the sun filters through the paper screens in lazy golden streaks, painting the tatami in soft patterns that look almost like spilled sake. you kneel on a cushion that's seen better centuries, adjusting the layers of your jūnihitoe—silk upon silk upon silk, colors chosen because sukuna once grunted that the pale pink reminded him of fresh entrails. romantic, in his way.
"woman," his voice rumbles from the low platform where he sprawls like a particularly lazy mountain. four arms, two faces, tattoos crawling over skin like living ink. he's wearing that ridiculous white robe again, open at the chest because why not? "fetch the brush. the one made from fox bone."
you blink. "the fox bone one? you used it to pick your teeth last week."
he cracks one eye open—the lower one on the second face, because of course it's the creepy one that wakes up first. "precisely. it has character now."
you sigh, the sound lost under the weight of approximately eight kilograms of silk, and shuffle over to the lacquered box. the brush is there, stained, looking vaguely judgmental. you hand it over without comment.
sukuna takes it with his lower left hand, twirls it once, then uses it to scratch behind one ear like a very large, very dangerous cat. "better."
you're his only concubine left. the others... well. he got a little hungry last month. the court ladies whispered about it for months until he ate the whisperers too. now the halls are quiet. too quiet, sometimes. but he keeps you around because, as he puts it, "you don't bore me to immediate death, woman."
high praise.
he yawns—wide, showing too many teeth—and stretches all four arms at once. the room seems to shrink. "nap time. unsleep me in an hour. or two. whenever the sun moves enough that it's annoying."
you tilt your head. "unslee— what??"
"unsleep me." he says it like it's obvious, already closing his eyes. both sets.
"un... sleep you?" you repeat slowly. the word feels wrong in your mouth, like chewing on poetry written backward.
he doesn't open his eyes. "yes. unsleep. poke me. sing. recite bad poetry. threaten to leave. i care not. just make the boredom stop."
you stare at the ceiling beams for a long moment. "that's not a word."
"it is now." a lazy smirk curls across the mouth on his stomach. creepy bastard. "you're clever. invent it properly if you must."
you consider inventing several new words involving sharp objects and his anatomy, but decide against it. instead you settle beside him, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement of his limbs. he naps like he fights—like everything might explode if you breathe wrong.
an hour passes. maybe two. the incense has burned low, smelling faintly of sandalwood and charred dreams. you lean over, poke his shoulder with one finger.
nothing.
you poke harder.
a grumble.
"woman. that was pathetic."
"you said poke."
"i said unsleep. put effort into it."
you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see last week's dinner. then, because why not, you lean in close to the ear on his right face—the one that actually listens sometimes—and whisper, "the kitchen just received fresh river fish. the kind you like to eat raw while complaining it's not human enough."
one eye snaps open. "you lie."
"maybe." you shrug, silk rustling. "but now you're awake. congratulations. you're unslept."
he stares at you for a long beat. then the stomach mouth laughs—low, rolling thunder. "you're insufferable."
"you're welcome."
he sits up slowly, joints popping like dry branches. "feed me."
"you ate the last cook. and uraume's busy"
"then cook."
"i'm a concubine, not a scullery maid."
"you're whatever i say you are today." but there's no heat in it. just that odd, lazy amusement he reserves for you alone.
you stand—gracefully, because layers—and pad toward the low table where servants used to leave trays before they learned better. there's rice, pickled radish, some grilled eel that looks suspiciously like it fought back. you arrange it with the care of someone who knows refusal means becoming dessert.
sukuna watches, chin propped on one fist, another hand idly tracing patterns on the tatami. "you move like you're plotting murder."
"only on mondays."
he snorts. "good. keep that spirit. dull women get eaten faster."
you set the tray before him. "eat. before i decide you're the dull one."
he picks up a piece of eel with two fingers, examines it like it's an ancient scroll, then pops it into the stomach mouth. the main face chews something else. multitasking cannibalism. charming.
"tell me something amusing," he says around a mouthful.
you sit across from him, knees tucked properly because court manners die hard. "the fujiwara sent another poem this morning. something about cherry blossoms and fleeting life."
sukuna's upper lip curls. "and?"
"i burned it. the ink smelled like cowardice."
he barks a laugh—genuine this time. "that's my woman."
not lover. not wife. just woman. possessive in that ancient, casual way of his. like claiming the sky claims clouds.
you watch him eat. it's oddly mesmerizing—terrifying and mundane at once. when he's done he licks his fingers, all four hands moving in sync, then leans back.
"bored."
"already?"
"entertain me."
you consider. poetry? music? dance? all the things concubines of normal men are supposed to do. but ryomen sukuna was anything but normal.
instead you say, "arm wrestle me."
he blinks—all four eyes in sequence. "what."
"arm wrestle. you have four. i'll use both of mine on one of yours. fair odds."
he stares like you've suggested he become a monk.
then he grins. wide. dangerous. delighted.
"very well."
you kneel closer. he extends his lower right arm—thick, corded, tattooed. you grip it with both hands. his skin is warm. too warm. like holding a furnace.
"ready?" you ask.
"begin when you cease stalling."
you pull.
nothing happens.
you pull harder.
his arm doesn't budge. but his mouth—the stomach one—starts laughing again.
"pathetic," he says fondly.
"cheater," you grunt, leaning your whole body weight.
slowly—very slowly—he lets his arm move. inch by inch. like indulging a child. when your hands hit the mat he releases suddenly, sending you sprawling backward into silk pillows.
"i win," he announces.
"you let me win the losing part."
"semantics."
you sit up, hair falling out of its pins in dark rivers. heian beauty standards demand long hair, pale skin, mystery. you look like a disheveled crow spirit.
he reaches out—one hand cups your chin, thumb brushing your lower lip. "you amuse me."
"high praise from the king of curses."
"don't get used to it." but his grip is gentle. oddly gentle.
you lean into it anyway. "nap again?"
"perhaps." he pulls you closer until you're half in his lap, silk tangling with his robe. "but first—unsleep protocol."
"what?"
"if i doze, you have permission to bite me awake."
"bite?"
"teeth. preferably neck. make it interesting."
you stare. "you're deranged."
"and you're still here."
true enough.
the afternoon drags into evening. incense smoke curls like lazy ghosts. sukuna dozes—eventually—head tipped back, mouths slack. you wait the required hour (or two), then lean in.
hesitate.
then gently—very gently—nip the skin at the base of his throat.
his eyes snap open. all of them.
"woman," he growls, but it's amused. hungry in a different way.
"unslept," you say primly.
he pulls you flush against him. "good girl."
outside, the capital hums with poetry and politics and fragile human schemes. inside, it's just you and the monster who ate everyone else because they weren't interesting enough to keep.
and somehow—you're still here. still sassing him. still alive.
he calls you woman like it's a title.
you call him idiot when he's being particularly dense.
and somehow, in the golden haze of heian-kyō, that's enough.
the next morning—or what passes for morning when the king of curses decides time is optional—you wake to him staring at you. intently. like you're a puzzle he hasn't solved yet.
"what?" you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes.
"you snore."
"i do not."
"like a small angry boar."
"charming."
he smirks. "i like it. keeps things lively."
you throw a pillow at him. it bounces off his chest harmlessly. he catches it, tosses it back—harder.
you roll your eyes. get up. start the ritual of layering silk again because apparently even monsters appreciate aesthetics.
"today," he announces, stretching, "we visit the gardens."
"the ones you set on fire last month?"
"new ones grew back. nature fears me."
"everything fears you."
"except you." he says it casually. too casually.
you pause mid-knot. "someone has to keep you humble."
he laughs—low, rolling. "foolish woman."
"arrogant curse."
he stands. towers. offers a hand—two, actually. "come."
you take them. because why not.
the gardens are quiet. rebuilt with eerie speed. lotus ponds reflect sky like mirrors. cherry trees pretend nothing happened.
sukuna walks beside you—slow, for once. no stomping. no destruction.
"peaceful," you note.
"boring," he counters.
"you could destroy it again."
"tempting." he glances sideways. "but then you'd scold me."
"damn right."
he chuckles. "stay interesting, woman. or..."
"or you'll eat me?"
"no." quieter now. "i'd miss the scolding."
you stop. look up at him—all four eyes, all that power, focused entirely on you.
"then don't give me a reason," you say softly.
he doesn't answer. just reaches out, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising care.
"deal."
back inside, the day unwinds slow. he practices techniques—cursed energy crackling like summer lightning. you watch from a safe distance, chin in hand.
"show off," you call.
he flicks a spark your way—harmless. it lands on your sleeve, singes a tiny hole.
"hey!"
"oops."
you throw the singed sleeve fabric at him. he catches it in his teeth. spits it out.
"disgusting."
"your cooking is worse."
"you ate three bowls yesterday."
"i was hungry."
"you're always hungry. fatass."
"true."
evening comes. lanterns glow like captive fireflies. you play the koto—badly. he doesn't complain. just listens, eyes half-lidded.
when you finish he says, "again."
"no."
"yes."
"make me."
he does—by pulling you into his lap. "play."
you do. fingers stumbling over strings. his chin rests on your shoulder. warm breath on your neck.
"you're terrible," he murmurs.
"you're listening anyway."
"someone has to."
you lean back against him. silk and skin and something almost tender.
"don't eat anyone else for now," you say suddenly.
he stills.
"why?"
"because then i'd be alone with you. and you'd get bored eventually."
silence.
then—quiet, almost gentle—"i won't."
promise? threat? who knows.
you turn. kiss the corner of his mouth—the one that doesn't have extra teeth.
he freezes.
then kisses back. careful. controlled.
when you pull away he says, "woman."
"yes?"
"stay interesting forever."
you smile. small. real.
"only if you stay annoying forever."
"deal."
and in the flickering lantern light, with the capital sleeping beyond paper walls, the king of curses and his only concubine—best friend, pain in the ass, survivor—settle into something that isn't quite love.
the words are murmured against the corner of his mouth between soft, smacking kisses. choso is frozen beneath you, his back pressed into the plush cushions of the couch, your weight settled comfortably in his lap. his hands hover awkwardly at your hips, as if he can’t decide whether to hold on or push you away for decency’s sake.
“mmwah!” another kiss, this one planted firmly on his cheekbone, leaving a perfect, cherry-red imprint of your lips. “such a sweet boy.”
a full-body shudder runs through him. “p-please,” he stammers, his voice a low, flustered rumble. he turns his face away, but you simply follow, peppering kisses along his sharp jawline. each press of your lips leaves another little mark, a blooming garden of lipstick stains across his pale skin.
“look at you,” you coo, pulling back just enough to admire your handiwork. his face is a mess of red smudges—on his high cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, even a faint one near his eyebrow. his dark eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his usually stern mouth is slightly parted in stunned disbelief. “all marked up. my pretty boy.”
“i am not… m'not pretty,” he manages to protest, but it’s weak, crumbling under the warmth of your affection. one of his hovering hands finally settles on your waist, fingers flexing tentatively against the fabric of your shirt.
“you are,” you insist, leaning in to brush your nose against his. “you’re my sweet, pretty choso.” you seal the declaration with a softer, slower kiss directly on his lips, feeling them tremble beneath yours.
when you pull away, he lets out a shaky breath he seems to have been holding forever. a deep, crimson blush has spread from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears, rivaling the color of the lipstick. he looks utterly disarmed, conquered not by force but by a relentless barrage of tenderness.
he slowly, hesitantly, brings a hand up to touch his cheek, his fingers coming away faintly stained. he stares at the pink smudge on his fingertips, then back at you, his expression one of pure, overwhelmed wonder.
then, something in him seems to soften completely, like a taut wire finally snapping into a gentle coil. a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips—a rare, unguarded thing that makes your heart squeeze. his arms, which had been hovering in uncertainty, wrap around you fully, pulling you tight against his chest in a firm, secure hug. he buries his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, shuddering sigh that sounds like relief.
you melt into him, nuzzling against his hair, placing another soft kiss on his temple. “i love you,” you murmur, because you can’t help it.
he grumbles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “there's so much lipstick. everywhere.” but he doesn’t let go. if anything, he holds you tighter, his large hands splayed across your back. “on my face. on my collar. it won't come out.”
“good!” you tease, leaning back just enough to pepper a dozen more quick, smacking kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. mwah, mwah, mwah! each one leaves a fresh, bright mark. “i want everyone to see. i want them to know my prettyyyyy choso is taken care of.”
“you're ridiculous,” he mutters, but he’s turning his face into your kisses now, not away. his eyes are closed, long dark lashes fanning over the blush on his cheeks. he endures the affectionate assault with a put-upon sigh that’s entirely fake, betrayed by the way his fingers trace idle, soothing circles on your spine.
you finally settle, just holding him, your lips resting against the shell of his ear. he’s warm and solid, and his heartbeat is a steady, comforting rhythm under your palm.
“you are such a menace,” he says after a long moment of quiet, his voice a low rumble.
“your menace,” you correct softly.
another grumble. but then, so quietly you almost miss it: “…yes. mine.”
absorbing curses was simple enough, right? until your boyfriend absorbs something that isn’t quite a curse.
★ FEATURING: venom! suguru geto x journalist! fem reader
★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. alternate universe, blood, monsterfucking, tentacles, light bondage, dead chickens (first venom movie ref lol), unprotected p in v, recording, male masturbation, cunnilingus, something resembling a blow job, riding, missionary, pet names, some aftercare
★ WORD COUNT: 6.2k
★ JADED NOTES: an edit of optimus prime, ultron, and venom popped up on my fyp and i remembered i had this stored. enjoy this lil repost :3
You were going to strangle your boss.
Or, you would've entertained the idea had it not been for the hefty stack of ALMOST DUE bills cluttered around your kitchen table in bright red ink (and the very real possibility of ending up in jail, whoops).
Maybe you'd just stick with your original idea of writing a heavily worded word document. One that you'd never send, of course. But one that would explain the absurdity of this situation, nonetheless. Using your journalistic degree—and the many years of debt that it'd set you back, to come to an abandoned barn house in the middle of nowhere.
Unsolved mysteries and speculation led you to explore some complaints farmers had about missing chickens. On some hunch that Venom as the city dubbed him had been responsible.
Brown, dried out leaves crunched underneath your feet with each step as you slowly began to approach the abandoned barn. A coyote howled in the distance, the sound of cicadas buzzing around only adding to the animal symphony. You wouldn't be surprised if a chainsaw popped out from the back of the barn and began chasing you down.
"Can't be that bad, right?" You muttered to yourself, standing in front of the tightly shut doors. Trying (and failing) to convince yourself to go through with this investigation instead of tailgating it straight out of this horror scene. You managed to get the heavy door open, its hinges creaking obnoxiously. No chainsaw in sight—okay.
Holding the small candle in front of you, the area around you began to illuminate while you made your way further inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. A couple horses sleeping in their stables, buckets and rakes in almost every corner. Until you approached the chicken coops. Flies buzzed around a couple of the spaces, bunching up in the masses.
Shooing them away, you peered your head inside. And you almost immediately wished that you hadn't. Instead of getting an angry chicken looking back at you, you only got to see a chicken's body laying there. With no sight of the head anywhere. And while you were just a journalist for a mid tier newspaper.. even you could tell that it wasn't normal behavior.
SWISH.
A sudden burst of air hit your face, the hinges of the barn door creaking even further. The culprit had been just a couple meters away and you'd missed it. You jogged outside to try to see if you could catch a glimpse, looking up and down. Only to receive nothing but the buzzing cicadas from earlier.
In the short amount of time it'd taken you to come out, whatever—or whoever was out there, disappeared in the blink of an eye. You were left standing there with your mouth agape, camera weighing heavily in your hand. And now, a missed call from your boss.
"Hello?" You decided to answer the second call, pacing around the barn. Trying to think of just how you were supposed to begin to explain this. How every fiber in your being felt Venom's presence.. without actually facing him. Without actually having any proof that he was even here in the first place.
"I'd appreciate it if you answered my calls the first time around," her voice snapped out from the other line, an agitated groan leaving her lips. "I called to ask how the investigation was going. I'm assuming you have what you need to have the paper by tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" All the blood in your body ran cold, even more than the near death experience. The woman's working you into an early grave.
And all you received in response to your question was another groan. You could practically picture her pinching the bridge of her nose by now. "Yes, tomorrow. I plan on having it released a couple days from now, you know how the process is."
"Right, right, yeah. I'll get the paper to you by tomorrow," You assured her, your steps starting to get faster. It wouldn't be that hard, right? You just had to do what a couple journalists hadn't achieved in months by tomorrow morning. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm screwed," you muttered to yourself, pushing your phone into the depths of your pocket.
The animals woke up from their nap, looking over at you with an unamused expression. "Don't look at me like that," you hissed out, catching a glimpse of them before letting out a groan, "And now I'm arguing with a bunch of animals." A slow breath left your lungs, forcing yourself to calm down. You'd just work with what you had in front of you.
Only drops of blood staining the tan floor in front of you served to prove that you weren't seeing things. You set the candle aside and pulled your camera out of your bag, starting to take pictures from whatever angle you could muster up. Whatever angle would look the most inconspicuous and mysterious to the newspaper editors.
You couldn't help but feel like something was staring at you—gauging every single one of your movements when you stepped out of the barn. The creature wouldn't have been stupid enough to stick around, would it? You looked up at the barn roof, almost expecting to see something ready to attack. But once again, a whole load bucket of absolutely nothing.
You truly didn't get paid enough to deal with this.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
An unquenchable thirst consumed Suguru's being inside and out, the urge completely taking over any last sense of rationale that he had remaining. Taking over every single last one of his thoughts. Even with the warm, iron taste of blood coating every single one of his tastebuds—the need wasn't satisfied. It wasn't nearly enough.
It almost felt like it would never be enough.
Dried crimson smudges smeared across elongated canines, pieces of raw flesh sticking to the ends. A mix of his own drool and blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin and bare body. A body that wasn't really quite his own. Or more accurately, a body that wasn't just his anymore.
Suguru wasn't completely sure what the thing was, originally thinking of it as curse when he'd been sent out by Yaga to 'handle' the issue. Ironically enough, for the same thing that you were investigating just now. Except that he went to absorb it, the black glob in the ground didn't behave anything like a cursed spirit.
The taste of vomit and shit was one that Suguru was used to by now. The taste of every single one of humanity's evil doings—from lust to greed—sticking to the back of his throat while his body absorbed that very same evil. It was a taste that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard
The little glob didn't taste like anything going down, which probably should've served as the first red flag. One of the other things was that the little thing didn't exactly appear on his command—much like the others in his repertoire, but rather when the thing wanted to make itself known. Like it had rational thinking.
It'd somehow bonded with Suguru's DNA, latching onto him for survival. Even with every method that he'd tried to take it off—prying it off with a metal bar, burning it off, freezing, it was all pointless. The little thing would just stick its gooey tongue out at him before retreating back to the safety of his own body. Going so far as to claim that they were the 'perfect match.'
Dead chicken heads cluttered around his feet, the sound of bones crunching against each other and the last desperate clucks in vain still echoed throughout his skull. Even a couple pieces of flesh remained on the tips of his teeth, the creature inside of him savoring each last bit of the pieces. Better than it being a human, at the very least.
He'd become too sloppy. That much was clear after you'd almost caught him in the barn earlier. If you'd been even just a second faster, you would've noticed him sticking to the side of the roof with no problem. Despite every sense in his body being enhanced, he'd almost gotten caught. All for his blood thirsty to have chickens before going back home for dinner.
How'd this even become a problem? Suguru had made it a point to take just a few chickens—just enough to satiate the thirst that seemed to run deep within his veins. Taking a few from a different farms scattered across the countryside shouldn't have been suspicious.. and yet here he was. Being investigated.
The smart thing to do would just to leave the chickens alone for now, right?
Just leave the whole thing alone. That would be easy...
Until he had the stupid idea to swing by your apartment. Just to make sure that you'd gotten home safe after driving in the snow. And maybe think of some lie of how he got stuck out with Gojo on a mission again, anything that would ease the suspicions you had.
After spending what seemed to be an eternity waiting for some kind of sign to show up, for the culprit to make themselves known—you decided to call it a night. With just a couple photographs and a new conversation topic for your therapist in the following days. And now you were stuck writing a multi page article with nothing but good vibes and a couple dead chickens.
Can after can of unfinished energy drinks cluttered the expanse of your desk, serving as a paperweight for the several papers that laid in front of you. The laptop screen in front of you illuminated your face, nearly blinding as every tab you could find in regard to Venom was opened up. Which was a complete grand total of three articles.
All built up on pure speculation. Exactly what the farmers had told you during their interview—rambling about it being a two headed monster, a soul snatcher, a demon. The eerie presence that hung around the farm was too strong to be ignored.. and yet, no one had actually found the source behind it. No source, no reliable clues, nothing. Just a whole load of absolutely nothing.
The simple fact remained that no one had managed to catch a glimpse of it. Or probably, no one had managed to catch a glimpse of it and live to tell the story. The photos didn't offer much either—they were all either blurred, heavily edited, or just outright AI generated. Each failed result just made the pounding headache thumping against your head all the much worse.
Just what were you supposed to tell your boss and the multitudes of readers?
A loud thump against your window distracted you from looking at your computer screen for different job offers. A thump too heavy to just be a result of the snowfall outside. To open it or not to open it? You stayed still in your spot, gulping down more of the battery acid to keep yourself for a couple more hours. Until another thump. And the third thump came.
You reluctantly got off the chair, padding over towards the window. Nothing. The night sky was completely empty, albeit for a couple snow flakes that were starting to coat the streets in a thin white sheet. Your gaze went down to the three pebbles lying on the floor, matching the number of thuds you'd heard earlier.
"What the fuck?" You muttered to yourself, looking up from the pebbles. The words died in your throat when you looked up to see big, white eyes boring into your own. Not exactly what you were expecting to see living in the second floor. You scrambled away from the window, your heart beating against your chest as you heard the creature scratching against the glass.
