Always Believe In Yourself. Do This And No Matter Where You Are, You Will Have Nothing To Fear.

“Always believe in yourself. Do this and no matter where you are, you will have nothing to fear.”

— Hayao Miyazaki

He’s so nice to me! - Rin H.

Summary: Mean!Boyfriend Rin Haitani headcannons which makes my heart melt and go love drunk for him.

Warnings: Fem reader, some cursing, mostly fluff but some spicy. Really SUGGESTIVE scenario, some degradation if you squint, panties flashing, petnames (Angel, Princess), Rin being the center of my boyfriend fantasies and me going all in for in. This post is considered +17, please respect the age here. If I forgot something please let me know!

Mess Notes: Hi! I’m back with some Rin content bc I love him and I wanna marry him some day 🥺. This is pretty self indulgent tbh but I wanted to post something bc I’m in a good mood so I truly Hope you enjoy!

Going stupid for Mean!Boyfriend Rin that’s just obsessed with you but never is vocal about it, he calls you his whore, his bitch and nothing but his cockwarmer.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that even if he calls you all those names, he has you saved in his contact as: “My Princess ❤️” “My little Angel 💫”.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that whenever you’re anxious he holds your hand and puts one of his rings on your ring finger and kisses it just to make you distracted.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that looks annoyed whenever you run towards him to hug him but lifts you up and spins you around like a princess because for him you’re nothing but his princess.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin who loves seeing you wear those miniskirts and pretty heels, making you twirl for him prettily each time you arrive his office.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that rolls his eyes everytime you start babbling about some cute clothing/furniture or something of your liking and tells you to shut up because he’s annoyed but behind your back he gets that exact thing and gifts it to you when you less expect it.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that looks at you like you hold the whole world and stars when you’re peacefully sleeping by his side and whenever you aren’t looking at him.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin that beats up his old bodyguards for touching you without your consent.

Mean!Boyfriend Rin who sits you in his lap whenever he has a big meeting and makes you wear matching outfits with him just to show you off.

“I told you to not touch, approach, talk, think or breathe towards my girl. Get that in your fucking shit head”

“I got you this, you should look decently fine when you’re with me. I don’t want anybody to think I’m dating a cheap dirty little whore”.

“Scream that to all of them, let them know you’re mine now.”

“Yes, these ones are mines. Better keep them in my pockets for good luck”.

“Show me your outfit, come on” he motions you to twirl for him and you do it, the skirt going upwards and flashing your panties to him, he chuckles “Those one’s are my favorites. You’re such a little vixen you know what you’re doing” he adjusts himself on his seat, you only look away from his prying eyes. “Just wanted to make you happy, RinRin” You bat your eyelashes prettily at him, pouting and bending slightly, just the enough to show him your clavicle and the soft skin of your tits covered by the blouse and bra. Rindou pats his thigh while humming in response to you, Just like he told you what he wanted by telepathy , you walk towards him and leave your expensive bag on the couch, “Be a good whore and don’t make wait” an small smile creeps on your face, knowing what’s coming next.

What I’ve done to you? You don’t know me, I’m a random person on the internet that just wants to make people happy, I just fucking want to tell them they’re beautiful and make them smile bc that was all I wanted for several years of my life. I wanted, I craved kindness and that’s why I give these positive vibes, words and I’m always there for everybody. I ain’t faking shit, I’m not a joke or the devil, not even an Angel, I’m just a normal young woman who has been hurt so many fucking times, I just want to make others smile and see a better world so they can scape from all of the shit they’re living and handling daily. So just get tf out of my blog, leave me alone, I already have enough crap in my personal life, I don’t hate you but you need frl to go to therapy, harassing people on the internet isn’t right. Stop this circus and leave me in peace. Have a good night.

misbehaving — chapter nine

<- chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten ->

chapter 09: the devil is in the details [ series masterlist ] + gojo x f!reader / sukuna x f!reader; wc 6.1k

summary: plans are being made, moves are being played. and the more m you think that you’re in a state of paradise with the love of your life, the more you better watch out. (or — in which there’s more than one person who threatens to ruin your happiness.)

