i think that roommate bakugou has an absolutely diabolical dick print. and it's through no fault of his own, he's not doing it on purpose. he doesn't even wear tight clothes to begin with!
but his dick is just. it's so big okay.
watching tv next to him on the couch is an olympic sport in trying not to break your neck every time you catch sight of his bulge out of the corner of your eye. the way his shorts strain against it when he shifts, when he lifts his hips to pull his phone out of his pocket.
and you really can't be blamed for your habit of burning your eggs every time bakugou walks out into the kitchen to make a coffee in the morning wearing those sweatpants that make it astronomically worse. the ones that seem to catch in all the right places around his fat shaft.
you've considered putting a complete and total ban on him working out in the living room on occasion when he can't make it over to the gym—because it's obscene when he does sit ups.
and just when you think that you've been spared after three surprising days with nary a bulging dick print to be seen, bakugou comes home soaking wet after getting caught in a downpour while on a run.
(and any progress you've made with not fantasizing about riding your roommate's thigh and desperately dry humping the outline of his dick while you masturbate is swiftly thrown out the window. incinerated. decimated. gone with the wind as you helplessly try and fail not to stare at the way his soaking wet running shorts are practically molded around it, hugging the flared head of his cock like a siren song for the stage left exit of your sanity.)
shoto coming home after a long day and all he wants is for you to sit on his cock and bounce up and down while he’s relaxing on the couch. he’s blinking up at you with lidded eyes, lips parted letting out soft groans and hands gripped into the plush of your hips.
“keep going.” it’s almost a plea. your thighs are burning and you’re panting, trying your hardest to keep your rhythm but you falter, pressing against his chest and grinding against him. “got you.” he kisses the side of your head.
he secretly loves when you get too tired and he gets to use you, fucking you up and down like his personal pocket pussy. his fingers digging into your skin, his breath coming out in shallow pants while all your noises spill directly into his ear. when you cum, little stars spackle his vision as he fucks up into you harder, faster, using your pussy until he’s spent.
18+ nsfw | best friend! suna takes pictures for your new OF
"i don't know.." you'e kneeling on the hardwood of suna's living room, clad in only a pair of thigh-high stockings and a black thong. you're completely topless, hence your arms instinctively fold over chest and wrap around yourself, protecting what little modesty you have left while also shielding your nipples from the cold draft in the room. "i'm not so sure this is the most effective way to make quick money. can't we just doordash like normal people?"
"bit late to back out now; i've already taken most of the pics." he mutters, knelt a few feet away from you. he's already captured a collection of photos while standing, with the camera angled down and you looking up dotingly. now he's on his knees as well, adjusting the lens as he peers at you through the viewfinder, one eye closed, "doordashing is too stressful, anyway. move your arms, need to get your tits in this shot." he says bluntly.
your cheeks heat up at his request; there's something obscene about your best friend asking you that so casually. "well, it's not up to you, dummy, since it's not photos of your ass that are going on the internet for old pervs to jerk over." you huff, actions contrasting your sharp words as you pliantly drop your arms to expose your tits to the camera, nipples pointed under the chilly air. you almost wince as the flash of his camera goes off, along with the shutter noise.
"oh, shit, your ass, i forgot about that. we should get some pics of that before i put the camera away." his eyes flickers with realisation, as he looks down and idly adjusts the settings. it's like he isn't even fully listening to what you have to say, but you've been friends with suna for long enough to know that he's purposefully trying to annoy you. hence, you narrow your eyes at him but refrain from immediately cursing him out. he probes further, "weren't you the one who was just talking about how badly she wants a new computer? eh?"
you duck your head slightly, hair falling in front of your face and you grimace, "yeah.." you whimper as there's another bright flash.
clicking through the photos he just took, a smirk tugs at his lips while he can feel erection aching in his sweats. he gulps and instructs. "cool. so do i. so get all on all fours." it comes out less commanding than he had hoped, yet you obey none the less. albeit, while grumbling and groaning about it.
"ugh.. can't believe you're pimping me out for a new keyboard." you remain on your knees but lean forward and set both of your forearms on the ground, shifting your weight onto them and leaving your ass in the air.
"yup. and you've got your tits out to buy a new pc, so who's worse?" it comes out as less of a question and more of an insult. suna stands up and looks down at you, ass up for him with a measly thong covering you up — most of your cheeks were exposed and the thin fabric molded to the shape of your damp folds, and the strip was so narrow that your lips threatened to escape with one wrong move. he licked his lips and tried to focus, snapping another picture.
"and you know," he remarks, "a custom pink build costs extra. so if you want one, you're gonna have to drop your panties too."