The same creature that you were trying to write an article about was scratching against your window, each one grating against your eardrums. Had it been tracking your movements down since you'd left the barn..? Before you had the chance to begin questioning it further, it slid through the crack in the window like slime. Reaching up and up until it reached the lock.
Slipping inside of your apartment in a span of seconds, Venom stood in front of you. Its head pressed against the ceiling, taking over the space it had available with ease. Chills ran down your back when the creature met your gaze—his stare unsettling. The way a predator would look at its prey. It didn't help that you could practically see it salivating as it took you in.
The chickens were the appetizer and you were about to be the full course meal.
"You're the one writing those articles," not a question, just a simple statement. Its voice came out like something out of an alien movie. You rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly looking up at the goo-like creature. Trying to figure out what lie you could pull out of your ass.
"I mean, not exactly. There's a lot of people writing those articles, mine don't really get as much traction," you were babbling the first thing that came to mind, trying to buy yourself enough time. Enough time to figure out if jumping out of the second window in just your pajamas was too stupid of an idea. Except... that Venom wasn't even paying attention to you anymore.
It busied itself with picking up one of the various news articles, an indignant scoff leaving its mouth. Holding up the offensive piece of paper up to his face, its eyes narrowing down at you. "If you answer this wrong, I'll be eating your brains. If you answer it right, I'll be eating your arm. Do you think this is the most flattering picture of me?"
You looked over at the picture, trying to discern what was so wrong with it. Seeing Venom face to face, this was the closest thing that resembled it. "It's red but it still looks like you somewhat," you shrugged. Though your eyes quickly widened seeing Venom lick their lips, almost hungrily. Like it'd been waiting for you to say the wrong answer.
"But no, I don't think it's the most flattering. Doesn't look like you at all," you quickly backtracked with a nervous laugh, stepping back just the slightest bit. Just to where the creature wouldn't notice you were slowly slipping away. The creature seemed satisfied with that answer, slamming the photo down onto the wooden desk.
"So unfair that I'm still getting compared to that thing."
"That thing?"
"Carnage."
Venom picked up the camera that laid next to the disorganized stack of papers—holding it up to his face. "Not bad, could've done with some better lighting," he tsked, looking through the pictures you'd taken earlier at the farm. "There wasn't any better lighting," you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest. The subtle click of the camera filled up the room as the creature continued to look through the photographs.
Until even it got tired of multiple copies of the same photos. Venom held up the camera lens to face its slimy face, having the nerve to smile just as the flash came on. "There. A much better picture for your references," the creature spoke almost proudly.. holding up your camera to take another photo of itself. Taking on a more serious expression. "Replace those ugly ones on Google."
Venom moved across your room curiously, exploring it like something out a museum. Picking up the articles you had scattered throughout your desk, holding it up underneath his scrutinizing gaze. And then.. the first change started to happen. Its mask began to disintegrate, human flesh starting to show underneath its cover.
You were delirious. That was the only possible explanation. The fumes from the filthy manure finally infiltrated your brain. The sight of the dead chickens was starting to mess up your cognitive function. "Suguru?"
"Surprise," now he sounded nervous, looking everywhere in the room except at your face.
All the little signs that Suguru had been displaying throughout the past couple weeks slowly started to make sense. From being insistent to be the one to wash his uniform (not that you'd minded at the time) to coming back home at the ass crack of dawn. Claiming that a mission held him up. And still, you found yourself wanting to believe that maybe you were just hallucinating.
"I didn't scare you too badly, right?" he approached you slowly, like he was the one that had to be cautious. You stayed frozen in spot, your mouth agape even as he came to hold your hips.
"Wait, so you're the murderer? How long has it been going on for? A-And why'd you show up here as Venom?" The questions spilled out of you, struggling to even begin to wrap your head around this.
Choosing to ignore your other questions, he simply answered, "You wanted to write your article, didn't you? What better way to do that than to keep track of our exclusive interview." Your phone looked ridiculously tiny held in between two digits, one of his fingertips tapping at the screen. To get the camera app set up?
Suguru placed the camera against one of the perfume bottles on the desk, capturing your bed in the frame. "What's that for?" you questioned, looking over at him as he moved around your room. No longer with that curious gaze, but the usual comfortability instead. "It'll be easier for you to remember if you have it digitized."
Your bed squeaked underneath his weight as Suguru went to lie down, resting his hands behind his head. "Come on, princess. The interview's more comfortable this way," he patted down on the spot next to him, a couple of your stuffed animals flying to the floor from the sheer force of his hand.
"So, what do you want to know?" Suguru questioned, running one of his fingers down the sheer material of your sleep shirt. Bunching up the thin material underneath his hands before slowly raising it up to your stomach. Abnormally cold hands slid up your torso, goosebumps forming instinctively at the touch.
"Why'd you murder the chickens? Not like we're missing any food at home," You looked over at the camera, making sure it was recording. And trying to avoid looking at Suguru. Was he still the person that you fell in love with? Well, clearly not.. but maybe, just maybe, the symbiote hadn't changed him?
You weren't sure how to deal with the possibility that the thing inside him had changed him completely. But Suguru was still gentle, his fingertips lightly caressing your body while he let out a small hum. Considering his answer.
"The thing inside me craves blood. Morning, day, and night. It's like an urge. An itch that I can't really control," Suguru moved his hand up your shirt, letting out a small hum. "I know that doesn't answer your question. Give me a bit."
Suguru grasped one of your breasts in his hand, rubbing his thumb against your areola. Feeling your nipples getting harder and harder underneath his fingertip, both from the cold seeping in through the slightly ajar window and his actions. He did the same to your right breast, slowly taking his time to move down your body. Eliciting all the goosebumps he could muster within you.
Suguru's fingers rubbed slightly against your clothed cunt, tracing the outline of your folds through the flimsy material. "Or better yet. Why do you think I murdered the chickens?" the deflection was smooth, even you had to admit that much. His fingers were just as smooth, sliding your panties to the side to reveal your already glistening cunt.
The two digits began moving in a scissoring motion, slowly starting to spread you open. It was hard to focus on the damn chickens when all you wanted was for him to keep going. Your hips bucked up to meet his hand, getting the slightest bit of friction against his palm. Just as soon as that sense of relief came over you, it was quickly ripped away.
Suguru pulled his fingers out of your pussy, bringing them up to his lips. Wrapping his lips around them and sucking on them like a decadent dish, rolling his eyes back. "I'll be nice, even though you didn't answer. Want a little taste?" You simply nodded at his question, leaning up to meet his lips. Suguru closed the gap in between you two, pressing his lips against your own.
The first thing you could taste was yourself, the taste clinging onto his lips for dear life. Your tongue ran over his bottom lip, picking up the remnants.
“If I knew why'd you murdered the chickens, I wouldn't be asking," you pointed out, a small gasp leaving your lips. His thumb teased your clit yet again, teasing you to that crescendo before letting it drop again.
"But you're so smart, baby. I wanted to hear your thoughts on why chickens. Why not dogs? Why not cats?" Suguru spoke in puzzles, only serving to confuse you even further. "Come on, put that big brain to use and let me hear your thoughts."
"Because.. it's easier to overlook?" You blurted out the first thing that came to mind, trying to put your 'big brain' to use without blanking out completely.
Suguru clicked his tongue, nodding his head from his spot in between your legs. "Something like that, yeah. I thought no one would really notice if a couple chickens went missing," he looked up at you, amethyst eyes almost seeming to sparkle underneath the moon.
The only time where Suguru didn't feel like the hunger was all consuming was when he was in between your legs, eating you out to his heart's content (or until you had to pull him off you after the nth orgasm, either or). "Could smell you all the way outside the window. Such a good scent," he all but purred into your skin, completely removing your panties off.
Just how enhanced were his senses now? Maybe that should be your next question. If you remembered, that is.
Sharp canines grazed upon your inner thighs, the movement surprisingly gentle. For someone who'd just bit off a chicken's head with those same teeth, anyways. His long tongue licked a stripe up your inner thigh, sucking on the supple skin and savoring the taste all the while. Your hips bucked up in need of something more, only to quickly being pinned down by his hands.
"Let me take my time, princess. Savor this," He looked over at you, a firm grip on your thighs. "I'll give you what you want, I promise," Suguru hadn't even done anything—and he was already starting to get delirious. He could practically taste you from here, could feel the scent of you completely invading his senses. All he could think about was you, you, and you.
The stretch of the symbiote's long, pink tongue as he pushed it in deeper into your cunt had you gripping the sheets beneath you all that much tighter. The silken sheets bunching up underneath your vice grip. Just the tongue was enough to reach up where your boyfriend's cock normally did.
You writhed against the silk bedsheets, your eyes struggling to stay open as the tongue pushed further inside of you. Filling you up with so much ease. It slowly retracted, pushing back inside of you with one swift motion. "D-Don't stop," you let out a gasp, your back arched while the tongue reached deep within you.
"So tasty," a low gravelly voice that didn't quite belong to Suguru sounded from the back of his throat. The different entity living within his body. "Don't get used to it," Suguru's voice came out muffled, tongue-deep inside of your cunt. His tongue eagerly lapped up and every drop of your slick, coating his mouth and chin.
He pulled away for the slightest bit, letting his spit dribble down on to your pussy. Watching intently at the way your walls clenched at just that, the way you twitched with just the lightest of movements. "F-Fuck, Sugu!" A whine left your lips, feeling his fingers push into you again. Curling them just right, hitting that sweet spot inside of you with each thrust.
"So good," he babbled against your cunt, the tip of his tongue swirling against your clit. "T-Taste so fucking good, I love you," Suguru rutted his hips pathetically onto the edge of the bed, leaving his precum onto the sheets. The hand that wasn't essentially knuckle-deep inside you wrapped around his cock, thrusting himself in time with your own.
The symbiote's tongue was quick, precise in the way that it flicked around your clit. Suguru swirled it around the nub, letting out mindless groans and babbles as he leaked further into his hand. Your cunt gushed around his fingers—squelching with every thrust of his fingers he gave. You tightened up around them, your fingers digging in further into the bedsheets.
"G-Gonna cum, gonna cum," you babbled out, your toes curling. It was just so deep, so good, so much of everything. "Cum all over my fingers, pretty. Wanna taste you so bad," Suguru managed to get out through his own whines and babbles. You felt that pressure inside of you build up before finally releasing—covering his fingers in your release when you came.
Suguru took his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue to lap up every last drop that started to leak down your thighs. With one final kiss against your folds, he pulled away to clean away his fingers. You sat up, coming face to face with his cock now that he was standing up.
And to call it a beast was short of an understatement.
Your swollen lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, struggling to completely get him inside of your mouth. It was just so.. thick. You looked up at him, your eyes starting to water up from the way your jaw was starting to slack. "You don't have to, princess," Suguru cooed down at you, wiping away your tears with his thumb. Though, even he would be a fool to deny this sight was anything short of perfect.
You looked absolutely sinful on your knees, your cheeks hollowing out in some attempt to ease the way down. You ignored the warning, slowly starting to bob your head down his shaft. Becoming complacent with the fact you wouldn't dare to try to take all of him in—not unless you wanted a quick trip to the hospital and an awkward explanation to the ER doctors.
With the spit pooled up in your mouth, you blew bubbles on the tip of Suguru's cock before letting it dribble down his shaft. One of your hands wrapped around the base, slowly starting to twist your wrist and start to jerk off what you couldn't reach. "F-Fuck, that's it, princess. So good," Suguru moaned out, one of his own hands resting on the back of your head.
"If you want me to keep going—answer me this. Have you hurt any civilians?" You pulled your mouth away, a string of saliva connecting you to the tip of his leaking cock. Suguru let out an exasperated groan, "No. I haven't. I don't want to hurt any people."
Even from this awkward angle on the floor, you could tell that he was telling the truth. Finally. You continued to drool on his cock, the filthy sounds of you gagging on it when the tip hit the back of your throat echoing through the thin walls. Your tongue traced through the thick veins on the sides, feeling Suguru's thighs twitch beside you.
"O-Oh f-fuck," Suguru bit on his fist, his head lolling back the more you tried to push his cock inside your mouth. Your tongue licked down the underside of his cock, going all the way to his heavy balls. You looked up to see Suguru struggling to meet your gaze, his chest heaving and strangled breaths leaving his lips.
Your tongue drew small circles on the sac before you took it in your mouth, sucking on them. "Wait, wait," Suguru started off, gently pulling you off, "Need to come inside you." He grabbed your hand, helping you off the floor.
Though the camera was still running on the nightstand, you decided to make mental notes of everything he was saying. Just in case. You weren't even completely sure if you'd remember by the end of the night. Suguru made himself comfortable just like at the start of the night—and the pieces started to click together. No way the man wanted you to ride him now.
"S-Suguru, I can't," the words escaped your lips in a hiss, slowly impaling yourself onto the first two inches of the large cock underneath you. Not even enough to completely get the tip in. Each inch felt like it was splitting you apart all over again.
"Yes you can, you're taking it so well baby," Suguru cooed, watching as you slowly sunk yourself down on his cock. Squeezing the life out of him while you tried to find your momentum.
You could already imagine the words on your tombstone— death by monster dick.
Suguru placed his hands on your hips, gently squeezing the flesh to ease your movements. "There you go, that's it. That's it, take it for me," he encouraged your movements with each bounce you were giving on his—the symbiote's(?)—cock.
Suguru looked over to see his cock nudging a bulge in your tummy when he thrusted up into you, the sight nearly having him close to an orgasm again. He thrusted in deeper, watching how the tip protruded with each one. "S-Sugu, you're in too deep," you moaned out, practically feeling the man in your guts. And he wasn't even fully in. You wouldn't be surprised if he could reach your guts.
Your hips gyrated, trying to keep up some sense of rhythm. You pressed your hands firmly against their chest for some semblance of balance, feeling the goon underneath your fingertips sticking to your fingers. "Take it, take it," Suguru let out a moan of his own, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. His feet pressed against the mattress, using you like a toy as he thrust himself in and out of your cunt.
"S-Sugu, too much, too much," you babbled out, struggling to keep up with the pace you'd set for yourself. That, and the absurdly big dick jackhammering you.
"You tired, baby?" His tone was sickly sweet as he spoke, pulling you off his cock and setting you down on the bed. "It's okay, I'll take care of you now. Just lay there and look pretty."
Suguru's body began to change back into its original form, the symbiote retreating back into his body. Thick, extensive tentacles protruded out of Suguru's back, each one wrapping around one of your limbs. Suguru slowly rubbed his cock across your folds, covering his length with your slick until it glistened against the moonlight peeking in through the windows.
Suguru slowly pushed the tip inside, feeling your walls tighten up against his shaft. "Is that better?" He looked down to watch for any signs of discomfort, and upon not finding any, he placed your legs up on his shoulders. Using the angle as leverage, hips snapping deeper inside of you.
"Taking everything I give you so well," his finger lightly caressed your cheek, the sharp thrust of his hips completely contradicting the gentleness he was trying to give. Your cunt covered his shaft with your slick, squelching as he slid it in and out of you. "Rub my clit, please, please," you let out a mewl, keeping your gaze directly on his own.
"Can't say no when you beg so pretty," His thumb slowly began to rub your clit, building up your orgasm for the second time tonight. Your walls clenched around him tightly, milking his cock in the process. Everything started to get too much, too little, you weren't really sure what you wanted. The only thing that you did know was, well, you wanted to cum.
“So. Fucking. Tight," each of his words was pronounced with a thrust, sweat dripping down from his forehead and covering his skin. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, a moan leaving your lips as you came. It was both a sight and a sound that Suguru couldn't find himself getting tired of even if he tried. His own hips began to grow sloppy, his thrusts losing all sense of rhythm while his balls continued to grow heavier.
A groan erupted from the back of Suguru's throat, his head thrown back while his eyes barely managed to stay open. "Take it baby, it's all yours," Suguru let out a groan, his hips growing more erratic. Your messy pussy was pushing him closer and closer to his own orgasm. You simply nodded your head against the pillow, your nails digging into his forearm.
"Y-Yeah, all mine," your moan came out so sweetly, being the last thing to push Suguru over the edge. Ropes of cum spurted deep inside of your cunt, filling you up almost immediately. He didn't bother to move just yet, remaining buried deep inside of your cunt. The only thing that he did do was start to press slow, sloppy kisses on your calves before setting your legs down on the bed.
A soft whine left your lips when Suguru pulled out his twitching cock, the tentacles retreating back inside of him. Globs of cum dripped down out of you, streaming down your thighs and ass. "I never harmed anyone in what I've been doing, by the way. I don't want to harm anyone, I promise. I'm still your Suguru," he whispered, low enough to where your phone wouldn't pick it up.
"Still your Suguru. Your Suguru," Entrusting those words to you and you only. His thick fingers pushed inside of your dripping cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you. Filling you completely yet again. Suguru pulled out of you once again, wiping his hand off with a rag on the bed stand.
"You okay?" Suguru whispered, using the rag to gently wipe away the sweat that dribbled down your forehead. One of his hands reached down, fingertips gently rubbing against your thighs in a bleak attempt to soothe the ache.
"No, think you and that cock earlier might've broken me," you mumbled, your voice coming out hoarse. At this rate, you'd have a noise complaint taped to your front door first thing in the morning. Suguru reached over for the nightstand next to you, opening up a water bottle. "Sit up for me just a little."
Your body ached even further, pushing yourself so at least your head would be straight. "I know, I know it hurts," Did he really? Suguru took a hold of your chin, lightly tipping it up before giving you slow gulps of water. Your throat cleared up with each sip, but you could practically feel your body crying out underneath you with each second you stayed up.
"You're okay, pretty girl. I'll take care of you, did so good for me," Suguru murmured praises against your back, wrapping his arms around your stomach and keeping you close. Keeping you far warmer than any blanket you've bought as of yet.
Silence clung onto the room, but it was a comfortable silence this time around. All of the previous tension had disappeared, leaving the two of you spent. "I know you're still my Suguru, but thank you for answering the questions. You scared the shit out of me when you popped up in the suit."
"I know. Wouldn't hurt you or another person, though. Please trust me," Suguru peppered a kiss onto your upper back, continuing with his gentle motions. After nearly splitting your body in half, he was being delicate. Keeping you safe and assured.
Suguru looked over at the drawer where your phone rested, remembering all about the 'interview' he'd signed up for. "I'm gonna go see how photogenic we were, I'll be right back," He spoke quietly, pressing a small kiss onto your forehead before getting up from the squeaky mattress. It'd been a miracle that the old thing hadn't given out just from tonight.
"Yeah, okay," you spoke through ragged breaths, watching him stand up and move through the shadows of your room. Suguru took his time in picking your phone up and looking through it, watching every second of the 'film.'
"Think we're gonna have to do re-do the interview," Suguru noted, watching through the footage recorded. The phone had toppled over around 1/3 into the video, completely coming to a stop shortly after with a 'storage full' pop-up. Your chest heaved, barely registering any of the words he was saying. Interview..?
Oh, right. The Venom article you still had to finish writing. By tomorrow. Very important.
synopsis: geto suguru is out to get you and while you know he wants you to stay away from his best friend, his efforts to deter you only drive you forward. naturally, that doesn't sit well with him.
contains: MDNI, unedited, cussing, weed, alcohol, dry humping, slight smut, frat parties and clubbing, reader is a maneater, satoru is lovesick, suguru is done, cockblocking, shenanigans, misunderstandings
words: 14.5k (whoa now)
note: art credits to k05062688 and _SinnerV on x
Geto Suguru has a heart of gold and is a joy to be around. Just ask anyone and they would confirm this with a fond smile. He's the guy that everyone wants to befriend rather than just be with or become.
He had a way of guiding people with an air of security and providing a judgment-free zone for close friends and strangers to confide in him like he was a father at a confessional, intently listening on the sins followers committed and teaching them how to repent without ridicule.
Gojo came to him as an arrogant, obnoxious rich kid with no consideration of those around him. He never had to pay mind to anyone given his sheltered life and silver spoon in his mouth. After the raven-haired man put him in his place by responding to his snarky remarks in kind, Satoru finally had a friend who didn't walk on eggshells around him that he could be vulnerable with and learn from.
Suguru took him under his wing, helped him adjust to the real world outside of his extravagant, overconsumption lifestyle. As much as Satoru was an asshole, he was just as lost if not more as an adolescent, still a kid and naive at that. Through Suguru, he learned how to carry himself and win people over with his authenticity rather than the snob his family expected him to be—socialising with others from various backgrounds without insulting them or seeming out of touch because he didn't comprehend their struggles.
He was quick to defend the starry-eyed, silver-haired man when he made mistakes—taking on a protector role in their dynamic. Not that Satoru was a special case or anything as he'd do the same for Shoko, Nanami, Haibara and any of their other friends.
While Satoru is outgoing and fond of many now, he's still worlds away from others in a way he can't change given the family he was born into. Suguru on the other hand is down to earth. The unattainable was enigmatic to humans since the dawn of time so it's no wonder why girls would sought after his charismatic best friend. Satoru was a flirt but oh could he fall. Plummet actually. Quite like Icarus did and you think Shoko's comparison is fitting as all the pretty man was missing were pearlescent wings to look like an angel. It was why he couldn't stay away from his ex-girlfriend, Ari, for too long. She was his first everything and Suguru's convinced they'll grow old and die hand in hand if Satoru had anything to say about it.
For now, Ari seemingly wanted nothing to do with him and it would have been something he overlooked had she not ignored his calls and texts for weeks rather than days like she used to. She was as weak as Satoru when it came to opening her heart to him again and again. Needless to say, his lovesickness deterred many admirers and they'd flock to Suguru instead, adding to his own ever-growing list of admirers. Whispers about what girls wanted him to do to them and reminiscing about what he had done were prevalent on campus
Not one to follow the crowd, Satoru was the half of the pair that snagged your attention. Across the room at a bustling party where he nursed his drink, slumped against the wall while his best friend had a hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowed like he was giving him a serious pep talk about getting over the girl that broke his heart. Again.
