pink nearly burns his eyes.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” gojo says, leaning over the desk like some smug cat. “you excited for prom? oh wait, let me guess. you’re one of those guys who’s too cool for prom, huh? you’re just going for your girlfriend’s sake, aren’t you? how adorable.”

sukuna grits his teeth, refusing to give gojo the satisfaction of a response. instead, he grabs the clipboard to sign his name and yours, hastily scrawling the details. “oh, and while you’re at it,” gojo continues, leaning further into sukuna’s personal space, “you should totally sign up for prom king. i mean, look at you. tattoos, brooding face, bad-boy aura. the people would eat it up.”

sukuna freezes, pen hovering over the clipboard. “prom king? really?”

“absolutely!” gojo beams. “and hey, if you win, you’ll get to dance with your queen on stage in front of the whole school. talk about a moment, right?” sukuna scoffs but signs his name anyway. not because of gojo, of course. but because there’s no way in hell he’s letting some random idiot stand next to you on stage as prom king.

gojo squints at the clipboard, noticing sukuna’s addition. “wait, you’re actually signing up? no way! oh my god, this is going to be epic. i can already see the headlines: ‘bad boy turned prom king—how sukuna stole the crown.’”

“shut up, gojo,” sukuna growls, shoving the clipboard back across the desk. “you got it, your majesty,” gojo smirks, giving a mock bow.

sukuna storms off, tickets in hand, muttering to himself about how much he hates this school. but deep down, he’s already imagining you as prom queen, standing beside him, both of you looking annoyingly perfect.

sukuna’s first instinct when he spots you walking toward him is to shove the glaringly pink prom tickets into his mouth and chew. problem solved. except, knowing his luck, you’d catch him mid-act, choke on the damn thing, and die right there in the middle of the hallway like some bad joke.

so, instead, he opts for plan b: stuffing the tickets into his shirt. brilliant. considering you’re shorter than him and can’t reach his chest, it’s practically foolproof. he adjusts the tickets awkwardly under his jersey, patting them down like some suspicious drug mule as you get closer. totally suave. totally inconspicuous.

“hey!” you chirp, completely oblivious to his internal crisis.“yo,” he grunts back, hands jammed into his pockets like they’ve been superglued there.

you squint at him. “...you okay? you’re standing like you’re hiding a bomb or something.”

“nah, i’m good,” sukuna says quickly, shifting his weight like he suddenly forgot “how to human.”

you tilt your head, but thankfully don’t push it. instead, you start talking about your day—something about a community service meeting and a teacher who forgot their own syllabus—and sukuna does his best to nod and grunt in all the right places. but his mind? it’s running a marathon.

how the hell is he supposed to propose?

the obvious answer is to just...hand you the tickets. easy, straightforward, zero theatrics. you’d say yes, because of course you would—it’s not like you’ve been subtle about dropping hints that you wanted him to ask you. but then he remembers the look on your face every time you watch one of those elaborate promposal videos on tiktok. the way your eyes light up, how you gush about the effort people put in, how cute it is.

and that’s when it hits him like a brick to the face: this isn’t about proving a point to the rest of the school, or even about outdoing gojo’s obnoxious stunt with geto. it’s about you. about making you smile, giving you a moment you’d remember fondly for years. he’s gotta do it right. for you.

but how?

his brain is a war zone of terrible ideas:

buy a giant teddy bear and make it hold the tickets? nah, too cutesy.

write a message in the sky? too broke.

pretend to lose the tickets and ‘find’ them in front of you? too stupid.

he realizes, with a sinking feeling, that this is why he’s been spiraling. because this whole relationship thing? it’s uncharted territory for him. you’re his first relationship, his first everything, and the last thing he wants to do is screw it up.

goddamn it.

you’re still talking when he zones back in, noticing the way you’re looking up at him expectantly. “...so? what do you think?”

“uh,” he says, blinking. “yeah. sounds good.”

“sukuna, i just asked if i should shave my head for charity,” you deadpan.

he stares at you, caught red-handed. “...no?”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he feels something in his chest unclench. for now, at least. he’s got until the end of the week to figure this out. totally doable. right?

wrong.

sukuna slumps onto the gym floor after basketball practice, sweat dripping off him like he’s just crawled out of a swamp. he grabs a water bottle, downs half of it, and tosses it aside like he’s starring in a gatorade commercial, all while muttering to himself, “this is a nightmare. i’m surrounded by idiots.”

“what’s the crisis this time, king sukuna?” naoya zenin drawls, leaning against the wall and doing absolutely nothing productive. the guy wouldn’t even break a sweat if his life depended on it, yet somehow he’s always the loudest voice in the room. “none of your business, zenin,” sukuna snaps, trying to ignore the fact that he even brought this up.

“aw, come on,” naoya smirks. “let me guess. girlfriend troubles? did she finally realize you’re all bark and no bite?”

sukuna shoots him a glare that could probably set someone on fire. “i’m trying to plan a prom-posal, dumbass.”

“oh, that’s why you look constipated,” toji pipes up from where he’s sprawled on the bleachers, looking like he’s auditioning for a mattress commercial. “need me to step in? i can bully her a little for you. worked like a charm with my mamaguro.”

“toji, shut the hell up before i make you swallow that smug look,” sukuna growls, though toji just chuckles, completely unfazed. “don’t listen to him,” nanami says, peeling off his sweatbands like he’s had it with everyone’s nonsense. “if you want a genuine suggestion, vogue says simplicity is key. a heartfelt speech, some flowers—”

“you’re reading vogue now?” geto interjects, raising an eyebrow.

“it was for a research paper,” nanami replies, deadpan. “and no, i will not elaborate.”

“you’re all useless,” sukuna groans, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. he turns to geto, the only one who hasn’t actively annoyed him yet. “what about you? you’re practically married to gojo at this point. what worked for you?” geto groans like he’s been asked to relive a traumatic experience.

“please, don’t remind me. the guy brought kfc and roses made of dollar bills. do you know how many times i’ve had to explain to people that i didn’t say yes because of the chicken?”

“but you still said yes,” toji points out, grinning like the devil himself.

“because he threatened to throw himself into traffic if i didn’t!” geto snaps, throwing his towel at toji’s face. “what was i supposed to do, let him die in front of the school?”

“yes,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a snort from nanami.

“look, you’ve got this,” nanami says, attempting to be the voice of reason. “just think about what she’d like. something meaningful. and maybe, just maybe, don’t get advice from this crowd.”

“i hate all of you,” sukuna announces, standing up and grabbing his bag. “but especially you, toji. never speak to me again.”

“love you too, bro,” toji calls out as sukuna stomps out of the gym, muttering curses under his breath. he’s no closer to a plan, but at least he’s 100% sure of one thing—he’s never asking these idiots for help again.

—

sukuna drags himself into the house, tossing his bag onto the floor like it’s personally offended him. the sound echoes through the living room, but yuuji doesn’t even flinch. the kid’s sprawled out on the couch, a juice box in one hand and the tv remote in the other, utterly engrossed in mean girls. “the hell are you watching?” sukuna asks, toeing off his shoes.