+ content warnings: slightly soft sukuna here hehe, mentions of death/past trauma, manipulation/gaslighting

notes: sorry sobs i’ve been so busy with sale season and got sick over the weekend ;-; but alas here she is hehe i’m sorry to end this one on a pseudo-cliffhanger but you know i love it <3 mwah ty to u guys <33

“…riots outside the state build—”

Flip.

“…escaped while on bail—”

Flip.

“…model Yuki Tsukumo was seen out with—”

Japan is a mess.

Nanami sighs as he gives up and switches off the television. There’s nothing useful behind those screens.

It’s 11.03pm on a Tuesday night.

One would think that it would be bedtime. But no, not for his father, because he’s not even back. Probably still holed up in his office, same as always.

Reason number one of why Nanami vows to himself never to work overtime unnecessarily in the future.

Seeing his father’s increasingly alarming eyebags is reason number two.

He’d rather not look like a zombie while he’s still in his twenties. That’s why studying ends at exactly 9pm, then he’ll have his subjectively late dinner before going to sleep by midnight.

There’s no reason for Nanami to be staying up tonight, but maybe this concern is for good reason.

His father’s been on edge recently, staying up later than usual. Nanami eyes the door to his father’s study—should he help himself?

Self-control doesn’t exist tonight, because Nanami lets himself in, turning on the lights only to find haphazard piles of paper covering nearly every inch of the room.

The embellished red rug can barely be seen, boxes of paperwork scattered everywhere. Nanami can’t even make sense of what is what, case files for all different types of crimes strewn about wildly in the room. In the corner, there’s a picture of Gojo Sr and Zenin Naobito pinned to a corkboard.

A small chalkboard stands behind the oak study table, the letters GCLSE are written on it, with illegible scribbles all around the sides.

Worry wrinkles Nanami’s expression, it’s not hard to guess what it stands for.

Gojo Corp, Limitless, Six Eyes.

Nanami has long since known that his father is a great detective, and that means making enemies. He doesn’t know what the bad blood between him and the Gojo family is, not that it’s of much concern to him, he doesn’t think he’ll mind not seeing that Gojo Satoru guy ever.

But there’s a sort of dread that fills him when he thinks of his father having a feud with the elders of that family.

They’re not good people, Kento.

Lies. They’re just so full of lies.

The further you stay away from them, the better.

He thinks his father’s a hypocrite.

What good does telling your son to stay away do when you’re the one sinking deeper and deeper into this Gojo situation?

It’s dangerous, isn’t it?

Nanami sighs. Judging by the kinds of crimes his father’s trying to tie the Gojo family to, if this monster does have a head, he’s not sure anyone will have a peaceful ending.

His eyes fall to the thickest file on his father’s study table, the edge of a photo sticking out the side. Nanami reaches out for the nameless file, brows furrowing when he realises he recognises the person in the photo.

It’s a picture of a man he finds familiar, and a girl he definitely recognises.

What’s his father doing investigating you?

Some days you find it unbelievable.

It’s the way you’re sitting between Sukuna’s legs, head resting on his chest, his fingers intertwined with yours, thumb rubbing circles on your palm. He likes to play with your hair too, you realise, always buries his head on your shoulder while you’re watching television.

Today he’s appeasing you and watching your favourite show, even if he finds romcoms completely and utterly laughable, or so he says. It’s funny the way he pokes fun at them but yet does the complete same gestures.

He sends flowers to your office randomly. He still buys you everything nice he sees or things that remind him of you. You’re pretty sure you need a new drawer to keep everything. He also forces you to be the big spoon sometimes (but he’ll always deny it whenever you bring it up). He still calls you a motherfucker ninety-five percent of the time, but always kisses your stupid face afterwards.

“Are you even paying attention? Your stupid ass made me watch this with you,” Sukuna grumbles, flicking your forehead.

“Sweetie, it’s way more entertaining than those stupid shows you like to watch where men get hurt trying out stupid stunts.”

Despite all the sweetness, you enjoy annoying him. You like how he deadpans, sharp jawline and flared nose. You know he hates sweetie and you know he hates being insulted, and you’re pretty sure if you were anyone else you’d be dead by now. But you’re you, and despite never hearing the words from his mouth, you know how he feels about you.

Sukuna takes your face between his fingers, tip of his nose touching your own, and a boyish smirk forms on his face. He’s always looking for reasons to kiss you, you realise, and trying to shut you up is always one of them.

