jade

could it be enough to just float in your orbit?

[applelite]

*ੈ‧₊˚ 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒!

𖦹 jade ─── ⋆ 20 :: she/her :: reader :: baker :: mediocre artist :: neji, naruto, inumaki, & yuji lover

✧ current media: watching Naruto & reading JJK

✧ fun fact: my user is a mix between “apple”, my home nickname, & opalite

✧ requests: open

request rules my favorite works

[sc6ro]

picking flowers with husband!sukuna

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 the king of curses has a soft spot for his flower-adoring wife | set in heian era

the sun hangs low, bleeding gold through the maple leaves. sukuna’s shadow stretches long across the garden path, his footsteps silent on the moss.

"oi," sukuna rumbles, nudging your ankle with the toe of his sandal. "quit dawdling." you glance up from where you’re crouched, fingers sticky with crushed petals, and he’s looking down at you like you’re something precious he dug out of the earth himself. his mouth twitches when you pout. "or what, king of curses? gonna curse me?"

he snorts and reaches down, plucking you up by the back of your robes like a misbehaving kitten. you squawk, kicking at nothing as he tucks you against his chest with effortless ease. "tch. woman." his voice vibrates through you, warm and deep. "should make you carry all the flowers back yourself." but his arms don't loosen, not even when you bite his thumb in retaliation.

the path winds through the garden, past overgrown thickets of wildflowers and tangled vines sukuna never bothers to tame. he lets you pick whatever catches your eye—sloppy handfuls of chrysanthemums, crooked sprigs of lavender you shove behind his ears when he isn't looking. he pretends not to notice until you giggle, then flicks your forehead with a clawed finger. "brat."

later, when the sun sinks lower and the light turns syrupy, he sprawls beneath the gnarled cherry tree with you draped across his lap. you twist a buttercup between your fingers, holding it up to the light while sukuna traces idle patterns along your spine. "yellow doesn't suit you," he mutters, plucking it from your grip and tossing it aside. you huff. "you're the worst."

"says the man who stole my flower," you grumble, reaching up to tug at the stray lavender still tucked behind his ear. sukuna catches your wrist before you can dislodge it, his thumb brushing over your pulse in a way that makes your breath hitch. "keep your thieving hands to yourself, woman," he says, but there’s no heat in it—just that low, amused rumble that curls warm under your ribs.

the breeze carries the scent of crushed grass and the distant murmur of the stream where sukuna sometimes drags you to wash pollen from your hair. you shift against him, tucking your cheek against the dip of his collarbone, and he exhales through his nose like you’re being difficult on purpose. (you are.) his claws scrape lightly over your shoulder, blunt enough not to tear fabric but sharp enough to make you shiver. "should’ve left you in the dirt with the rest of the weeds," he mutters.

you pinch his side in retaliation, grinning when he growls and tightens his grip. "liar. you like me." sukuna’s mouth twitches, and for a heartbeat, you think he might actually admit it—but then he flicks your nose, his smirk widening when you scrunch your face in protest. "that is why i married you, didn't i?"

you stick your tongue out at him, but the effect is ruined when he catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softens into something quieter, something warmer. "dumb woman," he murmurs, but the insult lacks teeth—it's closer to an endearment than anything else. you lean into his touch, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb just to watch his expression flicker.

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose and tugs you closer, until your forehead bumps against his collarbone. "insolent," he mutters, but his hands are gentle as they slide down to cradle the curve of your waist. the lavender behind his ear has slipped loose, petals brushing your cheek when he leans down to nose at your hair.

the lavender falls completely now, petals scattering across your lap as sukuna tilts his head. his breath ghosts over your lips—warm, familiar, edged with the barest hint of impatience. you can feel the way his claws flex against your waist, not quite digging in but close enough to make your stomach flutter. "staring won't make me do all the work, woman," he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even as your lashes brush his cheeks.

you bite back a laugh and press forward, catching his bottom lip between yours. it’s clumsy, off-center, and sukuna huffs through his nose before adjusting the angle with a hand at your jaw. his mouth slots against yours properly then, slow and deliberate, all rough edges softened by the way his thumb strokes the line of your throat. when you sigh into it, he licks into your mouth like he’s savoring the taste, like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again.

"should’ve married someone quieter," sukuna grumbles against your mouth, but the way his fingers flex against your waist betrays him. you hum, nipping at his lower lip just to hear the low rumble in his chest. "too late now," you murmur, and his teeth scrape your tongue in retaliation—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch. the lavender crushed between your fingers stains his robes purple when you fist them in the fabric, tugging him closer until his weight presses you into the grass.

he breaks the kiss first, exhaling sharply through his nose when you whine. "impatient," he mutters, but his thumb brushes your cheekbone anyway, smearing pollen across your skin. you wrinkle your nose at him, and his smirk widens. "look at you. covered in dirt and flowers like some wild thing." his claws trace the curve of your jaw, blunt enough not to break skin but sharp enough to make you shiver. "disgraceful."

"love you," you murmur against his collarbone, lips brushing skin still warm from the sun. sukuna goes still beneath you, his claws pausing mid-stroke along your spine. you can feel the way his chest rises with a slow inhale, deliberate, like he's measuring his next words.

"tch." he flicks your earlobe, the motion half-hearted at best. "don't got time for your nonsense." but his palm settles heavier against the small of your back, pressing you closer until your heartbeat thuds against his ribs. you grin into his skin, nipping the hollow of his throat just to feel him growl. "liar. you like my nonsense."

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, tilting your chin up with one claw. his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, smearing pollen and something sweeter. "woman," he mutters, and it sounds like a warning, but his eyes track the way your tongue darts out to lick his thumb clean. "should sew your mouth shut."

ryomen sukuna didn't believe in love, but if that was the word you'd use for what he felt for you—he would gladly fall victim to its curse.

a/n: this might be ooc.. but i dont rlly care okay! YES sukuna would do this.

[belchyra]

Without fanfare

[ SYNOPSIS ] — You're a hopeless romantic dating Megumi Fushiguro, convinced he's too quiet and aloof for grand gestures, you never ask for the things you secretly want. But Megumi has been paying attention all along. w.c: 2.5k [ PAIRING ] — bf!megumi fushiguro x hopeless romantic!reader [ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, fluff, no angst. art by: @/sa2men THIS FIC IS A REQUEST!

The moment you fell in love with Megumi Fushiguro, you made a quiet, private peace with the fact that he would never be the kind of boyfriend who showed up with flowers.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. If anything, he cared more than anyone you’d ever known. He just showed it differently. He walked on the street side of the sidewalk without ever mentioning it. He remembered your coffee order, down to the half-sugar, and never got it wrong. When you were sick, he showed up with medicine and a bag of the specific crackers you could stomach, no fanfare, no fuss. He sat through movies he clearly didn’t enjoy because you wanted to see them, and he never complained, only glancing at you every so often to see if you were having a good time.

He was steady. That was the word for him. He was the quiet, constant presence that made everything feel more manageable. And you loved him for it. You really did.

But you also loved romance. The kind of romance that made your heart flutter in your chest, the kind that belonged in books and movies and the daydreams you indulged in when you were alone. You loved the idea of being surprised with something thoughtful just because someone had been thinking of you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers. A box of chocolates you’d mentioned wanting to try once, in passing. A handwritten note tucked somewhere you’d find it. Small things, really. Silly things, maybe. But they mattered to you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You’d never told Megumi any of this. It felt too vulnerable, too much like asking for something you weren’t sure he could give. What if you asked and he tried, and it was awkward and forced and you both ended up feeling worse? What if he thought it was frivolous, a waste of time and money? You’d rather have nothing than have something that made him uncomfortable.

So you kept that part of yourself tucked away. You watched your romance movies with your headphones on so he wouldn’t catch you sniffling over a love confession. You scrolled past flower shop displays without slowing down. When you saw couples on the street holding elaborate bouquets, you looked away and reminded yourself that your relationship was good, that it was solid, that you didn’t need that stuff.

And you didn’t need it. That was the thing. You wanted it, quietly and privately, but you didn’t need it. You could live without it. You’d been doing it for years.

• ───────────────── •

The first time you let something slip, it was an accident.

You were walking together through a neighborhood you didn’t visit often, on your way to a new café a coworker had recommended. It was a spring morning, sunny and cool, and you were in a good mood. Megumi walked beside you with his hands in his jacket pockets, quiet as usual, but that was comfortable. You’d learned to fill the silence when you wanted to, and to let it be when you didn’t.