“mean girls,” yuuji replies, eyes glued to the screen. “it’s ‘bout some mean girls, duh.”

“you’re seven, yuuji. why are you watching a movie about high school drama?”

“’cause i gotta get ready for high school. duh again.”

sukuna rolls his eyes but stops when he catches the prom scene on the screen. his brows furrow as he watches. could this help? nope. just people dancing and some heartfelt speech about how everyone’s a queen or whatever. useless. he groans and flops onto the armchair, rubbing his temples. out of pure desperation—and because his brain’s running on fumes—he asks, “hey, yuuji, how would you ask someone to prom?”

yuuji pauses the movie and turns to him with the seriousness of a kid about to give the most groundbreaking advice in the universe. “easy! dress like their favorite power ranger.”

“what.”

“and then you go, ‘will you go to prom with me? hiya!’” yuuji does a karate chop for emphasis, nearly spilling his juice. “and if they say no… boom! mass destruckshin.”

“mass what?”

“mass destruckshin!” yuuji repeats, puffing his chest like he’s just dropped the most foolproof plan of the century. “you gotta show them you mean business!” sukuna stares at his brother, wondering if it’s possible to feel both amused and like his life is spiraling out of control at the same time.

“yeah, no. thanks for nothing, yuuji.”

“you’re welcome!” yuuji chirps, unpausing the movie. “don’t forget to do the hiya part!”

sukuna groans and leans back in the chair. he’s not about to karate chop his way into a promposal. that’s a one-way ticket to you dumping him on the spot. his mom would’ve been a better bet, but she’s probably halfway through her night shift by now—and even if she were here, she’d skip prom entirely and go straight to planning your wedding. he shudders at the thought. not because he doesn’t like the idea of marrying you—hell, the thought of you in a white dress has his brain short-circuiting—but because his mom would absolutely order a three-tier cake before you’d even said yes to a prom date. “get a grip, sukuna,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. prom first, wedding later. priorities.

yuuji, oblivious to his brother’s existential crisis, pipes up again. “hey, ‘kuna, if she says no, can i have your power ranger costume?”

“i’m not wearing a damn power ranger costume!” sukuna snaps, chucking a throw pillow at yuuji, who ducks with a laugh.

“okay, okay! fiinnnneee. but if you mess up, can i have your juice money?” sukuna glares at him. “shut up, yuuji.”

“love you too!” yuuji sing-songs, turning back to mean girls like nothing happened. and sukuna? he’s mentally preparing himself for what feels like the most important mission of his entire high school life.

—

sukuna woke up with the enthusiasm of a cat being dragged to a bath. it was the weekend—not the artist, fortunately, but the actual day—and the irony of hearing the weeknd's "reminder" on loop in his brain from all those tiktok promposals wasn’t lost on him. tiktok really had a way of making everything worse, didn’t it? he groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed, his hair a complete mess and his shirt wrinkled from falling asleep in it.

“alright, flowers,” he muttered, standing and grabbing a hoodie off the floor. it was one of those old, oversized ones with some random logo he’d stolen from his cousin choso. paired with his basketball shorts and beat-up sneakers, sukuna looked like he was ready to run errands or rob a gas station—either worked.

the neighborhood was its usual weekend self—kids playing, dogs barking, and aunties gossiping by gates like it was their full-time job. sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb as he wandered from florist to florist, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, trying not to look like he was about to hold the place up.

his first stop was a quaint little flower shop with pastel walls and a ridiculously cheery name: bloom haven. sukuna stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the overpowering scent of roses and lilies. “good morning!” the florist, a middle-aged woman with a bright smile and an apron covered in flower prints, greeted him. “how can i help you today?”

“uhhh… bouquet?” sukuna said, voice low like he was ashamed to be seen in public buying flowers.

“wonderful! who’s the lucky someone?” she asked, practically sparkling with excitement. “just… someone,” he grumbled, glancing at a bucket of roses. “how much for these?”

“oh, roses are $5 per stem!” she chirped.

sukuna’s brain screeched to a halt. “five bucks? for one flower?”

“they’re premium quality!” she said, as if that justified daylight robbery.

“yeah, premium my ass,” he muttered under his breath, leaving the shop before she could try to sell him anything else.

the next place wasn’t much better. a hipster-owned flower truck parked near a cafe, blasting indie music and decorated with fairy lights. the owner had a man bun and greeted him with, “peace and petals, brother.”

sukuna hated him immediately.

“you got bouquets?” sukuna asked flatly.

“absolutely, bro. we handcraft our arrangements using sustainably sourced—”

“how much?” sukuna interrupted.

“oh, a bouquet starts at $45,” the guy said, like that wasn’t insane.

“forty-five?” sukuna’s voice cracked. “for flowers?”

“yeah, but they come with vibes,” man bun said, gesturing to the arrangements like they were ancient artifacts. sukuna turned on his heel and walked away, muttering, “i’ll give you vibes, idiot.”

by the time he’d hit his fourth florist, his mood was sourer than expired milk. flowers were so stupidly expensive. why did people even like them? they just died after a week. he considered the idea of pulling a tree out of the ground—free, big, dramatic. totally memorable. but then he imagined you looking at him like he’d lost his mind and immediately scrapped the plan.

“what are you even doing, sukuna?” he mumbled to himself, stopping on a street corner to rub his temples. the hoodie wasn’t doing much to hide him from people who were now giving him concerned looks as he stood there, muttering like a lunatic. eventually, he caved and called the only person who might understand his suffering: geto.

“yo,” geto answered, his voice muffled. “what’s up?”

“how the hell do people afford flowers?” sukuna barked into the phone.

“uh, normal people have jobs?” geto replied.

“i have a job,” sukuna snapped. “it’s called surviving high school and taking care of yuuji. do you know how much that little monster eats?”

“okay, calm down,” geto said, laughing. “why are you even buying flowers? is this for her?”

“obviously,” sukuna muttered, lowering his voice like the trees might overhear. “just go to the supermarket,” geto said. “grab some from there. they’re cheaper.”

“supermarket flowers?” sukuna sneered.

“they’re not bad,” geto said. “it’s the thought that counts, right? plus, you’re gonna make up for it with the rest of the promposal, right?”

“...yeah,” sukuna lied, glancing at his empty hands and feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “good luck,” geto said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“shut up,” sukuna muttered, hanging up and sighing. supermarket it was, then. hopefully, you wouldn’t mind flowers that came with a discount sticker.

on his way to the supermarket, sukuna didn’t plan to get distracted. but there it was—a tuxedo shop with mannequins that practically mocked him, standing tall in their fitted suits. he told himself he’d just peek. just a look. but somehow, sukuna was inside, staring at a rack of tuxedos, his hoodie feeling embarrassingly out of place in the crisp, polished environment. he ran a hand through his hair, eyes landing on a sleek black tuxedo with satin lapels. it was classic, clean, and exactly the kind of thing you’d probably love seeing him in. just try it on. what’s the worst that could happen?

five minutes later, sukuna was glaring at his reflection in the mirror, fumbling with a tie that refused to cooperate. “stupid, overcomplicated—” he grunted, yanking at it so hard he nearly choked himself.