And in spite of his ripped muscles and his less-than-desirable reputation, the way he kisses you is always gentle, slow, his fingers trailing down to your sides, gripping your waist, tight and firm, just nice.

You know he’s not easy, you know he’s hiding a lot of secrets, and if you only listened to yourself, you’d let him keep them.

But for some reason, the conversation you had with Shoko that night still haunts you.

ONE MONTH AGO

“Yeah, my friend was dating this guy just to make this other guy friend of ours jealous and now she’s actually marrying this guy she claimed to be fake dating, I’m totally not worried.”

It was difficult not to laugh at Shoko’s sarcasm, but you figure you’d rather hold it in than get more nagging than anticipated.

“Seriously, what was going through your head when you said yes?” Shoko asked you incredulously.

In her defence, she had every right to be worried, bewildered, scared for you, even. Given how Sukuna came off to people who barely knew him, which would probably mean everyone except for you and Toji, he was worse than bad news.

Maybe like how Naoya seemed to you.

“I guess Geto told you, huh?”

Shoko sighed, taking a sip of her cocktail because her migraine was taking a nosedive from the topic at hand, “of course he did. If I knew what was going to happen, I would’ve forced Suguru to take me as his plus one.”

“To be fair, I think he was Satoru’s plus one,” you countered, much to Shoko’s disamusement.

You seemed to recall that Gojo Sr didn’t really fancy Geto either, though you had no idea why that was so.

“Back to topic,” Shoko said as she leaned back against her chair, “are you crazy? What were you thinking?”

In all honesty, you didn’t even know. What were you thinking? It wasn’t like you regretted it, because you didn’t. Despite how things went, you didn’t regret saying yes at all.

“I guess,” you pondered, sighing, “I was just… thinking that I love him.”

For a moment, Shoko’s features softened, because she knew you wouldn’t use such a term lightly. You’d never even admitted to her about your feelings for Satoru, yet here you were, claiming to love Sukuna. She didn’t understand why, because she never even met the guy, but he must’ve done some things right.

For one, you were hustling all of a sudden, doing everything you could to make your business work. You were passionate, much more so than you’d ever been. It wasn’t something you’d bothered much about back when you were ‘with’ Satoru. And, if what Suguru said was true, you were a lot spunkier now, more lively, more rebellious. Maybe being with someone like Sukuna was good for you.

Instead of being consumed by everything Satoru was, you were propelled by everything Sukuna empowered you to be.

And even if Shoko was concerned about how shady that pink-haired abomination was, there was no denying his effects on you.

“Suguru said it was great seeing you stick it to Naobito, though,” Shoko sidetracked, chuckling along with you. “Since when did my best friend get all bold like that, huh?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat when you saw the fondness in her eyes; this was her way of showing support for you. This was how she said she’d try to drown out her suspicions on Sukuna just because you said you loved him.

“Maybe my man’s just bringing me over to the dark side,” you played along.

Shoko rolled her eyes, “Satoru’s probably a worse influence, so I guess that’s fine.”

“Oh right, how’s Satoru doing?”

It felt a little awkward to ask, but you were genuinely curious. Given your history, you didn’t know if you should even reach out to him. Maybe a break from you would do him better in the long run.

Shoko didn’t seem too concerned though, shrugging, “Satoru’s how Satoru always is. Still disobeying his father and getting on his nerves. His grandfather’s probably doing a lot of the mediating, otherwise I doubt Satoru would still be living in that mansion of his.”

Not exactly the kind of answer you were looking for, but you were still grateful anyway. At least it looked like nothing major was going on in the Gojo household.

“Oh right, what about you, how’s your baby doing?”

Business, she meant business.

“It’s getting better, I have a collaboration with Minamoto soon.”

“Wait, I heard of them before, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, but it’s taking up all of my free time,” you sighed, recalling how Sukuna helped you whenever he could, even if he had just come back home late himself.

“What does your fiancé think about that?”

You grinned; that was the first time anyone called him your fiancé, and you thought you liked it. You liked it a lot. “He’s happy for me, even if he complains the entire time he’s helping me with packing my orders.”

Shoko found herself envious for just a second; maybe Sukuna really did love you. Helping you with something like that? Not what she would’ve thought.

