Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

      What even is a nerd, really ? Is it the bespectacled, scrawny type buried in books and ink-and-paper characters he won't shut up about ? Or just someone who wears glasses and happens to act like an awkward mess ?

For you, it definitely wasn't the guy standing across the campus gate. You already knew that was not the Sukuna standing in front of you now, after you just stepped through the campus gates. This sure as hell wasn't that pathetic loser from first year, the one who now had tattoos scattered across his skin and a silver ring hooked through the corner of his lower lip.

How did someone change that much in three months of summer break ? Yeah, pysically, sure, but still... ugh, whatever. He was still a nerd at the end of the day, and tattoos don't rewrite personality. 

So, without wasting another second, you lifted your chin and strolled toward the pair in front of you, aiming straight for the white-haired guy you'd been crushing on, Gojo Satoru, who else could that be ? The most perfect guy of the whole campus.

You made sure your ponytail sswayed s you walked, along with your jewelry and the hem of your mini-skirt. Unsurprisingly, your two sidekicks who passed for your friends or maybe just your backup – whatever you called them, trailed right behind you.

You halted right in front of the two men, which immediately grabbed their attention and Gojo's face immediately lighten with that stupid pretty smile of his.

"Gojoooo !" You launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as he caught you like it was the most natural thing in the world, his own arms settling around your waist for a brief second before you pulled back from the hug slowly, letting your hands drag down his shoulders.

"I missed you, you asshole. How could you just pack up and leave for Kyoto all summer and ditch us like that ? That's not okay."

Gojo lifted his hand to scratch the back of his neck, "no... don't say things like that. It was a family trip you know..."

You let the pout linger on your lips for a beat longer than necessary before finally stepping back. And only after you'd made sure he was properly greeted and properly guilt-tripped, did you let your gaze drift to the guy standing beside him.

The guy you'd been pretending wasn't there.

The pink haired who looked nothing like the Sukuna you remembered from first year, and everything like a problem you didn't ask for, then you decided to spare him a crumb of your attention since you were a generous woman.

"Well, would you look at that," you began with a smirk already curling at the corners of your mouth, "even the library rats know how to shed their skin."

You let out a little laugh, pressing your manicured fingertips to your lips after as if you could barely containing yourself, and behind you, your friends giggled on cue because that was literally their only job in this dynamic.

Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek even though, his face didn't move otherwise, you could tell he was cataloging this somewhere in that nerdy brain of his, because you did catch the tiny movement of his jaw tensing, for just a fraction of a second. He'd gotten better at that, you'd give him that much. 

You had ruined his mood with that simple little interaction, like a headache that had plagued him for three years and for which, he just remembered he'd forgotten his aspirin.

Good.

Gojo, however, didn't let it slide. He gave you a frown, one of those half-serious scolding meant to make you feel bad, but, really just made you want to push harder. Aw, wasn't he the cutest ?

"What ?" You rolled your eyes so hard it's a wonder they don't get stuck. Then, you flicked your hand behind you, just enough to swing your ponytail again to remind everyone watching how good you look doing it. "I'm not wrong, though."

You didn't wait for an answer.

"Anyway. See you later, sweetheart." You blew him a kiss, quick and careless, then turned to your friends. "Come on, girls." Finally, you walked away.

Left alone, Gojo shot his friend an apologetic look that Sukuna answered with a simple shrug.

You had no idea how much he hated you.

Sure, you knew he found you annoying; that much had always been obvious in the way his jaw tightened the moment you opened your mouth near him. But you had absolutely no clue that, you were literally the person he despised most in the entire world, from the day he first set foot on this campus.

Not a contender, but the actual number one spot with a bullet.

Here's the thing about some people: the chemistry just doesn't work.

No need for a fight, no hard feelings after a dramatic argument or a specific moment that could be considered as the start of hostilities. It was just a fundamental mismatch like oil and water, or as if personality trumped everything else.

That was how Sukuna felt about you, how he'd felt since the very first week of freshman year,  when he watched you and your two gossip-henchwomen perched on some bench, cackling at everything and nothing, and more specifically mocking his reading group like you'd ever opened a book that didn't have a glossy cover and a reality TV star's name on it.

You were always on your high horses, strutting around like the campus was your personal catwalk and everyone else was getting in your way. Back then, something inside Sukuna's chest started burning and hadn't stopped since.

A hatred that just kept growing quietly like mold in a dark corner.

And the part that really drove him insane, was that you weren't even aware of it. You walked around thinking he was just some arrogant nerd who would roll his eyes and move on, when in reality, you lived rent-free in his head as the single most insufferable person he'd ever had the misfortune of sharing oxygen with.

With that, the idea of spending another whole year stuck in the same classes as you, was slowly killing him from the inside. You were a genuine thorn in his foot.

When the clock needle finally hit twelve, Sukuna and Gojo headed toward the amphitheater. The hallway was already crowded with students streaming out of earlier classes and clustering in groups to catch up on summer gossip. Sukuna kept his eyes forward, mood already ruined for some reason.

"You're quiet," Gojo observed, bumping his shoulder. "I mean you always are, but right now its more than usual. You okay ?"

"I'm fine."

"You did that clenchy thing. You only do that when–"

"I said I'm fine."

Gojo held up both hands in surrender, though he didn't stop smiling because he never, and Sukuna had never quite figured out if that was admirable or deeply annoying. Probably both.

That was when another one of their friends, who was also Sukuna's cousin, a.k.a Choso, came jogging up to them, completely out of breath. Flushed face, hair falling out of its buns, and he was breathing so heavily that a couple of young girls passing by gave side-eyed him a worried.

"Ahhh I seriously thought I'd turned into Sonic back there, holy shit–"

"What happened ?" Gojo leaned forward slightly to get a better look at Choso from the other side of Sukuna.

"The bus... I almost missed it... woke up late because I spent the whole night waiting for the new SNK chapter to drop... do you know what time it dropped ? Three in the morning. Three. In. The. Morning." 

He straightened, pointing an accusatory finger at absolutely nothing.

"Monthly chapters are a crime against humanity, I'm not even joking. I'm going to write a letter, someone's going to realize they've been committing atrocities and they're going to apologize to me personally."

"You read on illegal sites, just so you know," Sukuna threw in without missing a beat, earning a laugh from Gojo and a fake wounded pout from Choso, who, finally caught his breath and fell into step beside them. 

"Don't slander me now, you do that too, we're literally comrades in digital crime, you're just exposing yourself at this point." He crossed his arms for a second before uncrossing them, incapable to stay serious for that long. "Anyway, I'm wondering what this year has in store for us ! New classes, new everything."