He may have been here in body but not in spirit or mind, the lights flashing over his face like the memories he's undoubtedly sulking over. What a cute thing. As a kid, you'd lose interest in toys that everyone else wanted or had. The unique, rare things enchanted you. That could be the reason you gift people personalized presents and melt when they return the favor. Of course, the demand for Gojo Satoru wasn't low but you'd say he invoked a fear of missing out within you for the first time.
It's why you found yourself slinking through the stuffy crowd of partygoers cramping up the frat house and sauntering over to the two men. The ivory haired man caught sight of you first, the lights in the house bleeding from blue to pink as he faced you, ending his friend's lecture as he noticed Satoru was no longer listening. Under their dual attention, you graced them with your kindest smile.
Satoru's lips, reddened from him nibbling on them, parts as he takes you in, the somber look in his gaze from earlier fluttering away. Good. You liked when his eyes resembled the beach on a warm summer day rather than a stormy sea. Introducing yourself, you pat yourself on the back when you pulled what you guessed was his first genuine grin of the night, judging by his silent friend's cocked brow as he looked from Satoru to you.
You weren't rude by any means so you did acknowledge Suguru as well. You'd heard good things about him from Shoko too, how nice he was. But there was no trace of that when his eyes assessed you, lids lowering until they were suspicious slits. You thought nothing of it. Not when Satoru and you were laughing and clutching your stomachs just seconds later, clicking like lost pieces of a puzzle that had been found.
Suguru was mildly miffed at how a stranger was able to achieve what he'd tried to do for days—get Satoru back to that bright, beckoning light everyone knew him to be. And as his best friend, he was the shadows that touched everything surrounding that beam, acting as a repellent to scare off people undeserving of having Satoru shine on them.
He was yet to find out which category you fell into. Your arm on Satoru's biceps and smile morphing into a lascivious smirk answered that for him soon enough.
Satoru lightens up even more when a song he loves blasting while driving starts playing through the speakers, his head already nodding along. You noticed because of course you did. Suguru's certain your eyes haven't left his best friend for more than a minute in the half an hour you've been talking to him. Time flies when Satoru starts yapping.
“Would you like to dance?” you ask Satoru, nodding to the makeshift dance floor. Acquainting yourself with him didn't dim your interest like it usually did with men. If anything, you wanted to get to know him more, sink beneath his skin and witness the blood pumping through the veins of this handsome man. For now, you'd settle for the touches that came with dancing.
Satoru's grin widens and he's about to agree when Suguru shakes his head. You'd almost forgot he was still here, leaning against the wall and watching you both intently.
“Actually, Satoru's a bit out of it tonight. If he over does it, he'll be a pain to wake up for classes tomorrow,” his best friend's smooth voice cuts in like sinking into hot water after a cold day.
Bummer, you think as you nod in understanding. The reminder from Suguru sobers Satoru up, his inner turmoil crashing down on him once more as he gives you a bashful, apologetic smile.
“I’d hate to end the fun early but Professor Yaga will have my head on a stick if I miss another one of his classes,” the young man cringes at the thought, “Can I take a raincheck on that dance?”
He's too sweet to be upset with so you smile and agree. “Sure, we'll continue another time.”
Delighted, Satoru pulls you into a side hug that warms your shoulder and torso before pulling away all too quickly with a wave as he disappears in the direction of the front door. Suguru wasn't quick to follow, violet gaze on you like he's trying to figure out what your deal is. You merely tilt your head in question, blinking innocently. He doesn't fall for the act, the dark brows that were nearly straight lines above his hooded eyes lowering.
“See you next time,” he greeted, following his best friend's path right as Satoru calls out to him from somewhere outside, voice loud and boisterous enough to be heard over the booming bass.
There's butterflies swarming your tummy. Though that could just be the cups of punch you'd drank earlier sloshing around in there. Either way, you're looking forward to Satoru making good on his promise.
Though Suguru stomps on the flapping creatures in your stomach, crushing them beneath his combat boots like they were nothing more than filthy insects when he finds ways to intervene in your attempts to get closer to his soft-hearted best friend. He knows your type. The kind that goes after what they can't have to prove a point and do away with the person they treated as a quest once they got the gratification they set out for.
At first, you think you're seeing things and getting defensive because you like Satoru. Just a little. A puppy crush. Still, it was certainly odd how Suguru inserted himself in every possible way when you were trying to talk to Satoru alone. When you sat too close to Satoru on the lumpy couches at parties, he'd squeeze into the sliver of space between you as if it was shaped for him to. When you'd act all curious about the drink Satoru had in hand and he'd hold it out for you, seconds away from sharing an indirect kiss, another hand would appear, holding a sweating bottle of said drink just for you. When you'd disguise your flirting as jokes, Suguru would add on and Satoru would be beside himself with laughter as if the long-haired man was a comedian. You'd eye him and he'd just smile, giving no hints that he was aware of what he was doing.
Hence, you let it slide, brushing it off as your imagination. There were countless other methods to get Satoru's attention. You'd gathered them from your trusty books and the tips never failed you before—physical contact and forced proximity.
You'd brush up against Satoru when you studied with him in the library and he didn't move away which had you smiling to yourself behind your notebook. Suguru then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head, much to the librarian's chagrin as he glanced around, eyes landing on you and Satoru with a glint.
“It's quite crowded in here today, huh? Wanna go grab some lunch and stretch our legs?” He suggested, mentioning the café that had his best friend's favorite mochi. As he expected, Satoru sprung up, packing away his stuff and agreeing. You mourned the loss of his strong shoulder pressed to yours just as Suguru looked back at you and gestured for you to come along.
That was fine. The problem started with your next attempt when you'd complained about how chilly the air was while your group walked back from the park you'd found after having dinner at a nearby restaurant. Everyone else knew to bring their coats and jackets, having seen the weather forecast but you “just so happened to forget yours.”
Satoru was the first to react, tugging off his jacket since he had a hoodie under anyway and hope sparked in your chest, chasing away the wind nipping at your cheeks.
Or maybe it was the black coat that draped over your shoulders from behind. Suguru was there, striking his lighter, the warm glow illuminating his tan skin as if he were your saving grace. Exhaling a plume of smoke into the air above your head, he jut his chin at you.
“That better?” he asked around the stick, standing there and smoking his cigarette without a care in the world, the cherry red at the end of it burning bright orange as he took another puff, eyes squinted. The breeze licked at his ponytail, toying with that rebellious section of his bangs that always fell over his forehead as if it liked being on his face.
Unlike you who was pretending to shiver, he was perfectly content in his black Henley, sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms and the veins that lined them. You didn't want to slide your arms into the sleeves of his pleasantly scented coat so you ducked your head into the collar to hide your embarrassment (that you got the wrong guy's chivalry).
Forcing a nod, you look away. “Yeah, thanks.”
Again, to everybody else, it looks like he's just being a compassionate person, good friend, a gentleman even. And yet, the strange sensation in your gut is leading you to believe otherwise. You're not stupid enough to confront him about it without actual incriminating evidence. If you just pointed and yelled at him for being a snake, everyone would look at you crazy for accusing the guy who was far from sinister of being just that and think you had trust issues. Throwing the coat down and trampling it after all the fuss you made would be worse.
Suguru makes his intentions crystal clear one night when you see Satoru heading to the parking lot. Being alone with him in his car was a great way to make a move on him.
“You need a ride home? Sure, can't have a pretty girl like you waiting on a cab this late,” he agreed easily, opening the passenger side door for you with a playful grin, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, making him all the more gorgeous.
Hand clenching around the shoulder strap of your book bag, you take a step forward, not wanting to spring into the car like your heart is within your ribcage. This was playing out so well. You'd charm the socks off him, revel in his melodic laughter and invite him up for coffee and maybe see if he's got white hair everywhere—
A tug on your bag has you halting. Confused, you glance back to see if it got caught on the car mirror beside you like your shirts tend to catch on the doorknob of your room as if the fixture was sentient and didn't want you to leave.
There was no mirror or door in sight but the man standing there was as wide and tall as the latter and his face reflected your deadpan. Satoru greeted his best friend with that cheerful tone he'd offer anyone.
Suguru nodded in acknowledgement, eyes coming back to where you stood, hand dropping from your strap. “You live near the suburbs, right?”
“Yeah, why?” You raise a brow though the sinking feeling in your belly told you exactly where he was going with this. You just wanted to be wrong for once.
“My parents’ place is around there. Satoru's far out in comparison,” he proves you right as Satoru ah's as if he just recalled that fact, “Come on, I'll take you.”
The only person you wanted to take you was currently waving you goodbye and telling you to get home safe as you trailed after Suguru, glaring at the back of his stupid head.
“I know what you're doing,” he told you after being mostly quiet on the drive here, now parked outside your complex.
Unbuckling your seatbelt, you glance over at him. Hands still on the steering wheel, he's clearly ready to say his piece then drive off.
“Do you?” You humor him, opening your bag to make sure your phone and the earphones you tend to misplace are in there.
With a heavy sigh, Suguru looks to the side to meet your gaze, his unamused while yours is dry.
“Hitting on Satoru isn't cute. It's not gonna get you anywhere.”
The absolute tone in his voice has you scoffing. “Oh, really? Well, I won't know unless I try, right?”
Jaw flexing, he gives you a once over, not liking what he's seeing if his curled lip is anything to go by. Uncaring because he's not the one you want looking at you anyway, you wait for him to continue.
“That wouldn't be fair to him or you. I don't think you want the same things that he does and I'd rather prevent anyone getting hurt.” He phrases it like he's doing you a favor.
Praise from others about his people skills evidently inflated his ego to the point that he's sure he knows what's best for you when, mind you, he only met you a few months ago.
Reaching for the door handle, you ready yourself to leave. “Thanks but I think I can make my own decisions.”
Stubborn refusal laces your words even though they come off sounding like you'll consider his advice. He's aware you planned on forgetting this conversation entirely.
Nothing else is said as you exit the car with a quiet thank you and shut the door, retreating into the front gate of your complex, leaving Suguru to stare ahead at the road, your scent that's still here irking him. He rolls down the windows to get rid of it.
He realises that trying to ward you off directly only deepened your determination to defy him. He was like a fool fanning the flames of a wildfire, spreading it until it ate up the surrounding forest and coughed out ashes. Suguru thinks you're that fire and will leave Satoru charred if you succeed in winning him over.
Watching you at parties, mingling with strangers like they were long lost friends and chuckling at their dry humor as well as inquiring about your dating life through Shoko, Suguru found out that his assumptions about you were right. You had one or two boyfriends in the past but you were inclined to having casual flings for the past two years. You'd bed Satoru and head out. His stomach twisted at the thought of his friend feeling used and unworthy of your adoration after you abandon him when your curiosities are satiated.
The cruel thought had him scowling at your form as you tossed a ball into one of the solo cups on the table, the partygoers around you cheering and chanting for you to chug the alcoholic beverage down with enthusiasm. Satoru clapped for you then checked his phone for the umpteenth time. His ex, Ari, hadn't made contact in months and he still held out hope. Suguru blinked and then you were at Satoru's side, lifting his spirits with a pat on his back as you said something that had him smiling again. As if you knew he'd be staring when you glanced his way, you caught his gaze and grinned like the cat who got the cream. If Suguru wanted to act like a dragon guarding its treasure horde then you were the sneaky thief who'd break in to see what was so precious about it.
A shift had occurred though. You took on multitasking. Satoru was bound to be out of reach if Suguru was hovering so you'd get girls to distract him whenever you could, scandalizing them with whispers about how he'd eyed them stealthily all night and wanted them to make the first move. He loved being chased, you had whispered, and boy could his fan girls sprint. Having women all over him, hanging off his every limb was something Suguru couldn't shake easily. Chivalrous at heart, he couldn't turn them down or reject them shortly. The way you'd bite back a smile while sitting way too close to Satoru for his liking made it obvious that this was your doing.
The sky split open in bursts of gold and violet, sparks raining down over the city. You stood shoulder to shoulder with Satoru at the edge of the rooftop, close enough that your sleeves brushed when he laughed at something you said. The fireworks painted his pale hair in flashes of color, reflected bright in your wide, starry eyes as you tipped your head back to watch them bloom and disappear.
Across the roof, Suguru stood beside Ieiri and Kento, hands tucked into his sleeves. He wasn’t watching the sky. He was watching you.
You felt it—his gaze, steady and unreadable—and turned. For a moment, the fireworks flared between you. Then his expression shifted, subtle but sharp. A small shake of his head. Not amused. Not impressed. Disappointed. Like you were being foolish. Like you were being obvious.
Heat crept up your neck, but you turned back to Satoru anyway when he nudged you, pretending you hadn’t seen.
Suguru didn’t look away until the sky went dark.
Satoru almost never slowed down, which made it unsettling when he did. He was slumped on a bench outside the lecture hall, pale, sunglasses crooked, mumbling weak complaints about betrayal and bad cafeteria food.
You crouched in front of him anyway, pressing a cool drink into his hand, brushing his bangs back to check his temperature despite his dramatic protests.
The fever was brewing since this morning so you'd gotten him meds from the nearby pharmacy. Of course, he made faces and gagged at the ones that weren't all sweet and sugary.
“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you muttered, softer than you meant to.
“That’s why I have you,” he shot back faintly.
You pressed a cold bottle of tea to his forehead despite his whining, adjusting his collar when he complained about the heat.
A shadow fell over the two of you.
Suguru.
He took in the scene in one quiet sweep—your hand still near Satoru’s face, Satoru leaning toward you without thinking.
“I’ll take him,” Suguru said evenly.
You stood, suddenly aware of how close you’d been. Suguru slipped an arm around Satoru’s shoulders with practiced ease, steadying him. For a brief second, his eyes met yours.
Not repulsed this time.
Just guarded. Measuring.
Then he turned away, guiding his best friend down the path, leaving you standing there with the faint, unsettling feeling that you’d just stepped into something far more complicated than a crush.
Suguru thinks the same.
Thus, he began keeping Satoru occupied. Complained that they hadn't had a chance to bond, just the two of them in ages. Satoru scoffed since they were housemates and saw each other all the time. Suguru told him that was different. So they started hanging out as a duo more at places you'd only find out they were at days later when one of them posted a story—shooting range, rage room, archery, obstacle course, mountain climbing, zip lining, bungee jumping and running marathons.
Frustration simmered within you but you were also impressed by the lengths Suguru would go to for his best friend's sake. It was respectable in an overly protective way.
He thinks you've learned your lesson now that he's kept Satoru out of the nightlife scene for some weeks. You'd made small talk with Satoru tonight at the club, your friend group reuniting with the best friends after some time so everyone wanted to know what they got up to and wanted to join next time. You maintained your distance which had Suguru proud of his efforts, chest puffed and head high.
What threw him off was you sliding into the seat beside him at the bar, ordering a fruity margarita. Hairs rose at the back of his neck in apprehension at your proximity but you either didn't notice his tense body or didn't care. Probably a mix of both. You stood there long enough to notice him eyeing a pretty girl on the dance floor—big smile, bright eyes and bouncy coils of hair. He wasn't the only set of eyes she caught and you could see why.
“Want me to go put in a good word for you?” you ask, sipping on the deceptively sweet drink that would make your head buzz in a half an hour or so.
Tearing his eyes away from the woman, he blinks and lowers his head to see if he heard you right. The expectant gaze of yours tells him he did.
“You’d do that, why?”
Shrugging a shoulder, you glance around. “Just ‘cause. We're friends, right?”
“Barely.”
Your hand waves in dismissal. “Whatever, I'm trying to be nice since you opened my eyes about Satoru.”
His brows bounce. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
Mulling over your words as his finger circles the rim of his glasses, he glances at the woman and then back to you then repeats.
“Okay, since you wanna play wingwoman,” he concedes. He prefers approaching women himself but seeing as you were attempting to make peace with him, he accepted.
Triumph brightened your gaze as you threw back your cocktail like it was a shot. “Have another ready for me, will you, babe?” You sweet talk the gullible bartender then disappear into the sea of people. To Suguru, you may as well be a shark among smaller fish with how easily his eyes track you. A habit he developed from closely monitoring your interactions with Satoru. It was like he had a radar inside him that would go off and he'd just know you were circling his best friend.
Swaying to the music, you dance your way over to the woman he hopes will go home with him tonight. She welcomes you with ease, your bodies moving in sync to the rhythm of the song playing like you'd practiced the choreography countless times and this wasn't impromptu between strangers. Head ducking, you whisper in her ear and she looks over her shoulder, sparkly eyes finding Suguru's. Whatever you said has her eagerly nodding and you flash her a dazzling smile under the disco lights for it.
Holding out your hand palm up, you wait for her to take it. Suguru straightens up, as he's certain you're about to lead her over to him, complete your wingwoman duties by bringing her over to him so he could finish the job. He takes your magarita from the bartender, wanting to hold onto it for you so he doesn't look like he's impatiently waiting. Admittedly, you'd done the talking quick if she was already agreeing to come chat to him. Though not many women turned him away so he's not that surprised.
What does surprise him though is you using her palm in yours to pull her closer to you, her arms resting on your shoulders as you converse with her. The song changes into something sexier and so do your moves, hips no longer swishing from side to side but rolling forward, meeting hers as she mirrors you. Your hands slide down her sides, definitely not friendly as you grab handfuls of her full hips. She throws her head back and laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.
Suguru can't move from his spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. Were you stealing the girl from right under his nose? Had he walked straight into your trap?
Your lips brush the shell of her ear as you whisper something to her and when you pull back to look at her, the sultry grin on your face is blocked from his view.
Because she's kissing you. On the mouth. With tongue.
And you're returning it with the lazy pace she's going at. He thinks that you may have forgotten the plan. That you're more tipsy than you thought and all you could think of doing was flirting. But then your eyes open, locked onto his immediately and the smirk you give him is knowing.
Bristling, Suguru can't do much else other than hold your gaze until you look away first. To have some kind of control or win in this situation. You lose only because you wink at him as you break the kiss. He's stumped when you bid her goodbye and join him at the bar counter again, thumbing away the lipstick smeared on your mouth and taking your cocktail from him.
“Sheesh, I haven't been kissed like that in forever,” you chuckle.
Eyes narrowed, he watches you take a sip of your drink and exhale like you've been refreshed. “Thought you were putting in a good word for me.”
“Oh, I did. Unfortunately for you, she's into women. Though if you change your perspective, it's a win for me so not all is lost,” you inform him cheerfully.
He's not convinced.
You don't protest as you were being truthful. She does like women. Did you maybe, kind of, sort of tell her the “creep” at the bar wouldn't leave you alone so you asked her to pretend to be your girlfriend? Maybe but that part is unnecessary to add so you don't.
Suguru's life doesn't get any easier from there. For some unknown reason, girls on campus are dodging him rather than launching himself in his direction. Some approached him still but mostly to ask if the rumors about him hooking up with others while he had a girlfriend were true. Others didn't care about the rumors as they had no shame. He was outraged and asked them who they heard that from. They said his girlfriend.
And they'd always point at you.
“What's the matter, baby?” you'd asked cutely when he marched up to you that day.
“You think you're funny, huh?” His expression was indifferent but there was a flicker of annoyance in those amethyst irises.
“Fucking hilarious, actually.”
What you didn't anticipate was that he'd use those rumors to his advantage, scaring off guys who showed interest in you so you couldn't go around flirting with every other idiot at parties. You were pissed but he justified it.
“You want to be with Satoru, don't you? He doesn't like girls who make googly eyes at other men,” he explained as if that was reason enough for chasing away innocent people.
“Oh, okay because I was wondering.”
Honestly, you'd gotten so caught up in the games you were playing with Suguru that you had forgotten your original motive for a bit. Now that he reminded you, you were going to double down on getting Satoru out of the friendzone and into your pants.
The best course of action you could come up with was sitting on his rival's lap at a party that any student from all the surrounding universities could come to. Sukuna Ryomen was all muscle, tattoos and mean glares. He was the heir to his family's empire just like Satoru was. They were the biggest competitors in the same market and that gave rise to a lot of animosity between the two men.
You were hoping for jealousy, irritation and maybe even an angry confession. The reaction you did get tugged at your heart. Satoru's pale brows crinkled, nose scrunching slightly in the distinct way it would when he was hurt. Still, he mustered a smile and nodded at you as if saying, “Go get ‘em, girl!” Sukuna's hand on your waist was unbearable now.
That expression hadn't stemmed from hidden feelings or envy. It was betrayal. Seeing his friend in the arms of someone he openly despised had upset him. You couldn't bring yourself to enjoy the party anymore and stepped out onto the balcony to get some fresh air.
An all too familiar presence appears beside you but nothing is said.
“If you're here to say I told you so, save your breath,” you muttered, staring out at the city lights.
“Stop playing games with him or it'll only get worse,” Suguru warns.
“Don't tell me what to do.”
“You're not serious about him.”
He was right. “You don't know that.”
Suguru is convinced he's going to lose his mind and not because of his coursework or expectations of his family but your unrelenting ass. He doesn't like stooping to pettiness but you left him with little else to do.
As for you, you were certain you cared for Satoru. Though you had to admit that your admiration for him was based on curiosity and lust rather than love. Getting a rise out of Suguru was the rush you were aiming for. At some point your crush took the backburner so you could piss off his best friend. Something about his glares, sneers and disdain for you became addicting.
And so you press on. Even if Satoru didn't take interest in you, you were having fun and if he wanted to use you as a rebound, you wouldn't mind.