“Fine, fine, Sukuna gets a temporary approval from me,” Shoko gave in.

“Only temporary?”

“Mhm, only temporarily until he puts a damn ring on your finger.”

Oh right, because Sukuna hadn’t even replaced the ring he threw away. But you didn’t really mind. That wasn’t what Shoko wanted to hear though, so you kept mum about that.

“He will, if Naobito doesn’t kill him first for tossing the ring he gave him.”

Shoko cringed hearing that name. “That old asshat? Ew. I don’t know what happened to Sukuna’s actual parents but they can’t be any worse than that Zenin dictator.”

You pursed your lips, deep in thought. You didn’t even know much about Sukuna’s past. It hit you then that you didn’t even ask.

Sukuna didn’t ask about yours either.

Both of you were living in the moment, which wasn’t a sin, but now maybe you understand a little of why Shoko was concerned. Could you really marry someone when you didn’t bother to make an effort to know more than what they showed you?

“What’s up with you today?”

“Hey, what were your parents like?”

Sukuna’s staring down at you, confused—with good reason, since he’s hovering over you and halfway through making out with you.

He cocks a brow, “babe, you know that’s a mood killer right?”

You sigh, pushing him to sit back up, straddling him, your perfect, pretty face so close to him. You’ve already got him by the balls and Sukuna’s pretty sure you know it, too.

“I know, but just… I just wanna learn more about you, that’s all.”

You’re full of weird requests. You always catch him off guard with them. The mean person in him wants to just brush you off, distract you with what his fingers can do, but then the absolutely enamored part of him can’t say no to you.

Fuck you. He really just always has to abide by what you say from now on, huh?

This is so stupid.

Sukuna sighs, and you grin because you know you won, and he rolls his eyes because he thinks you’re so insufferable sometimes.

He clenches his jaw, “what do you wanna know?”

You shrug, forehead pressing against his, your fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I don’t know, did you know them at all?”

“Didn’t know my father, and my mother was a druggy,” Sukuna says, short and sweet because he doesn’t like any mention of either sets of his parents. None of them were any good.

You chuckle weakly, and Sukuna can see that your mind is elsewhere, your eyes staring into the thin air between you, “I didn’t know my father either.”

He feels an urge to ask you about it. This is an entire aspect of caring for someone he can’t understand. Why is the past necessary? Maybe it isn’t, but he feels compelled to know. Is this how you feel?

“What happened to your mother?” You continue asking.

Sukuna wraps both his arms around your waist, your breaths intermingling with each other because you’re still so close. The sounds of the show still on television drowns out into the background until all he can hear is your breathing.

His eyes drag up from your thighs to your chest to your eyes. You’re perfect, so, so perfect.

“Sold me for money, said I’d grow big and strong so they can use me.”

It’s more than you bargained for. It’s an entirely different world that he must have lived in before this, something you know nothing about because even if you never knew your father, at least your mother always took care of you.

Listening to what he said just makes you sad. And infuriated. You’re not even sure what’s an appropriate response.

“Who are they?” You can’t stop yourself from wanting to know more.

“Dunno. Escaped the first chance I could,” he pauses for a moment, like he’s pondering something. “All I could remember was the men on the ground, all bloody and red and the knife in my hands.”

Oh, that’s not a side of him you’ve ever seen. You’re not sure whether you should be terrified, because you’re not. On the contrary, you think it’s fine. They deserved what they got.

Whoever buys a kid and expects to use them instead of raising them is no good news.

“Are you scared of me?”

He’s soft. So soft. He’s not looking at you, just at your lips, maybe your chin. Something tells you this isn’t something he ever talks about.

“I’m not,” and you’re being honest, because he could tell you he’s murdered scores of people and you still wouldn’t be scared of him.

Sukuna’s selfish and greedy and he takes what he wants and you know he wouldn’t hurt you, that would go against his nature—how can he keep you if he hurts you?

Something tells you he doesn’t really believe you, that the words don’t exactly sink in for him, but that’s alright with you. He’s a little—okay, a lot—fucked up, but you’re well aware of that; you have been, ever since that first night.

Maybe you’re dreaming, but you feel him hug you just a little bit tighter, like a kid not wanting to part with their toys.

“You like to ask stupid questions,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes, and you adjust yourself so that you’re laying on his chest.