Gojo slowed down his pace and loop around to come up on Choso's other side, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulders.

"What's waiting for you is parties – my frat and I are planning to go harder than ever this year, like genuinely we have a vision board and everything. Come on guys, loosen up your asses for once and have some fun." He gave them both an encouraging shake that made Choso stumble slightly. "Live a little, touch some grass, maybe even talk to a girl who isn't asking for homework help !"

Choso shook his head with a sheepish smile. "Ah no thanks, parties aren't really my thing. Besides... I don't exactly have the style for it." He gestured vaguely at his own outfit – which was fine, normal even, but clearly not 'frat-approved.'

Gojo's eyebrows shot up in genuine shock as the concept of not being stylish simply did not compute in his brain. But before he could launch into what was sure to be an overly passionate pep talk about self-confidence and finding your look, Sukuna cut in with his own two cents.

"I mean, honestly, he's got a point; your girlfriend has this nasty habit of making fun of our gang every chance she gets. So, I'm not exactly feeling the motivation to show up, also yeah parties aren't really my scene either. I'd rather study in peace without someone spilling cheap beer on my shoes."

Gojo groaned as he'd heard this argument a thousand times, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"First of all she's not my girl, we're just good friends, and second of all she does that to tease you, that's literally just her personality. You take everything so personally, it's like you're looking for reasons to be mad at her."

"Teasing my ass," Sukuna muttered under his breath, voice dripping with bitterness.

Because he knew what he'd seen and what he'd felt, and no amount of Gojo playing nice was going to convince him that you were anything other than exactly what you appeared to be.

"She's not teasing. She's a bitch, there's a difference."

Gojo opened his mouth to argue but got stopped by Choso, who, gave him a look that said don't bother, you know how he gets.

Perhaps it was more than teasing, perhaps it was the way you looked at him as if he was something stuck to your shoe, maybe it was the way you'd never once said his name without an insult attached to it, or how you existed so loudly in every room he walked into, and somehow, made him feel like he was the one taking up too much space. But he was not about to say any of that out loud.

Choso glanced between the two of them, clearly sensing that something darker was lurking under Sukuna's words, but he was wise enough not to poke the bear. 

As for Gojo, he watched Sukuna for a long second, piecing something together, but said nothing either. He simply clapped his friend on the back a little too hard and steered them both toward the stairs.

The amphitheater was about half full when they walked in, groups were already filtering through the doors, scanning for seats next to friends or as far away from certain people as possible.

As per their unspoken ritual, Gojo gave them a quick wave before peeling off toward the row where his frat brothers were already sprawled out, legs stretched into the aisle and backpacks occupying seats that could have been used by real students. Something about the way they all sat together with their matching energy drink cans and expensive sneakers made Sukuna's eye twitch, but he'd learned to ignore it by now. 

Gojo was somehow both one of them and completely separate from them, a paradox he didn't care enough to solve.

Sukuna and Choso climbed a few steps up and settled into seats somewhere in the middle – the sweet spot where you could still see the board clearly but weren't close enough for the professor to make eye contact and decide you looked like someone who wanted to be called on.

Good students they were, the duo took out their notebooks and pens, already ready to take notes even though the teacher hadn't arrived yet. Choso clicked his pen three times quickly, waiting for something interesting to write down.

Then the universe, as it always did when Sukuna started to feel comfortable, decided to remind him exactly where he stood.

The wind carried the sound of your laugh through the amphitheater doors, Sukuna rolled his eyes instantly, he didn't need to look up to know you had just walked in, with your phone tilted at that obnoxious high angle, probably snapping yourself for whatever social media platform had somehow, convinced you that your opinions mattered; your two shadows trailing behind you like ducklings who'd imprinted on the wrong mother entirely.

Anyway. 

On your side, you'd made sure to plant yourself right next to the frat boys – where everyone knew your name, your reputation and the exact angle of your best side.

You'd barely sat down before Geto was already complimenting your outfit and Nanami asking if you'd dyed your hair, and truth be told, this was exactly why you never sat anywhere else. 

You slid into the seat behind Gojo and immediately started chatting with the guys around you, working the room like you were born to do it

Gojo shifted in his seat to face you properly with that easy grin spreading across his face.

"So listen," he started, leaning in like he was sharing a secret, "to celebrate my glorious return and to make up for abandoning you all summer, I'm throwing a little party at my place tonight. Nothing too crazy, just drinks, music, good vibes, you know. You're coming obviously."

You nearly jumped out of your skin with excitement because yes, absolutely yes, this was exactly what you needed to hear after weeks of rotting in your bedroom, watching him have fun on your phone screen with other people.

Fortunately, you caught yourself just in time, schooling your features into something more casual. You had an image to maintain after all, and it did not involve looking desperate for anyone's attention, especially Gojo's, ahem–

Inside, you were already picking out an outfit, planning scenarios and imagining what it would feel like to be in Gojo's space again with low lighting and maybe just enough alcohol to blame things on later. 

Yet, outside you simply tilted your head and let a slow smile spread on your lips as if you were doing him a favor by even considering it.

"You better believe I'm coming," you finally said.

Unable to resist, you stood up slighty to wrap your arms around him from behind in a quick hug that definitelyyy didn't mean anything, letting your chin rest on his shoulder for a second too long. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Gojo laughed and patted your arm, something that annoyed you a little, but you let it slide.

You then turned your attention to the blond sitting to Gojo’s left: Nanami, the man with a sullen expression and surprisingly prominent cheekbones. You pointed a manicured finger at his chest.

"You're in charge of the games, by the way. Choose wisely or I'm holding you personally responsible for any boredom I might feel."

Nanami blew you a kiss, "I'll pick something that doesn't require you to cheat for once, your highness."

You gasped in mock offense while the rest of the frat boys snickered, then you settled back into your seat with a heart beating a little faster than it should.

More than an hour had passed, and the professor still hadn't shown up. Little by little students, began to leave the lecture hall, until the room was barely half as full as it had been at the start. It was pretty obvious at this point that class wasn't happening.

So naturally, the partygoers were among the first to leave, closely followed by you and your girls. Why waste such a pleasant afternoon sitting in an empty room like a bunch of orphans waiting for a parent who would never come ? You had better things to do.

And no surprise that Choso and Sukuna stayed behind, along with a handful of other too-earnest bookworms, who probably thought waiting longer would earn them extra credit.

Ugh, what a drag. 

You could practically feel the stick up their collective asses from across the room and you had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes again.

Once you were out in the hallway, you turned to your friends and told them to go on without you, waving off their questions with a vague excuse about having someone important to see. They exchanged a knowing look that meant they would talk about it the second you were out of earshot.