NAMING THE STARS IN THE SKY AFTER YOU ;
— bakugou katsuki x f!reader
“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me,” his voice is ragged, tumbled rough over gravel. “Tell me, and I’ll fucking leave if that’s what you want.”
wc: 3.3k
c: 18+, lovers to friends to lovers, infidelity (reader x oc), angst with a hopeful ending, fingering, sex toys, unprotected sex, creampie, oral fixation
It’s always like clockwork—the sharp scrape of a key in the lock. The echo of boots on hardwood in the entryway. Fingers working open taut laces. A familiar gate traipsing down the hall, one that holds a note of surety each step. A smoky, sweet scent that settles over you.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you say without looking up from your phone screen as the footsteps come to a stop beside your bed, hushed by the carpet and the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears.
The mattress groans softly, dipping beneath the weight of the knee now resting on it with a give not unlike the one bending its way past the shackles of your ribcage.
“Says who?”
Bakugou’s voice is low, and you glance up just in time to catch the way his eyes flick to the golden band that sits forlornly on your nightstand.
He sees right through your tongue’s long-worn, perfunctory script. Right through the gaping holes in your indifference. The sheets shift as he climbs onto the bed, one knee now positioned between your bare legs. You sigh as you toss your phone aside, heart involuntarily skipping a beat when you finally meet his gaze head on.
He’s in cargo pants and a black t-shirt that does little to hide the way his biceps flex when his palms come to rest on either side of your face. His blond hair is messy, and there’s a fading bruise at the corner of his jaw. He smells like a cool fall night. Like gunpowder. Like laundry soap. Exhaustion lingers in his eyes—you don’t have to ask to know he came straight from a long patrol shift.
Sometimes you feel like a teenager again here beneath him. Like you’re still at UA. Like it’s half past two o’clock in the morning, and Bakugou’s crammed into your dorm room’s twin bed beside you, legs tangled together as you count the plastic, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that you’d cajoled him into hanging.
As he grumbles about the happenstance of constellations and shooting stars and flings a tiny, harmless rogue spark into the darkness of the room before pressing a kiss to your temple and muttering for you to go to sleep.
(You think you still see it sometimes, that flicker in the dark.)
Fifteen odd years stand in between then and now. The awareness of time chafes at you like grains of sand; it slips between your fingers like it, too.
You’re not married to Bakugou Katsuki.
“How long’s he leaving you for this time?” he asks you gruffly.
You look away. “Two weeks.”
Bakugou curses under his breath. “You have a huge goddamn target on your back after that last raid, and that fucker thought it was a good time for a business trip?”
“I knew what I was getting into when I took my job with the Commission.”
You’ve grown used to the risk—to triple checking the locks at night, to looking over your shoulder on the street. The work you do is too important.
His fingers slide over your jaw, turning your face forward again. “He’s fucking his assistant in some hotel room that costs more than that shitty excuse for a ring while I’m coming here to make sure you’re still alive because you haven’t answered my messages all day.”
Bakugou has a habit of checking in on you after big missions.
“I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”
“You’re lying.”
“I mean I literally spent all afternoon reorganizing the pantry—”
“You’re not fine. I know you’re not fine. You just ousted three villains that’ve been working underground for years. You almost fucking died yesterday—” Bakugou’s voice goes rough around the edges, jagged in a way that’s wholly different from his normal snark.
You know him well enough to know it’s not anger in his tone; he’s upset.
Reaching up, you let your fingers brush over the scar on his cheek. “I’m okay.”
You can feel the way his hackles shiver and recede under your touch. His shoulders drop.
Beside you, your phone vibrates, and Ichigo’s name flashes across the screen. Bakugou’s tongue clicks against the back of his teeth in distaste when he sees it. You don’t bother to pick it up to read the text. It doesn’t really matter what it says.
“Glad to see you ignore him, too, at least,” Bakugou mutters.
He’s still looking at your phone, eyes trained on your lock screen even though the backlight has dimmed. To anyone else, it looks like a dark, blurry, out of focus image. But by the way he stares at it, you know he recognizes it for what it is: a grainy, old picture you’d tried to take of those stupid plastic stars on your dorm room ceiling.
They weren’t glowing brightly enough, and Bakugou was grumbling beside you every time you nudged him to shine his phone flashlight on them a little bit longer to get them to shine brighter for the picture. It had almost worked, but you were laughing too hard at that point to keep your phone still.
You unearthed the picture last week while you were going through an old hard drive. And it felt comforting then, on a bad day.
You see it for the dangerously sentimental thing that it is now.
“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him quietly.
Bakugou’s eyes sweep back over to you. “Do we?”
Your friendship with Bakugou has remained in the years that have passed, surviving the small cataclysm of your breakup after graduation. You were still just kids then.
Bakugou’s the one who discovered Ichigo was cheating on you almost a year ago, accidentally catching your husband out with his assistant while he was on patrol one night. He’s the one who came straight to your apartment and told you himself. Who you had to talk down from killing your husband with his bare hands while his palms sparked incessantly in raw, undiluted fury.