“Something tells me you don’t talk about this a lot.”

“I don’t talk about stupid shit like this ever.”

“Does anyone else know about your parents?”

“Just Toji.”

“Mm, I guess that makes sense.”

“Huh?”

You sit up, “I mean, only Satoru knows about mine too. I don’t really like talking about mine either.”

It’s petty—Sukuna knows it’s fucking petty, but he’s not going to just sit there and hear that “Satoru” (mockingly) knows more about something in relation to you than him.

“Babe, tell me about your parents.”

You snort, knowing exactly why he’s asking, but you tell him anyway, your fingers absentmindedly twirling his soft pink locks. “Mom died a few years ago, got into an accident and lived in the ICU for about a month or two,” your voice gets softer as you continue, the memory etching a searing pain into your chest. “She was stable… until she wasn’t.”

The day you received the phone call is still fresh in your mind. The aching pain you buried for so long is still able to claw its way back up whenever you think about it. All you remember is the way she laid on the hospital bed, face bruised and legs broken and hanging on, and on, and on, until one day she just couldn’t.

Was it selfish for you to wish that she did?

Sukuna is silent, because he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what it must feel like; he’s never lost anyone that important to him because that person has never existed until you.

“And uh,” you sniffle a little, rubbing your nose, “I knew nothing about my dad. My mother only said nothing good would come out of ever knowing anything about him, so I just left it at that.”

“Looks like we have something in common,” Sukuna murmurs, his fingers playing with your hair too, his other hand trailing lines down your thighs and calves.

You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

You giggle, “I think having horrible fathers isn’t anything to celebrate.”

Sukuna chuckles with you, and it’s a kind of intimacy you never thought existed. The kind where it’s a soft glow, a warm light in your chest that resonates with someone, one that you know is for you and you only.

“Maybe not, but what do you say we go away for a bit?”

“Oh? Someone’s feeling romantic,” you tease, because it’s been a while since he’s whisked you away to another country, destination unknown. Frankly, after everything that went down, you won’t be opposed.

Sukuna scoffs, shoving you off of him and onto the empty space next to him on the couch, “don’t flatter yourself, woman. Just looking for a place to dump your dead body in so I won’t have an annoying insect living in my house.”

So he says, in that ever not-so-subtle way of his. But you’ll let him have it, shooting him a fake pout because you know he likes it, likes you, likes to tip your chin up with his index finger and press a kiss to your nose.

“Oh, wherever you’re taking me, it’ll have to be after my pop up,” you tell him, mentally picturing the calendar—that’s roughly a month from now.

“I know, next month right?”

And you smile, because Sukuna only always remembers important dates when it has something to do with you.

“Mhm, I gotta make sure everything is perfect.”

Everything goes smoothly, because Sukuna actually listens to you. He just says okay to your reasonable demands, otherwise he just flips you off for being such a pain in the ass and still hugs you to sleep even if you had one of your occasional couple squabbles earlier.

He feels a little guilty for being relieved that you’re preoccupied, only because that means you don’t realize that he’s coming back home at two in the morning sometimes, since you’re so hard at work.

Apparently this collaboration with Minamoto is the biggest thing that’s happened to your brand yet, so understandably, you’re focusing almost every ounce of your energy into that.

That’s also why it catches the ears of people who aren’t so happy for you like Sukuna is, like Gojo is.

“She’s making quite a name for herself, isn’t she?” Naoya muses as he scrolls through the news on his phone, your name just briefly mentioned as one of the attendees.

You are talented, good at what you do—he’ll give you that. But that’s exactly why—Naoya’s eyes flick up to his father—Naobito is so bothered.

“People like her need to be brought down,” is all Naobito says, eyes fixated out the window, on the concrete ground below.

Sometimes he imagines Sukuna’s head bashed against the gray stone. Sometimes he imagines you. Both of you are just trouble, so much trouble.

Naoya sighs, it’s beyond him what exactly Naobito has against you. Did thwarting his marriage plan for Sukuna and Mei Mei warrant this much action?

“I expect you to do your part at the pop up,” the old man demands, not once looking at his son. Naoya makes sure not to say a thing. He’s not going to promise anything. “And I trust you’ve sorted things out with Chisaki?”