One of them tilted her head and asked if you were okay in a tone supposed to be concerned, but, which just sounded like fishing for gossip, and the other one chimed in with a: "are you sure ? because we can come with you" that made you cringe inwardly.

Here's the thing: you loved them, sort of, in the way you could only love people who made you look better just by standing next to you, but right now they were being impossibly annoying with all their questions and their refusal to just take a hint and leave.

Besides, you were not lying, not really. You did have someone important to see.

Someone who wouldn't judge you and expected nothing from you other than who you were. Someone who was currently burning a hole at the bottom of your bag, in the form of a worn-out notebook, with a dog-eared corner and pages starting to come loose from the binding.

Your fingers had been vibrating to grab it ever since you left the amphitheater, ever since you saw Sukuna's stupid pierce catching the sunlight, Gojo hugged you back and his scent lingered on you, causing your pussy to grow wetter and wetter.

Fuck.

You needed to capture it before the thrill faded into something ordinary and forgettable. That was what mattered, the stuff you would want to remember later when life got boring and nothing exciting ever happened anymore.

And that was the reason why you ended up doing what you always did when you needed something to disappear: lying.

You were a hypocrite after all – you'd always been one, you knew this shit about yourself, and it explained how you just flashed them an easy smile – that'd gotten you out of countless embarrassing situations only to create new ones.

You waved your hand like it was nothing as if you hadn't been lying to them for years about your true self when no one was watching.

"Seriously, go," you insisted in a soft voice, yet firm enough for them to understand that there was no point in arguing. "I'll catch up."

Given that they were your friends, and they trusted you for reasons you weren't sure you deserved, they finally let go and headed towards the cafeteria, leaving you alone in the hallway, pulse beating in your throat.

As soon as they turned the corner, you duck into the empty hallway by the old lecture hall no one used anymore, ever since the ceiling leaked and and the lighting flickered like a in horror movie. With shaking hands, you took out your notebook, flipped to a blank page where an ink was about to live, and for a moment you just sat there with it hovering over the paper, watching the ink gather at the tip.

Then you started writing.

"He looked different," you wrote, and then you crossed it out. 

"Not 'good' different I mean, anyway... his eyes were different too, he still got the same annoyed squint he's had since freshman year but something behind felt like he was seeing me instead of just tolerating me and I fucking hate it."

You stopped, chewing on the end of your pen – a habit you'd never managed to break, despite your mother's nagging.

"Gojo's party is tonight. He hugged me and I almost melted into a puddle on the floor but I kept my cool. I think I played it cool... I hope I played it cool. I had to squeeze my thighs together so he wouldn't smell how wet I was getting. Damn, it's getting harder and harder to be near him without all the positions he would put me in flashing through my mind at full speed !! He has no idea what he does to me, of what I think about when I'm alone at night, touching myself, wishing it was him instead, his name on my lips like a prayer to a god I don't even believe in. Please kill me..."

You reread that last sentence back to yourself and felt heat rising to your neck, even though there was no one here to see.

You inhaled deeply, biting your lip until you tasted a metallic tang, then you flipped your notebook around once more, opening it from the other end. 

If the first half was devoted for the mundane stuff, the surface-level obsessions you could probably admit to if someone twisted your arm hard enough, the other half you opened upside down and backwards held your true, most unspeakable secrets.

That was where your real filth lived.

The fanfiction. 

The full-on smutty fic you'd been writing for three years when you were alone in your room, at two in the morning – your laptop balanced on your stomach, one hand tapping while the other was plunged deep inside your dripping cunt.

It all started innocently enough with your favorite character, Eren. Seriously, who wouldn't want to climb that angry emotionally constipated man like a tree ?

Your beautiful problematic green-eyed king Eren, who did unspeakable things to you in every conceivable position across multiple chapters, locations and AUs as apparently, one version of him wasn't enough to satisfy whatever demon lived inside your skull.

Somewhere along the way, things got complicated and now Gojo had wormed his way into the story as well. Not as himself of course – you were not that stupid and you still had some common sense – but in a guise of a character named "Toru," who looked exactly like him, spoke like him, did everything like him.

After all... why stop at one obsession when you could have two ? There was a thing about his smile that made you want to ruin him and be ruined by him in equal measure.

That was how you owned some kind of unholy love triangle that only existed within the confines of this notebook and on your anonymous Tumblr account, where fifteen thousand strangers hang on your every word, completely unaware that the author behind the keyboard, was the same girl who looked down on nerds in the hallway, and rolled her eyes at those who lived for fictional characters. Ironic, isn't it ?

The Eren x the self-insert braver version of yourself smut had gotten out of control, frankly.

The Gojo addition was supposed to be a one-time thing, a little treat for yourself, but now he was a recurring character and every time you saw him in real life, you had to remind yourself that he didn't and couldn't know about the things you'd written him doing, that he would never read the paragraphs where you described his hands in excruciating detail, and most importantly, you were the only person in the world who knew how unhinged your imagination actually was.

If someone saw you right now sitting cross-legged in an abandoned lecture hall, with your notebook on your knees and a pen in your mouth, not to mention your skirt riding up just a little, no one would ever guess that you were one of those: freaks, nerds, girls who spent their weekends refreshing fanfic updates, crying over fictional stories and writing paragraphs about the specific curve and veins of a man's cock. 

You'd built your entire reputation on being the opposite of that so hard, they would only see a superficial bimbo, who didn't have two thoughts to rub together, rather than a freak with a notebook full of fantasies, as well as, a heart eaten away by insecurity and a desperate need to be seen without ever revealing herself.

The scariest part was, it worked. No one suspected a thing, not your friends, not the frat boys or Gojo himself. 

That was the thing that got you, the thrill of it all.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall and stared at the water stain on the ceiling that vaguely resembled to a dinosaur. Afterwards, you'd managed to write a few more lines for your fic, inspiration burning your veins. Then, your phone buzzed with a notification from the class group chat, the class rep announcing that the second professor won't be showing up either. 

Good, you weren't planning on staying anyway.

You closed your notebook with a decisive snap and shove it back into your bag. With that, you stood up, smooth down your skirt, checked your gloss before adjusting the collar of your top, making sure everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

After that, you pushed open the door to the hallway and that's when it happened:

You bumped headfirst into the sleep-deprived nerd, wearing two pigtails that made him look like a sad victorian child lost on the way to the orphanage.

The impact made you both jolt backwards, and in the ensuing confusing of stumbling and flailing, your bag slipped off your shoulder and hit the floor with a thud; spilling its contents everywhere: your makeup kit, a few notebooks, including the pink one with the bent corner that held every secret you'd ever tried to bury.