You passed a small florist shop, the kind that spilled out onto the sidewalk with buckets of fresh-cut stems and greenery. The scent hit you before you even saw them—sweet and clean and a little bit heady. White lilies. Tall, elegant, their petals just beginning to open.

You made a small sound without meaning to. Something pleased.

Megumi glanced at you. “What?”

“Nothing. I just love lilies.” You gestured toward them as you walked, not breaking stride. “They smell amazing. My mom used to keep them in the house when I was a kid. I always said I’d have them everywhere when I grew up.”

He looked at the lilies, then back at you. “Why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. Seems impractical. They don’t last that long.” You shrugged. “Anyway, where’s this café supposed to be? I think we might have passed it.”

And that was it. The conversation moved on. You found the café, you ordered pastries, you argued lightly about whether the coffee was better than your usual spot. It was an ordinary morning, and you didn’t think about the lilies again.

Megumi did.

• ───────────────── •

The second time was a few weeks later, on a rainy evening after work.

You’d met up to grab dinner at a casual ramen shop, and afterward you were walking toward the station, huddled under the umbrella Megumi held. Your arm was linked through his, more for warmth than anything else, and you were in the middle of telling him about your day when you spotted it.

A chocolate shop. Not just any chocolate shop—La Maison du Chocolat, the one you’d read about in a magazine ages ago. The storefront was sleek and glowing, and through the window you could see rows of truffles in neat little lines, each one dusted or glazed or decorated like a tiny piece of art.

“Oh,” you said, pointing. “That’s the place. The really fancy one.”

Megumi followed your gaze. “Have you been?”

“No. It’s way too expensive.” You slowed down a little, just enough to get a better look at the window display. “But I’ve always been curious. They say the dark chocolate ones with the gold on top are incredible.”

He didn’t respond, but that wasn’t unusual. You kept walking, and after a moment you added, “Maybe one day. For a birthday or something.”

That was all. You didn’t stop. You didn’t stare. You just made a comment and moved on, because it wasn’t that serious. It was chocolate. It didn’t matter.

Megumi looked back once, through the rain, at the name above the door.

• ───────────────── •

The third time wasn’t about something you wanted. It was about something you felt.

You were at his apartment on a weekday evening, both of you doing your own things in the same room. Megumi was at his desk, typing something for work, and you were curled up on the couch with a book. It was a romance novel—the kind you’d normally hide or at least angle away from him—but you’d gotten too comfortable and forgotten to be self-conscious.

The scene you were reading was a love confession. The main character had written a letter. A short, simple, devastatingly earnest letter that laid out everything he’d noticed about the person he loved, all the little things he’d never said out loud. It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just true.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear landed on the page.

You sniffled and wiped your face quickly, but Megumi had already turned around. He had this sixth sense for your moods, always had. He didn’t say anything, just watched you with a small furrow in his brow.

“I’m fine,” you said, before he could ask. “It’s just the book.”

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing bad. He just…” You searched for the right words. “He wrote her a letter. Telling her all the things he notices about her. The small things. And she didn’t know he was paying attention, but he was. The whole time.”

Megumi was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He studied your face for a second longer, then turned back to his laptop. “Okay.”

You laughed a little, still blotting your eyes. “Sorry. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push. You went back to your book, and he went back to his work, and the evening continued as it always did.

But Megumi had been paying attention. He was always paying attention. And what he’d noticed over the past several months was this: you never asked for anything. Not once. Not for flowers, not for chocolate, not for letters or grand gestures or any of the things you clearly loved. You consumed romance like it was a secret language, and you never, ever expected him to speak it.

He thought about that a lot.

And then he decided to do something about it.

• ───────────────── •

Today had been terrible, so terrible that it made you want to crawl into bed the second you got home. You’d had a long day—too many meetings, too many emails, too many tiny frustrations that added up into exhaustion. By the time you reached your apartment building, your shoulders were tight and your mind was foggy and all you wanted was to sit in silence for an hour.

You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stopped.

Something smelled good. Floral. You couldn’t place it at first. Then you looked toward the kitchen and saw them.

White lilies. A whole bunch of them, arranged in a clear glass vase on the counter, their petals unfolding like they’d been waiting for you. They were beautiful. Simple and elegant and exactly the kind you’d pointed out weeks ago on a sunny Saturday morning.

Next to the vase was a box you recognized immediately. La Maison du Chocolat. Dark navy packaging, ivory ribbon. The exact one you’d looked at through a rainy window.

You didn’t move. You just stood in the doorway with your keys still in your hand, trying to process what you were seeing. Your brain felt slow, like it couldn’t catch up to your eyes.

Megumi was sitting on the couch, his laptop open on the coffee table. He glanced up when you came in, the same way he always did, like it was perfectly normal for there to be lilies and expensive chocolate on your kitchen counter on a random day.

“Hi,” he said.

You stared at him. Then at the flowers. Then back at him. “Did you…?”

He closed his laptop and stood. “You said you liked lilies. On the way to that café.” He walked over to where you were still frozen in the doorway. “And the chocolate place. You said you were curious about it.”

Your voice came out a little hoarse. “That was weeks ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I just mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d—”

“I know.” He shrugged, just slightly. His ears were pink. “But you were so happy when you looked at them.”

You looked at the lilies again, then at the chocolate, and your throat tightened in a way that was both familiar and foreign. You’d felt this exact feeling a hundred times while reading books or watching movies, but never in real life. Never aimed at you.

“Megumi.” You swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to.” He said it plainly, no self-deprecation, no false modesty. Just a fact. “I wanted to.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was full of things—gratitude, surprise, something that felt dangerously close to tears—but none of it made it to your mouth.

Megumi reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was small, just a sheet torn from a notebook, the edges a little uneven. He held it out to you.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he said. “But I wrote something.”

You took it with careful fingers. His handwriting was neat, a little cramped. The note was short.

I love you, I hope you like this. You deserve it all and more. -M

That was it. Three sentences. Not a grand declaration, not a poetic outpouring. Just a really quiet confession.

You read it three times anyway.

When you looked up, Megumi was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite name. He looked almost uncertain, which was rare for him. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d done enough, or if he’d done it right, or if you even wanted this at all.

“Is it okay?” he asked.

You let out a breath that was half a laugh. “Is it okay? Megumi, this is more than okay.”

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Good.”

You stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed your face into the fabric of his sweater. He hugged you back without hesitation, one hand resting on your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“Thank you,” you said, muffled against his chest.

His voice rumbled above you. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

He didn’t argue. He just held you for a moment longer, and you let yourself be held, the scent of lilies filling the apartment around you.

When you finally pulled back, you were smiling.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said again. “I would’ve been fine without any of this.”

“I know you would have.” He met your eyes. “But you shouldn’t have to be.”

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest. You looked at him—at this boy who barely said those three words half the time, who hated attention, who never made a show of anything—and you understood, maybe for the first time, that he’d been paying attention all along, especially to the things you wanted but were too afraid to ask for.

“I didn’t think you were the type,” you admitted quietly. “For this kind of thing.”

“I’m not.” He said it without shame. “But I can try, if you want me to.”

You nodded, and there was something loosening in your chest, something you’d been holding onto for so long you’d forgotten it was there. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He glanced at the chocolate. “You want to try those? I’ve been waiting for you to get home for an hour.”

You laughed, real and genuine. “You could’ve started without me.”

“Didn’t want to.”

He opened the box with careful fingers and held it out to you. Inside, the chocolates were lined up in neat rows, each one glistening under the kitchen light. The dark chocolate one with the gold dust was right there in the corner, like he’d saved it for you on purpose.

You picked it up and bit into it. The chocolate was rich and smooth, not too sweet, with a faint bitter edge that lingered on your tongue. It was, without question, the best chocolate you’d ever eaten.

“This is absurd,” you said, your mouth still half-full. “It’s so good.”

Megumi watched you, and the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, just enough that you noticed. “Good.”

You spent the rest of the evening on the couch, the box of chocolates between you and the lilies scenting the air. He ate a few of the chocolates, mostly the ones you handed him. You talked about your day, about his, about nothing in particular. It was just a casual day after all.

Except now there were lilies on the counter. A note in your pocket. And something quiet and steady settling in the space between you, something that felt a lot like being known.