Who throws his hands up in the air every time you talk about the complicated politics of divorce when you and Ichigo both work for the Commission.
“Marriage isn’t always about love.”
“So you’d rather be fucking miserable? You’d rather be here in this depressing fucking penthouse apartment by yourself every time he’s on a goddamn business trip? Knowing what he’s doing in those hotel rooms he puts on the Commission’s tab?”
“It’s not worth the fallout. It’s not worth potentially losing my job.”
Because the reality is, you don’t know what would happen. What Ichigo would do. His pull over your department is enough to give you pause.
And so, despite your protests that you don’t need to be coddled, Bakugou’s taken it upon himself to do these welfare checks whenever Ichigo’s been travelling since then. He’s away on business trips more often than not as of late.
It started off innocently enough—he’d make sure you were eating. Do a sweep of your building’s security. Settle down on the couch beside you and watch whatever awful reality show you were absorbed in for the sake of keeping you company.
It’s been nearly eight months since the night you fell asleep on his shoulder and woke up with your head in his lap, the television long-since gone dark.
Five months since the brush of a kiss goodbye on his cheek found his mouth on yours up against the wall beside the coat rack.
Four months since you spent the better part of the night making out on your couch till you found yourselves horizontal, desperately dry humping till you both came in your pants.
Two months since you talked about that night. Since Bakugou got down on his knees and fingered you and ate you out till you were sobbing his name.
You started having sex with him just over a month ago.
He’d arrived at your apartment late, still in his hero suit and looking completely worse for wear after a rescue mission gone entirely wrong. His mask was shoved up over his forehead, eyes weary, shoulders slack. He’d found you perched up on the kitchen counter in the dark, a bowl of cereal beside you, your phone in your hands.
And you’ve never seen Bakugou’s defenses so low, so utterly nonexistent that he slotted himself in between your legs and buried his face in your chest while you carded your fingers through his hair.
He’d been shivering, and you quietly told him he should take a hot shower. So he lifted you off of the counter, carried you there with him. He’d let you wash him clean, watched every bit of ash and dirt and blood swirl down the drain. Then he’d kissed you after, soft and tender and slow as steam curled against the tiles.
And he didn’t stop kissing you. Not as you turned the tap closed, as you toweled off. As you led him to your bedroom.
As you climbed into his lap and eased down onto his length, still completely naked, damp, hot skin pressed to his.
Bakugou’s thumb traces the curve of your jaw now, swipes over your bottom lip. Heat burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you think he cares about you.”
His words sting. You don’t reply.
“Tell me that your marriage still means anything to him.”
Silence.
“Tell me that you still love him, even after all he’s fucking done. Tell me that ring isn’t just a goddamn shackle.”
The corners of your eyes feel wet.
Bakugou’s hand slips between the back of your head and the pillow. He leans in closer. “Tell me you’re not lonely.”
You inhale, breathing him in. It’s a battle to suppress the shiver that begs to wrack through you.
“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me,” his voice is ragged, tumbled rough over gravel. “Tell me, and I’ll fucking leave if that’s what you want.”
Your chest feels like it could cave in at any moment. You reach up, cup his face.
“Katsuki.“
You haven’t called him that since back then. Haven’t dared let the familiarity of it traipse the path of your tongue to your lips.
And he knows it, because he immediately inhales sharply, eyes going a little wide before he slides his hand to the back of your neck and brings his mouth crashing into yours.
—
Bakugou’s two fingers deep inside of you when he finds your vibrator tucked away beneath the sheets. Because you had had plans for yourself for later, before he arrived.
He uses his thumb to toy with the gusset of your panties, pulling the material taut against your swollen clit.
“What? You were ignoring my texts so you could stuff yourself full of this little thing?” he murmurs, flipping the silicone toy in his free hand as he appraises it. “‘’s barely two of my fingers, baby.”
There’s a glint in Bakugou’s eyes as he pulls his sticky fingers out of you, tracing your slit with the vibrator instead. He licks his fingers clean before he leans in close, lips ghosting over yours while he bullies the tip of it into your fluttering hole.
You buck, gasping at the cool contrast of the silicone compared to his warm fingers.
Bakugou kisses you softly, swallowing down the moan that slips out of you when he plunges the vibrator into your cunt as deeply as it’ll go.
“This what you needed?” he rasps, slowly pulling the toy out of your wet hole, only to stuff it back inside. “This enough for you?”
He flicks the button to turn it on, and you moan as the slender device vibrates against your plush inner walls.
But it’s not enough. Not when you can feel the thick, hard outline of Bakugou’s cock pressing against your leg every time you squirm. Not when you find yourself absently humping into the vibrator looking for more.