Feeding into a man's ego always got their attention. So when your group is at the beach, you do just that. Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru are playing volleyball with some strangers, the sun blazing down on their half-dressed bodies as they score another point and high five. Haibara's taking a dip in the tidal pool, waiting for the others to join as the cool, turquoise water laps at his overheated skin. Nanami's lounging on the chair beside yours, glasses low on his nose bridge as he reads a book under the shade of the umbrella.
Your sunglasses are doing nothing to hide how you're ogling Satoru. He's in red shorts, a white tee, glasses shielding his sensitive eyes from the blazing sun, creamy skin tanning a little already. It's not like you're using your shades to be discreet. He'd be hard to look at if they were off with how his silver hair caught the light and might as well have been a piece of the sun on earth. Your eye candy appreciation is ruined when Suguru looks over and catches you staring, now over the rim of your shades. He nudges Satoru and nods towards you. Following his gaze, Satoru spots you as well and your face warms but you wave at him and he lowers his glasses to shoot you a wink before resuming the game.
Tastefully, you flipped Suguru off then decided to cool yourself off by going for a swim. Standing, your hands grab the hem of your cover up t-shirt, pulling it up and over your head. Satoru's gaze is on you again immediately and Suguru is about to tell him to focus on the game when he sees you.
The two-piece swimsuit you wear flatters your figure, your tits filling out the bra cups perfectly and ass looking rounder than it usually does. Fingering the strings to make sure they're not twisted, you ensure that your sunscreen from earlier is still sufficient. The bikini is pretty but it's the colour that has Suguru's eye twitching.
A sapphire blue that made your skin glow. The choice was intentional. Suguru's sure that if Satoru came over and pressed his face against the side of your chest or hip, his eyes would blend right in. He knows it too because he's beaming at the sight of you in his favorite colour. Who are you to deny his vanity when it came to this?
“Hiding a body like that should be illegal, sweetheart,” Satoru calls out to you, voice all flirty and smile evident. “Don't you know blue's my favorite?”
You have the audacity to play coy and look down at your pedicure at his compliment. “Who's to say we can't share a favorite?”
Both of you are smiling stupidly at each other. The ball hurting towards Suguru is launched back to its sender with more force than necessary, hitting Naoya square in the face as he cusses. Suguru isn't quick to apologize after the bastard tried to insult him earlier by saying that he “served like a little girl.”
You won this round, that's for sure. A nasty feeling coils in Suguru's gut as he watches Satoru and you stroll down to the shore to play in the waves. Ever observant, he sees that your bikini top's knot isn't fastened tight enough. One wave will untie it for sure. Someone ought to warn you.
He doesn't. In his defense, you wouldn't believe him anyway, always striving to do the exact opposite of whatever he said.
So when you jumped in the water with Satoru, laughter ringing in the like as you guys readied yourself for the push of the oncoming wave, bobbing up and down as it passed over you, Suguru savored the gasp you let out as you feel your bikini top fall away. Covering your chest, your face was on fire. He didn't get to bask in satisfaction for long though as Satoru peeled off his shirt, giving you an up close and personal view of his efforts at the gym and desirable genetics when he handed it to you and you slipped it on.
There was no use, this point was definitely yours.
Suguru comes to terms with the fact that not every season can be kind to him. He's not talking about personal struggles or anything like that. In that department, his life is sound. Unless you consider him finding you unbearable a personal issue then maybe he does have a problem.
The universe is working in your favor recently. You've gotten more opportunities to get to know Satoru better, spending time with him alone. As his best friend, Suguru hears all about it. How you're scared of horror movies and wanted Satoru to hold your hand for comfort even though you'd chosen to watch the film in theaters. How your car was at the shop so you had to catch a ride with him to campus. How good you were at video games when you helped him clear difficult stages.
He could tell Satoru was starting to like you a lot more. Not in a romantic way, that spot was sealed and secured for Ari. But still enough to make Suguru anxious about how hard he'd take it if you just turned on him once you were rejected or your interest faded. Satoru valued his friendships just as much as his relationship so it would hurt him and he didn't need that on top of his heartbreak.
Musicians that Satoru is a big fan of are in the city for a festival. The information was hidden by gatekeepers so he was bummed that he couldn't get his hands on tickets. You, however, were successful. He was driving you both there a few hours early to beat the traffic when the two liters of water he chugged earlier made a reappearance.
Suguru's parents' house was nearby and you did not look forward to seeing him. But there was a spring in your step that even he couldn't take away. When Satoru pulled up into his driveway, he mentioned that his best friend's folks were out for the weekend so Suguru was house sitting. The garage door was open and Satoru went straight inside to greet his best friend then jogged into the house.
From behind the hood of what looked to be a street racing car, Suguru peeked out. He was less than happy to see you and while you shared the sentiment, you wanted to rub your victory in his face. Shutting the car door after you stepped out, your heels clicked against the gravel as you walked up to the car he was working on.
The bare expanse of your torso appeared in his peripheral vision as he carefully dismantled an old part he was planning to replace. The muscles on his arm flexed with the movements of his dexterous hands, tank top snug against his back and chest while his faded jeans sat low on his hips, a strip of his carved abdomen winking at you. There was a dirty rag in his back pocket which hardly served its purpose given how there were dark smudges and an oil sheen on his forearms, grease splattered on the bottom of his grey tank top.
“Can't say hello, Tinkerbell?” you ask flatly, thinking the name suitable for him given that he was playing mechanic.
Suguru stood up straight, rag in hand as he wiped what he could off his arms, gaze assessing. “You're the one dressed like a fairy yet I'm Tinkerbell?”
He wasn't wrong. The flowy, halter crop top you wore had a pattern that resembled butterfly wings in shades of purple, blue and green. Your denim skirt was short enough that bending would give whoever was around a whole show.
Resting your chin on your shoulder happily, you smiled because you took that as a compliment. “Thank you.”
His unimpressed stare, eyes hooded and lips downturned only made your smile grow. Annoyed by the sight, he sighed and went to his workbench to drop the old part there and take the new one.
“Don't you think dental floss would cover up more?” he questioned in a drawl. That was almost funny. Almost.
“I'll keep that in mind for my next concert with Satoru.” His jaw clenches at your response, his hair gathered away from his face in a bun giving you a clear view of the reaction.
Wanting to annoy him more, you brush past him, hips pressing into his butt as you squeeze your way over to his workbench to inspect what was there like the inquisitive thing you were, delighting in how he stiffened.
“This music is trash,” you complained, making a face at the noise coming out of his speaker on the bench.
“I'm not playing it for you, Tink,” he replied through slightly gritted teeth. Having you in his space, touching all his things was starting to bother him.
Sat atop his bench, you roll your eyes, “You're the one tinkering—”
“Ah, much better,” Satoru sighed as he reappeared, no longer troubled by his aching bladder. “Ready to go—Oh! What happened to your skirt?”
Glancing down, you gasp at the sight of your soiled skirt, the gross greenish-brown stain marring the bedazzled denim hideously.
Fuck, you could not go to the festival like this. It had taken you hours to finally be satisfied with an outfit that didn't look better in your head than it did on you. You almost pulled your hair out in frustration and canceled the whole outing.
However, you were going to have to sit this one out anyway. The patch of who knows what ruined your mood entirely.
So you lie.
“I, um, fell and hurt my ankle. It's sore so I don't think I'll be able to come anymore,” you tell him with your best grimace. Bringing your foot up, you massage the spot that's definitely not aching.
Worried, Satoru's brows bow and his lip juts out ever so slightly. He's so damn cute. “Shit, are you sure? It can't be that bad.” He moves toward you.
“She had a pretty hard fall. Putting weight on her foot would make it worse for all we know,” Suguru adds, making him pause.
The snowy-haired man looks conflicted. He really wants to see his favorite bands as it's rare for them to perform live but he doesn't want to come off as a bad friend by leaving you behind when you're the sole reason he's going in the first place.
Your reassuring smile lessens his guilt though.
“I'll be fine. I have first aid supplies at home that should help. Riko was upset that she couldn't see them, right? Maybe ask if she's free,” you suggest. If anyone was to take your place right now, you'd want it to be her. The younger girl has been stressing over her coursework recently so she deserves the treat.
Gears turn in Satoru's head as he considers your words. You always are so considerate, just like Suguru.
“I'll ask her. But at least let me take you home before I go. I feel really bad,” he tells you.
So do you for lying to him.
“What if you're late? I can't let you do that.” You shake your head.
He waves you off, coming to scoop you up to carry you to the car. “None of that. I'll get there on time. Without speeding,” he promises.
You're ready to be lifted when Suguru holds him back by beating him to it. “I'll do it. You're gonna mess your clothes if you try. Like some clumsy people.”
The comment has your mood souring further as he picks you up bridal style and walks you to the car, Satoru opening the back door so he can put you down gently.
Paying extra attention to make sure your “sprained” ankle isn't harmed, Suguru's hands leave you as he ducks out of the car.
Not before whispering a venomous, “Fucking liar,” in your ear that has you bristling, shiver creeping up your spine.
Lord, he's so mean you almost forget that you're supposed to be grimacing with how your lips twitch up.
He walks away all smug, twirling the wrench he had in his pocket and whistling. That light feeling in his chest at your loss was too intoxicating to give up. He had to get another hit soon.
And of course, he did.
Because when you need help assembling your new desk on Saturday, Satoru just so happens to be the guy you ask. Picturing him pouring over the instructions and hammering nails into place had you kicking your feet and giggling as you typed out the text to him.
Donning a tank top and matching boy shorts you had purchased as lingerie, you're glad that it can pass off as loungewear even with the lace trim and silk bow on the waistband of the bottoms and your neckline. Your hair falls messily today and it adds to the appeal. Your socks and slippers will have to do.
Skipping over to the door when there's a knock, you swing it open with a playful grin which falls into a frown instantly.
Lady Luck isn't shining down on you today.
Dark amusement gleams in the raven-haired man's eyes as he eyes you up and down. “This how you greet all your friends?”
You crane your neck to look behind him for the ivory head of hair you were expecting. “Where's Satoru?”
He pushes past you gently, walking into your apartment like it's his. “Something came up with his family. Now where's this desk?”
As if on autopilot, you led him to the room you had made your study. The one with the window that gave you a perfect scenic view of the botanical garden across the street that you could use to clear your mind after hours of intense focus.
He casually snatched the assembly booklet from your grip, snapping you out of your daydream. A satisfied grin tugged at your lips as he scanned the diagrams. Clearly, he couldn’t manage this without help. And of course you would assist because you didn't want him complaining to Satoru that you made him do all the work.
You would not stand for it.
The absurdly elaborate desk had been your suggestion from the start, mostly because you knew it would trap his best friend—not him—in hours of tedious labor while you would have admired him and passed him the parts and tools he required. But the silver-haired man was unavailable so you were stuck with his all too smug counterpart who was realising he bit off more than he could chew. Served him right.
He settled cross-legged on the hardwood floor, surrounded by scattered boards and plastic bags of hardware, actually taking the time to read each step. That alone was surprising. Dressed in a worn gray tee stretched across his shoulders, dark jeans dusted with sawdust, and scuffed sneakers, he looked the part of an unwilling carpenter. Though his luscious tresses did not match his career—perhaps a model playing a carpenter would be a better description.
A crease formed between his brows as he examined the hammer in his hand, as if the poor tool were to blame for the dents forming in the wood. The real issue, of course, was the excessive force behind every swing. He lessened it as if remembering that this was your desk and not actually you, cutting you a look that had you arching a brow.
His frustration was replaced by his perfectionism.
With a nail gripped between his teeth, he focused intently on lining up the next piece. You let your damp palms fall to your sides, having crossed your arms for too long, fingers tightening into fists while you watched him remove the nail from his mouth and strike it cleanly into place. Each hit echoed sharply through the room.
The project consumed the entire day. You paused midway to eat, then returned to the chaos of half-built shelves and instruction pages. By evening, the desk finally stood assembled. He didn’t stop there, either—he stayed to arrange your textbooks and paperwork neatly into the compartments, transforming the once-empty corner into a functional study area.
“Is the Wicked Witch satisfied?” His barely open eyes and flat expression tells you that he could not give less of a fuck what you thought of his workmanship.
Looking over the desk, the smell of new paint and wood filling the room so you opened the windows, you nod. “Partially.”
The dark-haired man rolls his eyes, slow and exasperated. “Of course.”
“Your efforts are appreciated though,” you say as you have the decency to walk him to the door. But your kindness ends there as your smile drops. “Now leave.”
When he's out of your hair and you listen to make sure he took the elevator and left, you slump against your door with a loud groan, kicking your feet as your fists pound against the floorboards childishly.
Stupid Geto and his stupid sly tricks, you think in utter annoyance.
This whole fucking-up-your-chances thing is getting really old and you're not having fun anymore.
All hope is not lost because Satoru invites you over for movie and game night the next Friday to make up for his absence during the desk assembling. To your utter delight, it's just you two because Suguru is out so Satoru is lonely. Every time you try too hard, your efforts end up falling flat so this time, you just wear an oversized sweater, a skirt and sneakers.
(A cute matching lace set under just in case.)
Giddiness has you smiling like an idiot as you drive to his apartment. Not even the afternoon traffic or the slow truck in front of you can get you down. On a normal day, you'd have a lot of unsavory things to say about the delays but today wasn't one of them. Taking it all in stride, you still managed to arrive at his place just before the time you both agreed on.
Satoru greets you at the door, looking adorably dorky in his boxy glasses that complement his blue Superman tee which he paired with sweatpants and slippers. His wispy white hair is so fluffy and slightly tousled as if he was trying to tame it before you got there. It's as endearing as the smile that kicks up at the sight of you looking equally as comfy.
“Ah, you made it! Hope you're ready to be sick of me as I explain DC Comic lore while we watch the new Superman movie,” he says in that smooth, carefree voice of his that has you smiling too.
“Can't wait,” you reply with a chuckle as you pass him to step inside when he gestures for you to do so.
Oh, you know all about DC Comics, being a big Jason Todd fan yourself but you don't want to spoil his fun by telling him you already know all there is to know about the universe. Besides, you quite enjoy watching people get all excited and gush over their interests so passionately.
The difficult part wouldn't be wanting to complete his sentences for him but resisting the urge to kiss him.
“You brought snacks too? I doubt we're gonna finish all of this,” he tells you as he takes them from you and goes to set them down on the coffee table in the living room.
As far as you can see, the apartment has an open floor plan so you could watch TV from the kitchen that's all low lighting, marble countertops and expensive appliances. The interior is grey mostly but there's splashes of oak and greens that make it more homey.
What makes it obvious that it's lived-in and not something from a house magazine or listing is that there's photos of the pair of best friends that stay here scattered all over the place along with figurines, a video game console and a signed guitar that they got from a concert of a band they both liked.
There's a big, leather L-shaped couch in the living room that Satoru guides you to and he was not kidding about you guys having an abundance of snacks. From chips and dip, popcorn and pizza to an assortment of candy and sweet drinks that are bound to make your teeth hurt, you don't think you can come up with anything that's not here.
Settling down, you both get comfortable, two blankets sprawled over your laps while Satoru clicks away on the remote to bring up the movie. You keep a pillow on your lap to occupy your antsy hands so they don't give into the urge to scoot closer to him, maintaining a respectable distance.
Thankfully, the movie steals your attention and you make comments on funny scenes, snickering at how Clark Kent gets worked up when Lois Lane interviews him. Though it does get a little awkward when they start making out in the kitchen. Satoru's eyes are wide as he turns to you just as you do the same. His cheeks pinken and he looks down, chuckling shyly.
“They're really into it, huh?”
And yes, that would have been the perfect opportunity—the mother of all opportunities—for you to snag and make a move on him.
But as you open your mouth, a smooth line about how you think you could do better, his blasted phone buzzes on the other side of him. Smile falling, he gives you an apologetic look before excusing himself to take the call while you glare at the lovers on screen after hitting pause. A gummy bear faces the brunt of your sour mood as you bite down on it and decapitate the poor thing.
You don't even have to look up when he gets back to know that your plans have been ruined. Having grown accustomed to this, your stomach sinks as your shoulders slump just from the slightest shift in the air and the way he's fidgeting with his phone case.
“Something came up?” you ask preemptively and the smile he gives you is more of a grimace than anything, blue eyes hidden behind the glare from the flat screen.
Blowing out a breath, he nods solemnly. “Yeah, uh, my friend's car broke down in the middle of nowhere. I've got her location and given the time, I'll definitely get there before roadside assistance does.”
That you completely understand but you know damn well that the “her” he's referring to is his ex-girlfriend with how guilty and tense he seems. He's fidgeting because he wants to leave immediately to go to her aid but knows it'd be rude to up and take off without telling you first.
Holding back a sigh, you nod and muster a smile. “Yeah, of course. Wouldn't want her stranded at this hour. Not exactly safe for a woman.”
Satoru seems to feel worse as you're so empathetic not knowing that you're cursing the universe for your luck once again and asking why the fuck there aren't more people to dispatch for roadside assistance to accommodate incidents such as this one.
Exhaling in relief, Satoru slumps. “Thank you. I'll make it up to you when I get back, promise,” you've heard that line from him so many times that he might as well write it on his tombstone.
There's shuffling then a jingle of keys before the door clicks shut, the apartment feeling much bigger and a lot lonelier now. You're grateful for the mass amount of snacks now so have something to munch on and wallow in self pity.
If the gummy bears were sentient they'd be sweating with fear as they're about to be massacred, beheaded by your merciless teeth.
Scrolling through the selection of unappealing movies and series, you don't even register that an hour or two had passed since your crush left until the door opens and shuts.
Parking up, you glance over your shoulder with a grin, ready to say “Welcome back” only to be met with the last person you wanted to see right now. Expression dropping into a flat one, you watch Suguru's brows lower beneath the baseball cap he's got on, darkening his features in shadows.
“Huh, didn't think you'd still be here,” he drawls as if he knew exactly where his best friend was. He did. Of course he did. Satoru probably describes his bowel movements in detail to the guy.
“Why are you back early?”
He snorts at your question, shrugging off his jacket so he's just in a fitted tee and cargo pants as he toes off his boots. “Asking me that in my own home is weird, don't you think?”
The bastard's got a point there so you just face forward and resume flipping through flicks mindlessly, not looking for anything in particular as your mood sours further.
Ignoring the approaching footsteps, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as he plops onto the other side of the couch, whistling lowly at the spread of junk food on the table.
“Damn, you guys had plans, huh? Well, we can't let this go to waste.” The faint scent of him is potent now and you despise that it's a good one. Why couldn't he be one of those jerks who bathe in axe body spray or other kinds of offensive-to-the-nostrils brands?
“We?” You ask as he produces a packet of what looks like dirt and grass but know is weed and starts cleaning it, the living room now smelling a bit earthy.
Shrugging, he nods. “Yeah, would be rude to go to my room and leave you here. I'm not a bad host, you know?”
“Whatever. You won,” you blurt out begrudgingly as you'd rather not have him here, basking in his victory and rubbing it in your face while eating your snacks. “Congratulations.”
It doesn't take him long to understand that you're referring to Satoru. Are his ears deceiving him or are you accepting…defeat?
“Did I?”
Annoyed, you snatch a pack of sour strawberry licorice from the table, tearing open the plastic. “Yes, you did.”
Huffing, he shakes his head.
“Satoru's happy now,” you say after a moment of chewing on the candy to calm yourself. “He's back with her, right? So…there's no point anymore.”
You weren't about to go after a taken man. Believe it or not, you had more dignity than that. While you're not one to forfeit like this, the disappointment is overshadowed by your relief. Relief that whatever feud between you and Suguru might be over because fuck were you tired.
Guilt gnaws at him as he's rolling up his blunt, staring at the paper in deep thought. A long-suffering sigh that comes from low in his lungs exhales from him.
“Look, Satoru has a girlfriend—well, he did. They only broke up a few months ago, and knowing them, it won’t last. So you’ve completely misunderstood the situation,” he starts. “I’m not the villain here. If anything, I was looking out for you as much as him.”
He goes quiet to let you take that in then continues.
“Unless you’re keen on getting caught up in that mess, I’d say I spared you the trouble. And it’s even more complicated than you think. Satoru and Ari have been together for half a decade—she’s like family to me. That kind of history doesn’t just disappear. Even if he doesn’t show it, he’s falling apart over her. It’s always been her for him. I was just trying to keep you out of it so neither of you ended up getting hurt.”
Okay…you were aware that Satoru had just gotten out of a long term relationship but not that it was this bad. The cool and carefree man truly did hide a lot behind those charming smiles and easy laughs.
Slouching against the backrest on the couch, you stare at the wall blankly, reeling from the revelation. “I see,” you mutter.
God, Suguru is in dire need of a smoke now. “You mind if I?” When you shake your head, he sifts out his lighter and strikes it, a cherry glow at the end of the blunt as smoke curls into the air.
Within seconds, the pungent scent of weed has your nose wrinkling. “Eugh, you're going to kill your brain cells with that thing.”
Casting you a dry look, Suguru's lids lower. “You wouldn't be saying that if Satoru was the one doing it.”
That shuts you up. Perhaps he made the joke too soon but you roll your eyes in response so he supposes it's not that bad.
“I wouldn't. That stuff messes with your head. Makes people lazy.” You eye him. “No offense.”
“Some taken,” he says, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “But I get it.”
Your brows raise. “You do?” Since when has he ever agreed with you? Even when you're right, he'll play Devil's Advocate just to antagonise you.
Lifting a shoulder, he shrugs slow and loose. “Not liking being out of control makes sense.”
Tongue stabbing your cheek, you pick up your bottle of fruity cider that was beginning to sweat on the table and take a swig. “God forbid a girl doesn't like not knowing what she's saying or doing.”
A beat passes. He watches your profile. The slope of your nose, the tension you can't really hide and normally he'd poke but tonight he doesn't. Maybe it's the weed. Maybe it's a truce. He doesn't know.
But he doesn't mind it.