Before bed, you put the lilies in the center of the table where you’d see them first thing in the morning. Megumi came up behind you while you were adjusting the vase, and he didn’t say anything. He just put his chin on your shoulder, a brief, light touch, and then went to brush his teeth.

You smiled at the flowers. You didn’t need the grand gestures, you never had. But it was nice to know that he saw that part of you, the secret romantic you’d kept hidden for so long, and didn’t think it was silly or too much or not worth the effort.

He’d noticed. He’d remembered. And in your eyes, that was its own kind of romance.

© belchyra. All rights reserved. Do not republish, translate, steal, or feed my work to AI.

[heartkaji]

ⵌ LOVE OVER LOBLAWS ! 𝖿𝗍. 𝗍𝗈𝗃𝗂

AITA FOR POSING AS A RICH MAN TO PULL A RICH GIRL..?

sum. when toji falls for the hot lady that frequents his shifts at the local grocery store, can his frat brothers help him pose as a rich hot bachelor ? or will you discover his kid & true identity first ? [n]sfw

cast : nerdjo (‘toru’ gojo) + frat! jjk men (‘sigma chi’) : fratjo (‘sato’ gojo) ◞ geto ◞ toji ◞ sukuna ◞ nanami 𓏲 gallery here !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #1: BUMS DON’T GET THE GIRL !

taught by: sato, suguru, sukuna

“brokie and a baby daddy but you wanna pull y/n? don’t even joke, lad.”

ΣΧ

toji zenin is pretending to stack boxes in the third aisle of the local loblaws.

well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.

but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.

“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”

toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.

it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.

he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.

he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.

“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.

you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”

toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”

“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”

he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”

you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?

he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.

fuck.

toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”

“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.

you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.

in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.

ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !

“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”

toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.

in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.

sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”

“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”

“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”

“oh, i’m not hungry..”

sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”

sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”

sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”

toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”

sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”

“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”

but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”

toji’s jaw only tightens.

sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”

toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.

suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”

sukuna and toji both perk up.

“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”

sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”

suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”

“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”

“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”

sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”

sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”

on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.

but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.

“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”

SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?

taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru

“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”

ΣΧ

megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.

sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.

hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“

suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”

“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”

“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”

toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”

“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”

megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”

sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.

he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”

megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”

“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.

——

“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”

megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.

megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”

“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”

“my father is poor.”

“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”

suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”

suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”

megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”

“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”

sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!

sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”

“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.

and then he screams.

“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”

sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“

sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.

megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.

he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.

ⵌ AT THE DATE !

in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.

toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.

“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.

“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”

your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”

toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.

he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.

so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.

but all good things must come to an end.

toji’s phone buzzes.

loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”

“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”

“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”

1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡

his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”

you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”

he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.

“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”

toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.

in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“

you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”

toji’s soul leaves his body.

“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“

he ends the call before you can hear any more.

“do you have a son?”

toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?

“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”

toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”

he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.

“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”

SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !

taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo

“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“

ΣΧ

toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.

geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.

“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”

“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”

“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.

“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”

“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”

“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”

toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”

toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”

toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”

“no.”

“why not?”

"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."

toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”

“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”

toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.

god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.

“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”

ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.

“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”

you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.

his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”

“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.

“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”

toji doesn’t let you take another step.

you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”

careful what you wish for.

toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.

he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.

“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”

oh.

your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.

your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”

he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”

you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.

his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“

“hold it, baby.”

your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.

toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.

you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—

“ow!”

toji freezes.

in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.

“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”

you pull out a tiny, red brick.

you blink. “a lego?”

for the second time this evening, toji freezes.

he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”

“toji, why do you have a lego?”

he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”

ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.

but then you see it.

on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.

and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.

DADDY AND ME.

your body goes still.

toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.

“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”

toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.

“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”

“your left hand…”

your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.

toji zenin does not study sociology.

TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.

BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !

taught by: sato gojo

“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”

ΣΧ

it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.

megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.

“why does everyone always leave me?”

the trio freeze.

megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”

“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”

the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.

they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?

sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.

“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”

“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”

megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.

“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”

suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”

megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.

megumi nods, “yeah.”

“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”

“i’ll get the paper!”

“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”

the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.

he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

when you open the car door, you look like a dream.

your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.

“Hi.” you blink at him.

“Hi.”

he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”

you don’t respond.

the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.

he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.

“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.

“yeah, baby?”

“where are we going?”

toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”

he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.

you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”

he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”

“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.

“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”

toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?

“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”

“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”

maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.

he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”

you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.

the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.

three minutes pass before he returns to the car.

three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?

megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.

the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.

so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.

“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”

yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.

“no,” toji lies.

you purse your lips. “okay.”

the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—

“daddy?”

toji’s blood runs cold.

in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”

toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.

he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”

megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”

toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”

he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.

“is this your son?”

toji’s mouth dries.

he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.

“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”

he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”

“hi, pretty lady.”

megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.

you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.

“i think you should take me home.”

???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !

taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.

“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”

ΣΧ

it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.

he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.

“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”

toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”

“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”

nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.

“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”

megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”

“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”

the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.

megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”

toji frowns. “for what?”

“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”

toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”

he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”

five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.

megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.

then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.

toji zenin eats it right off.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.

you no longer frequent the local loblaws.

and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.

call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.

no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.

toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.

he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.

“let me help.”

you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.

he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”

you tilt your head. “do you?”

he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”

he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”

“hi, auntie.”

your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.

“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”

megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.

toji frowns.

megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.

“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”

“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”

megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.

“what the hell is happening?”

“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.

toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”

toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”

you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”

“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.

toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.

“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”

you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”

you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”

“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”

you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”

megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”

you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.

megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.

how greedy.

how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.

how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.

he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.

now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.

his heart aches.

“i’m sorry.”

sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.

“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”

“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”

toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.

and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”

toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.

“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”

BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !

“who are you?”

the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.

you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.

and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.

toji.

megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.

“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”

“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”

oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”

you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.

“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”

work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”

“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”

“oh, baby…”

toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.

you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?

but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.

“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”

“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.

“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”

megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”

“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”

megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”

your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”

megumi pulls back. “you promise?”

you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”

EPILOGUE !

on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.

megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”

toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”

megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”

toji softens.

all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.

toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”

“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”

“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.

megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”

toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”

———

when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.

the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.

he sucks in a breath and opens the door.

“hi, pretty.”

“move. i’m not here for you.”

you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.

“auntie?”

“oh, my baby!”

you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”

“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.

toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.

toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”

you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”

“you still mad at me?”

of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.

toji zenin is such a sap.

he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.

megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”

you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”

“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”

“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”

toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.

“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”

toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.

megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”

“hm, gummy?”

megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”

you freeze.

megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?

“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”

“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”

“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”

it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”

when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.

there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.

and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?

so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.

“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”

“auntie made my face all sticky..”

toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.

MEGUMI’S REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMS…?

#SIGMA CHI STORIES !

LOVE OVER LOBLAWS, end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

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[applelite]

This was incredibly intimate to draw (based off that gojo & cinnamoroll pic)

[ohimsummer]

PUPPY DOG TRAINING ft. SATORU GOJO

— minors dni, satoru x puppy hybrid! reader, possessive! reader, hybrid au, virgin! + afab! reader, humongous c0ck satoru LOL, hole training, (mentions of) p -> v penetration, fingering, masturbation, reader w/ pubic hair

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ this has been in my drafts since april of last year </3 i finally decided to just split it into two parts cause i've been wanting to post it for a while now but i hadn't ever finished it SO! two parter 💪🏾

wc 3185

ding, ding!

the lady at the counter shifts her gaze towards the door. her back straightens once spotting the new visitor, and she grins.

"welcome in! please let me know if you need any help."

satoru only gives a short wave as he makes a beeline to a particular section of the store, marked overhead by a sign that reads 'puppy playhouse'. there's a large play area surrounded by chest-high, glass barriers and occupied by an assortment of canine hybrids. but he's searching for someone specific.

a flash of pink catches his observant eye, and satoru spots exactly who he's looking for:

you're sprawled out on your belly in a corner of the play pen, gnawing on a squeaky plush bone and about as isolated as you can get from the other frolicking dog hybrids. you seem content with your current task, idly swinging your tail and mostly ignoring everyone else. even at this distance, you look just as cute as you did on the shop's website.

satoru trails around the glass partition until he's standing in front of you. his lingering presence attracts your attention—he's tall and broad and you can sense a powerful aura radiating off him. not to mention, he's handsome, too, with a charming smile that sends your tail swaying wildly. an ideal mate, to be honest.

your keen nose twitches at the tantalizing combination of both sweets and his natural aroma. it's intriguing and makes your senses go a bit haywire.

satoru grins as you spring to your feet, bone in tow, tail still swishing eagerly as you walk over to greet him. you're even more adorable up close, with big, round eyes, long lashes, soft cheeks, and velvety ears that flop over your hair.