He chuckles under his breath,
“You think about me when you fuck yourself with this?” he asks, low and quiet. “Do you imagine it’s me when you stuff it in that pretty pussy in the shower while your piece of shit husband’s still home?”
Bakugou knows that you and Ichigo don’t have sex anymore. He knew it the first time, when he saw just how pathetically touch-starved you were.
When he watched the way you fell apart on his fingers alone.
“Roll over for me, baby,” he murmurs, and you whimper at the way your cunt drips with emptiness as he pulls the toy out of you with a slick pop.
He slides a pillow beneath your hips and tugs your panties off (and you don’t have to look over your shoulder to know they’re now stuffed in his pocket, to know that you’ll never be getting those back).
His clothes find a rumpled home on the floor before he begins to palm at the globes of your ass, thumbs sliding down the center in a steady line until the pads of both meet your wet slit. Your thighs open wider for him on instinct, and a groan rumbles in his chest when he parts your folds with both thumbs, sliding up and down in an agonizingly pleasurable, repetitive motion.
You hear the sound of him palming his cock, and you imagine the way his scarred hands look flexing over his flush, curved shaft. You wish you could lick off the bead precum you know is leaking from the tip.
You wish you could watch the way you know that he’d shudder when you do it.
Later.
You can do that later.
Right now, you think you might cry if he doesn’t fuck you soon. It feels like it, from the edge of this needy, dizzy edge of desperation that you’re hanging on.
“I know, I know,” he soothes, kissing one of your shoulder blades as he dips a finger into your hole. Because he knows just how worked up you are. How badly you need this.
How badly you need him.
“Need it so bad, huh? You’re shaking, baby.”
You are—your thighs are trembling as he sinks in from the first knuckle to the last, teeth digging into your cheek. All you can do is nod.
He huffs, caressing your ass while he massages your inner walls with a curled stroke. Pleasure blooms in a hot rush in the pit of your belly, drags you into a weightless daze as he adds a second finger and scissors you open. You spread your legs wider, rocking back into him. Bakugo groans at the sight, fucking his digits into you harder and faster with every inch that your ass arches upward into the air.
His free hand slips from the small of your back, slides beneath your hip to splay his palm against your abdomen. The gesture feels possessive as his middle finger stretches, reaches for the nub of your swollen clit.
It only takes a few strokes over the tender bud before you’re gasping, orgasm tearing through you like a whip as you shake with pleasure.
Bakugou’s cock is quick to replace his fingers, and he groans as he tries to line himself up with your soaked entrance only to miss, thick shaft rutting into the sticky, wet mess of your inner thighs instead.
“Always so fuckin’ wet for me,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your thighs for several strokes before tightly grasping the base of his dick and spreading your thighs with his other hand, realigning himself with your fluttering hole.
This time, he punches inside of you, and your greedy cunt sucks him in to the hilt without preamble.
“Katsuki, oh my god,” you cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets for purchase, pussy throbbing with the intensity of feeling so completely full.
Bakugou’s body folds over yours, his mouth hot at your nape, something low and pleased in his answering groan as you desperately whimper his name. He kisses his way up the side of your neck, and you turn your face to meet him, lips colliding in a messy, desperate kiss.
“I could do this forever,” he murmurs against your mouth, hips grinding and rutting down into your ass as he fucks you prone into the mattress, slow and deep.
“Yeah?” you pant.
You can feel him smile before takes your bottom lip between his teeth, nips at it while you push back onto his cock, gasping at the feeling of him hitting your cervix as you meet his stroke. He laughs quietly.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, lips trailing along the curve of your jaw. “Fucking you is a privilege.”
Your pussy spasms, slick walls like silk around the steady, fat plunge of his cock. He’s heavy on top of you, his chest is a wall of heat plastered against your back. The pads of two fingers drag through the spit-soaked mess on your lips, and you part for them, moaning as you take them into your mouth.
“Fuck.” Bakugou’s answering whisper is rough as he watches your eyes fall shut, watches the mindless way you take both digits to the last knuckle, keening and drooling.
He fucks into you harder, deeper, and you lap at them, messily sucking on his fingers, pussy fluttering in a cock drunk daze of pleasure as arousal drips out of you and soaks into the sheets, coats his cock in a slippery mess.
“Come on my cock,” he says against the shell of your ear, breathing hard. “Come all over it.”
A sweet taste slides down your throat. And somewhere in the back of your head, you know it’s reckless, sucking the sheen of sweat and nitroglycerin right off of Dynamight’s goddamn fingers.
But it’s in that moment that you finally let yourself acknowledge it—that you trust Katsuki more than anyone else.
More than you ever have, more than you ever will.
The weight of that truth shudders down your spine, settles behind your ribcage.
And that’s when your pleasure explodes, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you helpless to do anything but moan and sob into the pillow as you climax so hard you can barely breathe.