There’s a sly smug smirk on Naoya’s face that no one can mirror, “of course. He’s currently cozy in a hotel room with two of my most esteemed women.”

It’s easy to buy a guy like that over. It barely took any effort on Naoya’s part. Chisaki is still pissed at Sukuna, but apparently, he’s also still intrigued by you. Just a little offhanded promise about how he’ll get to meet you again was enough to soften the deal.

Not that that would be any issue. You’re Naoya’s assistant; he’ll make you obey him one way or another. No doubt that Sukuna has urged you to quit your day job, that you make enough money on the side anyway.

But Naoya’s not going to let that happen. Not before he’s had his fun with you.

He peeks down at the article in his hand, memorizing the address of the launch. You’re a curious one; such a delicate girl, yet you manage to earn the ire of a couple of the most dangerous businessmen in Tokyo.

Naoya smirks.

Time to surprise you and see just what you’re worth.

Flashes go off everywhere.

There are several news reporters lining the outlines of the pop up store, scribbling things down on their little notebooks. There are throngs of people lining up in front of your booth, excited girls measuring their wrists and admiring the different crystals and pendants on display, anxious to get their own personalized piece.

“Looks like you’re busy, huh?”

You look up from your workstation to see a petite young woman, blonde hair with brown roots, chirpy disposition and polite eyes.

It’s the intern working at Minamoto as their social media content creator, Akari Nitta. She’s already taken several reels of you hard at work.

You are busy. A little too busy. You’d expected maybe twenty people in line at the most, but now it’s stretching past the corner and you’re almost panicking.

Still, you reciprocate her warm smile, “yeah, I didn’t expect this many people to show up.” Though, you suppose you owe it to the brand’s name. You’re thankful they gave you a shot to collaborate at all.

Standing up, you put the bracelet you just customized for the college girl in front of you around her wrist, making sure it fits snugly. The cultured pearl sits in the center, elevating the entire look of the accessory.

That’s what your collaboration is centered around—your customized jewelry collection paired with their cultured pearls; you practically jumped at the opportunity.

“Really? I expected this though,” Nitta comments, eyeing the line. “Your accessories are amazing, I bought them for my friends as gifts!”

You thank the girl for waiting patiently before you turn your attention back to Nitta. “You bought from me before?”

Nitta nods, “mhm, I love that they’re high quality yet affordable.” She grins, hands behind her back, shifting her feet nervously.

You laugh, seemingly knowing what she’s struggling to ask you, “I have a few spares in my car—” the one Sukuna had bought for you—“you can see which one you want, how about that?”

The girl’s practically jumping on the spot, running to hug you, and you’re losing track of how many times she’s said thankyouthankyouthankyou. It really isn’t necessary, you’d been thankful to her for helping to keep you sane while preparing for this earlier, the two of you being the only ones there since 5am to set up and prep.

Before you can even say anything, you hear a familiar voice, one you didn’t expect to hear here of all places.

“So this is what my assistant does in her free time, I see.”

You sigh; this man has a talent for making unwanted appearances. “Naoya, did you come to get yourself one too?”

Naoya smiles at the first lady in line, wordlessly taking her place—apparently his charm works on some people, especially people who don’t know how repulsive he can be. You’re just thankful he hasn’t shown that side to you yet, though you know it’s probably coming soon.

“Can you blame me? I just wanted to see what my pretty little assistant is up to,” he tells you without skipping a beat, like he’s used to saying things like this.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” first-in-line lady coos, tucking a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, a visible pink blush on her cheeks. Looks like someone doesn’t mind being a Mrs Zenin.

Naoya shrugs, “I’m here to support one of my dear friends, that’s all.” There’s that smile again, that fake one he throws, that sweet one that almost fools you into thinking that hey, maybe he’s not that bad.

It’s all a lie anyway.

That’s what Sukuna warned you about; Naoya knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t do anything for no reason. You guess it includes this; how he’s trying to get close to you. And shamelessly as well.

“Clasp?”

“Magnetic,” he responds, serenely, too calmly.

“Base?”

“Hm, the tennis bracelet.”

He lets you take his wrist to measure, though you’re considering whether or not you should purposely make it a little too big for him. But then he might lodge a complaint and with his status and power, you’d be done for sure.