“you’re gonna kill yourself before prom, kid.”

sukuna turned to see a short, older man with a grumpy face and an air of authority that reminded him of a drill sergeant. the man—wasuke, according to his name tag—walked over and snatched the tie out of sukuna’s hands.

“stand still,” wasuke barked.

“i’m not a kid,” sukuna muttered, but he stood still anyway, letting wasuke adjust the tie with the precision of a man who had probably done this a thousand times. “you’re fidgety. just like i was before my prom,” wasuke said, his gruff tone softening slightly. “you nervous about asking someone?”

“...something like that,” sukuna admitted. wasuke grunted, finishing the tie and stepping back. “i was nervous too. didn’t think she’d say yes. but she did.”

“yeah? how’d you ask her?” sukuna asked, genuinely curious despite himself.

“showed up at her house with a dozen carnations, a guitar, and no plan,” wasuke said, chuckling. “played the worst version of wonderwall you’ve ever heard. still don’t know why she said yes, but she did. forty years later, she’s still here.”

sukuna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. for a moment, he imagined himself and you forty years from now. he hated how much he liked the thought. “cool story, old man,” sukuna said, brushing it off.

“you’ll figure it out,” wasuke said, patting him on the shoulder. “just don’t overthink it. and maybe don’t strangle yourself with the tie.”

with that, wasuke waddled off, leaving sukuna to face the mirror again. the tux fit perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at the waist. the black-on-black look was sharp, especially with the skinny tie wasuke had wrestled into place. he looked...good.

too good, apparently, because he did the dumbest thing imaginable: he pulled out his phone and snapped a mirror selfie. “what am i even doing?” he muttered, staring at the photo. it was too late to stop himself, though—his thumb hit send before his brain could catch up.

the text went to you.

you.

“shit,” sukuna hissed, panic gripping him as he watched the message deliver. seconds later, your name flashed on his screen. video call. “hey!” your voice came through immediately, bright and excited. “are you trying on a tux? lemme see!” sukuna groaned, holding the phone at arm’s length so you could see the tux. “don’t freak out,” he muttered.

“oh my god, you look so good!” you squealed, and sukuna swore he felt his soul leave his body. “is this for prom? are you finally gonna ask me?”

his heart slammed against his ribs. “uh, no,” he said quickly. too quickly.

and then, like the coward he was, he hit end call.

he stared at his reflection, his ears burning. “god damn it,” he muttered, yanking the tie loose. wasuke’s voice echoed in his head: you’ll figure it out. “yeah, right,” sukuna muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket and heading for the fitting room. he wasn’t sure what was worse—your reaction, or his. probably his. definitely his.

—

a hello kitty phone charm dangled from your phone, clinking softly every time you tossed it onto the bed after furiously texting sukuna. you giggled like a maniac, clutching your phone with both hands as his unread replies piled up.

you: omg you’re SO HANDSOME, why didn’t you tell me sooner???!!! you: can’t believe you look THAT good, excuse me while i pass away you: also if you’re dressing like that for prom, consider me yours all over again </33

your fingers flew across the keyboard, unable to stop yourself. there was just something about seeing him all polished up that had you swooning, even if he couldn’t see your reaction. sukuna being flustered? rare. sukuna being flustered and looking that fine? a national treasure.

your room was the perfect mix of chaos and comfort, a little shrine to your personality. fairy lights twinkled around the edges of your room, casting a soft glow over the colorful mess that was your bed—a heap of throw pillows and the softest blanket you refused to part with since middle school. your laptop sat open in front of you, the screen glowing with pinterest boards full of prom dress inspo: sleek satin silhouettes, dreamy tulle gowns, and even some edgy alternatives, because why not keep your options open? stickers covered your laptop’s lid—mostly cute animals, a few doodles of your favorite characters, and a sneaky, ironic skull-and-rose design that reminded you of sukuna.

your room smelled faintly of vanilla candles, the remnants of last night’s study session still lingering in the air. posters of your favorite bands and a few anime characters covered the walls, some slightly crooked but perfectly placed in your eyes. your vanity table overflowed with skincare, hair clips, and makeup products, while a laundry basket overflowed in the corner—a battle you’d deal with later.

you rolled onto your back, phone still clutched in your hand as you refreshed sukuna’s chat. no reply yet. that was fine. you grinned, imagining him struggling to come up with something cool to say.

you: don’t tell me you’re too busy being HOT to reply now 🙂‍↕️😹 you: also hi ily bye 🤭

closing your chat for a moment, you leaned back against your pillows and stared at your laptop screen. prom dress inspo was serious business, and as much as you wanted to keep teasing sukuna, you couldn’t ignore the excitement bubbling in your chest. prom was coming, and with a boyfriend like sukuna, it was going to be perfect—even if he was probably sweating bullets over the whole promposal thing. let him sweat a little longer, you thought with a giggle, clicking on yet another gown that made your heart skip a beat.

chapter four: gossip girls and a guy who can’t communicate

the bathroom was dimly lit, the flickering bulb above one of the stalls doing nothing to make you feel any better. you hadn’t even been planning on overhearing the conversation when you snuck into the last stall, phone in hand, planning to scroll mindlessly through pinterest to distract yourself during the break. but then their voices carried in, sharp and intentional, like knives aimed straight for your heart.

"i mean, can you believe she hasn’t been asked yet?" yorozu’s saccharine tone dripped with malice, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "like, it’s kind of embarrassing at this point. you’d think someone as clingy as her would’ve forced sukuna to do it by now."

mei mei let out a low laugh, the kind that made your stomach twist. "maybe he’s just not into her like that. i mean, bad boys don’t exactly do promposals, do they? unless it’s for someone worth the effort."

"exactly," yorozu snickered. "like, if he really cared, she’d have already been bragging about it all over instagram. but nope. maybe he’s keeping his options open? can’t blame him." their laughter cut through the air, and you pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to steady your breathing. your chest felt tight, and for a moment, you thought you might actually cry. not here. not in front of them. not where they could hear.

from the sinks, shoko ieiri’s voice came sharp and cutting, a stark contrast to her usual laid-back drawl. "god, can you two shut up? it’s break, not your audition for mean girls 2."

"what’s your problem, ieiri?" yorozu snapped, but there was an edge to her voice—shoko wasn’t someone to mess with lightly.

"my problem is your ugly-ass voices ruining my smoke break," shoko replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke with practiced indifference. "if sukuna hasn’t asked her yet, it’s probably because he’s not a performative little attention whore like, oh, i don’t know, you two."

mei mei sniffed. "whatever. we’re just saying what everyone’s thinking."

"yeah, everyone," yorozu added, her voice dripping with mock concern. "but hey, maybe sukuna will surprise her. or not."

their laughter followed them out the door, and the sound of it made your stomach churn. the bathroom felt unbearably quiet once they were gone, the only noise the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. you stayed in the stall for a moment longer, gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. their words circled in your head like vultures, each one pecking away at your confidence.

maybe he’s just not into you like that.

bad boys don’t exactly do promposals.

someone worth the effort.

your mind spun in spirals. was it true? sukuna had been acting distant lately—or was that just your imagination? he hadn’t replied to your texts about the tuxedo selfie, and now that you thought about it, what if it wasn’t meant for you? what if it was meant for someone else? maybe mei mei and yorozu were right. why would someone like sukuna—brooding, aloof, undeniably cool—want someone like you? you heard the stall door creak open, and shoko’s voice startled you out of your thoughts.