“Where, baby?” Bakugou’s voice is strained, his hips sloppily jerking into you.
You exhale hard, kicking your back leg up and pressing your heel into his ass, as if to hold him in place for lack of your ability to speak in the aftershocks of your orgasm.
“Fuck,” he groans, lifting himself up with his arms as he thrusts into you, breathing gone ragged. “Fuck—fuckfuckfuck.”
“Inside, Katsuki,” you plead. “Come inside of me.”
Bakugou gasps, letting out a strangled moan while he drives his cock into you straight to the hilt one last time just as he tips over the edge, emptying his balls inside of your fucked out cunt, filling you deep to the brim with rope after rope of thick, hot cum.
He collapses beside you after a moment, pulls you face first into the warmth of his chest, tangles his legs with yours, cups the back of your head and kisses your temple.
“Marry me,” he murmurs quietly after a little while.
“I’m already married, Katsuki,” you mumble into his chest.
He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin to meet his gaze, thumb stroking your jaw, eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit.”
You sigh. “That’s not how it works.”
The pad of his thumb finds your bottom lip, presses down into it. “I’m gonna figure it out.”
Snuggling back into him, you lay your hand over his heart, its quick rhythm echoing in your palm. “No explosions,” you tell him with a tired yawn.
He grumbles something under his breath before he says into your hair, barely above a whisper, “Either way, I’m yours.”
bakugou katsuki x f!reader — 18+, bsf!bakugou, fingering, oral sex
“Stop.”
Lifting your head up off of the pillow, you meet your best friend’s sharp gaze. It’s a mistake, really—taking in the sight of Bakugou Katsuki lying in between your legs, hands grasping the inside of your thighs.
Your stomach churns.
“Stop?” you belatedly parrot the word back at him, perplexed.
“I can feel you overthinking this from down here.” He drags his thumb along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You need to relax.”
“But—“
His thumb ghosts over your slit, and you inhale sharply.
“But what?” he challenges.
“What if I can’t—“
Katsuki laughs, and it’s low, gravel-rough. It sets your insides on fire. “You’re gonna come for me,” he says.
Like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Like you haven’t struggled to come every single time someone has ever gone down on you. Like you’re not wholly mortified by the fact that for some reason you just can’t—
Katsuki’s fingers start to move through your folds, slowly stroking, and a hot lick of pleasure crawls up your spine.
It’s not going to work—
“Fucking relax,” he grunts, free hand running soothingly over your left thigh, beckoning you to stop unconsciously closing the space between your legs.
And then you feel it, something warm and soft, wet against your skin. Katsuki’s kissing you, kissing his way up the inside of your thighs. It feels almost tender, paired with strokes of his fingers fluttering and massaging their way into the ditch of your knee, and you let your legs fall back open for him.
He makes a gruff sound that borders on pleased, though it’s muffled by the placement of his lips, which have yet to leave your skin. He bites you softly, licks and sucks. Your muscles loosen to putty with each inch that he climbs.
It feels good, being touched like this.
Being touched by Katsuki like this.
There’s something so uncharacteristically tender about it, arousing in a way that has you so wet that you’re surprised to feel the way his finger slips right in when he begins to prod at your tight entrance.
He groans.
“Katsuki—“ you breathe out, voice small and not quite certain what it even is that you intended to say.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, though you can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself.
He coats his finger in the arousal that’s dripping out of you, smears it through your folds before running the pads of his fingers through the slick, slippery mess.
You choke out a whine, hips twitching. A hand comes to rest on your hipbone, not quite holding you in place but stilling your movements all the same as thrumming heat permeates every bit of skin his callused fingers touches. His thumb moves in a steady circle as his finger finally sinks into your cunt, not stopping until he reaches the last knuckle.
“So fucking tight,” Katsuki’s low voice is a hot knife, a blade that cuts through to the marrow of your bones.
And you know you inadvertently clench down as pleasure ripples through your gut at his words, because he chokes back a near-silent, disbelieving sound when he feels it. The way your pussy grips his finger.
You lose track of time, brain caught in a foggy haze of pleasure as he takes his time fingering you, working your pussy into a soaking wet, dripping mess that makes its way down his wrist and soaks into the sheets.
It feels ridiculous to think it, but you’re not sure if you’re ever been this turned on in your life.
Maybe it’s the way you can hear your best friend’s breath growing a little more ragged with each slick pump of his fingers.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not sure if he’s even aware that he keeps muttering how wet you are, how tight you feel.
Maybe it’s because you’re suddenly shivering with the anticipation of having his mouth on your—
You nearly cry out in protest when he slips his fingers out of you, cunt throbbing around the emptiness. But they’re quickly replaced, as what can only be Katsuki’s tongue slides up through your folds in one broad, firm stroke.