Mm, maybe not today.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of my boss visiting me on his day off?” It’s more to seem polite than anything, with this many pairs of eyes on you. Anywho, you’ll be done with his simple bracelet in a minute, then you can make up some stupid excuse about why he can’t be here.

He better not be planning on sticking around.

“Maybe you’re just that special, Y/N,” he tells you, his free hand moving to your chin, tipping your head up to look at him.

In this light he almost looks kind, with his wanton smile and his crinkled eyes. You want to ask him what his play is, want to tell him to fuck off and find some other poor girl to torture, but you decide that maybe playing dumb is the better move.

“Hitting on your brother’s girlfriend doesn’t make me feel very special, Naoya,” you mutter under your breath, clasping the finished bracelet around his wrist, already adorned with a single small cultured pearl.

Naoya takes that chance to grab your wrist and pull you closer, his cheek brushing yours; you can smell the cologne off his neck. His lips graze your ear slightly, “careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want to end up like your mother, would you?”

“What?”

His words manage to make you freeze up, stiff as a board, even after he pulls away. Naoya appraises your shocked expression, crossing his arms.

How does he know what happened? No no, more importantly, is there a reason why you should be worried? As far as you know, her death was just an unfortunate accident.

“Everything alright here?”

Another familiar voice, but one that’s more welcome.

Naoya turns and sighs, that kind facade still plastered on his face. “Gojo Satoru,” he greets, unfazed by the tall hunk of a man getting up close in his space. “Didn’t expect to see you here especially after Y/N broke your heart. Must suck to have to see the girl you love agree to marry someone else, huh?”

Satoru’s taken his position beside you behind the booth, an angelic smile coupled with a cold piercing gaze, “yeah but it sucks to have to see your ugly face more, so why don’t you just fuck off?”

If it hadn’t been for Naoya’s earlier comment, you would’ve been trying to get Satoru to calm down, but ever since he mentioned your mother, you find yourself in a haze of confusion.

“Y/N, how’s everything going here?”

The question comes from the event’s organizer, Mrs Hataka, part owner of the Minamoto brand. Her black hair is tied into a neat bun, her face donning a full smile, looking very much unlike a woman pushing fifty.

Pushing your anxiety aside, you nod your head, “yeah, it’s perfect! Just trying to wrestle with the queue.” Which has been stuck in limbo because of two men.

“Oh, Mr Zenin! We didn’t expect to see you here, how’re you finding everything?” Mrs Hataka asks, shifting her attention to Naoya when she catches sight of him.

Thankfully, Naoya keeps it professional in front of her, “Y/N’s doing an incredible job, she even did one for me too,” Naoya tells her, showing off the bracelet you clasped on his wrist. “If you’re ever thinking of collaborating with her again, I’d definitely come and support.”

Right then, Mrs Hataka’s eyes shift over to Satoru, who’s also smiling down at her. She’s a little miffed as to how you’d know both of them, but she keeps her questions to herself, “nice to see you too, Mr Gojo, how’s your father doing?”

“Unfortunately he hasn’t keeled over and died yet,” Satoru says, probably serious although he does well to mask it as a joke, “I’m just here to assist my best friend here with her work.” He throws an arm around you, cheeky smile adorning his face.

Luckily, Mrs Hataka accepts his reasoning without question, and Naoya leaves right after. You’d like to question him further, but you really have to do something about this neverending queue of people.

Satoru sticks around, true to his word, helping you handle all the minor, menial tasks, which at the very least is still help. (Looks like he sort of made the line even longer.) Doing this alone was killer.

You don’t notice him stealing a glance at you every now and then, though. Gojo had come here purely just to support you and see how you were doing, but whatever Naoya had said to you earlier clearly frazzled you.

He’ll have to find out about it later.

The line dies down only towards the end of the event, around four hours later. You’re sure you’ve probably grown your traffic by ten times after today, and your head’s already trying to think of ways on how to manage your shop now that more people have been exposed to it.

Meanwhile, beside you, Satoru is putting on a bracelet for your last customer, adjusting the push pull adjustment clasp for her before sending her off.

“That line was super crazy,” Satoru remarks, slumping down on the chair, tipping his head back, closing his beautiful eyes, chest heaving up and down from his deep breaths, the tight black fabric hugging his skin.

Sometimes you think you know Satoru. Moments like this show you don’t.