You almost pissed yourself right there.

Shit, shit, shit.

And since the universe had a sick sense of humor and was feeling particularly creative today; Choso, who didn't have a clue what he almost saw, started to stammer apologies like a broken record, his pale face already growing pink as he crouched down to help. Hell, if he was going to touch your things with those long wet-looking fingers that probably haven't seen soap in hours !

You shove his arm out of the way before he could even get close, hard enough that he nearly lost his balance, and you fixed him with a glare that could curdle milk.

"Don't you dare touch my stuff with your sweaty hands, loser."

Your voice came out cold, causing Choso's hand to recoil like he'd been burned. He looked up at you with wide eyes, mouth half-open around an apology that already died on his tongue, and you didn't give him time to recover before you also were crouching down and gathering your things as fast as possible, the pink notebook first.

And the poor boy's shoulders curled inward, trying to take up as little space as possible, like maybe if he made himself small enough, you would forget his existence and leave him alone. His cheeks were blotchy with embarrassment, hands hovering uselessly at his sides as he didn't know what to do with them now that you'd rejected his attempt to help.

It was almost funny how easily he crumbled.

A grown man – well, barely, but still, reduced to a trembling mess by nothing more than a few mean words and a look of disgust.

And there was a twisted part of you that liked the image you'd given him: shifty eyes, docile and obedient like a submissive little boy.

But that wasn't important right now.

What mattered was figuring out what the hell he was even doing here. No one ventured here usually, it was abandoned, and especially, the place you went when you didn't want to be seen. So, what was his excuse ? Plus alone, without the other dumbfuck Sukuna attached to his hip like a second shadow. 

You glanced past his shoulder, down the empty corridor, and saw nothing else except the peeling paint. 

"Are you going to sit there like an idiot or let me pass ?" you asked, tone bored now, dismissive, like he was not even worth the energy of a real insult.

Choso scrambled to his feet, finally managing to peel himself away from the doorway. "S-sorry..." he stuttered, voice cracking on the word in a way that would have been funny if you weren't annoyed. "I didn't– I wasn't– sorry..."

You got up, took a step forward, then you stopped instead of leaving the poor boy alone. After all, you were a bitch, remember ? And sometimes it felt too good to stop.

So, you came to stand right in front of him, close enough that he had to tilt his head down to meet your eyes, close enough you could see the way his throat had bobbed when he swallowed. You let your gaze drag over him from head to toe, slow and deliberate.

"Say that again," you demanded, tilting your head slightly, relishing to hear him grovel one more time just for the pleasure of it. "I didn't catch it."

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. His voice came out barely above a whisper. "Sorry... I didn't know you were here... s-sorry."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, before smiling and patting his cheek once, twice, with enough force to make a soft slapping sound against his skin.

"Good boy."

Finally you walked away, your heels clicking against the linoleum without sparing another glance at the sheen of sweat on his forehead or his face going from pink to red to a color approaching purple.

That afternoon, Gojo was doing his best to convince the other two guys to come to the party while they were on a group call. His voice crackled through the phone speaker Choso was holding.

"Come oooon," Gojo whined, drawing out the last syllable "I swear it's just gonna be my inner circle, it's not even a real party, just a chill thing to unwind. And you can play video games the whole time if you want – I'll even let you use the big TV in the living room."

The poor guy on the other end of the call, Choso, still bore the marks of this morning's humiliation, like a stubborn bruise. The last thing he wanted was to put himself in another situation where he might run into you. Once was far too much.

He'd told Sukuna everything the second he got back to their usual spot, words gushing out in a rushed jumble of shame while Sukuna listened with his arms crossed. And Sukuna – who had exactly zero room to talk, who had never once stood his ground against you either only to vent about it afterward, had the audacity to sigh and tell Choso he should have held his footing.

Anyway.

Back to the call.

"Will there be girls there ?" Choso asked, and the second the words left his mouth,  he regretted them because he could already hear Gojo's brain short-circuiting on the other end.

The white haired went completely silent briefly, a rare and unsettling occurrence at that, and then he let out a stifled laugh which was less about humor and more about sheer disbelief. Choso could practically see him leaning forward in his chair, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Gojo said, his voice climbing an octave with excitement, "Choso. Choso, are you trying to pick up girls ? Is that what's happening right now ? Did you just ask me if there will be girls because you want to flirt with them ? Oh my god, who are you and what have you done with our Choso–"

Choso's face flushed all over again, red climbing up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

"No !! I'm asking because I just– I don't wanna get made fun of again, okay ? That's all..."

"...what do you mean, again ?" Gojo's voice had lost some of its teasing edge, replaced by a genuine confusion. He didn't get made fun of and didn't even understand the concept of being the butt of a joke.

Sukuna snatched the phone from his cousin's grip before he could answer, holding it up close to his mouth. "Is your girlfriend and her little squad going to be there or not ?"

A deathly silence settled over the call, broken only by the faint static of the connection.

Then he heard Gojo clear his throat.

"No."

"No ?"

"Yeah, no. I mean– she told me she's got something else going on, she can't make it, so yeah... it's just gonna be us guys, basically."

Sukuna squinted at the phone as if he was able to see through the screen. Something about the way Gojo said that didn't sit right with him at all. Yet, he didn't call him out on it for now.

"Fine. Maybe we'll come. Maybe."

"Yeah ?" Gojo's enthusiasm came flooding back immediately, washing away the tension like it had never existed. "Dude, that's not a yes, that's a coward's answer. I need a yes, give me a yesss."

"We'll think about it," Sukuna retorted then immediately hanged up before Gojo could argue further.

He tossed the phone back to Choso, who, fumbled it against his chest before managing to catch it properly. He watched Sukuna carefully.

"You don't believe him," Choso finally says. 

Sukuna didn't reply right away. He just kept staring at the nothing-space, thumb idly reaching up to toy with his lip ring, pushing it to the side, letting it snap back, pushing it again.

"She's never too busy for attention. If she's not coming, it's not because she has somewhere else to be." he mumbled at last, too thoughtful in a way it didn't suit him. 

"Then why would Gojo lie about it ?"

Sukuna's eyes slid to him. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

He exhaled as his hand ran through his hair before asking Choso if he actually wanted to go. Not if he felt obligated, not if he was just going along with it to be nice but genuinely, honestly, deep down, if he wanted to be there.

Choso hesitated, fingers drumming against his thigh. The truth was, he did want to go – at least, a little. Gojo's massive TV was practically calling his name, the thought of playing on that screen, with its perfect resolution was making his fingers twitch with anticipation.