"hey, miss.", satoru calls to the attendant. "i want her, please."

getting familiar with your new home is a walk in the park. satoru, now your new owner, had already prepared the apartment for your arrival. he's stocked up on treats, plushies, several collars, and even your own pretty, pink recliner occupying a corner of the living room. it's horribly out of place amongst the rest of his interior, but perfect for curling up in his lap and taking naps on.

more importantly, satoru has granted you an entire room to yourself. "eh, it was one of my guest rooms, but now i'm giving it to you, pretty." and it is a nice room, complete with a queen-sized bed, heart-shaped vanity, and an assortment of toys and plushies waiting to either be chewed on or cuddled with.

despite the initial excitement of having your own bedroom, you rarely ever sleep there. after the first week or so, you made it a habit of prancing right into satoru's room—whether he was there or not—and making yourself comfy in his king bed. you preferred when he was home so you could push your way between his arms and snuggle into his chest, though just being wrapped in the fluffy, satoru-scented sheets was still heavenly by itself. it only took a month living with him before you were fully obsessed.

getting to know satoru was even easier. from the initial car ride home to when your eyes shut for bed, the two of you never stopped talking. doesn't matter what you said, what you asked, what you poked and prodded about, he had an answer for everything. satoru was also completely comfortable with your constant displays of affection, even returning it tenfold on day one. you'd wrap yourself around his arm and follow him anywhere, and satoru would respond with a smile and head pat.

he actively welcomed you into his personal space. you loved resting your head on his shoulder, falling asleep to satoru stroking your ears. other times you would hop into his lap, tossing both arms around satoru's neck before rubbing your cheeks against his. being so restless, you wriggled in satoru's lap a lot, which he didn't mind, per se, though he would eventually grab your hips and sit you still. it never clicked why until satoru had stopped your squirming and the heat in the pit of your belly would register. and also the sudden hardness you were sitting on that definitely wasn't there before. you weren't necessarily an idiot about breeding, but the shop you came from didn't let their hybrids reproduce, so this made you...curious, to say the least.

you were enamoured with satoru. he treated you well, spoiled you rotten, loved you hard. you couldn't find a single downside about living with him,

unless you considered the...guests he would have over.

they were rarely men, usually women. lucky because you had a low tolerance for pretty much any man who wasn't satoru. aside from his one friend—suguru, you think?—with the long black hair who always led you into his arms. the one who would squish your cheeks between his fingers and study you as he listened to your idle chatter. that was, until satoru decided you'd paid suguru enough attention, patting his own lap, and a victorious gleam would grace his pretty blue eyes at the speed in which you'd break out of his friend's embrace and hop over into his. regardless of how kind or inviting suguru was, they both knew who your heart belonged to.

as for women...honestly, you weren't too fond of them, either. satoru would come in late some nights with one on his arm, both of them drunk and giggling. other times you'd peep out into the hallway and he'd be carrying them to his bedroom, slamming it shut and you'd have to listen to her loud moans as satoru, your satoru, had his way with her. those nights, you'd be forced to sleep in your own room.

the thought of satoru sharing his affections with others made you sick with possession. after all the effort you'd put into rubbing your scent all over him and his bed and his things, you'd have to mark your territory all over again to get rid of the stranger stench his guests would always leave behind. satoru was adamant that his bed was your bed, and you despised the idea of some person, man or woman, sleeping where you belonged. it made you feel bitter. it made you feel jealous.

one morning, you bit the person he'd brought the previous night. a woman with fair skin and brown hair down her back who was a little too comfortable with the layout of his house. you didn't get the chance to draw blood like you wanted, but you were happy to have hurt her nonetheless. that's what she got for her little invasion.

"god-, i'm so sorry." satoru stumbled into the nearest bathroom, reappearing with alcohol, tissues, and a box of bandaids. "they don't usually bite."

technically true, but that's only because you'd never felt the urge. his other guests would settle on waving or just ignoring you entirely as satoru ushered them to his room. who did this woman think she was, trying to pet you? really, it was her own fault.

"naughty girl.", satoru sighs and pinches your ear after she's left. "you can't go around biting people."

it seemed a bit hypocritical considering he liked to nibble on your neck or thighs when you two were alone and suck marks into them. he'd also giggle about how your teeth tickled whenever you gently gnawed on his fingers or arms or neck. just more of satoru's enabling behavior.

and it's not like he'd given you any kind of training when he brought you here. that's why you were spoiled. satoru let you chew on him. he let you occupy half his bed when you had a perfectly fine room to yourself. he let you litter toys all over the apartment, his bedroom included. satoru let you steal bites of his food, though sometimes he'd make you whine and pout and blink your cute puppy-dog eyes at him and beg for it (all while knowing he was going to say yes, anyway). he let you shove your pretty new phone in his face and whimper about whatever new thing you just had to have. spoiled.

the closest thing you ever got to a real scolding or proper training was when satoru spontaneously decided he didn't want you doing something, because he'd just discovered you doing said something five minutes before and didn't like it. you don't leave the house alone anymore because he told you not to. 'it's safer if i'm with you' he said. you don't get bored and devour half the tasty sweets in his fridge anymore because he spanked you for it. and you don't kiss suguru's face to greet him anymore because jealously is a disease, and satoru's cure involved making you grind on his thigh all night long until he thought you'd learned your lesson.

so, this was really just another impromptu rule. something satoru had decided in the moment needed to be corrected: don't bite the guests i have over.

you remain bothered by satoru's preference to bring other people into his, your home, for the purpose of breeding with them. he's your mate after all. one might find it silly to consider him one rather than your owner. but also, isn't he? your mate?

he treats you like one. squeezes your cheeks til your lips pucker and pecks wet kisses on them until you're a giggling mess. he runs a bath on quiet nights and leaves he door open, a silent offer to join him if you'd like (and you do). he bites at your neck, marking you like a mate, and refreshes the reddened bruises on your skin whenever they begin to fade. at first it was because you'd bite first, but satoru soon admitted he grew to like seeing them on you. it makes your tail twitch, ears perk up, heart flutter, knowing he's claiming you. of course you think he's your mate when he acts like one.

the obvious next step would be to breed with you, then, no? but it's coming up on six months and he hasn't made a move. satoru has never penetrated you, with his cock or fingers. the farthest he's went is grinding you down on his bulge until you both came, and that's far from good enough, in your opinion.

"how come we don't breed?", you ask him curiously from the bathroom doorway. he always leaves the door unlocked, or sometimes wide open. nothing to hide and, if satoru's lucky, you'll hop in the shower with him.

"hm?" satoru raises his white brows at you in the mirror, spitting out toothpaste before going to rinse.

despite rehearsing this conversation in your head, the words begin to sizzle away on your tongue. it doesn't help that he's just in a towel, body damp from the shower. his back muscles look woefully empty of your teeth marks. "you–, you always bring those other people here, all the time. why not breed with me?"

you see his shoulders tremble, and huff because you can tell he's trying to hold back giggles.

"firstly," satoru says, huffing out a laugh, "you can call it sex, pretty girl. because like–, it's–, no one really–". he stops, sighs. "i don't know, just don't call it breeding."

"okay.", you nod. "so?"

satoru peeks at you again through the mirror, blue eyes piercing into yours. "dunno. i kinda don't wanna scare you. or break you, for that matter."

his words draw your ears to attention, and your head tilts. "break me? how would you do that?" and then you think for another second. "also, you wouldn't scare me! we're mates!"

satoru studies you for a moment, then shakes his head and releases a louder chuckle. "baby, you've never had sex before."

"how do you know that?"

"well, have you?" satoru's giving you that look like he already knows the answer. the one that makes you feel feisty, because you want to throw a wrench in the situation just to be a brat, but you know he's expecting that, too.

"no..."