"hey. you okay in there?"

you hesitated before opening the door, forcing a tight smile. "yeah, i’m fine."

shoko frowned, her cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. she looked at you for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before finally muttering, "those bitches don’t know what they’re talking about."

"it’s fine," you lied, brushing past her. your hands were trembling as you gripped the strap of your bag, and the lump in your throat made it hard to breathe. shoko didn’t stop you as you left, her awkward, apologetic smile lingering in your mind as you walked down the hall, head low, trying not to let the tears spill over.

is he really stringing you along?

does he even care?

two days until prom, and he hasn’t said a word.

the voices in your head were relentless, their whispers feeding your growing self-doubt. and for the first time in your relationship, you wondered if you’d been wrong about sukuna all along.

the day had dragged on forever, the weight of yorozu and mei mei's words pressing heavily on your shoulders. by the time school ended, you were so emotionally drained you couldn’t even think straight. but when sukuna pulled up on his bike, leaning casually against it with that stupidly handsome smirk of his, you plastered on your best smile, determined not to let him see how much you were spiraling. "hey, handsome," you chirped, sliding onto the back of his bike, your voice just a little too bright. "miss me?"

he glanced back at you as he handed you the helmet, brow furrowed slightly. "you good? you sound... weird."

"weird? no way!" you forced a laugh, strapping the helmet on. "just, you know, long day. classes were boring. people were annoying. the usual."

sukuna didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged it off, revving the engine as you wrapped your arms around his waist. the ride home was silent, save for the growl of the bike and the occasional honk of a car passing by. usually, you’d chatter about everything and nothing, filling the air with your stories, your laughter, your plans. today, though, the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind too tangled in thoughts of prom and sukuna and you. when he stopped in front of your place, you hopped off and handed him the helmet, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "can i ask you something?" his eyes narrowed slightly, his usual nonchalance giving way to something more guarded. "what’s up?"

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "why haven’t you… you know… said anything about prom?" sukuna blinked, caught completely off guard. "huh? what d’ya mean?"

"i mean…" you trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "it’s just… prom is in two days, and everyone else is, like, getting these cute proposals and stuff, and i thought maybe… maybe you’d—"

"oh, come on," he cut you off, his tone more defensive than he intended. "you know i’m not into all that cheesy shit. i’m not gojo or toji, running around making a scene." your heart sank at his words, and you tried to keep your voice steady. "it’s not about making a scene, sukuna. it’s about—"

"about what?" he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. "you already know we’re going together, right? so what’s the big deal?" you stared at him, your chest tightening. "the big deal is… i just wanted to feel special, okay? like you care. but if that’s too much to ask, then—"

"you think i don’t care?" he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "you think i’m just stringin’ you along or some shit? what kinda dumbass idea is that?" the tears you’d been holding back all day threatened to spill over, and you quickly looked away. "forget it. i shouldn’t have said anything."

"no, seriously, where’s this coming from?" he pressed, his frustration clear. "you’ve been acting off all day, and now you’re throwing this at me?"

"you’re impossible," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking towards your door.

"wait, hold up—" he started, but you didn’t stop, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond. sukuna sat there on his bike, watching you walk away, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t know how to describe. he wanted to call after you, to explain that he was trying, that he wanted to give you something special, but the words just wouldn’t come out. instead, he clenched his fists, cursing himself under his breath.

as you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, tears streaming down your face. your thoughts were a chaotic mess. does he even care? am i being unreasonable? is this all in my head?

meanwhile, sukuna sat outside for a few moments longer, staring at your house with a sinking feeling in his stomach. he’d messed up, and he knew it. but how the hell was he supposed to fix it?

—

sukuna was lying on his bed, arms splayed out like he’d just been KO’d by life itself. staring at the ceiling, he let out a groan so deep it rattled his soul. it’s so over, he thought. this is it. the end. the fat lady’s singing. the curtain’s dropping. i’ve fumbled my way into boyfriend hell. his phone was propped up on his chest, the screen dimmed but still visible, waiting for the one thing that could bring him solace: a notification from you. no cute animal reel, no cheesy meme, no “omg this reminded me of you <3 :3” tag. nothing. nada. silence. sukuna stared at the unlit screen like it was actively mocking him.

so this is how it feels to die inside, he mused, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok, where every other post was either a cringy promposal or a “men ain’t shit” rant. great. he tossed his phone aside, facepalming hard enough to leave a red mark.

"bro, can you NOT," yuuji’s voice boomed through the thin wall, followed by the sound of something heavy slamming against it. "some of us are trying to get good sleep over here!" sukuna didn’t even flinch. "and some of us are trying to figure out why we’re the literal worst boyfriend on the planet, yuuji," he shouted back, voice muffled by his pillow.

there was a pause, and then yuuji called back, "sounds like a skill issue!"

yeah, thanks for the moral support, kid, sukuna thought bitterly, rolling onto his side and glaring at his phone like it held all the answers to his problems. should he text you? call you? grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness? nah, too much. probably. "but what if it’s not too much," he muttered to himself, his overthinking spiraling like a tiktok rabbit hole. he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he started typing:

sukuna: "hey."

no, too casual. she’s probably still mad. delete.

sukuna: "sorry for being a dick earlier."

ugh, too vague. she deserves better than this half-assed apology. delete.

sukuna: "pls don’t leave me i’m stupid and i love you."

god, get a grip. delete.

he groaned again, tossing his phone across the bed and burying his face in his hands. he was spiraling, and not in the cute “omg i like her so much” way, but in the “my life is a flaming dumpster fire” way. the worst part? he couldn’t even properly apologize yet because the grand promposal he’d been planning wasn’t ready. and if he apologized now, you’d probably forgive him, but it’d ruin the big moment he was hoping to surprise you with. but what if waiting too long means she never forgives me at all?

“fuck,” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling again. “why is being in love so goddamn hard? people on tiktok make it look so easy. just dance, propose, and boom, happy ending. where’s my happy ending?”

from the other room, yuuji shouted, "SHUT UP, ROMEO!"

"eat shit, yuuji!" sukuna barked back, even though the kid was right.

god, he needed to get his act together before you realized you could do way better than him. but for now, he just laid there, shriveling up and dying like the dramatic dumbass he was, waiting for a miracle.