Every nerve ending in your body lights up under the strike of pleasure that ignites between your thighs. His lips close over your swollen, throbbing clit, and you feel what might actually be tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you buck into his touch.
In any other situation, perhaps the fact that you’re borderline humping your best friend’s face might be mortifying.
Yet here, it’s anything but, especially when Katsuki’s voice is hot honey leaking down the notches of your spine as he breathes out, “You want it so bad, don’t you?”
It’s difficult to get out much past a whimper as you continue to rock into his touch, fingers gripping the sheets. You might be moaning his name.
Katsuki’s tongue strokes your aching, dripping hole, and time stops. Your toes curl so hard it hurts, the balls of your feet slipping over the sheets, and his hands find purchase sinking into the plush globes of your ass as he begins to lick into you.
“Taste so goddamn good,” Katsuki rasps, lapping and sucking and groaning while he fucks his tongue into your pussy.
You feel like a supernova on the brink of collapse, body sinking into a senseless state of mindless, all-consuming pleasure.
It feels so fucking good—
You never want him to stop.
Katsuki laughs, low and hot, and you realize you said that out loud when he murmurs against your cunt, “Fine by me.”
It’s when he sinks two soaking wet fingers back into your pussy while his tongue strokes your clit that you burst, orgasm punching through you with a force that has your vision going white as you shake and tremble and brokenly moan his name.
“That’s it,” Katsuki whispers, tongue tenderly lapping through the wet slick of your pleasure as you gasp with the intensity of the aftershocks that course through you. His fingers carefully run through your slit after, like he’s not quite ready to stop. “What did I tell you?”
And even as you feel your nerves shudder with pricks of overstimulation…
“Hah—“ Katsuki breathes out, watching the way you rock your hips down, chasing his touch, as if you’re trying to fuck yourself on his fingers again.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, and it’s only once your eyes find his heated gaze that he sinks two fingers back into your throbbing cunt.
you didn’t set out to homewreck their relationship on both ends, really. if anyone were to ask you, it was a stroke of fate—you’d just happened across the both of them. suguru, who approached you at a bar and bribed you to the back with a drink. who brought you to the perfect line between drunk and tipsy, giggling endlessly and listing into his side, unable to hold yourself up fully. who took off his wedding ring and placed it on the nightstand before taking you to bed. who took you apart with the skill of a man with years of experience.
years he had; after all, you woke up the next morning to his phone buzzing, a call from ‘love’ blaring at you from the screen.
he winks at you as he leaves, securing a teasing promise that you won’t tell anyone. you don’t. instead, you smear a kiss at his collar. you ask to see him again, and when you do, you make a game out of trying to leave evidence behind—when suguru pulls you back by the hair, making filthy promises to fuck you in his husband’s bed, you moan and scratch your way down his back. when he ties you up, calling you his pretty little dove, you pull the skin of his neck into your mouth and suck until it bruises. when he gags you, telling you to be good, you whine and cry and hook your ankles around his hips, hoping this time it takes.
and when he finally, finally takes you home, fucking you on his bed like he promised, you just so happen to accidentally leave your g-string behind.
a week later, you see satoru while scrolling on hinge. older, beautiful, and clearly suguru’s husband. you’d seen him enough, stared down his picture while his husband fucked you in his bedroom. you’d imagined his face. daydreamed about the possibility of him walking in, of him watching you take his husband down your throat as he moaned your name.
this, you think, is better.
you match. of course you do. you start talking, you play it sweet, you act completely clueless. you have phone sex with him before suguru picks you up for another date. suguru takes you to bed, and you comfort him when he texts you about how his ‘roommate’ is taking a while to get home. when you finally meet, he doesn’t even bother to hide his wedding ring. suguru never does, either.
satoru fucks you angry. he keeps your hands clasped in one palm as he takes you from behind, panting heavily in your ear. when you turn your head to moan, he growls low in his throat and shoves your face into the pillow, smothering your whines. he makes you cry. fucks you until he’s done, uncaring of the way you writhe against him as it borders too much.
and when it’s done, he sits there, not even looking at you. he stares down at his hands, palms up, wedding ring still on. you run a hand down his thigh, lean into his side, and ask what’s wrong.
“i think my husband is cheating on me,” he tells you hoarsely.
you coo, bringing his head into the crook of your bruised neck. you run a hand down his spine, stroking your thumb back and forth. you press a kiss into his white hair. “it’s okay,” you murmur. “it’s okay. he’s not—he couldn’t be. who’d be willing to give you up?”
he texts you again a week later. you visit suguru at work, suck him off under his desk, then wipe your mouth and meet up with satoru for lunch.
getting fucked by enjin and gojo at the same time, both of them crammed inside your poor cunt. and while you are sobbing while they fuck your brains out, they just talk about you like you aren't even there.