Arm stretching between you, he holds out the joint to you, close enough for you to reach but far enough for him to take it back if you refuse.
“You don't have to but if you're curious…one puff won't take away your autonomy.”
Face scrunching in disgust, Suguru can still see the curiosity in your gaze. If you weren't on the fence about it you would've surely bat his hand away even if that would've caused ash to fall.
“Fine,” you concede. “One pull but if I start talking about my childhood dog, it's all your fault.”
His laugh is quiet and easy as he sits up a little straighter. “Take it easy, yeah?”
You pluck the blunt from his fingers, aware of his eyes tracking every movement as you lift it to your mouth. The living room is dim, washed in blue from the television and thin ribbons of moonlight spilling through the blinds. You take a breath in—
Instant regret.
The smoke claws down your throat, and you double over, coughing into the quiet hum of whatever’s playing on the screen. You nearly drop the blunt onto the rug before he leans in and rescues it from your hand, a low laugh rumbling out of him.
“Shit,” you wheeze, blinking away tears.
“I said take it easy,” he murmurs, settling back into the couch like this is all very entertaining.
“Let me try again,” you manage, stubborn even as your lungs protest. If there's one thing you hate, it's doing things wrong.
Mild amusement flickers across Suguru's face, the TV light catching the edge of his smile. He slides the blunt between his lips—slowly, deliberately—and draws in. He tilts his head toward the ceiling, exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curls silver in the moonlight instead of straight at you. You don’t know why that small courtesy unsettles you more.
He hands it back. “Please heed my words this time.”
You try again, gentler. You feel his gaze drop to your mouth as you inhale, heat creeping up your neck despite the cool glow of the room. You hold it for a second before letting the smoke drift out, watching it roll across the sharp lines of his face, illuminated in flickers from the screen.
“That's better,” he says softly.
You pass it to him with a small smile, pretending you don’t notice the way his eyes dip to the glimmer of your lip gloss on the filter. He hesitates. His throat moves as he swallows, jaw tightening just slightly, like he’s debating something ridiculous and losing.
“Wait, let me wipe that off—” You start, reaching for it but he doesn't hand it over.
No, he's already bringing it back to his mouth, pressing his lips to the same place yours had been. The sight sends a strange jolt through you—too intimate for something so small. Your pulse stutters, then races, loud in your ears beneath the steady murmur of the television.
The breeze through the cracked window carries the distant hum of the city, alive and steady. And there you were, sitting together on the couch, sharing a smoke in a room lit only by the moon and a screen neither of you are really watching. You think this is the calmest you two have been in each other's presence.
Slowly, a syrupy, sluggish rush seeps into your bloodstream, leaving you pleasantly lightheaded as your thoughts swim. It's fleeting and you want to feel it again, something similar to spinning in circles until the world twirled around you.
“Can I?” you ask so sweetly that Suguru's eyes narrow into slits, suspicion marring his features.
“Uh-uh, you're liking this, aren't you? Addict. It's hitting, huh?” He mocks, tilting his head, loosening bun flopping to the side, his baseball cap next to him.
Clicking your tongue, you flick your wrist. “Don't be a jerk. You wanted me to try, right? Now you're taking it away when I'm enjoying it?”
He considers, then sighs. “Fine. But not like before.”
Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing slightly. The ember glows brighter in the dim room. He pulls it away, caps it with his fingers, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he leans in.
Your breath catches.
Suguru cups a hand lightly at the side of your face—not forceful, just steadying—and brings his mouth close to yours. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his knuckles against your jaw as he taps it.
“Open,” he murmurs.
Your eyes flick up to his, suspicious and curious all at once. But you part your lips.
He exhales slowly into your mouth.
It’s warmer than you expect, minty and sweet, the smoke curling between you, shared air and shared space. For a second you forget to breathe it in because you're too aware of how close you are—how his nose grazes yours, how his hand is still hovering near your cheek like he’s not sure he should be touching you at all.
You inhale and the smoke disappears into your lungs.
When he pulls back, it’s barely an inch. You're still there, suspended. Your lips are still parted. His eyes flick down to them and back up again, quick and unguarded.
“Told you,” he says quietly, though his voice has lost its edge. “Safer.”
You swallow, then coughs once, laughing through it. “That was—”
“Smarter?”
“Intimate,” you counter.
He drops his hand like he’s been burned. “It was practical.”
“Sure,” you say, but you don’t move away.
The silence stretches, thicker than the smoke. You're still too close. Close enough that if either of you leaned forward just a fraction—
Instead, you lean back first, a small smirk tugging at your mouth so he knows you're about to spout some nonsense. “If I say I still don’t feel anything, will you do it again?”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a reluctant smile there now. “Nice try, but no.”
“Aw, man,” you lament as if you're really bummed but your amusement sparkles in your glazed over eyes.
The buzz settles in warm and slow, a heavy, gentle weight behind your eyes. Sounds feel rounder, softer. His voice seems closer than usual. It's like you're underwater or trying to talk in a dream, like the world has been wrapped in velvet. Everything feels slower.
High blooming brighter, your glowing smile does too and suddenly everything is so fucking funny from the way the couch cushion falls to Suguru's incredulous look when he startles after you bark out a loud laugh.
“Shit, Satoru's gonna think I got you high,” the man cusses under his breath but then he's giggling with you, the sound boyish and only stirring you on further as he excuses himself then comes back with a glass of orange juice. “Here, this should help your blood sugar.”
To be safe, he'd also stopped after three pulls, not wanting to be on cloud nine with someone who's never experienced it before and may not know how to deal with it.
You're completely fine, other than the languid hum in your veins, this is just another night for you. In fact, you laugh way harder and more maniacal with your friends and siblings, often getting scolded by your endeared parents to keep it down because as much as your joy melts their hearts, you should not be cackling past midnight.
“Thank you,” you sober up and accept the glass of chilled refreshment from him.
At the mention of Satoru, your brows bounce as you honestly forgot about him and hadn't thought about him much at all after Suguru mentioned him getting back with his ex. You'd always been good at getting over people, crushes and fleeting flings. Or maybe somewhere along the line you stopped wanting him and simply persisted to provoke his best friend. Not that you'd admit to that. Never.
The back and forth was too entertaining to stop. Before it became exhausting at least. Now you're seeing Suguru in a different light because he had your best interest in mind too even if he didn't go about it the right way. And he says as much.
He says it casually, staring ahead, not at you:
“I wasn't trying to be a dick to you. At least not at first.”
Rolling your head against the top of the couch, your look at his enviously beautiful side profile.
“You feel bad,” you point out after studying him.
“I do,” he admits with a nod. “I should've handled it better.”
You've never heard an apology from him before so you don't know what to say.
Suguru's eyes stay on the screen. “I really do care about Satoru. He's—” He exhales. “He's my person. And every time I thought I was shutting things down cleanly you pushed back.”
You swallow. “Yeah but I didn't think you'd keep pushing too.”
“I shouldn't have,” he agrees. “I got petty. You made it easy but that's not an excuse.”
Fiddling with your fingers, your voice softens. “I shouldn't have treated it like a competition.”
“It's not like it was one-sided. I played a part too,” he reminds you.
Twin sighs pass both of your lips as if you're both waving the white flags of surrender. Suguru turns his head, your face closer than he expected. Close enough that he can see the tiny crease between your brows and the way your lips part on a breath.
You’d always preferred bright rooms and brighter personalities, so places like this—low lights, drawn curtains, smoke clouding the room faintly—never felt like your scene. And neither did Suguru.
At least, that’s what you’d told yourself.
The living room is washed in baby blue light, shadows softening the edges of everything. Music hummed low from somewhere you couldn’t see. You sit with your legs tucked under you, passing a packet of fruity chews back and forth, trying not to think too hard about the way the haze blurred more than just the room.
Suguru had always annoyed you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. Too calm. Too composed. Too aware. You’d written him off as aloof, maybe even a little smug. But sitting across from him now, watching him pick the red candies you didn't like, you found yourself studying him differently.
His indigo eyes caught the dim light in a way that made them look softer than usual. Warmer. When he smiled at something you said, it wasn’t flashy or attention-grabbing. It was easy. Unforced. The kind of smile that felt like it belonged exactly where it was.
You hated that you noticed.
His long hair fell over his shoulders in dark, glossy waves, a few shorter strands brushing his cheek when he tilted his head to listen to what the neighbors were playing. He tucked them back absentmindedly, the motion so natural it made your chest tighten for no good reason. There was something almost feline about him—like he could stretch out anywhere, claim any space without trying.
Satoru, of course, was Satoru. Loud laugh, bright grin, every word delivered like it deserved a spotlight. He was the kind of handsome that demanded attention, all sharp lines and easy confidence. Lean, striking, impossible to ignore. He filled the room effortlessly.
Suguru didn’t fill the room like he would if he was here.
He settled into it.
And somehow, that was worse.
Whenever they sat side by side, they were nearly the same height, both built in ways that made it obvious they took care of themselves—Satoru more lithe, Suguru broader, solid in a way that only really registered when you were this close. Close enough to notice the quiet strength in his shoulders when he leaned back against the couch. Close enough to catch the clean, subtle scent of him beneath the smoke.
When he spoke directly to you, his voice was lower than you remembered. Smooth. Unhurried. It slid over your skin, softened by the haze, and you had to fight the ridiculous urge to lean in closer just to hear him again.
You’d always said you didn’t get the appeal. That he was overrated. That his whole mysterious thing was overplayed.
But in the dim glow of the living room, with smoke drifting between you and the world feeling far away, you started to understand it.
He wasn’t a neon sign.
He was moonlight.
And you hated how much you were beginning to like the dark.
Shifting, your knee brushes his thigh. He doesn't pull away and neither do you. His heart kicks, once, hard. It would be so easy to lean in and you might not stop him if you're this comfortable with physical contact.
That damn blunt.
Your eyes flick to his mouth.
He feels it then—the almost-confession, pressing against his ribs, heavy on his tongue. The thing he's been refusing to name.
But thankfully you open your mouth and throw him a fucking curve ball.
“Guess we're in the same boat, huh?” You don't even give him a chance to ask what you mean. “We both want Satoru but can't have him.”
Bolting upright. Suguru rears back as if you slapped him, the lethargic haze from the weed evaporating like nail polish remover left unsealed.
Sputtering, he chokes on his spit. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”
Concerned, you pat his back both to ease his coughing and soothe him. “I mean, it was obvious! Only someone in love with the guy would fight so hard to chase me away. Classic best friends to lovers “and they were roommates” plot.”
You shake your head as if you're ridiculous for not seeing it sooner while he stares at you in horror. "You do know it's legal now, right?"
“No!” He cries as dramatic as his best friend and you almost jump.
“Huh?”
“I'm not in love with that idiot. Geez, he's pathetic at times! I care for the guy a lot but in a brotherly way.” All the snacks he scarfed down threaten to resurface as he questions his life decisions up until this moment. Did everyone think he was in love with Satoru? Fuck no.
Bursting out laughing at his panic, you throw your head back, the boisterous sound of your amusement echoing in the apartment. Suguru scowls at first but then his lips tremble and he laughs too.
“Oh my gosh, I totally misunderstood. Sorry,” you say through a fit of giggles.
Grabbing your phone, you sneakily cancel the order of a rainbow cake, balloons and a banner that said, "GAY IS OKAY!"
“Don't even think of telling him that,” Suguru warns, knowing it'd go to his best friend's head and he'd never hear the end of it.
You're laughing so hard the room shakes a little. You grab your orange juice to sip—but your hand slips and it spills down your chin and top. You groan, realizing you'd taken off your sweater earlier.
Suguru jumps up, grabbing tissues, and hands them over with a smirk. “Here, try not to drown.”
You snorted, accepting them, juice dripping onto the couch that's fortunately leather. “Thanks. I'm the epitome of grace.”
A strange thought flashes in his mind and he tries to shake it off like a dog would water but it's stubborn and refuses to pass. So he reaches out and stops you before you could wipe yourself.
Confused, your brows knit as you look up at him questioningly. Heavy-lidded, amethyst eyes hold yours and you're entranced as he sits back down, closer than before, body heat warming you despite the cold juice you spilled.
“Can I clean you up?” His voice is so soft and decadent that you wonder if your hearing has gone bad with how low it is.
With the pad of his thumb, he swipes the dribbling sweet drink off your chin, bringing it to his mouth to lick it off. Humming at the taste, he watches you intently, searching for any reluctance.
But you look as into it as he is if your blown pupils are anything to go by. He saw them dilate right now.
The air grows thin and fluffy like cotton candy the longer you stare at him, trying to figure out where he's going with this. However, you know exactly what he means just like the tendrils of attraction you tried to seal away in the back of your mind slither out from under the door you trapped them behind, creeping into your thoughts, the corners of your vision warming as your stomach swirls.
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Sure, okay.”
He chuckles, watching you fluster. The unacknowledged tension that’s always simmered between you feels warmer, closer, something neither can deny—but it’s all in the shared laughter, the messy chaos, and the accidental closeness.
There's no room for hesitation now, just impulse as he leans in, kissing along your jaw, tongue slipping out then moving lower on your neck, muscle flat against the column of it, warm and wet as he follows the line of dripping juice that's getting sticky now. Lips parting, an unbidden sigh comes out of your mouth.
The spaghetti strap of your tank top is inches away from falling off your shoulder and you're not bothered, not when there's a man lapping away at your skin, the scent of weed, mint and citrus invading your senses as Suguru swirls and glides his tongue across your chest, the tip dipping into your cleavage. He sucks and swipes, lips smacking lightly at times as he replaces all the sticky, tarty sweetness with his saliva that's cooling in the night air. Dreamy sighs flutter from you.
Moments later, you're on his lap, rocking over the stiff bulge in his pants, the fabric rustling with each roll of your hips against his. Big hands splay on your hips to guide you as his tongue dips into your mouth, humming at your buttery, candied taste that's tinged with earthy smoke while you suck on his. His cock kicks under you and your spit-slick lips split into a smile.
Nails digging into his chest, a cute little gasp hitches your breath as your clit catches on something. His tip perhaps. The man below you grins, nipping at your shoulder. He knew you were hitting his piercing, but didn't say anything, that would be a surprise for later.
Sucking hickeys below your collarbone until you're squirming, fingers tangling in his hair to yank him away, Suguru grunts in protest but relents, focusing on you grinding on his lap instead.
Massaging your waist apologetically, his heated expression is anything but sorry as he grabs fistfuls of your ass and drags you back and forth over the length on his throbbing cock, a pleased noise sounding in the back of his throat when he feels the flickering pulse of your clit.
Hips lifting, he bucks them, rolling them up to meet yours, your back arching as you press yourself down on him harder wanting to feel each and every vein and ridge that branches out on his thick shaft. The crotch of his pants is growing darker, damp with your arousal as your panty-clad pussy rubs over his confined cock.
Most of his long hair had fallen out of its bun, slightly bouncing whenever one of you gave a hard thrust. These may be his favorite pair of cargos but fuck, he hated them now for not letting him have his skin on yours. Though he had to admit it was satisfying watching your brows knot in frustration as you hump him, shifting this way and that to try and get closer.
The pace of your hips is sporadic as your pick and choose whatever rhythm that satiates your needy little clit. While he's struggling with the restraint of his bottoms, you're too occupied making yourself feel good to care. Typical. He didn't expect your feelings towards him to change overnight anyway.
So he decides to be a little mean as he swats your ass, making you jerk with a squeak. “This is what you wanted, right? Playing games to win my best friend over, driving me up the fucking wall all because you wanted a turn on his cock?”
Kiss-bitten lips curl into your mouth as your half-lidded eyes fix him with a glare that's not intimidating in the slightest. Not when you're a bunny in heat using him like a pillow.
“Still want it?” You shake your head and his chest puffs. “No? I haven't even started fucking you and you've already changed your mind? Fuck, you're a slut.”
Suguru thinks he's going to love this side of you. Messy hair, flushed, dewy face, mouth watering so much that you have to thin your lips so you don't drool as your brows pinch in concentration.
He can't take it anymore, unwilling to embarrass himself by coming in his pants with barely any friction. So he lifts you and unzip his pants, tugging down just enough so that his fattened clothed cock is free for you to rub down on. You do just that, wasting no time.
Panting breaths and barely hidden whiny noises emanate in the quiet living room. Blood roars in his ears and your heart pounds as you both stare down the line of your bodies, enraptured by the drag of your pussy against his cock, moans pouring from you both. It's slow and lazy then rushed and frantic and then you're coming with sparks behind your eyes.
Burying your face in his neck, you take gulps of his spicy, musky scent, breath condensing on his damp skin, licking over his pulse, sucking in the heartbeats. It's not long before your hips start moving again, eager to get him off as well.
Yet he stops you and you pull back to look at him.
Violet irises darken into something closer to the sky at dawn as he stares back at you. “Fuck, I can't come like this. Want to feel you around me.”
There's a question in his eyes, seeking permission that you're more than willing to give and he cracks a shaky smile. Fumbling with his boxers, he tugs out his cock that looks bigger than it felt and you gawk at how pretty it is as he lines it up with your entrance, coating it in your slick. Proportionate, girthy, slightly curved with a glossy pink tip and is that a bead of precum or a metal bead that the top—
A hard knock sounds on the door, rudely snapping you both out of your lustful dazes that seem to vanish into thin air. A snort and laugh follow, all too familiar as your gaze snaps to Suguru's, eyes just as wide as yours before you're scrambling off his lap and he's pulling his pants up, tucking his erection away. You're hastily tugging on your sweater after tying your hair, head getting stuck as you struggle to find the neck hole.
Cussing under his breath, Suguru reaches over and pulls it over your head and you gasp like you were suffocating. Pressing play on the movie that had paused, you click until it's fifty minutes in as Suguru and you sit on the far ends on the couch like you had when he first got here.
Satoru enters a few seconds after that. He'd forgotten that he took his own keys so didn't need Suguru to unlock the door for him. He scratches the back of his head as he walks over, clothes dotted with droplets of rain you only realise is still falling now, his hair damp.
“Ah, sorry, guys. I'm extremely late. The roads were hectic and I waited for the rain to calm down before trying to drive back,” he explains, looking remorseful.
“It's okay,” Suguru and you say at the same time before exchanging scowls.
Cerulean eyes dart from him to you and back, snowy brows bunching in confusion. “What happened? Why are you both all flushed and breathless?”
“We were fighting over the remote,” his best friend grumbles childishly.
Satoru buys it and laughs, shaking his head. “Gosh, you two are too much. I was worried that I'd come back to a crime scene but I'm glad I didn't.”
“You almost did,” you mutter, earning a glare from the other man while Satoru chuckles.
“Um, alright. Can you guys behave while I go shower? Gotta get out of these wet clothes before I start coughing and sneezing.”
“Sure,” you say with a nod.
That's certainly why he needs to shower, definitely not because the scent of sex clings to him almost as much as his sugary cologne and there's a red hickey winking at you from the neckline of his t-shirt.
Beaming, he heads off, a spring in his step as his damp ivory hair bounces, going to his room, completely smitten with his girlfriend and oblivious to the fact that your panties were pushed to the side moments ago and his best friend's cock was an inch inside you. Damn him for interrupting!
It's pouring outside, a perfect reason for you to stay over and sneak into Satoru's bedroom. That would have been your plans hours ago but now the door across from his seems way more tempting.
After Satoru's appearance, Suguru looks like he wants to bite you for what just happened and not in a hot way. Though you think you'll find it erotic regardless.
To your surprise, he comes to the guestroom later, the moonlight casting the room in a blue glow as your shadows dance across the wall, two bodies becoming one, whispers and sighs of pleasure covered by the showering downpour, the roll of thunder and revealed by the occasional flash of lightning.
note: think this is my longest fic yet. why is it giving twelve-episode romance anime? 😭
this isn't a sukuna fic so do let me know if some of you'd rather not be tagged: @getopilleds @peachygelic @kaagrwl @uncagedwings @sukusdoll @aspinny @thebl00dwyrm @emluvsgetou @poisonnuggies @zenaskull @liliklei @wwasabiiiii @bruleecream @batcatgal @sunabff @icebearcucumber @emluvsgetou @vm4879bb-blog @pjselee
HAIAIAI BABY i was just thinking about ur bodyguard!nanami and hnghhh i need him so bad. but i also yearn for stupid suguru…sigh…HOPE UR WELL ANGEL
HIII!!! this means so much omg u might make me cry. i will get started on the next chapter just for u 😽 AND I AM WELL THANK YOU FOR CHECKING IN I HOPE U ARE TOO!! MWAH 🫶🫶🫰
fluff and crack - dad!sukuna snitching to santa on baby!yuji
you are in the kitchen.
it is 9:47pm.
yuji’s bedtime was supposed to be 8:00pm.
surprise surprise, yuji is not in bed.
your toddler is shirtless. sweaty. vibrating around like a popcorn kernel that someone forgot to take off the heat. there is a mysterious smear of something on his cheek.
you do not want to know what it is.
and sukuna, your grown-ass husband, is on the phone.
serious voice. pacing.
“hello, is this santa’s workshop? yes. i’d like to report a misbehaving boy. yes, i’ll hold.”
from across the living room, yuji freezes.
then-
“NOOOOOOOO”
he launches himself at his father like a very small, very loud demon. sukuna lifts the imaginary phone higher. effortlessly dodging yuji’s chubby fists.
“hello? mr claus? thank you for picking up. it’s sukuna. yes. that sukuna.”
yuji is now hanging off his leg like a koala. one sock on. one sock missing. hair a disaster. eyes wide with betrayal.
“this is about my son, yuji.”
“oh, you already knew? yeah. i figured. you already knew he wasn’t going to bed on time.”
yuji shrieks. “NOOOOOO SANTA NOOOOOO”
“did you also know, mr claus, that he is currently assaulting me with his tiny fists? yes. repeatedly. because he does not wish for you to be informed of his crimes.”
yuji headbutts him directly in the chin.
there is a loud thump.
sukuna doesn’t even flinch.