—

your room was a disaster zone: laptop open on your bed, your playlist stuck on “prom dress” by mxmtoon like it was 2019, your phone precariously balanced on a pile of mismatched socks, and tissues littered around like you were auditioning for a sad indie movie. the death metal hello kitty pajamas—thrifted with sukuna—clung to you like a bittersweet hug, the fabric somehow feeling heavier tonight. you weren’t about to cry over a boy. but also… you might cry over a boy. the duality of woman. and because emotional self-destruction is best paired with a sprinkle of pettiness, you grabbed your phone, snapped a cute selfie in said pajamas, and slapped a caption on it: “cozy nights >>>> everything else 💕”

posting it was an impulsive decision, but it was also calculated. you knew the power of a cute, casual post. it wasn’t technically aimed at sukuna, but you also weren’t about to sit here and pretend you didn’t want him to see it, to notice you, to maybe—just maybe—grovel a little in your DMs. the likes and comments started flooding in immediately because your socials were basically the hub for school tea and wholesome vibes.

mamaguro: our little fashionista!!! thrift QUEEN 😍

god bless that woman. she deserved the world.

shoko: (attached gif of a woman dramatically fainting on a chaise lounge)

classic shoko.

maki: ugh, if i thrifted this, mai would burn it out of spite. cute though. thumbs up. mai: shut up maki. also, not bad. 8/10. maki: don’t rate her outfit like it’s your stupid games, nerd. mai: cry about it.

sibling banter in your comments? worth it.

and then, of course, there was:

naoya zenin: so glad someone else noticed how good you look in pj’s 😏

you rolled your eyes so hard you saw another dimension. of course he had to slither in. you didn’t even bother giving it a pity like.

you refreshed the page once, twice, twenty times. still no sign of sukuna. no like, no comment, no DM. you threw yourself back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow like a banshee. was it really that hard to double-tap? and then, the spiraling started.

what if he didn’t like it?

what if he thought it was cringe?

what if he saw it and scrolled past, thinking about how much of a baby you are for posting this in the first place?

or worse — what if he thought it was for someone else? like naoya?

ew.

you shook your head violently, trying to physically rattle the thoughts out. sukuna wasn’t that stupid. right? he had to know this was for him. but as the minutes ticked by, and the comments from your friends kept rolling in, the notification you wanted most stayed stubbornly absent.

boys are so stupid, you thought bitterly, scribbling “stupid sukuna and his stupid abs and his stupid everything” in your spiral-bound diary. it stayed locked away in your closet, expertly hidden in the event of an accidental snoop, because some things were too raw to share with the world. you hit play on “prom dress” for the 17th time that evening, feeling the lyrics a little too personally as you kept refreshing the post like a woman possessed. love, as it turns out, was truly exhausting.

—

sukuna had just slumped back in his chair, doom-scrolling tiktok and internally mourning the lack of a “girlfriend tagged you in a tiktok” notification, when your instagram post pinged onto his phone. for a solid five seconds, he froze. like a caveman discovering fire.

you looked ethereal. the death metal hello kitty pajamas, the soft glow of the fairy lights, the cozy chaos of your room in the background—sukuna didn’t even know how to process it. you looked like, uh, a… renaissance painting? yeah. except, sukuna was 98% sure he couldn’t spell renaissance if his life depended on it.

r-e-n-a…sauce? god, no.

whatever.

like an idiot, his thumb hovered over the comment section for too long, his brain scrambling for something cool but romantic but not cringe but also boyfriend-worthy. and then, because he was absolutely useless under pressure, he panicked and commented:

sukuna: 🔥🔥🔥

the second he hit send, he let out the longest groan known to mankind, slapping his hand over his face. what the hell, sukuna? he might as well have sent a dm saying, “wyd ;)” for how basic that was. wasn’t he your boyfriend? he was supposed to be above fire emojis!

meanwhile, across town, your phone buzzed, and when you saw the notification, your entire soul ascended for half a second before crashing back down. fire emojis? that’s what he gave you?

your reaction was visceral.

a gasp so loud it nearly knocked the fairy lights off your wall. your heart rate skyrocketed. every fiber of your being screamed, is this what my life has come to? my boyfriend thinks i’m fire-emoji-hot, not love-letter-hot? "oh my god, no," you muttered, pacing your room. this is it. the tiktoks didn’t work. i failed as a girlfriend. what’s next? marrying someone who comments ‘send bobs and vagene’ on my posts?

but before you could plan the ultimate self-roast in your diary, another notification came through. sukuna, clearly in full damage control mode, had added a second comment:

sukuna: my girl. 💪

you stopped mid-spiral, blinking at the screen. the simplicity of it. the possessive undertone. my girl. two words, and somehow your heart went from shriveled raisin to blooming flower.

back at sukuna’s place, he was staring at the new comment with narrowed eyes, second-guessing himself yet again. was that too much? was it cringey? what if she thinks it’s corny? what if she screenshots it and sends it to shoko, and they both roast me? what if—

and then, your like on his comment came through, followed by you pinning it under the post. sukuna let out a dramatic exhale, flopping back onto his bed. ah, love. exhausting, anxiety-inducing, and, somehow, totally worth it.

chapter five: when subtlety isn’t an option

dragging yourself onto campus that morning felt like a herculean effort. you were running on fumes and whatever scraps of serotonin sukuna’s ridiculously over-the-top goodnight message had left you. sure, it was sweet—ten whole lines about how he’d “reshape reality” for you or some nonsense—but was it an apology? was it a promposal? absolutely not. boys were a disease.

as soon as you stepped through the gates, gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice rang out, cutting through your existential crisis like a foghorn. “diva down!” he declared dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him by showing up in less-than-perfect condition. before you could even muster a glare, geto’s hand shot out, smacking gojo square in the stomach. “read the room, satoru,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “ow!” gojo wheezed, doubling over. “i was just stating facts!”

you ignored their antics, trudging toward your locker, when the crackling intercom interrupted the usual morning chaos. nanami’s voice, as calm yet strained as ever, floated over the campus. “attention, students. all of you are required to assemble on the football field immediately. this is not a drill.” a murmur rippled through the halls. was it a fire drill? a surprise pep rally? something worse? you glanced around, half-hoping to see sukuna leaning against a wall with his usual “i don’t care about anything” face, but he was nowhere to be found.

“weird,” you muttered, joining the slow shuffle of students heading outside. on the field, clusters of confused teenagers were gathering under the bright morning sun. you scanned the crowd, squinting against the light. no sign of sukuna. where was that idiot? meanwhile, gojo and geto had caught up to you. “what do you think this is?” gojo asked, clearly already bored.

“hopefully not another motivational speaker,” geto muttered. “or a fire drill,” you added, your voice flat.

“whatever it is, it better be quick,” gojo whined. “my skincare routine does not involve standing in direct sunlight for this long.”

you rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the crowd. something about this felt off. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening, it had something to do with sukuna.

the murmurs in the crowd were growing louder, restless. one of the jocks inhaled, clearly gearing up to yell something stupid—probably “this is so lame” or some other brilliant insight—when the jumbotron sparked to life with a loud buzz. everyone froze, heads snapping toward the giant screen.

there he was.

sukuna.

in a tuxedo.

he looked… disheveled, to say the least. his tie was slightly crooked, and his bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of someone who hadn’t slept in years. or maybe ever. but the way he leaned back in a chair, dressed like a mob boss with the confidence to match, had the crowd whispering excitedly.

“oh my god, is this for real?”

“is he—he’s wearing a tux! is this, like, a movie?”