On the other hand, guys in the frat seemed cool too, always joking around and they'd never looked at him like he was something they could step on. Nonetheless, he also didn't want to be the only one there without backup, and he definitely didn't want to drag Sukuna into something he'd hate just to keep him company.

"So ?" Sukuna pressed, noticing the conflict on his cousin's face.

Choso chewed on his bottom lip, then shrugged with one shoulder. "Theoretically speaking... if Gojo's telling the truth and it's really just guys, then I think... I mean, theoretically... it could be fun, don't you think ?"

Sukuna stared at him for a long moment, a soft glint in his eyes. "All right. I'll come with you."

And just like that, the decision was made.

Choso's face lit up with a relief he didnt bother hiding, while Sukuna headed back to the bed with his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, already dreading what he'd agreed to.

He was not looking forward to this.

He knew himself well enough to admit that. He'd never been the most outgoing person, never been the life of the party or the person people gravitated toward in a crowded room. Sukuna was not shy exactly – he'd speak his mind when needed, however, small talk felt like pulling teeth and large groups exhausted him in a way he would never be able to explain.

Those frat guys were practically his opposite in every way: loud where he was quiet, open where he was guarded, constantly fucking girls when he could only fuck his fist in front of the nastiest porn ever.

He was going to hate every minute of it. But Choso wanted to go, and he didn't ask for much. So, Sukuna would swallow his discomfort, pretending to be fascinated by his phone screen and counting down the minutes until they could leave.

Easy, right ?

On your side of the city, things were going much better.

You'd spent over an hour tearing your room apart in search of the perfect outfit, clothes strewed from your bed to the floor. Your mother had knocked on your door three times to ask what was happening and you shouted "nothing !" each time, which was technically true, if you considered that a mental breakdown over a hemline as nothing.

Finally you found it: the backless short dress that cinched your waist and highlighted your collarbones as if they were made for kisses. You paired it with silver jewelries that would jingle every time you move.

By the time you were fixing your lip gloss in the mirror, your phone buzzed with a text from Geto.

Geto: We're outside. Don't keep us waiting.

You rolled your eyes, then threw your notebook into your bag without even thinking about it; writing was an addiction and you never knew when inspiration might strike. So yeah, you were always ready to capture a thought before it slipped away.

Checking once more time that you got everything, you headed out the door, your mom calling something after "where you were going dressing up like that," and you waved without looking back as you've heard it a thousand times, plus, it wasn't like none of her complaints had ever stopped you from doing what you wanted.

A black car was idling at the curb, dark and sleek. The front windshield lowered before you even reached the door, displaying Geto's face: monolid eyes, pierced ears, a lazy smile and his long detached hair.

"There she is," he said, and the way he was taking you in made you to preen. "Get in, princess."

You slid into the back seat and before you'd even fully settled, Geto was already turning around in his seat with an expectant look.

"Where's my kiss ?"

You could say no. You should say no, probably; given that, this was how it always started with Geto: small requests that turned into bigger ones, boundaries pushed until they stopped existing entirely. You had only slept together once. Well... twice, but that was before your knew you have a crush on Gojo, anyway.

Besides, he asked so nicely, didn't he ? His eyes were charming, his lips were also curved into a half-smile that made your stomach did complicated thing. Honestly, were was the harm in one little kiss ?

Thus, you leaned forward from the back seat, bracing one hand on the center console before pressing your glossed lips to his cheek. Noting mentally his skin smelled expensive, you let your mouth linger for a second longer than necessary, relishing the way he went still when you did that.

When you pulled back, Nanami had also tilted his head to the left, presenting his cheek in the most natural way.

You laughed softly and leaned forward again, pressing the same kiss to his skin. When you pulled away, a faint smudge of pink gloss left behind he didn't bother to wipe off.

"Satisfied ?" you asked, settling back into your seat, crossing your legs at the ankle.

"For now," Geto replied, turning back around with the same lazy smile. "The night is young."

Nanami put the car in drive and drove away from the curb. You watched the streetlights blur past the window as the three of you headed toward Gojo's house and whatever chaos awaited there.

When you guys arrived, Gojo was the one who opened the door. As soon as you saw him standing there, in his gray hoodie, and his matching gray loose sweatpants, you felt a primal urge clawed its way up your throat because, goodness: you wanted to rip that fabric off him with your teeth.

However, you were a classy woman, right ? So, you contented yourself with a demure smile and a once-over at his cock shape, for barely half a second. 

He did the same to you – dragging those diamond eyes from your heels to your hair with an appreciation that made your skin buzz. When he complimented your outfit with his usual ease, you had to physically stop yourself from lunging. And you'd have sworn on every gods you didn't believe in that, if there weren't other people in this house, if the universe had any sense of mercy whatsoever, you would already be on your knees, sucking the shit outta him.

Anyway. 

You walked in and immediately clocked the three bodies scattered across his living room: two guys from the frat that you recognized, one laughing, the other nursing a beer. And then there was a girl. A girl you didn't recognize, a girl with dark hair and a pretty face, who also had the audacity to exist in a space that was supposed to be yours tonight, metaphorically speaking.

What the fuck. 

You were supposed to be the only girl here. That was what you believed Gojo had told you. And now there was some random bitch sitting on your Gojo's couch like she owned it, laughing at something your man crush had said.

You had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from rolling your eyes so hard they get stuck.

Yet you said nothing; you were too smooth for that. You simply glided across the room and planted yourself right next to Gojo, so close your thighs were almost touching, without him moving. Hell, he didn't even seem to notice, too busy pouring you a drink and asking about your day.

Being with the frat boys meant being never more than thirty seconds away from a joke, never more than a minute from someone doubling over with a laugh, hands on their knees. Your sides ached from laughing, your head felt floaty and then, somewhere along the way, someone handed you a fourth drink and you wouldn't even notice what was in it anymore.

The alcohol seeped into your veins like a sweet poison, smoothing all your rough edges until you no longer knew where meanness ended and your own began. Everything was funnier now, more intense, more something indefinable.

You could feel the heat radiating off Gojo's arm across the back of the couch. He kept you steady.

He'd been doing that all night if your brain hadn't been making you delusional – a hand on your elbow when you stumbled, a palm pressed to the small of your back when you stood too fast, fingers brushing your wrist when he offered you another glass you definitely didn't need. Every touch felt magnified, multiplied by a hundred, like your nerve endings had been cranked up to maximum sensitivity.

When was even the last time you had sex ?

Actually, properly had sex with someone who knew how to ? You couldn't remember.