"sssshit, she's so fuckin' tight, can't believe she'd let us use her like this," enjin groans against the back of your neck, fingers digging into the fat of your hips. "such a good lil' fuckhole, she takes it s'fucking good..."
satoru whines as he feels you cum again just from enjin's words, your face hidden in the crook of his neck as his hand holds you there. "she's so fucking good, such a good girl, love her s' much, 'n love her pretty pussy so much, taking two fat dicks like this, she's so gooddd..."
ang satoru always cums first, a choked cry of your name leaving him as he keeps fucking you through his orgasm, twitching inside you when he hears enjin curse under his breath, muttering how 'fucking hot' satoru's cum is and how much better it makes the glide...and satoru's perverted ass is gripping as you and enjin, begging pitifully.
"c-c'mon, cum in her, fill her up with me, yeah? give our girl what she needs, lemme eat it outta her, hurry up, she needs ittt, right baby? yeah? tell him, tell him you need his cum too, that you need 'toru to make it all better and clean up all that sticky cum outta you--"
"o-oh my fucking god, you jus' don't shut up!"
slapping his hand against satoru's mouth (who whimpers and cums a lil bit more from this by the way), he can't help but give in, leaning down to bite the nape of your neck as he pumps you full of his cum, mixing it right with satoru's load. the poor guy is practically vibrating under you as he feels it dripping out of you and down his balls, praying silently in his head that enjin wouldn't mind if he licked it off him too.
toji and his new gf talking about sex, and she mentions that she’s never enjoyed sex because she’s never gotten very wet before, and he’s cool with that, just jokes about getting a gallon of lube to help
but the night you both are about to have sex, you try to stop him, saying you feel really wet and sticky and that your period might’ve started. he’s in the middle of telling you he’ll change the sheets after and not to worry about it, trying to soothe you.
however, you both are shocked into silence at the wet sound of the fabric being pulled from your cunt and at the thick, sticky strands of your slick clinging to your panties. you are fucking soaked.
“fuck. fuuck…y’really like me, don’t ya? dripping all over the bed, mama, you’re s’ damn wet, baby, oh my god.”
the poor man isn’t even teasing, he’s genuinely in awe at how messy he’s got you just from some kisses and touches, and without any warning, he’s pressing his face against your pussy, hungrily lapping up all your juices like a man starved. he’s the first to get you this soaking wet, so of course he’s going to taste his reward
katsuki's biggest fear in the beginning was his quirk going off while you were having sex / mdni
when you first started dating and getting intimate with katsuki, he wouldn't keep his hands on you for too long. he'd often dig his hands into the sheets, gripping them for dear life.
his worst fear was for when things got hot and heavy, and you both got sweaty, to hear a crackle and see a spark while he touched you.
you didn't really notice it at first, but when it became a pattern of fleeting hands and temporary touches, it stuck out to you. it didn't take long for you to figure out the reason.
you were riding him, bouncing slowly, pressing your weight onto your knees while you took a break from your previous pace. katsuki looked heavenly underneath you, lips parted in awe and pleasure, his neck and chest glistening, cheeks slightly flushed. but his arms were spread out, palms face down, hands gripping the sheets.
after a moment, you made a decision, reaching down to grab his hands. you placed them on your cheeks and he looked at you with wide eyes, ready to pull away.
you leaned forward, "you're not going to hurt me" your voice was so sweet, and the way you looked into his eyes was so trusting, he couldn't help but crumble.
his head fell back, mouth open as he let out something between a groan and a whimper. his hands fell down to your waist and held on tight as he started to buck into you.
he tilted his head to look where you were connected, glancing up to where his hands were holding you, and groaned, fucking into you faster at the sight. "f-fuck."
you whined, cursing yourself as you matched his pace, making him hit deep, hands holding his down on your waist. "you'd never hurt me, katsuki."
he felt hot all over, his eyes rolled back, hips still bucking mindlessly chasing the both of your highs, fingertips digging into you "shit, baby–"
you were so soft, so vulnerable underneath his hands, the thought was making him spiral.
and when you felt that bubble burst, your legs trembling as you pulsed and clenched around him, he couldn't hold it for much longer. his voice broke as he moaned, practically breathless as he came inside you, the hardest he ever had.
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
biiiiig fan of being bakugou’s faaaaavourite. like he visits your city about four times a year for work and without fail he visits you. you don’t text much when he goes back home, you only really get the I’m in your city text when he lands with you replying when you’re free. always a dinner date. if he’s only visiting for a week, every day he’s trying to fit in time to go to your apartment or you to his hotel room. a lot of sex. practically playing boyfriend girlfriend for a week before you part ways. nobody wants to do long distance and you’re fine with dating other people until he comes back to town. he ignores when your phone vibrates with a text from a random guy. you ignore whenever the paparazzi snap a photo of him and a woman. but you both do love the time you spend together every time he visits. it’s like he never left. complimenting your new hairstyle. asking how his parents are. without fail he’ll have you over his lap and ask “who’s pussy is this?” the day he leaves to go back home.
theres this old sukuna post i have where he rubs his cock against your pussy and says "they're just getting to know each other" and basically I think that humanization of your pussy is sooo hot.