“is he single?” one girl whispered, earning a sharp glare from her friend.

you? you were just standing there, slack-jawed, because what was he doing?

on screen, sukuna let out a deep sigh, his voice lower and rougher than usual, probably from the late hour. “hey,” he started, glancing off-camera like he wasn’t sure how to say this. “so, uh. this is for… my girl.”

your heart stuttered.

“listen,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, “i know i’m the world’s worst boyfriend. like, bottom of the barrel. absolute trash. no one’s worse than me.”

“i mean, he’s not wrong,” gojo stage-whispered from behind you. geto smacked him again.

sukuna’s voice dropped even lower, making half the girls in the crowd swoon. “but i’m trying. and if i have to humiliate myself in front of the entire school to make it up to you, then so be it.”

your breath caught as the screen cut to black with a simple message: turn around.

you whipped around just in time to see sukuna—your sukuna—riding his motorbike onto the football field like he was in a damn action movie. the crowd gasped, screamed, and scattered as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the field, yuuji riding behind him, holding on for dear life. “this is better than coloring claaaasssss!” yuuji yelled, his little voice carrying across the field. in his tiny hands was a bouquet of… lego flowers? some of the pieces were dangerously close to falling off. behind them, sprinting full speed like his life depended on it, was choso, carrying an actual vintage boombox over his head. half the girls in the crowd were now screaming, but not for sukuna.

“who’s that?”

“he’s so hoott! does he go here?”

“you’re all so basic,” geto muttered under his breath.

as sukuna parked his bike, yuuji jumped off and ran toward you, yelling, “you hafta say yes! otherwise big bro will cause mass destrunkshun!”

sukuna groaned, glaring at his little brother. “yuuji, shut up!” but yuuji ignored him, shoving the lego flowers into your hands. “here! they never die, just like big bro’s love for you!”

the crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and cheers as sukuna finally got off his bike and walked toward you, his face red but determined. “listen,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “i know i’m an idiot, and i suck at this whole ‘romantic boyfriend’ thing. but i love you, and i want to take you to prom. so… will you be my date?”

you blinked, tears welling up as the boombox suddenly blared heart of glass by blondie. choso gave you a thumbs-up, still holding the boombox over his head like a champ. “say yes! say yes!” yuuji chanted, jumping up and down.

“oh my god, yes!” you finally shouted, throwing your arms around sukuna’s neck. the crowd roared, clapping and cheering as sukuna hugged you back, a relieved smile breaking across his face.

“finally,” gojo muttered. “that was so painful to watch.” but you didn’t care about the crowd, or the noise, or even yuuji yelling, “yay! no destrunkshun today!”

all you cared about was the way sukuna looked at you, like you were the only person in the world.

—

sukuna flopped dramatically onto your bed later that evening, still in his slightly wrinkled tuxedo from the ridiculous escapade earlier, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. “do you even understand what i went through to pull that off?” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “i might as well retire. i’m too old for this.” you snorted, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your gaze flicking to the lego flower bouquet proudly perched on your desk. “you’re eighteen, sukuna. relax.”

“eighteen with back pain,” he muttered, shifting to look at you. “and a vendetta against a certain flower set. do you know how many pieces are in that thing?”

“clearly, enough to drive you insane,” you teased, reaching over to nudge his shin. “so… tell me how it all went down. i need to know what mastermind put this together.”

he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. but just know that i better get some kind of boyfriend-of-the-year award for this.”

“you’ll get a sticker. now spill.”

“okay, first of all,” he started, counting off on his fingers, “i had to beg nanami to bend the rules. i was like, ‘listen, dude, just one announcement. i swear i won’t get detention for the rest of the year.’”

“and he believed that?” you raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“well…” sukuna grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “i might’ve also thrown in a promise to help him clean the chem lab after school for a month. he was this close to saying no, though.” you laughed, imagining nanami’s face at sukuna’s desperate pleas. “sounds about right. and choso?”

“ah, choso,” sukuna said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like he was reciting a shakespearean monologue. “the real goat. he flew in from across the state—i’m talking dead of the night—to bring me that stupid lego flower set.”

“you made him travel for legos?” you gasped, barely holding back laughter.

“hey, it was symbolic!” he defended, pointing a finger at you. “and he didn’t just deliver it; he stayed up with me all night building it. i thought we were gonna lose a piece at one point, and let me tell you, i almost cried.” you couldn’t stop giggling at the image of sukuna and choso frantically building lego flowers in the middle of the night. “okay, okay. what about yuu?”

“oh, he was the easiest to convince,” sukuna said, smirking. “i just told him, ‘power rangers need good deeds on their resume, like helping their big bro.’ he was all in after that.”

“of course he was,” you muttered fondly, shaking your head.

“so, there you have it,” sukuna finished, stretching out on your bed with a satisfied sigh. “a night of blood, sweat, and legos. all for you, baby.” you smiled, leaning back against the edge of your bed. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“yeah, but you love me,” he shot back, his tone smug.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed at his words. there was a brief silence before you hesitated, biting your lip. “sukuna?”

“hm?” he hummed, eyes half-closed.

“mei mei and yorozu said some stuff yesterday. about you and… us.”

his eyes snapped open, narrowing. “what kinda stuff?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off, but he wasn’t having it. “they said you were stringing me along. that you’d never—”

“oh, hell no,” he growled, sitting up so fast he almost hit his head on your fairy lights. “i’m gonna—”

“no, you’re not,” you interrupted, grabbing his arm before he could launch himself off the bed. “we don’t beat people up, remember?” he grumbled under his breath, clearly displeased. “fine. but if they say one more thing—”

“they won’t,” you said firmly, giving him a look. “because we’re gonna ignore them and enjoy our nap instead.” sukuna sighed, flopping back onto the bed with a resigned groan. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, tugging you down beside him.

“and you’re lucky i put up with you,” you shot back, settling into the warm space next to him.

the two of you lay there under the glow of your fairy lights, the faint scent of your vanilla candle filling the room. the lego flower bouquet sat proudly on your desk, a quiet reminder of sukuna’s chaotic but heartfelt effort. as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but smile. love with sukuna was messy, dramatic, and over the top—but it was yours.

you tried. you really tried to fall asleep. but how could you, when sukuna had casually dropped an “i love you” like it was just any other sentence? sure, he said it before when he asked you to prom, but that was in the middle of a chaotic proposal involving legos and yuuji screaming about power rangers. this? this was casual. this was deliberate. this was real.

your brain spiraled faster than your pinterest boards during finals week. did he mean it? like, really mean it? was it a slip-up? does he just throw around the word “love” like that? you stiffened in his arms, your body going ramrod straight like a ruler, and sukuna, ever the perceptive one (at least when it comes to you), noticed immediately. “you good?” he mumbled, voice groggy as he cracked one eye open.

you didn’t respond right away, too busy drowning in your thoughts. was this what all those romance novels meant by ‘confessions catching you off guard’? but this wasn’t a confession, was it? or was it?

“hey,” sukuna nudged you lightly, his brows furrowing. “you’re acting weird. what’s up?”

you sat up suddenly, twisting to face him, your fairy lights casting a soft glow on his confused expression. “you… you said you loved me.”

his eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in… well, ever, sukuna looked genuinely nervous. “uh… yeah? i mean, yeah. i did. i do. why?”