“mmhm. yes. i agree. very bad behavior. extremely naughty list material. uh-huh. no presents. maybe just coal. the dusty kind.”
“oh and something else? eating vegetables like brussel sprouts and peas?!”
“MUMMMMMYYYYY” yuji howls. he abandons his attack on sukuna and desperately sprints to you in the kitchen.
“what happened,” you ask calmly while sipping your tea.
“daddy’s on the phone with SANTA,” yuji sobs dramatically. “and he’s SNITCHING ON ME.”
you blink.
“good.”
yuji wails louder.
from the couch, sukuna purposely raises his voice.
“yes mr claus. and yesterday he threw a chicken nugget at the dog. yes. direct hit. impressive aim, terrible morals. no, i don’t believe the dog forgives him either. yes, i’ll hold.”
“THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT” yuji shrieks like a banshee.
“was it?” sukuna mutters into the ‘phone’ (a paw patrol themed calculator). “mr claus would like clarification. was it really an accident or are you lying?”
yuji gasps. “I WAS DOING SCIENCE”
you choke on your tea.
sukuna covers the imaginary receiver. “he says it was science. as if he knows what science even is.”
pause.
“mr claus says science does not excuse violence towards beloved pets.”
yuji clutches your leg tighter. “MAMA TELL HIM I’M GOOD.”
you glance at sukuna.
he’s trying not to smile. failing.
“have you been good” you ask gently.
yuji sniffles. thinks very hard.
“…sometimes.”
“hm.”
sukuna stands up, towering, still holding the ‘phone’ to his ear. he lowers it toward yuji.
yuji stares at it like it’s radioactive.
“say sorry to santa,” sukuna instructs solemnly.
yuji whispers, trembling, “i’m sorry santa. i love you. i will go to bed now. please give me presents.”
sukuna takes the phone back and nods very gravely.
“mmhm. yes. he says he loves you. yes. okay. deal. he’ll brush his teeth and get into pajamas immediately. yes. thank you, mr claus. merry christmas.”
he hangs up.
silence.
yuji bolts down the hallway at full speed.
“I’M BRUSHING MY TEETH!!!”
a crash follows.
you and sukuna stand in the kitchen doorway, listening to frantic bathroom noises.
you raise an eyebrow at him.
“really?”
he shrugs. “worked, didn’t it?”
you try not to smile.
he leans closer, voice dropping.
“i can call santa on you too, you know.”
“oh?”
“yeah. report that you keep giving me those bedroom eyes. very naughty behavior.”
♡ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟏 :: 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ੭ ⌗ serial killer!satoru x prosecutor!reader
you're one of japan's best and most notorious prosecutors. but when you meet your match, how do you handle looking straight into a morbid mirror? when an old flame lights the courtroom— and you're met with the man you haven't forgotten since law school. now sat in the defendant's chair with an infuriatingly charming smirk to woe the jury and a new title to terrify them: the reaper's successor.
⌗ wc. 4.4k
♡ ₊˚‧ cws. violence :: violent descriptions :: death (duh) :: obsession :: manipulation :: so much smut :: angst :: mystery drama :: law aspects :: blackmail :: mental illness & disorders :: clinical psychopathy :: free will vs fate :: courtroom drama :: detective ex!suguru x reader
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. preview to chapter 1! my beloved sugarcubes on patreon can access this chapter early but it will be available on the blog soon <3
꒰ masterlist :: playlist ꒱
This wasn't remorse. It was a statement.
A display.
Twenty five women, hunted like prey by a crudely artistic predator. Wouldn't it have been enough for him to sink his teeth in and gnaw away the evidence?
No, he wanted them to be seen.
Gojo Satoru adored being seen.
The star of your class. Criminology, LAW 604. The only man who could ever make you falter. With his smug smiles and sharp eyes. Arrogance glinted from his rimless glasses. Self assurance bled from the ink of his pen.
You were always head-to-head. Whether by exam, assignment or the latest unit. He was the match to your gasoline. The grin to your glare.
Before he fell off the face of the earth, at least.
Even through the one-way panel of the dingy interrogation room— his blue eyed stare was sharp like steel. Were his teeth canines now? Did he exchange pens for claws?
He didn't sit in the chair. He laid in it. Leaned back carelessly with his black dress pants spread at the knees and his shoulders slumped so that his light blue, buttoned-up shirt creased. Black shades pushed up into his fluffy white hair. Like he wasn't in an interrogation room. Like his wrists weren't on table. Cuffed.
Like his name wasn't on a serial killer suspects' list.
He never looked like a man that would resort to murder. But he certainly always looked like one who had a plan.
Those same eyes that haunted your memories seeped into your skin. Itching to pump into your veins and dizzy your mind with even more flashes of the past as you stepped into the interrogation room.
You met his stare. Unflinching. Unblinking.
Clashing. As always.
Only this time, instead of pens. It was a steeled sword and a sabre-smile.
"Our state prosecutor." The police chief roughly introduced you as you took a seat on the creaky chair right before Satoru. "She'll be in charge of your case. She'll—"
"She'll decide whether she wants to see me again in court or not, yeah?"
His voice was still the same. Infuriatingly smooth and easy. Like velvet slipping through steel. He didn't bother sparing the officer a stare, but he sure as hell grinned at the glare. Old habits die hard.
You glanced to the left. To the empty seat where his attorney should be. It didn't seem like he even requested one. Why would he? He knew the ins and outs of law himself.
Your stare turned back to him. Locked on his eyes and drowned on those blues that haven't changed one bit. Still bright, still beautiful, still oh so brutally clever. While you'd never admit it, you searched for something. Something familiar. A spark of recognition. The glint in your eye when you saw an old friend.
Nothing.
"Gojo Satoru." You greeted.
He hummed, slumping his shoulders back on the chair as he leaned.
"Prosecutor." He returned.
The bastard didn't even call you by name.
Not a smidge of acknowledgement nor a nod to your past. Treating it like it was a memory only you kept. Tucked away in some forbidden corner of your heart that was written off as obsolete.
Just a smirk.
That same. Damn. Smug smirk.
You hated how it irked you. Hated that you cared in the first place. It wasn't as if you were both friendly back in LAW 604. Every day was the start to a new war.
So much for that, huh? One of you was sat in the wrong chair despite all the boasting. With his hands cuffed and his name close to slander. And the worst part?
He looked fucking proud of it.
"I have a few questions, if you don't mind," you started, placing the file onto the table and flipping it open. "You have the right to have a lawyer present."
you had just given birth to the heir of the zen’in clan. instead of getting to bask in all the newborn cuddles and bliss, your husband was asking when you’d go to the gym. you meet a beautiful woman and quickly find out she’s good at more than just giving meal plans.
★ PAIRING: personal trainer! toji fushiguro x fem reader
★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. giving birth (sawry). n*oya mention (he’s an asshole). infidelity (mandatory i do not condone cheating inserted here). reader’s insecure. standing 69. toji’s strapped up. silicone (man don’t come for me) p in v. mirror sex. tit play. lactation. divorce.
★ WORD COUNT: 6.9k
★ JADE’S NOTES: part of the gay panic collab hosted by @cherrys-wrld thank you so much for putting this together <3 i love you and your big brain.
fem!toji art (tw: gore) above by @/kcokaine
the feeling of giving birth is often described as a euphoric experience in most pregnancy books (you would know, you’ve read them all twice by now), an overwhelming feeling of relief washing over once the baby was out.
this felt like anything but euphoria.
it felt like hell.
naoya had insisted that you have a natural birth—without any kind of epidural or any medication to help numb the pain, which left you feeling everything. left you feeling like you were being wedged apart into two pieces, feeling every torturous inch that your ob-gyn pushed further in.
nearly their entire arm was in your vagina, examining how the process was coming along. “7 centimeters dilated, baby’s positioning into the birth canal,” they note before glancing over at you, “okay, you’re in active labor. it shouldn’t be long now before you’re able to start pushing.”
contractions wrack your body more frequently than they did when you first arrived, hitting you like a wave every three minutes. it starts off painful—like someone’s desperate to wring out your uterus like a wet dishrag, pressure building up in your pelvis and back, each one lasting about 40 seconds before the short lived relief comes.
each breath that leaves your lungs feels ragged, the nurses by your sides raising their hands up. “inhale,” they lightly order, and you know they’re just trying to be kind—but fuck, if it doesn’t feel impossible—before dropping their hands ten seconds later. “exhale. keep doing that for us, relax your pelvic muscles.”
about half an hour passes before your ob-gyn checks again, cervix dilated to the size of a bagel by now. the baby was coming. it was happening now. in a span of seconds, a group of nurses rushed in with a bunch of machines in hand.
your fingers dig into the bedsheets next to you, husband refusing to come join you for the birth. to let you squeeze his hand halfway to death. "you seriously think i'm going to stand for two hours? get over yourself."
he plopped his ass down on the couch in the corner of the room, resting his arm behind his head while the other held up his phone. naoya was busy watching a stream, a scowl on his face every time you wailed too loudly. a scowl he shot at everyone who dared to interrupt him, even the nurses who'd asked if he was sure he didn't want to be next to you.
a bubbling sob only broke from his throat once—when an old charlie kirk video popped on his screen. his hand covered his eyes, grieving the man as if they’d ever had a conversation together. “OHHH,” a loud wail erupted from his throat, distracting nearly everyone in the room, “charlie, my goat, i miss you,” he babbled, wiping away faux tears before continuing his doomscrolling.
meanwhile, hot tears drip down your cheeks. contractions rush through your body, the urge to push bearing down on your pelvis. “okay push.” you do just as instructed, taking in a deep breath like you’d been advised. slowly, you exhale when you manage to pull upwards, your body slumped against the bed.
the first pushes don’t compare to the pain that you feel when the baby’s head finally starts to crown, when you start to feel yourself getting stretched past your limits. a burn settles in between your thighs, an immense pressure building down on your pelvic floor.
the pain didn’t even come with each push, it came with each contraction that racked your body with a newfound vengeance. pushing came to you like a relief, a reprieve. “head’s out,” you could hear nurses talking amongst themselves, a small sigh leaving your lips. relief filled you instantly, a sign that you were almost done. that your baby was almost out.
a loud shriek pierces through the hospital room, the sound not quite registering in your mind just yet. you blinked and there he was, your baby boy. misty tears clouded your vision, unable to even compute that your boy was just….finally here.
naoya refuses to get anywhere close to the baby, nose scrunching up at the sheer audacity the nurses had to ask of him such a request. “my maid can handle it,” he simply states, said maid quickly scampering off their post to where the baby was being held. with a steady hand, they took a hold of the umbilical cord and snipped it.
the baby is cleaned up, changed into a newborn diaper before it’s handed over to his father. he immediately starts wailing upon being set in naoya’s arms (probably sensing his own father’s malicious aura.) “you wouldn’t want to be like your cousin maki. calm down.”
the baby took that as a protest, only wailing even louder against him. with a critical gaze, naoya starts looking over the baby to see what he could find wrong. what needed to be modified, what he could find that he could blame on you. he only lazily rocks the baby and forth, if only to continue his examination without the baby’s wails ringing in his ear.
“your maxilla is underdeveloped,” naoya mutters to himself, disappointed in a baby who’s been out in the world for maybe five seconds max, “we’ll have to train your masseters to tighten the skin around your bigonial.”
your husband naoya was nothing if not tuned into every looksmaxxing video that popped up on his timeline, gifting nearly all his paycheck into streamers rambling about red-pill politics and conspiracies, weightlifting, and their own twisted ideas of what the ideal woman should be.
not that any of those streamers ever noticed him. never had and probably never will. it didn’t really matter, though. he’d still send in paycheck after paycheck without fail.
one of the nurses standing by takes the baby from his arms, a quiet coo leaving the infant once he was taken away. she went through the clinical assessments needed—measuring, weighing, and finally getting him to drink a bottle of warm milk. for a newborn, he goes down without much trouble.
they turn to address you next. "so throughout these next few weeks, you really want to be taking it easy while your body heals. that means no heavy lifting, no cardio, baths, stairs, sex," your nurse lists off, turning around to grab a pamphlet full of steps you should take at home.
"look, look, when can my woman start working out all that pregnancy fat?" naoya cuts the nurse off with a question of his own, seemingly ignoring every last word she'd just said. rudely, he snatches the pamphlet away from her fingers, reading through it like it insulted the zen’in bloodline.
the nurse in question merely blinks, shock temporarily painting her features before a strained smile plasters itself on her face. “like i said, it’s ideal to wait a few weeks. maybe two or three months.”
—
it's recommended to follow a strict schedule of staying in bed for and yet, that schedule doesn't exist to your husband. he had been more than eager to sign his last name onto the birth certificate before you left the hospital, taking the paper from your hands before you could even look at it.
but when it came to actually being a father, he was completely blind to the responsibility it came with. every time the baby wailed, every time there was a dirty diaper, it was you having to stand up. every time the baby was hungry, it was you. all while still making sure that he was satisfied, that he wasn’t hungry.
the normal rule of thumb would be five days in bed, allowing for your body to heal and for you to bond with the baby, the next five days where you could sit up on the bed, move around a little more on the california king, while the last five days would be where you finally start moving around the house.
you’re lucky if you get five hours to lay down, to finally find a comfortable position to take a short nap in, before your husband’s nudging your shoulder when the baby starts to cry across the hall. every movement sends a surge of pain running straight in between your legs, and yet, you keep moving.
you’re running on fumes and sheer willpower throughout the next few weeks, practically living out of the nursery changing diapers, feeding, calming the baby down. naoya really only came in when you were struggling with the latter, “shut that goddamn baby up. you’re interrupting my stream.”
if it wasn’t dealing with your overgrown man child of a husband, it was the cramps that racked your body each time you came to breastfeed. “as your uterus shrinks back to its normal size, you should experience heavy bleeding,” your ob-gyn explained, “it’s called involution. and as you go through the motions of breastfeeding, oxytocin is released in which is where your cramps come from.”
your own body was trying to kill you, you were certain.
and despite it all, you start settling into your new routine of sleep deprivation in favor of taking care of your newborn girl, catching if only five minutes of rest on the toilet or in the shower at a time. that is, well, before you’re woken up by a shriek shaking each hall of the house, forcing you to get back into your regularly scheduled program.
“put on some makeup, woman. you’re looking horrible,” disgust paints over naoya’s features when he makes the snide comment. you’re aware of you look—eye bags that make you look like the walking dead on your feet, pajamas half stained in baby throw up and milk, yet there’s not much you can do.
you don’t look in the mirror, not wanting to face the reality that naoya might be right.
he starts coming in with lipstick marks staining the collar of his white button down, purplish marks bruising the sides of his neck that he wasn’t even trying to hide. like a middle schooler, for heaven’s sake. smelling like cheap floral perfume and mouthing half assed excuses when he steps into the room.
“start going to the gym if you don’t want me looking for another woman,” he says upon stepping in to your shared bedroom at two in the morning, the man not even bothering to keep his voice down in lieu of the sleeping baby in your arms. he’d barely gone down, putting up a fuss. “you’ve been cleared already, haven’t you?”
a quiet sigh leaves your lips, “yeah, i’ll do that,” you find yourself muttering, “i’ll look for a gym tomorrow.”
“no need. i’ll select the right program for you.”
the logical decision in this moment would be to leave your husband, you know that. the desire’s gnawed deep into your head, each venom-laced word pushing you deeper and deeper to your limit. but you’re also aware of your situation. you’re unemployed, with no prospect of a job so far, with a newborn baby and nowhere to stay.
maybe suguru would let you back in if you asked her—she always did seem to have your wellbeing on the forefront of her mind. but you haven’t spoken to her in years, not since you moved out, not since you sent out a wedding invitation she didn’t respond to. it would be wrong to ask her for a favor all of a sudden.
so you do what you have to for the time being. what you need to do until you can get yourself back up on your feet, until you can make sure you and your baby will be fine if you so much as decide to divorce him. if that means having to go to an overpriced gym with two hours of sleep and a surge of caffeine, then so be it.
—
stepping in through the door, you’re welcome by the sight of women working out on machines, a few standing around talking amongst themselves and sharing tips. the sight catches you off guard if only for a second, surprised that naoya had been considerate enough to get you a membership somewhere you’d be comfortable in.
though deep down, you’re sure he’s insecure enough not to want you working out with a bunch of guys. either way, you’re not really complaining. the atmosphere’s calming, a nice reprieve from testosterone and men trying to prove something to each other. your shoulders instantly fall, a sense of relief washing over you.
“hi, welcome in, i’m manami. what can i help you with?” you’re greeted by a pink haired woman in a black sports bra and a pair of shorts that make her pale legs go on for miles. your eyes nearly boggle out of your head—you’ve only been here for five seconds and surrounded by some of the prettiest women.
you clear your throat, “my husband signed me up for this gym. i’m not sure if i have to register or anything?”
“just sign your name here.” she passes over a clipboard, “and i’ll have to ask for your id to look for you in the system.”
digging through several layers of diapers and baby wipes, you manage to find your id at the bottom. you pass it over, signing yourself in while she types away in her computer. there’s a relaxing song playing in the background, chatter and the sound of weights being set on the racks filling in the rest of the noise.
you might actually like it here.
“okay, i got you all set up in the system,” manami speaks up, looking up from her computer. she passes over your id, gesturing to a private room in the further back of the gym. “you’re scheduled to be with toji. she’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.”
while the rest of the women seem nice enough, some giving you a little smile and a wave as you pass by, you can’t help but feel like you’re out of place. they’re all fit in either a pair of leggings or shorts and a sports bra—while you settled for an old hoodie and a pair of sweats. when’s the last time you’ve been to a gym anyways? maybe two, three years ago? they all seem to know exactly what they’re doing, seem to have a routine all figured out.
deep breath. inhale. exhale. your fingers grasp around the door knob to toji’s room, hand already clammy and sweaty without so much as working out. okay, you got this. on the count of one…two…three.
the door swings open to reveal a room full of heavy lifting equipment, from dumbbells the size of your head to a stairmaster that you dreaded even sparing a glance to. there’s something written on a little whiteboard in the corner of the room, in sloppy handwriting: welcome to toji’s torturous training!
oh great heavens.
your ob-gyn had recommended taking things slow even now that you’ve ‘healed,’ starting your way up from cardio and light weights back into your regular routine. maybe even just light stretches if that’s all you were up to at the time.
not the extreme endurance training program naoya had so graciously signed you up a week ago. you think about turning around, making some dumb excuse about the car breaking down or something when you hear someone call your name out.
in front of you stands what is possibly the prettiest woman you’ve seen.
there’s nothing hesitant about the way that she moves, about the way that she walks as she steps closer to you. she’s self assured, confident. and well, who wouldn’t be? the compression shirt she has on marks every dip and every hard line of muscle in her body, from her biceps nearly bulging out the sleeves to her abdomen—was that an eight pack??
black strands of hair fall from the loose ponytail she put her hair in, framing her face perfectly. emerald eyes glisten underneath the gym lights with something akin to amusement, her scarred lips raising in a smirk. “not thinkin’ of runnin’ away from me just yet, are you?”
“no, of course not!” you let out a nervous laugh, setting your training bag down on the floor. if she sensed your awkwardness, she didn’t say anything about it.
“since you’re a newbie and all, why don’t you go ahead and get started on the treadmill for fifteen minutes as a warm-up?” your heart nearly drops to your ass. that’s the warm-up? you move at a snail’s pace, trudging your way over to the machine before setting it at the lowest setting.
walking fifteen minutes didn’t seem to be too bad. except of course, you didn’t get to walk for more than ten seconds when toji padded next to your area. “you didn’t come here to walk, run for me.” the treadmill beeped with each tap of her fingers, your hands gripping onto the handles as you start to settle into a sprint.
you’re out of breath by the time that the warm-up’s ended, chest heaving and sweat dripping and clinging to your back. plopping down on the cold linoleum floor, you hastily prop open your water bottle and practically gulp half of it down in one go.
toji takes a few steps forward until she hovers right above your field of vision, extending a fluffy white towel your way. a small spark makes itself up your fingertips down to your spine, the shared touch enough to send jolts coursing through your body. you desperately need to get yourself together.
it’s almost infuriating how put together she still is, the woman without so much as breaking a sweat while you were heaving out your lungs. “don’t drink your water so fast,” she warned, lightly pulling your half-empty bottle away, “that’s how you cramp up, wouldn’t want that, right?”
in all honesty, you expected toji to kick you out of her program.
the high endurance training program had been designed to deal with those who didn’t get out of breath going up a flight of stairs, for those who sought out to improve their cardiovascular endurance. you weren’t her target audience by a long mile, you knew that much.
“you wanna tell me why you’re out of breath at the warmup?” she questions, taking a seat in front of you. there’s no judgement in her voice, maybe amusement and a little curiosity, but no, never scrutiny. she takes her towel back, tossing it off to the side.
“i gave birth a couple months ago,” understanding settles in her features when you speak, you decide to continue, “i’m still getting used to moving around again, i’m sorry. i know i’m not exactly what you’re looking for in this program, so i can go ahead and quit if you w-” your rant gets stopped when she places her hand on your shoulder.
“i’m still gonna take care of you, mama. don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about that, we just gotta build up your stamina again,” fuck, how you didn’t wish she was helping you build your stamina in a different way. preferably with you underneath, legs wrapped around her waist while her hands explore every dip of y—
nope. not thinking about your trainer like that. no, no, no, no. you don’t even realize you’re shaking your head until toji raises a brow, “you still wanna quit on me?”
your eyes widen, hands up coming up as you shake your head again. “n-no, not quitting on you. i was just lost in thought, sorry,” you retort with a small, nervous laugh.
“like i said, i’ll get your stamina back up before we get to working on some of the harder stuff.”