He hasn’t spoken to you since the dinner party which is… weird, considering how much he’s been trying to talk to you before that.

But going by what Naoya said, maybe expecting a normal friendship out of Satoru is too unfair to him.

“What’re you thinking about?”

All of a sudden his cerulean eyes are right in front of you, shameless in the way they inspect your face, so blatantly close to you.

Satoru was an ass to you for the worst part of a year. He’s childish and mature at the same time, he’s unpredictable and borderline terrifying if you aren’t on his good side, and you hate him so much for how he made you miserable doubting yourself, your worth.

But Satoru’s still your friend. Despite being in love with you, despite not being the one you chose.

Gojo thinks you’re the one who’s incredible; you still tolerate him even now, when he’s trying to stay close to you, trying not to let himself drift apart from you—he doesn’t know if he can deal with everything without at least your presence in his life.

He doesn’t deserve you, not even close, not after everything you’ve done for him. So maybe this is the least he can do; be there for you when you need it, and disappear when you don’t.

If it’ll count as atonement for even a little bit, he’ll do it. Anything for you.

Even if it hurts seeing you smile because of someone else. Even if it hurts not being the one who protects you.

He’ll still jump at the chance to, because you’re all that matters.

“I don’t know, it could just be nothing.”

Still trying not to burden others with your problems; you’ve always been like that.

“It could be something,” Gojo points out, leaning in closer. “What is it?”

You smell nice. Your presence is comforting. He misses you.

Hesitancy clouds your expression, but you confide in him anyway, he’s the only one who was with you when she was in critical condition, when you were trying so hard not to break apart.

“Naoya told me to be careful unless I wanted to end up like my mother,” you say, and Gojo has to pull back a little.

Gojo’s brows furrow, “wasn’t her death an accident?”

It’s that uneasy feeling that rises up, like bile trying to fill his throat. If Naoya is saying such a thing, it’s hard for him to think it’s not a cause of concern.

A girl with short blonde hair comes by to tell you it’s almost 8pm and that Mrs Hataka wants to give a speech before you’ll all pack up but neither of you are really listening.

You’re terrified; it was just a stupid accident, right? It isn’t supposed to be any deeper than that, so why? What did Naoya know that you didn’t?

Gojo thinks the same thing too, and knowing you, you wouldn’t rest easy until you know the truth. And asking Naoya surely isn’t the way to go. No, not unless you want to set off another whole set of dominos in motion.

“Hey, Y/N?”

Your eyes are glazed over, you’re so close to crying, but you look at him anyway, a subtle strength behind his kind gaze.

“I’ll find out what happened to her.”

At the same time, in a basement on the other side of the city, Sukuna sighs as he enters the room.

It’s all concrete walls and floors, so sickish and gray and all sorts of shady. He’s gotten used to it though, after frequenting this place for over a couple of months.

Sukuna slams the files he’s holding onto the table. The place is oddly well-lit for a secluded area; ceiling lights still bright, a sturdy table lamp at the side flickering orange.

“I told you, this is all my PI could dig up,” Sukuna says, taking a seat opposite the man who called him there tonight. “There’s nothing useful in here.”

The man across from him sighs, leaning back against the chair. “If there’s even a tiny something, we can use it against him.”

Furrowing his brows, Sukuna leans across the table, studying his face. “Why? I know the guy’s trash, but why the fuck do you want to destroy him? You know there’ll be a blowback, right? Besides, I hate keeping stuff from Y/N, gonna tell me what all this is for?”

He remains stoic, straight-faced and no jokes, linking his fingers together and resting his chin atop of it. He sighs, he had wanted to keep this from Sukuna as long as possible, but he foresees that he wouldn’t play along if he didn’t get any answers.

Slowly, his fingers reach out to open the file, taking a photo out of the middle, throwing it down in front of Sukuna.

It’s a picture of Gojo Sr rushing out of a hospital.

“Because I think he had something to do with Y/N’s mother’s death.”

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@1990-06-12 i found this 👉🏼👈🏼🥺

I’ve been silent for too long and can no longer bear to keep this inside: @1990-06-12 is a good person and deserves many good things.

some songs aren't just songs, they're feelings, they're a memory, they're vibes of a certain period of time in your life that you can't put into words