“you do?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. you couldn’t help it; the man was notoriously bad at expressing his feelings, and now he was just casually confirming his love for you like it was no big deal? “uh, yeah?” sukuna scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the corner of your ceiling. “i mean… why else would i do all this crap? the flowers, the tux, the boombox…”

“so you’re saying you really love me? like, love-love me?” you clarified, your hands now gesturing wildly because, of course, this needed to be crystal clear. at this point, sukuna’s face was turning an alarming shade of pink—like, my melody type pink, and you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “yes, okay? i love you. love-love you. happy?”

you blinked at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he looked at you like that, all flustered and frustrated but undeniably sincere.

“wait, why are you smiling?” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “this is so embarrassing. i knew i should’ve just—”

you didn’t let him finish, leaning forward to kiss him, your lips cutting off whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to spew. when you pulled back, his ears were now as red as his eyes, and he stared at you like you’d just stolen his soul. “i’m smiling,” you said softly, “because i love you too, dumbass. and because i think it’s cute when you get all flustered.”

“cute?” he repeated, deadpan. “did you just call me cute?”

“yep,” you chirped, lying back down and snuggling into his chest. “get used to it, my melody.”

sukuna groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes, but you could feel the way his heartbeat quickened under your cheek. and as he tightened his hold around you, mumbling something about how you better not tell anyone about this, you smiled to yourself. maybe you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, but at least now, you’d be lying awake with a warm, fuzzy feeling instead of overthinking yourself into oblivion. love-love really was something else.

chapter six: the painting, the prom, and the prince

the evening of prom was finally here, and sukuna rolled up to your house looking, dare he say it, hot. okay, maybe he wouldn’t say it out loud, but judging by the double-take you gave him when he stepped off his bike in that sharp tux, it was safe to assume you thought so too.

and then you walked out.

he swore his brain short-circuited. he’d seen you in a hundred different outfits, every single one somehow better than the last, but this? this wasn’t just a dress. this was art.

“you…you look…” he stammered, his usual cocky bravado completely out the window. “uh…you look like…you know…like…a renaissance painting or something.”

you blinked at him, clearly amused. “a renaissance painting?”

“yeah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly regretting his life choices. “you know, like, those really fancy ones. with, uh, good lighting.” you bit back a laugh. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should,” he grumbled, averting his eyes because looking at you too long felt like staring into the sun. “you look perfect.”

as the two of you got on his bike and headed to prom, sukuna felt like he was riding on air. that was, until you turned to him halfway there and asked, “so, do you have the tickets?”

oh, shit.

his mind raced as he remembered exactly where those tickets were: stuffed into his t-shirt so you wouldn’t find them during his promposal planning. and then, last night, in a frenzy of cleaning and trying to look cool, he’d tossed the shirt into the laundry. “uhhh…” he stalled, trying to come up with a lie, but your raised eyebrow told him you weren’t buying it.

“‘kuna,” you said, already exasperated. “please don’t tell me—”

“okay, okay, maybe i left them in the washing machine,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. you groaned, but to his surprise, you didn’t seem mad. instead, you reached into your purse and pulled out two tickets. “lucky for you, i bought these ages ago,” you said, smirking.

“wait, what?” he blinked, genuinely stunned.

“what? i wasn’t about to risk you being unprepared,” you teased.

“okay, wow, first of all, rude,” he said, though he couldn’t help but grin. “second of all, you’re amazing. third of all…can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“not a chance,” you replied, laughing.

fast forward to the gym, where the school had, of course, gone full cliché with the decorations: fairy lights, balloons, and a weirdly overused “enchanted evening” banner that looked like it had been recycled from at least three other events. but none of that mattered when you spotted yuuji and choso standing near the punch table. well, you saw them. sukuna, on the other hand, saw chaos.

“why the hell is yuuji here?” sukuna hissed, his hands already on his temples. “don’t ask me,” you said, equally baffled. “how does a seven-year-old even get in here?”

“puppy eyes,” sukuna muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

sure enough, yuuji was grinning ear-to-ear, his hair plastered to his head in spikes from what must have been an entire bottle of power ranger-branded gel. “big bro! you made it!” yuuji shouted, running up and practically tackling sukuna in a hug. “yuuji,” sukuna groaned, prying the kid off him. “what are you doing here?”

“helping!” yuuji declared proudly. “plus, i used your tickets!”

sukuna’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“he’s surprisingly resourceful for a kid,” choso muttered, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here as he adjusted his tie. “next time, don’t leave important things lying around.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” sukuna grumbled, running a hand down his face.

meanwhile, you were barely holding back laughter, especially when you noticed the cluster of girls gawking at choso from across the room. “looks like choso’s got some fans,” you whispered, nudging sukuna.

“yeah, well, they can have him,” sukuna muttered. “i’ve got everything i need right here.”

and just like that, the stress melted away, replaced by that smug, confident grin you loved so much. prom was a mess, but it was your mess. and honestly? you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—

the night was winding down, and with prom nearing its end, you and sukuna made your way toward the photobooth. sukuna had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you leaned into him, already envisioning how cute your pictures would turn out. but, of course, peace was short-lived.

“oh, look who it is,” came mei mei’s unmistakably smug voice.

you stiffened, turning toward her and yorozu, who stood there with their arms crossed, both looking like they had nothing better to do than spread bitchiness. “figures you’d show up,” yorozu sneered. “thought you’d be too busy fixing your ‘perfect relationship.’”

“is this where you get your weekly drama fix?” sukuna drawled, his voice low and sharp. he glanced between the two with a look that could’ve cut glass. “or did you just run out of things to do since no one wanted to take you?” mei mei opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, sukuna bent down and scooped you up bridal style.

“sukuna!” you yelped, clinging to him in shock.

“don’t waste your energy on people like them,” he said simply, striding past the two women without so much as a second glance.

“you can’t just—hey!” mei mei called after him, but sukuna didn’t bother stopping. yorozu muttered something under her breath, but even she knew better than to push it.

“you really didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your voice. “didn’t have to?” he scoffed. “like hell i’d let them talk to you like that.”

the line for the photobooth wasn’t long, and before you knew it, you were stepping inside with sukuna still holding you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re not putting me down?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “nah,” he said with a smirk. “you look too good tonight. gotta keep showing you off.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed all the same.

once inside the booth, sukuna finally set you down, pulling you close for the first set of pictures. the two of you posed like a typical couple at first, all smiles and laughs. then sukuna decided to make things interesting by pulling faces, sticking his tongue out in one, and pretending to bite your shoulder in another.

“these are gonna look so stupid,” you laughed, pushing at his chest. “nah, they’re gonna be fire,” he said, grinning.

just as the final photo flashed, the curtain whipped open, and toji’s booming voice rang out.

“move over, lovebirds! we’re crashing this party.”

toji and mamaguro squeezed into the booth, nearly squashing you and sukuna against the wall.

“what the hell, toji?” sukuna groaned, glaring at the intrusion.