—
surprisingly, toji is gentle getting you used to working out again. always starting out with a few minutes on the treadmill, gradually increasing the speed on the machinery before aiding you with a couple stretches.
“juuust a lil’ further,” you hear behind you, her hands gripping your hips. your breath catches in your throat at the sudden proximity, your back going straight as a rim rod. she moves your back leg slowly, forcing you to deepen the stretch you were trying to do. “there we go, sugar. perfect.” you desperately need to change your panties after that day.
and even though naoya had originally planned for this program to make you lose all the weight he deemed unacceptable, toji helped you to embrace it. sure, she still aided you in your goal, but she also gave you tips on how to build muscle. from building up the weights day by day to giving you meal plans with plenty of protein, she was there by your side.
you found yourself looking forward to going, usually being there just when they were opening up. manami had learned your name by now, a couple of the women had decided to invite you out to lunch, and it finally felt like you were starting to be accepted somewhere. and toji, gods toji, you were either delusional or she had a crush just the same way you did her, often saying you a cup of coffee when you came by early, a cookie her son megumi made on your cheat days.
she found every way to keep her hands on you, to have some kind of contact with you too. whether it be adjusting your form even though you’d spent hours browsing through workout videos and apps making sure you got it right to her fingers just lingering a little longer every time she passed you a towel.
seeing her became your favorite part of the day.
—
on valentine’s day, people normally take the initiative to make sure their partners know how appreciated they are. whether it be booking a dinner, whether it just be spending time together, or a simple teddy bear, the day is dedicated to love. and yet, your husband doesn’t so much as greet you when you step out of the house this morning.
last week when you’d brought up going to a restaurant in passing, he’d simply responded, “you’re still losing all that weight, woman. you think i’d go out in public with you?”
you didn’t mention the topic again, not even as a joke.
so you decide to go to the gym today. it’s better than spending your day alone, hoping that your husband would come into the room and pay attention to you. hoping that he’d have something positive to say for once. you’re not really sure where he’s even at, just said he was leaving without saying anything else.
you’re not really sure you want to know either way.
the gym’s relatively empty when you step inside, not even the regulars bothered to come in today. your footsteps echo across the floor, making your way over to toji’s room. you knock on the door once before you’re greeted with the sight of her. she’s in nothing but a skimpy sports bra, tits nearly spilling out of the cups and a pair of sweatpants.
she doesn’t seem surprised to see you and yet she still asks, “what’re you doing here? thought ya might’ve been at home with your husband.”
the mention of naoya, even in passing, is enough to dampen your mood if only temporarily. “my husband isn’t home right now. thought i’d come to see you instead.”
toji merely shrugs, opening the door a little wider. “don’t got anything planned, but start with the treadmill then.”
you make your way onto the treadmill, adjusting the settings before moving in a light jog. it’s easier than breaking out into a full sprint, you come to realize. dispersing your energy throughout the entirety of the run instead of using it all up in the first minute.
it doesn’t feel like your lungs are on the verge of collapse anymore when you step off, drenched in sweat regardless though. you take a few sips of your water, enough to hydrate before setting your cup back down.
“don’t ya wanna take all that off, sugar? you’re drippin’ in sweat,” toji points out, gesturing to the thick hoodie you had on. it did feel like you were on the verge of getting heat stroke, the material only making you sweat even more, but taking it off would mean being exposed.
so you simply shake your head, only pulling down the sleeves of your hoodie even more. as if you could shrink into the earth if given the chance. “my husband wouldn’t think it’s appropriate for me to be showing off a bunch of saggy skin.”
toji takes your face in one hand, calloused from the heavy weights she spends hours lifting but soft, gentle as she cradles your cheek in her palm. her other hand holds a warm towel, her pats gentle against the beads of sweat running down your forehead.
her gorgeous eyes scan your body up and down, and you swear you imagine it, but her gaze lingers just a little bit on your lips. “y’er husband’s an idiot if he doesn’t know how you pretty you are,” she murmurs, the towel discarded haphazardly somewhere behind her.
a second passes by. neither one of you dare to move, to even let out a breath in case the moment passes by. your eyes go down her lips. she stares at you like she wants to devour you. there’s a little voice in the back of your head—telling you all about how guilty you should feel.
and you should. you’re married and you’ve been thinking about this woman bending you like a pretzel. that little voice gets shut down by the sheer desire coursing through your body, by feeling wanted by something other than your vibrator.
sex with naoya had always felt like a chore in its own. like another task to check off a list. it was always about him, about what makes him cum and what he wants to choose. the man refused to do anything other than prodding his fingers in your cunt, giving two lazy pumps before sticking his dick in. and still had the audacity to ask you to eat his ass.
“that’s how a woman shows her true worth to an alpha male.” you’re not sure he’s completely straight.
you lean in, meeting her halfway before your eyes flutter close. the taste of her lips feels better than you’ve imagined, a mix of her cherry chapstick and the fruity shake she has in the mornings. one of her hands moves to the back of your head, the other moving to the small of your back. keeping you impossibly close against her, your lips interlocked and moving in tandem.
a string of saliva connects the two of you when you finally pull away for air, your eyes half lidded. you want more, you want to kiss her again and again. her fingers move down to the hem of your hoodie, your arms coming up as she slides it off your body. “real fuckin’ idiot, y’re so fucking pretty,” she breathes out, your hand coming up to her cheek.
the first exchange between you two had been tentative, a slow test to see how much you were willing to go with. but this was much more needy, much more charged than before. she tugs at your bottom lip, greedily swallowing every broken moan and shaky breath that leaves your lips. her tongue moves into your mouth, exploring before moving against yours.
you want more of her.
slowly, your lips make their way down her body. toji’s head lolls back when your lips move down to her neck, your lips kissing on every inch of skin as you start your descent. you move your tongue across her earlobe, a full body shiver racking through her body. for someone so cocky, she sure is sensitive.
the tip of your tongue darts out, faint hints of salt landing on your tongue with each drop of sweat you lick off her abdomen. you start tracing each one of her abs, tracing each defined ridge. all the while, you work on sliding off your sweats, kicking them off to the side.
toji’s hand comes down to rest on your cheek, an amused smile on her face as she watches you worship every inch of her abdomen and body. “pretty when you do that, sugar.” the praise goes straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing together to alleviate some of that need. you place little kisses against the beauty marks painting her stomach, laving over the small dots with your tongue and following the trail like a constellation.
you kiss alongside the band of her shorts, lightly tugging the material down with your teeth until you’ve managed to pull them down. she’s wearing a black harness on her hips, each clasp squeezing around her beefy thighs.
“do you always stay strapped up?” you blurt out, a small laugh leaving her lips.
“yeah, i got both on me.” somehow, you don’t doubt she’s being serious. she digs through her equipment bag next to her, weights and dumbbells clattering against one another when she pulls something else out. a double ended dildo the same color of her skin, a couple veins running up the sides of each shaft and about eight inches on each side. you nearly drool at the sight.
“come on, mama. put it on, i’m sure you got it.” you take the dildo from her hands, sliding the base onto the ‘o’ shaped hole in front. running one side of the dildo against her slick folds, her juices glistening underneath the light. “fuck, keep goin’. slide it in,” and you, you start sliding inch by inch into her cunt, watching her puffy walls clench around the toy stretching her out, “just like that, push all of it in.”
you’re not sure when’s the last time you ever felt so wanted. not with your husband, that’s for sure. maybe with sukuna or suguru? you still remember how passionate both of them had been, how sukuna fucked like she wanted to ruin everyone else after. how suguru worked you up just to edge you, just to keep you wanting more.
but neither of them could’ve prepared you for how you feel now.
either way, you’re eager to please the beautiful woman in front of you. your hands move to her glutes, muscles firm in between your palms. your fingers squish at the flesh, kneading her thick ass in between your palms. your lips press against her inner thighs, kissing against the tightly corded muscles before making your way to her dick.
and then, toji holds up you up like you weigh nothing. one second you’re on your knees, ready to suck and the next you’re upside down, blood rushing to your head with a plastic dick swinging back and forth in your face. her fingers slide your panties down (up? from this angle, you’re not sure), tossing them aside.
“open up wiiiide, yeah, just like that, sugar.” your lips part open, tongue flat, while her hips slowly bucking the strap into your awaiting mouth. she fucks herself onto the other side of the strap, pushing the dildo in and outtt of her slick cunt.
“mmm—oh fuck!” she starts off the same teasing, torturous way that you did. pressing kiss after kiss on your inner thighs before licking a thick stripe from your dripping hole up to your aching clit. the tip of her tongue traces your slick folds, “taste so fucking good. pussy like this should be worshipped.”
you wrap your lips around the silicone tip, strings of saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. your tongue swirls around the flesh colored plastic, flat as you lick a stripe on the underside. starting from the base up to the tip before you wrap your lips around it again, head bobbing as you take more and more of her in.
slick glistens on her face as toji rocks you back and forth against her, smearing your juices across her chin and her lips. she spits a messy glob of saliva onto your cunt, your walls clenching around absolutely before she’s lapping it back up again. swiping her tongue uppp and downn like a credit card, tasting every drop dripping out.
her lips wrap around your clit, lightly suctioning around the nub. her tongue rolls around in tight, little circles, toes curling in your beaters. two fingers take place where her tongue was dipping in, pushing in past that original resistance before curling an inch in. hitting your g-spot like she personally had a gps for it.
“aah—fuck! toji, toji, fuck!” you mewl, nails digging into her thighs. you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, almost forgetting you’re supposed to be sucking the strap. but how could you focus when she’s eating you out like a five course meal? her fingers pump in and out of you quickly, that little coil in your belly starting to tighten up.
your throat relaxes, taking more and more of her length in your mouth. globs of spit dribble around the shaft, the plastic glistening underneath the harsh gym lights every time you pull away. her hips start thrusting again, fucking the strap into your mouth and against herself. “take that fucking dick, just like that, fucking made for this.”
toji ruts the strap deeper and deeper into the wet cavern of your mouth, your cheeks hollowing out to take in inch by inch. you pull off with a wet pop, your head bobbing around her cock while one of your hands comes around to squeeze around the base. your eyes flutter shut, drooling around the strap the further it slips down your throat.
“cum for me, mama. i got you, toji’s got you, take what you need, there ya gooo,” she all but talks you during your orgasm, drawing out little moans from you in response.
your legs quiver and shake with your impending orgasm, your nails digging crescents onto the flesh of her thick thighs. it’s all just muscle underneath your fingertips. “f-fuck, toji, fuck, gonna cum,” you whine around the tip, her grip on your legs tightening.
her tongue rolls around your sensitive clit, her fingers prod against that spot inside, your orgasm washing over you like a wave seconds after. “oh fuck!” you tighten around her fingers impossibly so before clear spurts of your release coat them completely. toji doesn’t hesitate in taking her fingers out, her tongue greedily swiping across each digit to get every drop.
that’s not enough to satiate her. “fuuuuck, you taste too good,” it comes out as a muffled groan spoken into your cunt, her jaw slack as she licks away every last remaining drop. it’s only after she’s finished with her fill that she sets you down, your hand tightly wrapped around her wrist while you get over your dizziness.
the two of you are in front of a mirror, one you’re not exactly keen on looking at. toji moves behind you, swiping the saliva coated strap in between your folds. you let out a pathetic moan when the tip catches onto your clit, your back melting against her chest. “can i fuck you?” the question catches you off guard.
you nod, slightly out of breath as you respond, “please.”
she moves the strap in between once more before slipping it in your hole, slowly pushing the tip in. your hands come up in front of you, fingertips smudging the glass in front of you. inch by inch, she slowly starts to push the dildo in, a broken gasp leaving you when she bottoms out. she doesn’t move just yet, pressing kisses against your shoulder.
there’s nothing rushed about the way that she moves at all, nothing that indicated she wasn’t savoring this moment just as you were. toji starts off slow, pulling out before stuffing you back completely, going deep and slow. her hands grip your hips, your walls stretching around the dildo with each thrust.
toji holds your head in between her biceps, her arm lazily curling upward to keep you in place. to keep your half lidded-gaze staring at your reflection in the mirror. she starts moving faster, her hips snapping against yours until that’s all you can hear other than the blood rushing through your head. you refuse to look at yourself in the mirror for too long, though.
she only squeezes her biceps around your head, forcing to you to move your head up.
she tilts your head back to the glass when she catches sight of it. “there we go. look at yourself, look at how pretty you are,” her voice drops to a low purr right by your ear, “tell me how pretty you are or i’ll stop.”
“i-i’m…” you trail off, your gaze wavering from the mirror. toji squeezes her bicep around your head, veins bulging as she keeps you in a tight grip. “i’m pretty.”
toji lets out a quiet tut, shaking her head as her thrusts came to a complete stop. the loss of friction had a whine ripping from your throat, your walls clenching tightly around the dildo. she only ground her hips against her side of the strap, fucking herself onto the dildo stuffed inside. “say it like you mean it, mama,” the command came out like a breathy whisper on the side of your neck.
naoya had conditioned you to believe you weren’t beautiful, that you were lucky that he even bothered to lower his standards enough to date you. he kept you wanting, with breadcrumbs of little compliments occasionally scattered around—“you don’t look so bad today.” or “the makeup’s finally starting to make its effect.”
but when toji looked at you like this, like you were something worth revering, like every inch of you was perfect, you wanted to believe that you were. you didn’t notice all the imperfections naoya had pointed out, you noticed the hard work that you’ve been putting into.
“i’m pretty.”
“damn right you are. prettiest woman around here,” her hips snapped against yours, that relentless pace from before picking back up. you were close but so was she, fucking herself desperately onto the six inches stuffed inside of her cunt. she moves your head to turn to her, meeting your lips in a kiss that’s nothing but tongue and teeth. nothing but desperation and need.
her lips trail down, biting down on your neck enough to leave a deep bruise before her hands come up to your tits. she squeezes the pebbled nubs before her mouth latches onto one hungrily, swirling and laving her tongue around your areola. “wait—” you don’t get a chance to finish your warning, milk dropping onto her expecting tongue.
“taste good all over, fuuuck,” toji sounds completely at bliss, her eyes fluttered shut as she laps at every drop of pearly white milk spilling from your tits. she sucks on your left before moving to your right, giving them both the same amount of devotion. your cunt squelch squelches with each of her thrusts, your hips rocking yourself back onto her.
one of toji’s hands moves in between your legs, fingertips rubbing against your clit in quick, little circles. you shake and writhe around her strap, unable to keep your attention on the mirror. “look at yourself while i fuck you,” she orders behind you, your eyes darting back up to the mirror. she’s looking at you through the glass, sweat dripping across her forehead as she pushed you closer to your orgasm.
“o-oh shiiit gonna cum, gonna cum!” your vision nearly blanks with the intensity of your orgasm, the stimulation to your sensitive tits, to your clit, to your cunt, pushing you well past the edge. your body racks with aftershocks well after, your release coating the strap in a translucent slick. it doesn’t take toji that long to reach her orgasm either, her thrusts stuttering until she comes with a shaky moan.
neither one of you move for a second. toji keeps you close to her body, her breathing ragged and her heartbeat syncing up with yours. “y’re so perfect, mama,” she murmurs against your shoulder, biting down. she slides the strap off carefully, holding eye contact with you as she sucks your juices off the plastic. savoring it like a michelin three star meal.
—
getting back home, you sit in the parking lot for just a few minutes. divorce papers sit on your lap, the decision weighing heavy on your mind. mostly about how it’s going to impact you. how it’s going to impact the baby. there’s no love between you and naoya, there hasn’t been in a while and you’re not sure it ever really was there.
you suppose that’s good enough reason to leave him.
he’s not home when you step inside, making this decision all that much easier. you slip off your wedding band, leaving it on top of the papers before making quick work of packing up what little stuff you do have in your closet. the baby’s better off with the zen’in clan, you’re sure of that—he’d be treated like royalty just for being naoya’s son.
now it’s up to you to decide where the hell you’re going to live, how the hell you’re going to pick yourself back up after depending on naoya for so long.
dating isn’t on your agenda in the meantime, not while you’re still dealing with the aftermath of your ex husband and his crazy family. toji had been a fun experience—she’d helped you gain your confidence back and gave you a good orgasm in exchange.
that was all it was, though. a good experience. it couldn’t hurt to download a dating app, right? just for shits and giggles. maybe for conversation and that’s it.
at least, that’s what you believed until you matched with shoko ieiri.
a/n: if you got this far, thank you for reading 🙂↕️ happy valentine’s day i love you
perm taglist: @dawnsoblivion @cliffaria @tcddszn @lets-pringless @satorusdollie @404rogers @dollhousesinner + link to join :3
a/n: a late valentine's gift to u all! i know this is NOT accurate and probably a lil silly but i had fun writing it so i hope u enjoy! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
As a broke art student, it was a privilege to get to go on trips like these.
Instead of staring longingly at paintings and sculptures on your laptop screen, you could now see the very specimens you had admired from thousands of miles away before your very eyes.
As you wandered through the museum with your friends and fellow art students, you realised that it was almost impossible to take it all in.
Perched upon walls and erected from podiums were hundreds and thousands of years' worth of history. And to you, that was incredible.
Greek mythology was a subject that had always fascinated you.
Particularly, the beautifully tragic story of the Goddess of Spring and the God of the Dead, Sukuna.
It was forever that story that had a strange pull on you.
Perhaps it was hyper-fixation, or perhaps it was fate that led you to sculpture depicting the abduction of the Goddess of Spring.
The museum was busy yet, bizarrely, the area surrounding the sculpture was completely void of presence.
As you neared it, you felt a strange tug on the atmosphere.
The air felt light and heavy at the same time and your surroundings blurred around you.
Your body moved like muscle memory towards the sculpture, brows pinching inquisitively at the sensation of something old and buried awakening and recognising.
The Goddess of Spring's features began to contort and twist until they resembled your own and you were left staring at a sculpture depicting your likeness.
But your eyes and your body were drawn to Sukuna.
“Hey, she looks just like you!” Your friend chirped, pulling you from the trance you had lost yourself in.
You simply hummed in response, focused on the face of the man that your body remembered as your brain fought to keep up.
“We’re going to the next exhibition, you coming?”
After a few beats of silence, you responded, “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer.”
They shrugged before walking away, leaving you and the sculpture alone once again.
Your eyes tracked his features with wonder, strong and striking and perfect. Precise, black lines framed his face from forehead to jaw and contrasted the ivory marble.
And those eyes, those smouldering—Wait. They were looking right at you.
You willed your body to move backwards, but it did the opposite, and you were sure that you would have shuddered if you had control of your body.
But you didn’t, because something deep inside you had awakened.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Your eyes fluttered open as you struggled to register your surroundings.
A plush mattress dipped under your weight as you sat upright, silks pooling at your waist.
The room was exquisite, bright and—Not the museum at all. Where were you?
“My queen,” a gruff voice spoke, your eyes darting to find the source.
Stood in the doorway was Sukuna, not the statue but the real person—god. Whatever he was.
What was going on? Your brain scrambled for a logical explanation.
“I’m not—”
“You are. You don’t remember but your body does and you will. In time.”
Across from the bed, upon an oak dresser, sat a single pomegranate. The pink-haired god followed your gaze and smiled knowingly.
“You crave it, don’t you?” he asked.
“The pomegranate? No, I don’t like them,” you mumbled.
He shook his head, crossing his four, imposing arms casually as he gazed upon you, gentle and adoring.
“Home.”
You considered the word and his question.
Slowly, your lips parted to reject the word and deny his question, but no words came.
Despite your mind protesting, your body knew the truth.
At this, Sukuna took the fruit in one, large hand and walked tentatively towards you as if you were a frightened animal.
When he reached you, carefully, he pulled a small dagger from his robe and dragged it down the pomegranate with ease, slicing it in half.
He extended his hand, and the fruit, towards you, “Won’t you try some?”
synopsis: when your friends convince you to go to a party and you see your ex-boyfriend kissing someone new, you find yourself unknowingly running into the arms of his rival.
pairings: frat!gojo x f!reader x frat!sukuna
chapter three: selfish
wordcount: 1.4k
a/n: happy valentine's day!! two words: satoru YEARNS. i feel giddy going through the comments knowing the plot twist that is due to come... 🥸 anyways, im sorry this chapter is so short. my motivation has been down the drain lately :( but i hope u enjoy!!!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
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Satoru was selfish, had been since he was a kid. He was the kind that understood sharing but refused to, felt that he had some divine claim over anything and everything that he wanted. And one of those things was you.
Unfortunately for him, he had lost you.
Satoru was beside himself with anger and had been since he saw you and Sukuna at the party. But he also felt guilty. He felt it so immensely that it had become tangible in the way his skin crawled when he thought about you and his heart pounded as it did the night he walked away from you.
Many nights, he laid awake wishing that he handled things differently. He remembered the look on your face when he stopped fighting, the choked sobs you let out when he walked away. It haunted him. You haunted him.
More often than not, on those nights, he’d browse through the photos of you he had never deleted and read the messages from the account he couldn’t bring himself to block.
He wasn’t sure why he was so unwilling to address the problems that began to appear in the relationship, but he hadn’t and it had cost him.
Those questions of “why?” and “what if?” plagued his mind as he walked into the quaint coffee shop that he often frequented. And when he saw you sat across from Sukuna, his heart dropped. Your smile was soft, genuine and you gazed upon him as you once gazed upon Satoru.
It was one thing to see you kissing him at the party, but now you were having coffee together? Hanging out? Despite his reaction at the party, he had since accepted that you were just letting off some steam after seeing him with that girl. Revenge, maybe.
And, perhaps, Satoru selfishly believed that you were incapable of moving on from him. Is that what you were doing now? Moving on?
Truthfully, though, he didn’t even know that girl’s name. She meant nothing to him. The kiss meant nothing. It was but a poor attempt of reassurance. Reassurance that he was capable of moving on.