You'd been so touch-deprived that even Gojo's hand on your bare shoulder sent several shivers down your spine, making you press your thighs together under the guise of crossing your legs, while your mind spiraled into scenarios so filthy it was ruining your panties.

It was embarrassing, really. 

And as if it wasn't already difficult enough, Gojo leaned in closer to be heard over the music just as the sound of your own pulse thundering in your ears. Every time his breath ghosted on your neck, you had to remind yourself you were in public, that people were watching, that you still had a shred of dignity left, even if it was currently hanging by a thread.

"Hey ? Hello to Earth ?" he teased softly, eyes looking down at your head resting against his shoulders. You just rrealized he'd been saying your name for a few seconds without you hearing it.

You look up at him, or try to, your head was too heavy and your eyes kept wanting to close.

Fuck, he was so pretty it almost hurt to look at him directly.

"You okay ? Wan' some water ?"

No, you didn't. You wanted his cock. You wanted to drag him into the nearest dark corner and show him exactly what his outfit was doing to you. 

"Uhm... yeah... mhm, yeah..." was what came out instead, for the simple reason that you were as cowardly as a liar, unable to say what you really meant even when you were four drinks deep.

He looked at you for a long moment, his pale eyes scrutinizing for something you were not sure you wanted him to find. His expression shifted between a mix of concern and amusement. Next, he sighed.

"Okay, no more drinks for you. Come on, I'm taking you to the bathroom. Splash some cold water on your face, you'll feel better."

He didn't wait for your answer, already pulling you with him, one hand firm on your shoulder, his body warm and solid as he steered you through the living room and toward the hallway.

The smile that had threatened to split your face took every ounce of your self-control to suppress. You barely managed by pressing your lips together and looking at the floor instead.

On some unconscious impulse, you also had grabbed your bag for the simple reason that, you couldn't bear to leave it behind,  even though no one here would ever look through your things.

People's voices faded behind you, the world narrowed to the width of his shoulders followed by the quiet thrill of being alone with him for the first time all night.

Gojo led you down the hall, past the coat closet and the stairs, until you reached the bathroom at the end of the hall. He pushed open the door and switched on the light; the sudden brightness made you squint, sway and reach out for something to steady yourself.

His hand caught yours before you fell.

"You good ?" he asked again softly.

You simply nodded, because if you opened your mouth, you'd say something you couldn't take back.

He held your gaze for one heartbeat then stepped aside and gestured for you to enter. You quickly obliged with your bag clutched to your chest and a heart hammering against your ribs like a caged animal.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you were alone.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your head slightly tilted to the side. You didn't look bad – your hair hadn't betrayed you yet. There was something though in your eyes that gave you away.

You looked like someone who was actively looking for trouble.

And sure you were.

You gaze fell again on the door, closed but not locked. A simple turn of the handle and Gojo could walk in. At that thought, your thighs pressed together involuntarily, heat pooling low in your belly.

What if you touched yourself now ? Right here, in Gojo's bathroom, with him on the other side of this flimsy door ? What if you let your fingers do what your mouth couldn't say out loud ? Would he hear you ? Would he listen, pressing his ear to the wood like the nosy bastard he was ? Would he get worried when you took too long and push the door to check on you, concern etched all over his pretty face ?

And if he came in, and found you with your dress bunched around your waist and your fingers plunged inside your cunt – what would he do ? Would he apologize and back out, face red, pretending he didn't see anything ? Or would he step inside and fuck you on second thought ?

See, this was the level of your perversion.

You were well aware of it.

You had made as much peace as anyone could make, with the knowledge they were deeply, irreversibly, fucked in the head.

The thought of being caught didn't disgust you; no, it turned you on. The profoundly immoral of it all sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine, landed your thighs which parted involuntarily. 

You bit your lip hard enough to taste metal, stifling a moan. You were not even touching yourself that you already were falling apart, picturing a dozen scenarios of how this could go, losing the battle against the heat that had been building in you since the moment you saw Gojo in his gray sweatpants that hinted at the shape of his flaccid penis.

You wanted to write all of this down.

Fuck, you wanted to pull out your notebook and record every filthy thoughts, dangerous impulse just as every scenario your depraved little brain was serving up on a silver platter. 

But more than that, you wanted to feel. You needed to take the edge off. You wanted to sink your fingers into the heat between your legs and chase the release that'd been hovering just out of reach.

Therefore, you did what any sensible, self-respecting woman would do in your situation.

You turned on the water.

The faucet hissed to life, water pouring against the porcelain sink in a steady stream filled the room with white noise. It wasn't loud enough to cover everything but still. 

You carefully set your bag down on the counter, your fingers trembling as you unzip it to take out your phone, just in case; so you'd have something to blame if he asked why did you take so long. "Sorry, I was texting," you'd say, and he'd believe it.

You leaned your hips against the sink and let your head fall forward, hair curtaining around your face. You breathed, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You allowed your other hand to wander, pushing the humid fabric to the side, fingers trembling from a fine tremor born of both the drink, and the overwhelming surge of desire.

The moment your index made contact with your clit, a jagged gasp escaped your lips, a sound you desperately tried to swallow so he wouldn't hear your despair through the door. You began to rub, your touch frantic and uncoordinated due to the alcohol, though the friction remained divine.

You swirled your fingertip around the sensitive nub, circling the tiny, hard bead of pleasure that seemed to throb in time with your heartbeat. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat that made your toes curl against the cold tile. You could almost see him in your mind's eye: his blue's hooded, lips parted as he held you in place while he entered you.

"Fuck..." you breathed lowly, your head hanging low as you leaned further over the sink, knuckles straining against the porcelain. The repetitive squelch as your fingers moved against your folds, filled the small room, making your blood boil with shame and lust.

But you couldn't stop; the ache was too much, a demanding void that needed to be filled with a certain curved pink cock. 

Driven by a primal urge, you slid two fingers past your lips, pushing deep into your soaking hole. The sensation of stretching your walls, of feeling the slick friction of your own insides, sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your brain which caused your eyes to roll. 

You let out a shaky breath, and found yourself wondering if he'd heard you. You bend a little deeper, your muscles tensing as you focus entirely on the friction.

"Nghhh... mmph.." You bite your lip to stifle a moan, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

You kept imagining his fingers replacing yours, or better yet, the blunt head of his cock forcing its way inside, claiming you with a primal ferocity. You picked up the pace, your hand working in a frantic blur while your thumb was grinding mercilessly against your clit and your fingers pumped into your cunt.