"uh huh.", is all he says. and then, satoru turns to you and he's undoing the towel around his waist.

he lets it fall to the floor and you give him several, wide-eyed blinks. you've never actually seen his dick before in all it's glory—only half-hard through his pants or boxers before he pulls you into his lap.

it's huge. even limp, it's bigger than anything you could have imagined. it's like the width of your fucking wrist. and even though the drool is pooling up in your mouth, all you can think is 'holy shit' and wonder how it would fit inside you soft, let alone thick and heavy when he's hard.

"still wanna try?", satoru asks. you can't speak, only hear him burst out laughing at your slack-jawed expression as you continue gawking at his dick. satoru ruffles your hair as he leaves the bathroom fully nude. it's patronizing. it's the same thing he does when he holds your favorite treats high above his head and tells you to grab them, knowing you can't reach. a mockery.

long after he's left for a work trip, satoru's words continue bouncing around in your head. he doesn't want to scare you. nonsense. even with his intimidating size, you would never be afraid of him. maybe nervous, but...still not scared. and you're going to prove it to him.

if satoru is worried about your first time taking his cock, then the obvious solution is training yourself to take it. but first: research. living in various hybrid shops your whole life meant never having a chance to be bred. or have sex, whatever satoru wanted you to say. and it also meant taking suppressant pills to stop whatever heats you may have had once you reached a certain age. workers at the shop were careful with not allowing any frisky behavior between hybrids, so your sensual interactions with satoru are the most intimate encounters you've ever had in your life.

your research is brief, and only consists of watching various videos of women masturbating. they make it look easy enough.

one quick trip to satoru's room later and you have his favorite sweatshirt in your possession. your acute sense of smell makes his scent hit 10x harder, and your tail wags as the comforting aroma of satoru fills your nostrils. you pad down the hallway and towards your room, slipping inside the woefully unlived-in space and locking the door behind you.

flopping into bed, you throw satoru's sweatshirt over your face and slide a hand down your shorts. you brush a finger over your cunt, feeling at the sparse, curly hairs, leaving light touches over your inner thighs. when you part your folds, your finger is immediately soaked in slick, gliding down your soaked cunt and the tip slips easily into your entrance. you tug satoru's shirt down and pull your hand out to inspect it. your fingers are coated in a clear and stringy fluid, keeping the digits connected as you part them and look on in awe.

you sigh, inhaling the smell on satoru's shirt again. your eyes flutter closed and a fantasy beings spinning in your mind: satoru finally returning from another week long work trip. him pouncing on you right after his shower, tugging you into his lap, sucking on your tongue and grinding his bulge into your core, groping and squeezing your ass. long, curious fingers wandering up your tail to send shivers down your spine as satoru mutters about how much he missed you.

circling and pressing down on your twitching clit shoots a familiar pleasure throughout your body, and a heat begins to boil in your lower tummy. it's a lot more intense than when you're dryhumping satoru. incredibly pronounced when it's direct contact. 'fuck'.

your hips shift upwards into your hand. a gasp leaves your parted lips, followed by a moan as you apply more pressure to the swollen nub. the shirt suffocates you in his scent, and the more you inhale, the more intoxicated you become.

suddenly, they're not your fingers anymore, they're satoru's. you've had them in your mouth before, allowed to gently gnaw on them to satiate an oral fixation. though, satoru's also shoved them there to occasionally silence your bratty whines. he'll corner you against a wall, cooing gently as he rubs at your ears with his free hand and watches the defiance drain from your heavy-lidded eyes.

the scent of your arousal is heavy and plentiful in the air, almost overpowering satoru's shirt when it's still right on top of your nose. the pleasure feels unbearable. your limbs twitch and jerk, dripping hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

you go limp in order to catch your breath. your heart pounds in your ears, legs sore and aching. there's an underlying sense under all the pleasure of just feeling utterly pathetic. how do you expect to take satoru's cock if you can barely handle having your clit rubbed?

'whatever'. you pull up the hem of your shorts to stare at your drenched hand, coated in your own juices. you don't have any other sort of lubricant within reach, nor know where satoru keeps his. besides, the sluggishness weighing your body down wouldn't allow you to get up, anyway.

after taking a few more minutes, you glide your middle finger between the slick folds of your pussy again, gasping at the sensation. your index and middle form a 'v' shape, toying with yourself, pinching at your clit, pulling back the hood to expose what's underneath. it leaves your back arching, mouth flying open, cunt throbbing as you grind against your own hand. you dive a little lower, prodding the tip of your finger against you hole again, and your spasming cunt threatens to suck it in whole.

pushing in past the first knuckle feels weird. you've never had anything inside you before. it's mildly uncomfortable, wiggling your middle finger further along. it's barely an inch but it feels like way more. a little deeper and you can feel the hot, gummy walls of your pussy clamp down as you tighten and untighten. it doesn't really feel like anything.

you spend a while exploring around in there, gasping and twitching whenever your fingertips brush against some squishy spot you can't quite reach, no matter how hard you try. it's frustrating. you think maybe a toy would do the trick. or satoru's fingers, but you're not quite ready to approach that topic again. you eventually admit defeat with a persistent flame boiling in your lower tummy.

one ¥30,000 purchase later, and you're excited for tomorrow when you will be the proud, new owner of a bottle of lube and a 'g-spot rabbit vibrator', whatever that was. just based on visuals, it was the smallest vibrating dildo thing you could find on the website. maybe once you could handle your own fingers, you'd spin back for a dildo. for now, them and their intimidating length and unfathomable girth had successfully scared you away.

[applelite]

.ೃ࿔*:･𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝓊𝓁𝑒𝓈

✧ these requests are a way to have fun and interact! they will mostly be sketches & sometimes lightly colored

✧ these will be on a when/if i want to basis, so no promises

✧ please only send a request once

✧ i will not draw: sex, incest, pregnancy, dubcon/noncon, underage, & self-harm

[applelite]

i need to commemorate my presence here with this account too

Welcome home babygirl

[gracewinston]

𑣲⋆ Suguru loves his shy girl

Dom!Suguru x shysub!reader

WARNINGS: dub con, choking, leash/collar, facial, manipulative geto, public sex, recording, heavy degrading, mock praise, Dacryphilia, spanking, dom!Geto, sub!reader

When your and Suguru’s relationship started to sexually expand into more taboo things, you were painfully shy. It was your first time being involved in a relationship built around power dynamics, and every moment that required you to submit to him left you flushed with embarrassment. Skin prickling with each heated moment, heart racing inside your chest. Yet despite it, you couldn’t resist.

It starts gradually, Suguru being slow and gentle at first. Leading you with soft commands, and establishing your and his roles with mundane tasks. Nothing overly explicit or erotic, yet still finds its way to make your heart race and leaving tingles all over your skin.

It first starts with a hand pressed to your throat experimentally when you’re kissing, just lightly holding till you press his hand tighter against your flesh. Feeling the pressure of his hand squeeze around your neck, making your brain go all fuzzy. Feeling the power surge through his hand as he holds your throat in his grasp, making your breath hitch and your legs clench.

You both slip more and more into it, exploring and trying new things. A safe word, and rules are put in place. Suguru having to lead most, if not all, of the conversations. Ever since this side of yourself has emerged and become known to you both, you have become embarrassed of it; ashamed. You’d blush and speak so quietly when discussing these things that Suguru could barely hear you. Having to ask you to speak up, and use your big girl voice as you squirmed in place, and timidly avoided his eyes.

He’d smile and look down at you, arms crossed. He didn’t mind that you were shy, but he wasn’t gonna have you hide this part of yourself away because you’re ashamed.

It was hard when trying to initiate sex, due to your explicable shyness. Suguru would always ask before, “Baby what’s the safe word?”

You instantly tense up, jaw turning to rust, breath halting. He waits for your response, but you just keep your head bowed, praying that a whisper from the aching silence will be sufficient for an answer, “You gotta answer me. I need to know that you have it in your mind to use it when you need to.”

You inhale and exhale, looking up at him like a timid puppy, “Come on,” he coaxes, rubbing your cheek.

“Red for stop…”

“And?”

“Yellow for slow down.”

“Good girl. Red for stop, yellow for slow down. You can remember that?”

You nod, “Good job.”

When you want something Suguru has to watch closely, and pick up on little telltale signs for what you are asking for. Words don’t come easily, they feel icky and gross in your mouth. Making your cheeks flare up, and your tongue to clack against your teeth, and tremble in your mouth, stuttering like a helpless mess.