Satoru had spent months trying to convince himself that he didn’t care about the breakup, about you. In his twisted way of thinking, he believed that distracting himself with another pair of lips meant that he was moving on.
But it felt wrong. Those lips didn’t belong to you. And as he stood in line watching you laugh over the rim of your mug at something Sukuna said, his stomach turned.
He felt sick. Sick at the thought of you moving on. Sick at the thought of your lips, soft and once so forgiving, against Sukuna’s own traitorous ones. For these thoughts, Satoru hated himself. It was his fault, after all.
He finally reached the front of the line and, after being snapped out of his unrelenting thoughts by the smiling barista, ordered. As he waited for his coffee, he watched you. And he knew that you were aware of him by the stiffness of your shoulders, the straightening of your spine. But you did not turn to face him, and he did not blame you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Your skin crawled at the heat penetrating the back of your head from Satoru’s gaze. His very presence shifted the atmosphere, and you hated him for still having that effect on you. You hated yourself for allowing him to.
Sukuna's words blended together and you nodded along, as if your world hadn’t shifted on its axis at the existence of your ex in the same space you were occupying. It was pathetic, really.
You stared right through the pink-haired man, but he was perceptive and must have noticed your strange behaviour. He nudged your foot and, fortunately, disrupted your silent spiralling.
Your eyes met his and it was like gazing upon rubies. You smiled, “Yeah, all good. Sorry, I got a bit... distracted.”
He simply nodded at your explanation, choosing not to push further. And you were grateful for it. You couldn’t, nor did you want to, explain the hold that Satoru still held on you.
Sukuna’s eyes lowered to the now empty mug wrapped around your hands before he spoke, “Do you want another?”
“Sure! Let me just--”
He didn’t allow you the chance to reach for your purse.
“I told you earlier – my treat.”
His fingers brushed against yours as he took the mug from your hands, a soft flush blooming across your cheeks at the contact. You watched as he walked away, muscles flexing with the movement under his band t-shirt.
During your time at university, you had heard many rumours about Sukuna. He was somewhat of a campus legend, everyone knew of him: of his parties, of his latest conquests. But he was kind of mysterious. Everyone knew his business, but nobody knew him. And that enticed you.
You hadn’t recognised him at the party at first but, after stewing on your interaction and stalking his Instagram, you realised you did in fact know him. The night you met him wasn’t the first time your friends had dragged you to one of his infamous parties. Though, back then, you were with Satoru and never paid attention to anyone else.
A large part of you, the logical part, wondered whether he just wanted to have sex with you. After all, Sukuna was known to be a playboy. But a smaller, less logical, part of you didn’t care and was both excited and anxious by his newfound interest in you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Satoru had just collected his coffee and pastry when Sukuna approached him. If it were possible, his mood soured further as their eyes met. Ice and fire. Polar opposites.
Where Satoru’s lip curled in disgust, Sukuna’s curled in satisfaction.
“Why so blue, Gojo?” The words were laced with arrogance and the intent to goad.
“Fuck you, Sukuna. Stay away from her.” Satoru spat, sparing a glance in your direction where you were none the wiser to the tension between the two frat boys.
The smirk did not leave Sukuna’s face; in fact, it only grew as he walked past Satoru towards the counter. Your order spilled from his lips with easy confidence, as though he already knew you like the back of his hand.
Only Satoru could claim that feat.
“What do you mean by that?” Sukuna asked, turning to face him. But Sukuna wasn’t dim, he knew exactly what Satoru meant. He just enjoyed making a game of taunting him.
“I don’t know what you’re planning, but don’t use her to hurt me.”
Sukuna crossed his arms casually, his tall frame imposing, and smiled in condescension at Satoru’s plea, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The tension built, so thick that the atmosphere was buzzing with it. As the barista called out your order, Satoru turned away.
“You know,” Sukuna called out, only loud enough for Satoru to hear, “you should be telling her to stay away from me.”
The implication behind his words was clear and every fibre in Satoru’s being yearned to turn around and punch Sukuna harder than he had at the party, but he wouldn’t.
Not in front of you again, at least. Instead, he swallowed his pride and walked away, gazing at you one last time before leaving the coffee shop.
After Sukuna returned with your drink, you indulged in conversation. Despite his brooding and grumpiness, you found him surprisingly easy to talk to.
He was blunt and knew himself well. He showed genuine interest in you and your life, asking about what you studied and how you spent your free time.
You didn’t tell him you had been wallowing in self-pity for the last three months. You told him you liked to read and you painted whenever you had the chance.
“I’m hosting a party on Friday. You should come,” he suggested.
At those words, you frowned. The last party you went to was a disaster and you weren’t sure if you had the mental capacity to go to another.
“I don’t know. The last one didn’t go so well, did it?”
Sukuna shrugged, “It wasn’t all bad. I got to kiss you.”
His words effortlessly brought that flush back to your cheeks, “And it got you punched!”
“It was worth it,” he grinned devilishly.
A comfortable silence fell over you as you considered your options: go to Sukuna’s party or sit at home, sad and alone. The answer was glaringly obvious.
“Fine. I’ll come.”
a/n: comment to be added to the taglist!! adding people who ask until further notice. 🫡
synopsis: satoru gojo has never been good at noticing things outside of himself. summers blur, girls rotate, routines dissolve as easily as they form. he’s always moved through the world assuming it would keep pace with him. it’s only after he takes a summer job at the same ice cream shop he’s been orbiting his entire life, that he realizes there’s been someone standing just outside his line of sight for years.
being the wife of the strongest was almost as dangerous as being the strongest himself. so you're not surprised when you're scheduled for your bi-anual hostage & ransom. well, until your kidnapper just so happens to have the same fucking face as your husband, and you find out that satoru has more secrets than you were aware of.
♡ ₊˚‧ in today's episode. you wake up with a pain in your head, your wrists bound, in a basement with your— husband?
♡ ₊˚‧ cw. canon verse :: angst :: smut :: messy dynamics :: named twin :: kidnapping :: jujutsu society dynamics :: love triangle
Throat dry. Taste of metal. Neck cricked.
Dark.
So, very dark.
You should be eating mochi. You should be coiled up on your couch with your feet up. That was the plan after your grocery trip. Did you fall asleep? Forget your sweet treat?
What time was it?
You needed to start dinner. Satoru would be back soon.
What time was it?
Why was it so dark?
What time was it?
The dull ache in your eyes ran to the back of your head. Down your neck that strained. Hung. Ugh. You always found the worst positions to fall asleep in, huh? That'll be a pest while you cooked dinner.
Dinner.
Time.
What time was it?
Why was it so dark?
Your eyes squeezed. Struggled. A chore to even open them. The sprain in your neck shot down your spine as you slowly raised your head. Groaned and rolled your shoulders back. Knocked wood. Wait— wood?
Weren't you on the couch?
Your hand reached for your neck. To massage the pain away.
Your hand didn't budge.
Couldn't.
It hurt to open your eyes. Hurt to blink. Hurt to force yourself awake and look ahead at the tv playing whatever soap opera you probably fell asleep to.
A door.
A door?
A door, and a table, and darkness and talismans—
Talismans?
Despite the pressure behind your eyelids, you blinked. Once. Twice. Ten times. You tried your hands again— nothing. They're behind you. Your arms hurt too. Your wrists burned.
Wait.
No couch. No tv. No living room. You're in a chair. Your wrists stung because they were bound. Behind your back. Your neck hurt because it was hung. Because you were asleep. No—
Because you were knocked out.
What. What happened?
As the reality sunk into your dilating eyes, so did it your heart. It stuttered. Once. Twice. Ten times. Faster, and faster. As fast as your gaze that flickered around.
Left, right, up, down, left— to the door.
To the talismans.
To the table.
The man—
The. What?
"Oh my god," you whispered. Shoulders tensed. Mind catching up to your sprinting heart. Heaving and frazzled. Like your eyes that gaped. Not this again. Not another kidnapping. What was it now— thrice? In the same year?
You tried to kick your legs. Bound too. The chair rattled. The rope bit into your ankles and squeezed beneath your knees. A warning: don't even try.
Wait— the man. The man. There was a man—
"Good morning."
He drawled. Easy. Lazy. The tone, pitch and rasp you were used to. Your heart fluttered. She always did when it came to him.
"S— toru?"
You blinked again. Ten more times for good measure. He stood at the table. Setting down items you couldn't see because of his broad figure. Head hung. Not in his jacket. But that was his white hair. The back of his blindfold. His voice.
Satoru. Your husband.
Tension drained from your shoulders. You sigh. Relieved. Then hitch— confused.
Why were you bound?
"Toru? What's going on?" You tugged on the restraints, pouted. "These are tight. What're you up to now?"
You were surprised. But you couldn't really be surprised at that. You signed up for a life full of uncertainties when you married the man, the maniac: Gojo Satoru. 'Always expect the unexpected' was surely in your wedding vows. Probably in fine print on your marriage certificate.
Was he trying something new? Some more kinky shit that he's always on about? You did say you wanted to try something new. Last thing you expected was for him to take it in a: lemme abduct my wife from the grocery store and lock her in a dingy basement kind of way, though.
Odd choice. Considering you've been dealing with kidnappings and ransoms since you slipped his pretty silver and sapphire ring on your finger.
"You know," you mumbled, tugging on your wrists again. "When I said something new, I was talking wax or something."
He chuckled. Deep and rich.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mhhm. But roleplay's fine too I guess. Just loosen this up a bit?"
It's your husband.
It's your husband.
It's your husband and his extraordinaire personality. Your husband and his knack for swiping the rug from beneath your feet.
So why were the hairs on your neck still standing?
He turned around. Something in hands. Small and black. You were flushing before you had the chance to shoot him something coy. Knees pressing together the way they always did when his lips set in that thin line. When from even beneath his blindfold you knew his eyes were serious. That rare firmness that had you gripping the sheets and tossing your head back into the pillow.
He approached. Lifted your face. The callouses kissed your jawline. His hands felt rougher. Your thighs quaked.
A thumb and forefinger grasped your chin. His touch felt warmer as he tilted your head. Side to side. Pale brow arched and lips set thinner.
He muttered something. You didn't hear. You were too focused on the item in his hand and his thumb that swiped to the base.
Click.
Your knees pressed tighter. Tummy looping. You anticipated buzzing.
Buzzing.
Where was the buzzing?
You flinched. Aching eyes screeching at the burst of light shone directly onto them. He pinched the item in his large hand and brought it to your eyes. Only then did you realise it was a torch.
"Uhm—" you winced again. His grip tightened. Holding you steady as he observed your constricting pupils.
"Satoru? What're you—"
"Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout it. Just making sure you don't have any brain damage."
"I— what?"
Brain damage? Why would your husband need to search you for that?
The answer throbbed from the back of your skull. Dull and aching. It only confused you more. Did he hit you? Hell— weren't you at the grocery store?
Did he.
Did Satoru fucking knock you out?
"Satoru— what the fuck is going on?"
Excitement bled into something darker. Something colder. The flutter in your tummy twisted. On instinct you tugged on the binds again.
He switched the torch off, but didn't answer.
"Satoru, this isn't funny." You tried to harden your voice. Your stare. In that way that always told him his joke was going too far. Or that your patience was running thin.
But your eyes quivered. Your heart stuttered. Hell— sprinted. A race off with your mind as you scrambled for answers. Tried to shove away anxieties and the growing fear gnawing at the back of your skull.
He only stared. Crooked his head. Silent.
Too silent for Satoru.
"Let me go— untie me." You repeated, brows pinched, fingers clenched. "This isn't funny. Untie—"
The chair rocked.
His hand shot to the back of it. Shoved it. So the front legs lifted off and your legs dangled in the air. Your yelp choked through the dark room and your body braced for the cold floor instinctively. Eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders squared.
It never came.
His long fingers curled around the backrest. Gripped it tight. Supporting the chair so that it dangled on its hind legs. So that your body limped back and cowered against it. Helpless. More helpless than you already were.
"Jumpy little thing, aren't you?"
He crooned. Velvet smoothed over a rasp from the back of his throat. He stared you down. The kind of stare that pinned you in place. The kind of stare that husbands don't look at their wives with.
"Wh-What're you—" you croaked, confusion drowning in your gaped eyes. "Satoru. Please. I'm scared."
He was silent again. Silent in the way that wasn't your husband. A quiet that pinched on your growing anxiety and weaved it into fear. Something rational. Real.
Easily, he brought the chair back. Smoothly resting it on the floor.
"Ouch. So he really hasn't talked about me, huh?"
He? Who's he?
Your frantic eyes glued to him as he withdrew and rounded back to the table. Setting down the torch and running a finger over the other items. Now that your eyes weren't bleary with sleep— you could see them clearly.
Blades.
Blades. A nail clipper. Was that a wooden rod? A bucket?
Your breath thinned. Heart lunged into your throat. Knees quaking— and not in the way they once were. When you thought this was all some kinky foreplay from your husband who took your suggestion into consideration.
"I. . ." you tried to find the words, the questions, anything but the fear weighing on the back of your tongue. "What's. . . What's going on? Where am I? Why are you—"
"So many questions. You talk this much to all your kidnappers or am I just special?"
You watched closely. Anxiously. As he swiped up one of the tools. A blade. A dagger to be precise. Unsheathed and narrowed at the tip. He tilted it in his hand. The steel glinted back into your eye.
Only then did you see the dangling lamp above your head. Dull like the rest of the room. Not enough to see where you were— but enough to see your body. To see him. See whatever he planned to do to you.
"Quite the hefty bounty on your head, y'know." He raised the knife, idly observing and fiddling with it. "Bigger than most. You must be one special girl, huh?"
He turned. Leaned back on the table with one hand on the edge as the other tipped the razed blade in your direction. "A shame, really. A waste of a pretty face."
The blade glinted your fate. Hanging from his hand like an extra limb rather than a weapon. As if his hands were sharper than steel. His fingers loaded with bullets.
Or maybe that was his tongue?
"So tell me. Does he always let you get caught up in his mess?"
There it was again. He. Who the hell was he talking about?
Your fingers curled deep in your palms. Wrists tight. Like your jaw. Like your heart. As you stared at the man that wore your husband's skin.
He sounded like your husband.
Looked like your husband.
Tall as him. The same fluffy white hair. The same black blindfold. Grinned with the same teeth as him.
Hell— joked like him too. Quick and crude. Sharp like a scalpel.
But you knew. Irrevocably. Unfathomably. The answer pulsed through your pumping veins and buzzed in the dizziness of your head. Soured in the nausea on your tongue.
This man— this thing— this creature in black that approached you with a blade in his hand rather than the beautiful bouquets you were so used to.
This wasn't your husband.
"Satoru."
You still called for him like it was. Like the name alone would save you. Soft and scared. Shaking as he loomed over you.
Maybe it was an act.
Maybe it was a joke.
Maybe he was really committed to the bit.
Maybe he'd laugh when he saw your tears and pull you into his arms.
Maybe he'd assure you that it was just a cruel trick. An early April fool's prank.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.
Your head inched away. Pressing further into the wooden chair that bit back in splinters through your clothes. "I. . . why— why are you acting like this? I'm scared."
He stopped in front of you. The phantom of your beloved. The nightmare that wore his skin and dared to try and charm you with his grin.
"Well maybe," he hummed. Leaning over you. Looming. His presence stabbing into you more than the binds did.
He raised a hand—
You flinched.
— and pinched at the corner of his blindfold.
Then peeled it back. Lifting one edge to his brow to reveal the same pale skin you'd kiss goodnight. The same blue eyes you'd wake up to every morning.
Beautiful. Brutal.
With a scar cleaved over one. Ugly. Violent.
Etched with years and carnage.
He leaned in. Close. Too close. To give you a better look. To burn it in your memory. "Cause I'm not your Satoru."
His head tilted. Like it was nothing. Like he was telling you about the weather.
"Make sense?" He crooned. Patted your cheek with the flat of his hand.
He didn't care for your shock nor your terror. Barely blinked at your gaped eyes and your parted mouth.
He just withdrew. His face at least, as he observed your stare. Brow arched. Lip quirked. "What? Think I'm pretty?"
"Who. . ." You quivered. "Are you?"
The cold dagger pressed smooth beneath your chin and nudged it. Tilting your head to him as he hummed.
"Gojo Satoshi."
.
.
.
What?
"I know. Real original." He rolled his eyes, sharp teeth peeking from his grin. "People hear 'twins' and go crazy with the names."
"Twins? What do you mean tw—"
"My brother's keeping you all pretty and dumb, huh?"
If you weren't so bewildered, you might have been offended.
Instead, you scrunched your brows. A hundred questions and a thousand theories racing through your panicked mind. The man before you looked like your husband. Sounded like your husband. Grinned and joked exactly like the man whose ring was on your finger.
He stood before you not as a curse. Not as something wearing Satoru's skin.
But as his twin. A twin you knew nothing about.
"I don't understand," you said, the crick in your neck tensing. "Satoru has a twin? He never told me."
"Course he didn't, dollface. I'm his dirty little secret."
Satoshi sighed, theatrical, as he withdrew the knife.
Then snapped! his arm. Fast. Too fast for you to react. Your flinch and yelp were delayed.
Thud!
The blade ripped into the wall behind you. Taking with it just a few strands of your hair. It barely grazed your cheek. But your heart still pounded. Eyes still glazed.
Despite it all, you managed to ask, "what do you want with me?"
Breathy, shaky, a hint of praying hope. As you hesitated to look up at him while he slipped the blindfold back over his eye. Hiding away the only thing that distinguished him from his twin.
"It's not you I want," he hummed, stepping away. Yet his stare lingered. Raking over every inch of you in a way that told you something else.
"Like I said, you got a nice price over your head. And Satoru's stupid enough to let a pretty thing like you go out alone."
Turning his back to you, he stretched his long arms above his head with a long sigh. "You see, my brother and I have some unfinished business. And unfortunately for him, he's got a weak spot now."
His head turned. Glancing at you from over his shoulder. There's that fucking grin again. That one that looked too much like the Satoru you knew and loved.
"So, enjoy your stay~"
Singing. He was singing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked to the door. Pushing it open and ignoring your protests together with the harsh scratching of rope.
"What does that even mean! Hey! Wait get back here— I have questions!"
"Same here. I mean, wax?"
You flushed. Growing stiff the second he decided to pick on your careless words from earlier. "That—"
His grin only grew. Head curving back to you once more. With his brow arched and his teeth glinting in the dim light.
"What? Embarrassed?" He cooed. "Not to worry. I won't tell Satoru a thing when he comes to get you."
"What so you're banking on that?"
"But of course."
He kicked the door wider. Revealing a staircase that he trekked up. Leaving you behind in the dark basement with questions etched into all four walls. Still tugging on your restraints and thrashing in the chair.
Until he called back down to you. Stiffening you in cold sweat. His voice echoed. Casual. Too casual for a statement so weaved in hatred.
♡ ₊˚‧ introducing eden's original book series. which I'll be writing reader inserts for <3
featuring a monster slayer by the name arilisse. the lands sweetest, most skilled slayer & . . . monsterfucker? join her journey in seducing, not slaying, the things that go hump in the night— we mean bump in the night.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ࣪ა ࣪˖
a place where humans and monsters are at odds with each other. humans tend to fear the unknown and monsters tend to feed into it. as such, for centuries there has been bad blood between the two.
monster slayers or rather ‘slayers’ are a species derived from some of the first witches. however, their blood has been watered down to the point where there's not too indistinguishable from humans other than their advanced physicality and magic abilities.
they act as a comfortable in middle ground between monster and humans, although, it's safe do say they're more on the humans side of things.
in recent centuries they've become sharpened their skills in monster hunting and handling supernatural grievances. now more institutionalised more than anything, they often respond to humans' distressed regarding monster. ranging from anything to investigating mysterious occurrences and battling off demonic entities. their purpose is purely to keep the supernatural in check.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ࣪ა ࣪˖
♡ ₊˚‧ ARILISSE :: the sweetest slayer
꒰ the slayer : the newest & most skilled monster slayer of her generation, yet she hasn't hurt a single monster . . . ꒱
♡ ₊˚‧ VALERIUS :: the charming fangs
꒰ the vampire : the charming ‘vampire king’, adored by his people. lives on his lonesome in his castle estate. with a darker side & viciousness towards humans. ꒱
♡ ₊˚‧ RHYRAËL :: the shadowman
꒰ the boogeyman : the sinister, sadistic & seductive encapsulation of humanity's fear. a lurker of the shadows. the king of monsters. the thing that goes bump in the night. ꒱
♡ ₊˚‧ SHEKAR :: the jungle guardian
꒰ the naga : a sly & cunning but dutiful guardian of a bustling jungle. soured by overhunting but ever wise in his methods. ꒱
what was supposed to be a night of quick fun, a good lay with ryomen sukuna quickly snowballed into you ending up pregnant from a one night stand. it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t something planned, and your baby daddy wasn’t exactly eager, but you’d manage. right?
PAIRING: frat bro ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader (with hints of nerd!jo x reader)
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unprotected sex. unplanned pregnancy. the topic of abortion. sukuna being a dick. maybe (probably) inaccurate depictions of frat life. more included in the individual posts.
SERIES MASTERLIST
01. DOUBLE SHOTS & DOUBLE LINES
you’re out of your element at one of the frat parties sukuna’s hosting, left to your own devices for most of the night. one thing leads to another, you’re in his bed tonight and with a positive test five weeks later?
02. THE NERD WHO STEPPED UP
without a ride and any support, you find yourself at an abortion clinic with your roommate’s best friend, satoru gojo. do you do it, do you not do it, the thoughts haunt you, gojo’s there to stick by your side through it all.
03. FRAT BRO’S DILEMMA
ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?
04. BABY SHOWER BEAT DOWN
if you asked to be tagged before this, dw i got you :3 but if you’d like to be added (or removed) at any point, please let me know!