The lewd, wet sounds of your self pleasure grew louder, a rhythmic schlick, schlick, schlick that echoed off the walls. You were close, so painfully close to the edge, your entire body trembled with the effort of maintaining your balance against the sink. 

Another minute, maybe less, and you'd finally get the release that'd been building all night, would slump against the sink in a heap of satisfaction and post-orgasm clarity, and perhaps a fair amount of shame.

Unfortunately for you, it wouldn't happen considering Gojo knocking on the door.

Three sharp raps that shouldn't make you jump out of your skin the way it did. It was a real bucket of ice water.

You yanked our hand away, your heart slammed against your ribs. For a few panicked seconds,  you remained frozen there, with your dress bunched around your waist, chest heaving and your mind going completely blank because oh god, oh fuck, what if he knew, what if he heard, what if–

"Everything okay in there ?"

His voice was casual, maybe a little concerned, but not suspicious. He didn't know, he couldn't. You were being paranoid. You were fine. Everything was fine.

You scrambled to pull your clothes back into place, then arranged your face into something that didn't scream "I was just touching myself to the thought of you thirty seconds ago."

Your fingers were still shaking when you reached for the faucet and turned off the water, plunging the room into silence.

"Uhm, yeah ! Yeah !" you called back too high.

You a glanced one's eye over your reflection and instantly regretted it. Your cheeks were scarlet, swollen lips from where you'd been biting them and vacant eyes.

You looked exactly like a mess.

A perverted, desperate, touch-starved mess who couldn't even go five minutes without trying to get herself off in her crush's house.

Get it together, damn it. 

Fuck, you were so close. So close indeed, you could feel it curling at the base of your spine. Now, you were just left with the unsatisfied hunger, the frustrated throb between your legs that wouldn't go away anytime soon.

You washed your hands meticulously, rubbing between each finger to erase every trace, then splashed your face with cold water until your thoughts calmed down a little. After that, you picked up your phone from the counter, about to check your messages, when the door opened a crack.

Gojo's face appeared in the gap, his baby eyes scanning the room before landing on you. 

He was neither trying to barge in nor being creepy about it;  just checking, making sure you hadn't drowned or passed out. His brows were slightly furrowed, a small wrinkle forming between them.

"You okay ?" he asked again, softer this time, and you realized that he was genuinely concerned. 

You gave him your best smile and nodded as you quickly crossed the room to meet him. He took a step back, and held the door open wider as you slipped past him into the hallway before he could change his mind.

There was no way he was going in there. If he did, he might notice something: perhaps the faint scent of arousal still lingering in the air, or some other tiny clues that could give you away.

You acted fast, guiding him back toward the living room with a hand on his arm, and a stream of chatter about how you were feeling much better now, really, the cold water did wonders, you should probably switch to water for the rest of the night though, right ?

"Thanks for checking on me."

He simply nodded and let you guide him.

And you were so focused on getting him away from that bathroom, so consumed by the need to pretend and distract, that you didn't realize what you'd left behind.

Your bag.

It was laying on the bathroom counter, half-unzipped, forgotten in your haste to escape.

And inside it, nestled between a tube of lip gloss and a compact mirror, was your pink notebook. The one with all your secrets. The one that would ruin your entire life if someone opened it.

Up in Gojo's room, the atmosphere was completely different, filled with the rapid-fire sounds of gunfire and explosions, and the kind of competitive shouting that only happened when grown men were taking video games wayyy too seriously.

Choso was perched on the edge of the bed with a controller in his hands, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he navigated his character through some chaotic firefight. Across from him, sprawled in a gaming chair one of the frat guys, Todo, if Sukuna remembered correctly.

The other two frat boys were scattered around the room, one on the floor, the other draped across a beanbag chair, both shouting advices and insults in equal measure.

And Sukuna had to admit – begrudgingly and only to himself, that it wasnt as bad as he'd expected. The frat guys were... chill, far from the knuckle-dragging Neanderthals he'd built up in his head. One of them had even recommended a manga to him earlier, and another spent ten minutes debating the golden age of horror cinema with a seriousness Sukuna usually reserved for his essays. They were more than fine. They were almost... fun.

He hated to admit it.

It was weird. He was not used to being accepted so easily, to people seeing beyond the surface without judgment first.

Also, Choso was in his element, which helped. His cousin had been relaxed. Watching him like this made the whole night worth it, even if Sukuna himself would rather be anywhere else.

But at that precise, Sukuna was doing what he did best at social gatherings: existing in the background while everyone else was doing the heavy lifting.

He tucked himself into a corner of the room, phone in hand, thumb scrolling slowly through a doujinshi he'd found earlier, something that would make his grandfather faint – god forbid a man preferred his porn in drawing form, sue him !

He was on the third page when he realized he had a pressing need to urinate, a terrible need, in fact, which explained why he'd been fidgeting in his chair for the past ten minutes without even realizing it.

"I'll be right back," he muttered to no one in particular, though, Choso gave him a brief nod between button mashes.

The stairs creaked under his feet as he descended, the noise from the living room growing louder with each step. He rounded the corner into the living room and stopped.

There you were.

Curled up on the couch like a cat who'd found the perfect sunbeam, your head resting on Gojo's shoulder, eyes closed, teetering on the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness. Gojo hadn't moved, his arm was draped along the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching, his attention split between the conversation happening and the weight of your head on his shoulder.

Sukuna felt his jaw tighten.

Of course.

Gojo lied, he knew it – he'd known it in his gut the second the words left his friend's mouth. Gojo's gaze slid from your sleeping face and met Sukuna's across the room. There, he recognized his sheepish smile, meant to be an apology, but which mostly betrayed his guilt.

Sukuna rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. He didn't say anything; what was the point ? He was not even angry; he was simply... tired of the lies and the way everyone seemed to take him for a fool.

"Where's the bathroom ?" he inquired instead, his voice flat and uninterested.

Gojo pointed down the hallway, his smile fading into something more cautious. "Second door on the left. There's towels under the sink if–"

The pink haired man tuned him out, already walking away with his phone pulled back out as. The hentai was still displayed on his screen, and he scrolled through it without really looking, his mind elsewhere.

It was almost midnight; he shoud probably head home to study and sleep.

He'd found the bathroom easily; its door was slightly ajar, light still on, and he pushed it automatically. He placed his phone on the counter, walked over to the toilet next and did his business, sighing in relief when the pressure on his bladder finally eased.

The bathroom was pleasant, clean, well-lit, with one of those fancy showerheads that doubtless cost more than his monthly grocery budget. Gojo's family was wealthy, that had always been obvious.

He zipped up, and moved to the sink to wash his hands. It was he reached for a towel that he notices it.