He’ll watch for the way your eyes bat at him. The way you lean in, and bury your head in his arm. Silently, wrapping yourself around him, and tracing different lines on his body or clothes.

“What do you need?”

You never respond to him the first time, nervously burying yourself deeper into your hands or his body. He turns to you fully, grabbing your face, making you look at him, “You need me?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

He’ll reach down to rub right along the slit of your clothed cunt, “Your cunnie feeling all wet and needy?”

“Y-yes-“

“Yes, what?”

You burn bright crimson red right there, breath falling fast, eyes dipping low to your lap. He tugs your chin back up, eyes narrowed, expecting your answer now, “…yes daddy.”

“Want daddy to ease the pain?” He says, continuing to stroke your pussy through the layers of fabric.

You blink, eyelashes fluttering like little wings. A pouty tremble of your lip jutting out, “Yes.”

He always makes you, or at least tries to make you say what you want. Sometimes it’ll take forever, maybe 30 minutes to an hour at the longest to get you to say it. And when you do, he wants details, making you repeat it over and over till you’re begging and crying for it. Just watching you stutter, and stumble, and clam up, getting off on your own humiliation.

Always teasing, always edging you to the point of insanity, and then letting you wither and whine like a helpless lamb. Spending hours just edging you till you’re crying heaps of tears, and then cuming right when he enters inside you.

He has that twisted smile on his face, cooing at you with fake sympathy, “Aw poor baby…couldn’t even last a minute. Poor girl had to cum so badly didn’t she?”

You cover your face with your hands, so incredibly embarrassed by how fast you came. Body twitching and spasming around him, trying to curl into yourself to hide how pathetic you are.

And Suguru doesn’t stop to make you feel any better, “So pathetic…” he mutters, rubbing his thumb against your very red and swollen clit. Watching with a dead, blank face as you squirm and cry out from overstimulation, “So sensitive.”

He’ll slap your clit making you cum again from the pure pleasure of the sharp sting, smiling to himself, seeing how blissed out in ecstasy you are, “Such a brainless doll.”

Suguru also has a keen, watchful eye on noticing and picking up on what you like. You can never say what you like, or if you wanna try new things. So a lot of times he offers them up, watching as your eyes lit up.

Or when you guys are already doing it he’ll experimentally slap your hip, or butt, watching your face to gauge your reaction.

“You like that?”

You blush, eyes wide like you’ve just discovered something extraordinary. Tingles going through your whole body. You nod like a happy baby.

He makes a list of all the things that get you going, all the kinks, and fetishes you like, and always makes sure to rotate them to keep you happy.

He absolutely uses your shyness against you. Exploiting, and making sure you're aware of the nasty things you're doing when you're trying to pretend you're not. Forcing you to do incredibly humiliating and degrading things for his pure pleasure. Oftentimes tears are a big component at the end of these egregious acts, feeling so ashamed and guilty for how much you love it.

He’ll make you maintain eye contact with him the whole time through it. Holding onto your jaw or throat so you can’t hide that pretty face behind your hands or in the sheets. Telling you to “look at him,” “don’t close your eyes, look right here,” guiding your eyes to his, or where he wants you to look. Maybe to where you two are connected. Where he’s thrusting his cock deep inside your pussy as cum guzzles around him from how good it makes you feel for him to be stretching and fucking you open.

Or keeping your eyes locked on his while he strokes himself right above you. You’re on your knees looking up at him, lip trembling with nerves at the sheer sight of him. Just him, looking at you makes you want to run and hide. Your lashes flutter, looking away as your heart swells too big for your chest. Your nerves are pulsing through your system on the verge of bursting. He gives a sharp tug to the leash attached to your collar.

“Ngh-“

“I didn’t say you could look away.”

You whimper and stay planted on your knees. Looking up at him as his dick creates a shadow over you with beads of precum, dripping onto your face.

He yanks on the leash, bringing your face closer to his angry, pulsing cock. He smiles and wraps his hand around the thick black leather, “Gonna be a good girl and let me cum all over your face?”

Your eyes go wide, your mouth a gap. You don’t get to respond, “Keep your face just like that sweetie.”

And you do, too in shock to answer, or turn away with the collar straining from his tight grip. He groans, hips fucking roughly into his fist as he cums. Hot ropes fly all over your face, landing on your lips, your tongue, your nose, some in your hairline, and your sweet plump cheeks. He doesn’t take a single glance away as you get painted in a beautiful white, glistening mess. He pulls at that collar tight, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat, “Look so pretty with my cum all over your face.”

You whimper and whine, feeling so incredibly embarrassed and nasty with his sticky cum all over you.

“Gonna take a picture to remind you what a nasty girl you are.”

You shake your head, “No-no.”

It’s too late, he grabs his phone and snaps a photo of you, cum dripping down your face, tears basking in your eyes, face redly flushed.

Other times he’ll fuck you in front of the bathroom mirror, or right on the balcony of your apartment that overlooks a busy street in the city. Letting everyone see what a massive slut you are for him. Letting yourself get fucked for the whole world to watch.

Other times he’ll record you while you two are doing these explicit acts. Then makes you lie on his lap, head resting softly on his chest as he strokes your hair, while the other hand has his phone in his hand. Watching the gross videos he took of you.

“Look how much of a slut you are baby, taking my cock like that. Acting all shy like you aren’t just a precious toy. Imagine people seeing this. Then they’d see how much of a whore you are,” he says, dangling the phone in front of you, so you can’t look away from the screen. Making you watch him use you, and you acting like a helpless slut.

He says it so sweetly with sweet kisses pressing into your hair and face, making you feel a swirl of complicated emotions. Your heart swelling, and cracking at each degrading thing he says, then he’ll suddenly switch to faux praise, and say how good you are despite being so shy, and thanking you for letting him do such nasty things to you. It makes you feel so conflicted, yet so reliant to forever be his. What would you do without him?

Of course, your shyness does get you in trouble a lot of times. If you don’t do something he says because of your inability to get out of your shy little shell he gets rather annoyed.

“You can’t use the excuse that you’re nervous anymore, you’ve done this too many times,” He doesn’t like when you disobey him, or don’t listen to him. He craves control, and if you disobey him then what can he do?

“But-but Suguru!—“ you whine and cry as you sob on the floor, already a heaping mess.

“No baby, save those tears. You’re gonna need them for later.”

You shake your head, pouting pathetically, making Suguru only more annoyed, and more compliant to punish you, “No please…I’ll do it now. I promise-I promise.”

“No. You’ve already sealed your fate. Now lay down on my lap.”

You have no choice but to comply, and lie face down across his lap.

He shushes you as you cry, stroking your hair. Rubbing the soft skin of your bare back and butt, before he beats it black and blue. He doesn’t want to hurt his precious girl, but until she learns, he has to do this.

He makes you count with each slap. Your shaky voice, wobbling out with each hit. And if he doesn’t hear you, he’s starting over.

“I didn’t hear you princess, you have to speak louder for me to hear you. We have to start over.”

“No!” You cry, legs kicking up. Your ass is already bright red from his hand.

“I tell you to use your big girl voice all the time, but you just don’t listen do you?” He sighs, “When will you learn…”

He’ll switch from his hand to a paddle, or his belt. Loving the little markings each one gives on your body. The way you respond to each one. The belt is always for when you’re exceptionally bad; for the really rough beatings.

All while he speaks so softly in your ear as he does it, watching as your eyes well up, and your little pussy clench and gush out slick from each hit; such a pain slut, “It’s okay honey, if only you just listened to me I wouldn’t have to hurt you. But you had to be dumb and not listen to me, trying to hide in your shame and embarrassment. It never works sweetie, I don’t know why you keep hiding. And aw now look at you. Soaking my lap from your wet pussy as I spank you.”

Once it’s over, once the pain subsides and your body is left bruised and red. Your brain melted into mush, and your poor face being covered in snot and tears. He hugs you tightly against his chest. Letting you cry all your shame and embarrassment out, softly stroking your hair and kissing your head.

“It’s alright…shhh it’s okay,” you cling to him tighter like the only world that exists is him.

Aftercare is always the most important thing. He’ll instantly scoop you up, either cradling you to his chest like a baby, or taking you to the bathroom to wash you. He knows the sex is not only physically exhausting and demanding, but also emotionally. He’ll wipe away your tears and coo sweetly at you, rubbing your back as you hide your face in his long hair.

“It’s okay, you’re alright. Just relax, I got you.”