“what?” toji said innocently. “you think i’m missing out on free photobooth pics?”

“scoot over, lovelies,” mamaguro chimed in, pushing toji aside so she could squeeze into the frame.

“there’s no room!” you said, laughing as you were squished further into sukuna.

“there’s always room for one more,” came another voice, and before you could even register what was happening, gojo leapt into the booth, landing half on toji and half on sukuna.

“what the—get off me!” sukuna growled, shoving at gojo.

“smile, everyone!” geto called, popping his head into the frame at the last second.

the camera flashed, capturing the chaos in all its glory. by the time the prints came out, you were crying from laughter, holding onto sukuna to keep from doubling over.

“what a night,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes. “yeah,” sukuna said, his voice warm as he looked at you. “what a night.”

—

the picture on sukuna’s instagram was a beyonce level of iconic. the both of you stood side by side, wearing your prom king and queen sashes, though sukuna refused to actually wear his properly—it hung off his shoulder like he was in a fight club. you, however, looked perfect as always, your sash gleaming and your tiara slightly askew from all the dancing. sukuna was leaning just enough to rest his chin on your head (a “power move,” as he called it), and you were holding the bouquet of lego flowers proudly. the caption? equally sukuna.

prom king and queen, obv. any losers who’ve got something to say can take it up with me. she’s the queen, i’m the muscle. try us, idk 🤷‍♂️ also yeah, she's mine. no refunds.

within seconds of posting, the comments started flooding in.

gojo: the muscle? more like the court jester 💀

yorozu: lmao no one even voted for you two 💀💀💀

choso: solid pic 🔥 i’ll be charging for the lego flowers btw

mamaguro: MY BABIES LOOK AMAZING!!! 👑😭💕

toji: me and my girl did it better 😹

“yorozu really can’t keep my name out her mouth,” sukuna muttered, already cracking his knuckles. “ignore her, my king,” you teased, throwing a pillow at him from your desk chair.

your room was a warzone after the night’s chaos. your shoes were discarded near the bed like a crime scene, your fairy lights had a sad strand that had gone out mid-celebration, and your makeup wipes, bobby pins, and jewelry were strewn all over your vanity. you’d kicked off your sash somewhere in the mess, and your dress was neatly hanging off the edge of your chair because despite the chaos, you couldn’t risk ruining it. meanwhile, sukuna was lying sideways on your bed, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place, his tux jacket slung over the back of the chair you were sitting in.

“should we clean up?” you asked half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.

“nah,” he said, throwing his phone onto the bed. “it’s post-prom. chaos is mandatory.”

before you could argue, sukuna’s phone buzzed. he picked it up, squinting at the email notification, and then froze.

“what’s up?” you asked, turning to look at him.

he stared at the screen for a second before a grin slowly spread across his face. “i got in.”

“what?”

“sports scholarship,” he said, holding the phone up like it was a trophy. “same college as you.”

your jaw dropped, and then you were practically tackling him onto the bed, laughing and hugging him at the same time.

“we’re going to college together?” you asked, beaming.

“hell yeah, we are,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “best decision ever.”

and as the night wore on, with your messy room, tired limbs, and full hearts, you realized he was absolutely right.

epilogue

the morning sun cast a golden hue on your driveway, and there was a quiet buzz of excitement mixed with nervous energy as the taxi rolled up. your suitcases, meticulously packed with everything you thought you might need for college, sat neatly by the curb. sukuna, leaning against the taxi door, looked as relaxed as ever, though his towering frame and sharp features gave him an intimidating edge. “you ready?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. he was holding your suitcase because, apparently, carrying your own bags was “not allowed” anymore.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you said, patting the strap of your carry-on bag nervously. the realization that you were actually leaving home was starting to hit.

“you’ve been glowing lately, by the way,” sukuna said casually, as if he hadn’t just paid you the highest compliment. “probably ‘cause you’re spending all your time with me.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “it’s called a skincare routine, sukuna. maybe you should try one.”

before he could retort, a loud, familiar voice shattered the morning calm.

“WAIT! WAIT!”

both of you turned to see yuuji sprinting toward you, waving something in his hand like a man possessed. “YOU FORGOT THESE!”

you squinted, trying to make out what he was holding. as he got closer, it hit you: your prom queen sash and tiara. “oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “i knew i was forgetting something.”

yuuji skidded to a stop in front of you, panting heavily. “you’re welcome,” he wheezed, thrusting the items into your hands. “how could you forget these? you’re a queen!”

“thanks, yuuji,” you said, taking the sash and tiara from him and trying not to laugh at his dramatic delivery.

“don’t forget to wear it on your first day of college!” he added, grinning ear to ear. “yeah, sure,” you said, ruffling his hair. “and maybe i’ll wear a ball gown to class, too.”

“you’d still look better than half the people there,” sukuna chimed in, snatching the sash from your hand and draping it over your shoulder like he was crowning you all over again. “okay, that’s enough theatrics for now,” you said, adjusting the sash so it wouldn’t wrinkle. “we’ve got a flight to catch.”

yuuji’s face fell slightly, and he threw his arms around you in a sudden, tight hug. “i’m gonna miss you,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“i’ll miss you too, yuuji,” you said, squeezing him back. “but we’ll visit, okay? and you better facetime me every week.” he nodded, pulling back and giving sukuna a pointed look. “you better take care of her, big bro.”

“always,” sukuna said without hesitation, ruffling yuuji’s hair in return. “and don’t eat all the snacks mom buys, okay?”

“no promises,” yuuji replied, grinning.

as you settled into the taxi and it pulled away from the driveway, you glanced back to see yuuji waving wildly until he was out of sight. you leaned back in your seat, holding the sash and tiara in your lap. “i can’t believe i almost forgot these,” you said, shaking your head.

“you packed a literal hello kitty lamp,” sukuna said, one eyebrow raised. “but not your prom queen stuff. priorities.” you laughed, swatting his arm. “the lamp’s for your dorm, thank you very much. i’m not letting you live in a depressing man cave.”

he smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “yeah, yeah. but hey, this is it, huh? college.”

you nodded, the weight of the moment finally settling in. “yeah. it’s the start of everything.”

“good thing we’re doing it together,” sukuna said, reaching over to take your hand.

and as the taxi sped toward the airport, you realized he was right. this was just the beginning—not just of college, but of a whole new chapter of your lives. and with sukuna by your side, you had a feeling it was going to be a damn good one.

thank you for sticking till the end <3 this was a drabble i decided to format into a full length fic because i recently came across my old prom photos and the nostalgia was very real. while i can safely say i did NOT have the ideal high school experience, i am deffo making my reader[s] have it 🙂‍↕️ if you'd like to find out what type of reader are you (based off of my fics), click on the quiz link here <3 thank u for reading !!

#this was incredibly well written kashi <3 #i loved every bit of it #i havent been reading much (long fics) lately #so thank you for bringing back my reading ability #okay but fr #reading long fics can be such a chore sometimes #but reading this was just so . . . ughhh i loved it #time passed by so fast while i was reading #you had me completely engrossed with your writing abilities kash 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️#em learns to read #sukuna x reader

607 notes · View notes