A tote bag sat on the counter, half-closed. A corner of something pink was visible through the opening.

Mmh ?

Sukuna slowly dried his hands, his eyes remained on the bag. Someone had probably forgotten it here. He should finish drying his hands, leave, and pretend he'd never seen it.

But curiosity killed the cat, and Sukuna easily succumbed to it.

So, without really thinking, he pulled the bag toward him and peered inside: makeup, a compact mirror, a few crumpled receipts and the notebook – pink cover, worn edges, thick as rock.

He knew he should leave it alone, that he'd be furious if someone went through his things the same way. But the pink cover was irresistibly tempting, and his fingers were already reaching for it before his reason could catch up and tell him to stop.

He pulled it out and weighted it in his palm. Sukuna stared at it for a long moment, his thumb tracing the edge of the cover while, out of habit, he played with his lip ring between his teeth.

He knew he should stop.

He opened it anyway.

The handwriting was upside down, which made him frown for a moment before he realized what he was looking at – the notebook was open to a page written from back to front. He flipped it around, spinning the whole thing in his hands until the text faced him properly, and that was how Sukuna discovered the filth.

The first page hit him like a truck.

A title at the top, bold and underlined: Wings of Freedom, a drama about burning empires or something like that, he didn't really process as his eyes were already drawn to the summary below, a story about Eren – EREN ?! Attack on Titan Eren ??? And a nameless girl with hair like honey.

Then came the tags, each one filthier than the last, and Sukuna felt his eyebrows climb higher and higher up his forehead the further he read:

Oral sex, Enemies to lovers, Explicit sexual content, Dom/sub undertones, Praise kink, Degradation kink, Breath play, Threesome – M/M/F, Sadomasochism, Rough sex, knife play, Dubious consent, Cnc, Creampie, Overstimulation, Biting, Jealousy, Virginity kink, Size kink, Hair pulling. Spanking, Aftercare–

The man stopped when his brain started to hurt. He blinked, reread the list, blinked harder.

What the actual fuck.

There were too many words for things he didn't know had names, his fingers moved on their own, flipping through the pages with growing urgency and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Scenes, page after page of scenes, descriptions so detailed they made his own private thoughts look like children's bedtime stories. Innocent scenes that turned filthy in the span of a sentence. Eren, the main character him and Choso wouldn't shut up about, pinning someone against a tree with his hand around their throat – and then another one, that was somehow even filthier, involving ropes, a blindfold and dialogue that made him grateful no one else was in the room.

And for some unknown reason, he felt his cock twich despite himself.

This was insane.

He turned the notebook around again, back to the other side written from front to back. This section was less structured, not fiction, or at least, not the same kind. This read like a journal, like someone's private thoughts poured onto paper without editing, words tumbling over each other in their hurry to get out.

It only took five lines before Sukuna found what he hadn't even realized he was searching for.

You talked about your days in excruciating details: who said what, who wore what, who looked at you wrong and who looked at you right. You criticized your two friends with a viciousness that surprised even him, picking apart their outfits, their voices, also their desperate need for your approval. You described your disgust for the school's losers – he saw his own name in there, saw Choso and Uraume's too, a few others he recognized among the library crowd – with a contempt so pure it circled back around to admiration.

And then there was Gojo.

Pages about his smile, his voice, the way he walked, laughed, how he'd looked at you on any given Tuesday when the light hit his hair just right.

You wrote about him like he was a god and you were his most devoted worshiper, waiting for a sign that your prayers had been heard. You described your fantasies about him in the same explicit detail you'd used for Eren; sometimes combining the two, blurring the lines between fiction and reality until Sukuna couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

It was clear as crystal, this notebook belonged to you.

The bitchy bimbo who'd spent three years making his life miserable, the mean girl who laughed at his reading group and rolled her eyes at his existence, was the same girl who, in reality, spent her days writing porn about fictional characters and dreaming about Gojo's hands on her body.

The hypocrisy of mocking nerds while being the nerdiest of all was crazy. 

Sukuna closed the notebook and set it down on the counter. He stood there for a long moment, with a brain racing through a thousand thoughts at once. 

None of them were kind; some were even involuntarily impressed, for the quality of the writing was undeniably good. However, he just felt that familiar disgust deep in his guts.

Gosh, he hated you.

You were a fraud, a bitch who played mean girl by day, whilst writing filthy fanfiction about your crush by night.

You were, without a doubt, everything he despised: shallow, cruel, performative, more concerned with your image than with being a real person. You made fun of people for their true self, for having interests, for being passionate over things that didn't involve parties, popularity or simply, your tastes.

He could ruin you.

One text, a screenshot or one well-placed word to the right person, and your whole carefully constructed image would come crashing down. The queen bee who secretly wanted to be screwed and called names by a boy who knew nothing of her feelings.

He could ruin you so easily.

Yet, he didn't, at least not like this.

He wanted to watch you squirm first. So, he took out his phone and opened the class group chat until he'd found your name and sent you a private text.

Sukuna: come get your stuff.

Then he slipped the notebook back into you bag, let it lay exactly where he'd found it.

Sukuna didn't wait for a response. He just walked out of the bathroom and headed back upstairs, his face unreadable.

On your side of the couch, your phone buzzed against your thigh, jolting you out of the half-sleep state you'd been drifting in. You blinked slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room, and fumbled for the device with clumsy fingers. 

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown: come get your stuff.

Huh ?

You read the text, and felt your heart drop straight to your ass. Your stomach clenched, your throat went dry, your armpits pricked. 

No explanation, no a single context.

What stuff ? you thought, even though you already knew, even though your brain was already screaming at you.

The memory hit you like a slap to the face: you'd left your bag in the bathroom. You were so eager to get out, so focused on keeping Gojo from noticing anything, that you walked away without it.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

You peeled yourself away from Gojo's shoulder as carefully as you can, glanced around the room, pretending to stretch as if you weren't seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. Gojo was still next to you, half-asleep now, Nanami was talking to the girl across the room. Geto was sleeping, no one was looking at you, no one had even noticed anything.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your notebook was currently sitting in Gojo's bathroom for anyone to find.

And someone had found it.

You pulled your phone closer to your chest and stared at the text again, as if rereading it would make it disappear. The number wasn't saved in your contacts, but you didn't need a name to know who'd sent it.

You checked the contact info with trembling fingers and it showed you everything you needed to know:

@SukunaZoldick77

Sukuna.

Sukuna...?

SUKUNA ?!

Out of all people ??? Wait, since when was he even there ?

Fuck.

Sukuna had found your notebook, maybe he knew.

He knew.

You were completely and utterly fucked.