It’s during these times that you can retreat into that small shy thing, not forcing you to say nasty things, or make you uncomfortable. Letting you calm down for all emotions to settle. He checks on you, making sure you’re okay, looking to see if there are any signs that you’re not. He’ll say sweet loving words, letting you know that it’s all just play.

“Don’t mean any of those things. Love you so much, baby. So precious to me. So beautiful. Shouldn’t be ashamed, okay?”

He always lets you know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to this. That it’s alright to indulge and explore things you like. You’re not gross for it, you’re not deranged for it. That you’re still just his precious, sweet shy girl. Too sweet and shy for the cruel world.

You melt into him, clinging to him more than usual in these very vulnerable, and intimate times when you’re small and weak. He makes sure to never take them for granted, or make you feel any other type of way other than loved.

When he can tell that something is wrong he’s instantly holding your face, not overbearing but gently, soothingly. Brushing your hair back so he can get a pretty view of that face, and watch for any closer signs of trouble, “Honey what’s wrong?”

You just shake your head, slightly shrugging, eyes downcast.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong Angel. You gotta use your words okay?”

He spends about an hour trying to get what it is out of you, never once getting mad. Just softly reassuring that whatever it is he would never, could never be mad. That you can tell him whatever it is, and nothing will change.

After that hour you finally build up the courage and strength to tell him, hiding your face in his arm, and whispering it quietly so that Suguru has to press his ear right against your lips.

“J-ust…last night-you fell asleep fast and-…” You take another breath, trying to get another source of courage to go on.

“Did I not care for you before I fell asleep?”

Your lip trembles, your heart breaking, “I…I just didn’t feel it,” you whisper. Big eyes looking at him.

He sighs and pulls you impossibly close to him. Tucking you right under his chin, big arms wrapping tightly around you, “I’m so sorry angel. I mustn’t have realized I hadn’t before I fell asleep. It’s my fault, okay? Please, never be afraid to tell me these things. I have to know whenever you don’t feel cared for.”

You nod against his chest. He has a hand against your hair softly running his hands through your hair, and scratching your scalp. The other soothingly, rubbing your bare back, “I’m sorry, I love you so much sweet girl. I’ll run a bath, and take good care of you now, to make up for last night. Would that be alright?”

“Yes…”

He picks you up, your legs and arms securely wrapped around him as he carries you to the bathroom, and sets you on the edge of the tub to draw a bath. Once the heat bubbles, and rises to the water he guides you into the bath. Letting you sit down, and then sliding in behind you. Letting you relax and lie against him as he holds you, and washes your body with the utmost love and care, kissing your hair and telling you what a sweet and amazing girl you are. Whispering all his devout love into your ear, covering your skin in sweet kisses and warm bubbly sudz.

Washing away all the guilt and unease from your body. Prepping you and pampering you like an angel sent down from heaven upon his wish. For truly he couldn’t wish for anything better than you.

A/N: I love Suguru so much (btw this will be a continuing series of shy reader and dom Geto)

[lilithkleii]

your fwb frat!sukuna is a massive softie !

frat!sukuna, who first insisted that your relationship was strictly sex, nothing more—with some flimsy excuse about how he doesn’t have the time for a relationship, doesn’t have the time to commit to something that serious, and about how a relationship would only drag him down.

so he does what any good friend situationship?would do—he shows up to your place, fucks you until you can’t remember your own name, and leaves before something in his chest convinces him to stay.

frat!sukuna, who has to have you facing him to cum, something about just looking at your face contort in pleasure while you take him in, the way tears rim your eyes while he thrusts into you languidly—he simply can’t bring himself to cum if he isn’t look at you and your pretty face drunk on his cock.

frat!sukuna, who tries to walk out of your apartment the second he’s done with you, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. so he lingers, hovers around your sleeping form until you finally drag him back under your sheets, calling him ridiculous while he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck.

frat!sukuna, who has your drink order memorised to perfection, always leaving your sugary concoction of a drink on your desk before each class begins with a scrawled on note that says ‘don’t get any ideas.’

frat!sukuna, who never denies anything when his frat brothers start calling you his girlfriend—it’s too much work to correct them, he says, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge the same shade as his hair every single time one of them pats him on the back and calls you his girl.

frat!sukuna, who always has to have you close to him, with his arm slug around your shoulders or wrapped around your waist when he’s near you.

“it’s to make sure you don’t run away.”

“now, why would i do that?”

frat!sukuna, who almost decks toji in the face when he sees him flirting with you, his split lip curled into a girl while you laughed at his stupid jokes and for one second, sukuna’s afraid he’s going to lose this, that he’s going to lose you.

frat!sukuna, who starts tiptoeing around the idea of a relationship, insisting he takes you on dates—taking you out to fancy restaurants and late night bike rides when he knows exam stress starts to take over your brain. he’s spent enough time around you to know everything there is to know, but what sukuna doesn’t know is how to handle a relationship.

frat!sukuna, who’s been treating you like his girlfriend since the start, never skipping aftercare, always being there at your every beck and call—and avoiding every girl that had eyes for him like the plague since he met you.

“good god, did she neuter you, kuna?” toji slurred between drinks while sukuna tried to dodge the sorority girls coming his way.

“shut up.”

frat!sukuna, who’s softer during sex now, worshipping your body endlessly, covering you in soft kisses and bites marks before he eats you out like a man starved.

frat!sukuna, who’s basically a guard dog around you, glaring at everyone who so much as shows even mild interest in you, clinging to you like a needy puppy every second of the day that he possibly can.

frat!sukuna, who has words stuck in his throat every single time he tries to ask you out, always stuttering out nonsense he didn’t mean to say because, what if you turn him down? and what if there’s someone better?

frat!sukuna, who gets you a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers, showing up to your apartment in the dead of night, flowers scrunched in his hand, his chest heaving when he finally asks you out.

frat!sukuna, who tries to hide his flustered face when you finally say yes, spinning you around in his arms while he kisses the top of your head—because after all the mental gymnastics he’s done to have you in his arms, he finally gets to call you his girl.

art credits: @/winterrbluess !

all works belong to @lilithkleii do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI, lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.

[applelite]

First of all thank you for 14 followers ! Second of all, would anyone in my community (followers, moots,etc) be interested if I took jjk & Naruto character & pose requests ? Been debating if I should put it in my pinned post or nawt

[applelite]

this level of freak is not my usual art but NGHHHHH I’m not normal abt him I have nothing appropriate to say abt genma ( thinking of @genmashiranuilover69 rn)

[applelite]

My dear precious baby yuji with his baby’s babies (this is my favorite work yet I’m so happy w it!!!!)

[applelite]

Thank you all so much for the support !!

[applelite]

i need to eat your art of yuuji i lobe him that’s my man right there

Wait I’m so excited this is my first inbox thing everrrr!!! But YESSS I have such cuteness aggression towards that drawing & him in general 🤗 Currently recovering from wisdom teeth surgery so I’m a drawing machine & im debating between more cutie yuji or sleepy gojo 👀 help a girl out

[applelite]

My dear precious baby yuji with his baby’s babies (this is my favorite work yet I’m so happy w it!!!!)

[applelite]

“Draw your favorite character with your problems” ok sukuna king of curses can you overcome studying for a managerial accounting final ?

[applelite]

Ok so clearly I couldn’t overcome it either bc I got a 58 on that shit …

[heartkaji]

fratkuna always folds for his hot, bimbo baby !

1. BIMBO DIARIES #1 : CAN A CUTE GYAL GET SOME SEX ?

it’s 9PM thursday & ryomen sukuna has his back bent over his desk & cola sticky on his lip. through his laptop screen treasurer nanami kento is there, hair a mess & glasses slipping & badly lit by the fluorescent light.

they’re planning the budget for next friday’s spring party—the invites, if gojo should be allowed near the playlist, lower entry fees so toji can actually attend—& something else sukuna doesn’t hear because you swing the door open & walk in with clicky heels & a smile sticky with gloss.

“ryomen!”

your voice is a song & your eyes shine too-bright. sukuna’s eyes never leave his screen as you drop into his lap, knees bent in a kick as you hug his neck tight.

“what are you doing?” you hum into his cheek.

“meeting,” he murmurs, ignoring the gloss-drenched kisses you press to his jaw. through the screen nanami is pursed lip & awkward gaze, fixing his glasses as sukuna pretends his thumbs aren’t grazing circles on your hips.

you turn to the screen, grin clumsy, leaning forward so it fills up with your face. “hi, kenny!”

nanami softens. “good evening, y/n.”

you beam, but your grin can hardly stretch before sukuna’s palm grabs your face & tugs you into his chest. you pout up at him but his gaze stays glued to the screen.

“kento,” his voice is cool. “the guest list. you were saying?”

you’re buttoning & unbuttoning his shirt with your lips jut out but ryomen sukuna pays you no mind.

“yes,” nanami picks up a pen, neck rash red. “i was saying—“

“kuna,”

you interrupt nanami with a finger tugging at your boyfriend’s necklace. sukuna sighs, doesn’t look down at you or your pout.

“tell me.”

“can we have cake for dinner ?”

“no.” he taps something on his keyboard. “kento, go ahead.”

“right. i think—“

“kuna,”

sukuna breathes. “tell me.”

“you shouldn’t say no to your girlfriend.”

“my bad, sweetheart.” he’s sighing now but his palm squeezes your thigh. “kento.”

“right. as i was saying—”

“kuna,”

sukuna closes his eyes. one second, two, & he can still feel you looking up at him with that soft, sweet pout. he won’t kiss it away. not here, not now.

“tell me, baby.”

“i can’t, it’s embarrassing.”

he’s pinching his nose now, eyes shut as you sit up on his thigh. through the screen nanami’s eyes are twitching & his lips are pursed like he’s resisting the urge to ask if you’re deadass.

sukuna finally turns to you; bleary-eyed & gaze half-lidded. “say it in my ear ?”

you nod & he leans down with an ear to your lips. your gloss stains the shell when you lean closer:

“i’m horny.”

sukuna blinks. he wants to ask how the hell that happened, if you’re messing with him, if you have any sense of time & place and why your gaze is shy as if he’d ever tell you no.

he turns back to his laptop, necklace still in your grip. “kento, something came up. rain check?”

“liar. i heard that.”

sukuna slams his laptop shut. you squeal as he lifts you in his arms.

2. BIMBO DIARIES #2 : I WANNA TWERK ON THE FLO’ !

God has blessed gojo satoru with the gift of legwork. so just as david danced before the lord, gojo satoru dances on sigma-chi’s table with all his might.

with you right beside him, of course.

sigma-chi’s frat house is sweat-soaked bodies pressed together & neon lights on a friday evening. by the corner to the left, ryomen sukuna is watching you with a cup to his lips & bleary eyes.

on the center table, gojo is twirling you around with his chain glinting & cap tilted off. you cheer along with the crowd as the music switches to burna boy & gojo throws it back. nanami kento is somewhere near the bar, cheeks flushed & praying the wine’s strong enough to help him forget the sight.

“ryomen,” suguru’s voice is sudden beside him. “get your girl off that table. quickly.”

sukuna shoots him a side eye. “get your boyfriend off first.”

on the table you’re still cheering, grin clumsy, hair soaked against your neck & cup in your hands. sukuna catches your eye. you blow him a kiss but he keeps a straight face. you pout once & he raises a palm to catch it lazily before you beam & resume dancing like an episode character.

beside him, suguru doesn’t blink. “he’s not my boyfriend. and stop deflecting.”

“you let him sleep in your bed.”

“he has nightmares.”

“he has a crush on you.”

geto ignores his statement. “i’m not playing with you. i want her off the table now. she shouldn’t even be here—i told you no shein outfits in my frat house.”

as if on cue, toji walks by, 500% polyester shirt squeaking through the music. sukuna raises a brow.

“he’s a brother! i can’t do anything about it!”

“whatever you say, vice.” sukuna drawls, taking a swig from his cup. his eyes flit back to you on the table. you’re laughing away and still drunk & dancing, but now your knees are bruised & wobbly & his brows scrunch because you might fall any second.

you stumble—just once, just slightly, & ryomen sukuna is already moving.

he’s squeezing through drunk bodies now, alcohol sloshing around in his cup. ahead of him geto is already there, begging satoru to please come down. he sets his cup on a passing tray & he’s by your side at the table in seconds.

“kuna!” you cheer, eyes meeting his & still dancing. “hi, baby!”

“hi, beautiful,” his voice is soft as you dance your way over to him, heavy palms coming up to catch your hips. he looks up at your flushed cheeks & bright eyes before pressing a kiss to your thigh. “time to stop dancing.”

you squeak, jerking out of his hold to run away. “no—! i’m still having fun with satoru—“

you make about three steps before he catches your heel & tugs you into his chest.

“put me down, ryo!”

“no, you’re done.”

“no!” you’re whacking his chest as he shifts your thighs over his arms to carry you bridal style. “put me down! put! me! down!“

sukuna ignores you. “ryomen! i swear if you don’t put me down right now i’ll—“

“can you shut up for five seconds?”

ryomen sukuna is tired. bones limp, eyes bleary, neck rash red for no good reason. he knows he shouldn’t snap but the words seem to work because you go silent & still in his arms.

too still.

he won’t look down. it doesn’t matter anyway—you’ll get over it. he did it for the best & he doesn’t care if you cry because—

“fuck, wait—baby don’t cry,”

he’s much too late. your lashes are already tear rimmed & you’re squeezing his shirt while peering up at him with glossy eyes. sukuna bites his lip. god, what has he done?

“is it because i embarrass you?” you sniffle, lips wobbly & cheeks hot from the alcohol. “is that why you never let me dance?”

sukuna exhales, breath shaky, gaze pulling away from yours because he’s never been good at looking you in the eyes after making you cry.

“that’s not true and you know it,” he squeezes your thigh. “i don’t care about you dancing. i care about you not breaking your leg.”

you soften in his grip, peering up at him for a beat.

“kuna?”

“tell me.”

“i forgive you.”

sukuna scoffs, patting your hip. “thank you, angel. and geto is an idiot.” he mumbles the last part.

you’re still peeking up at him, still drunk & starry-eyed. “kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“i love you.”

ryomen sukuna kisses your hair. he doesn’t say it back but you feel it in how he grips you tighter.

3. BIMBO DIARIES #3 : DRESS UP DARLING !

the only thing between ryomen sukuna & his sunday afternoon nap is his beautiful girlfriend with her back against his chest.

sukuna is tired. on sundays like these he always is, limbs groggy & eyes heavy with sleep. he has his cheek in your neck & his arms around your waist. his back’s against the headboard and yours is on his own.

“kuna.”

“tell me.”

you turn to show him a jacket on your phone. “should i get this?”

sukuna nods. he parts his lips to speak but whatever he says is drowned out by sleep.

“kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“this pink dress, or the green one?”

sukuna squints. your screen is too bright in his face & he wants to tell you to move it away but he doesn’t. his thumb circles your hips, “green one.”

you frown, glaring at him. “are you mentally illiterate?”

sukuna blinks. he doesn’t know what that means. he wants to ask, but you likely don’t know either.

“you know i don’t like green.”

“so why was it even an option.”

you ignore him & turn back to scroll through your phone. he’s watching you click through items now with his thumb still brushing your hip. a top, some boots, a dress he knows you’ll wear once & never again—and the total only climbs up. by the time you’re done the total is $400. he can only hope you double checked it was CAD & not USD.

he closes his eyes against your neck, body limp & heavy with sleep.

“kuna.” your voice is warm in his ear.

“tell me.”

“i don’t actually want to buy all this.”

sukuna cracks an eye open. he’s still pressed against your neck, warm & half-awake, & he can see your lashes fluttering & cheeks swollen in the heat. he doesn’t ask what you mean—your voice beats him to it.

“i just wanted to buy something pretty,” you murmur, small & half-shy. “so i look pretty. for you.”

sukuna blinks. and then he sighs, because you’re silly & ridiculous & so fucking his.

“you always look pretty,” he mumbles lazily into your shoulder blade, eyes fluttering shut. “and you know this. i tell you every time.”

you bite your fingernail, turning a little to meet his head buried in your neck.

“kuna,”

“tell me.”

“i love you.”

ryomen sukuna only sighs. he’ll never say it back but you feel it in how he tugs you into his chest to lie on top of him.

you pout, “kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“can i still order it ?” you have your chin on his chest now, peering up at him through pretty lashes as sukuna tries, tries to go to sleep.

“order it, princess.”

“with your card ?”

sukuna grits his teeth. “with my card.”

BIMBO DIARIES , end.

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