"she's so excited to see me!" when he takes your panties off.
"she just loves kissing, huh?" he says as he taps his cockhead against your clit, making sure to glaze his precum everywhere. "
"dont worry, babygirl, I hear you begging for a fucking load, I'm gonna give it-"
>> "can i...?" (roommate/bsf!yuuji x chubby!reader)
i reread @eikyuuni 's yuuji fic at least three times a week, so please consider this my contribution to "itadori yuuji just DOES things without thinking"
tags: itadori yuuji doesnt think when he asks for things, roommates/bsf!yuuji, nipple play, a very curious best friend who sometimes is a little too curious, this is 2k words of FEVER DREAM YUUJI SMUT
there WILL be a part two. just you wait.
"hey, can i ask you something?"
he's always been that way. curious. overly curious.
but you always let him be that way, because it's who he is. and because you've never been able to say no.
"yeah, what's up?" you mumble absentmindedly, staring down into the sink as you wash dishes.
"can i touch your boobs?"
you pause, watch as water rushes over the now-clean plate. push the faucet handle down and set the plate out to dry. turn to face him.
he has the decency to look embarrassed, eyes glancing around the kitchen nervously and cheeks starting to warm under your gaze.
"what?"
"it's just-" he twiddles his thumbs, runs his fingers through his hair. "i've never touched a girl's boobs before."
somehow, that's more shocking than his request.
"what?" you let out a breath, a laugh of disbelief mixed with it. he furrows his brows, eyes turned down in that way you can't resist.
"it's not funny," he whines, pouting slightly. "i just never got around to it."
"never got around to groping a girl?" you continue to tease him, but you're already drying your hands on a dish towel, already giving in. already weak to his requests, just like you always have been.
he looks disgruntled, but he's still here. still waiting for an answer.
"i don't mean it in a gross way," he mumbles. "just curious."
you step right up to him, warm with endearment. "i didnt say no, yuuj."
his gaze finally finds yours. no more than a quick glance, but it's enough.
he shifts his weight, swallowing. "so…"
you slide between him and the countertop, patting it with one hand. he's quick to react, hands finding your waist and lifting you up onto it without even thinking.
you settle there, pretending that having itadori yuuji stand between your thighs isn't entirely nervewracking.
he's always been tall and strong, from high school through college and even now, years after. obviously, you'd noticed. but your size difference had always gone unmentioned.
where his body had always been firm and solid, you'd always been soft, supple. you're a bigger girl, so your thighs had always been twice the size of his and your body had always spilled over your clothes in ways his never would.
but he'd never given you any indication that that was ever a bad thing. sure, your friends would never comment on it, because theyre good people. megumi would never admit to being cautious about touching you because he's not sure if you're comfortable with so much as a simple hug from him. nobara would never admit to glancing nervously at you when you accidentally step into a store that certainly doesn't carry your size. and that's okay. you're okay with that.
but yuuji's different. he isn't cautious, and he isn't nervous. he's touchy, almost annoying so. he fidgets constantly and bounces his knee all the time. he toys with your hair and pulls you close when you watch tv, and you never get the sense that he's careful of your weight. in fact, you kind of think sometimes that he hasn't even noticed it.
and maybe it's just because he's stupidly strong, but he never seems to think twice about picking you up if you need something. ever since you moved with him into that cheap, rundown college apartment all the years ago, and even now that you're both adults with a better place and better jobs, he's been quick to do that. if you need something from high up, he'd rather lift you than reach for it himself. if you're too lazy to get out bed but he wants to hang out, it's all too easy for him to barge into your room and scoop you up like you weigh nothing.
so maybe you're a little bit spoiled now. maybe you don't mind asking him to lift you up, just like you did a moment ago. maybe you don't shy away from curling into his side on the couch and putting on his hoodies when you're cold, even if theyre a little snug around the tummy.
maybe thats why youre okay with this objectively insane request. because if he were someone else, it would take several weeks and a lot of liquid courage for you to let him touch you.
but this is easy. because he's yuuji.
"alright, go ahead," you breathe, leaning back on your hands and pushing your chest out.
yuuji's eyes drop to the curve of your breasts, gaze trained on the way they spill over your tank top.
"wait, so," he swallows, hands twitching on your sides. "can i touch under your shirt? or just over?"
you lift your eyebrows and laugh. "already asking for more?"
"sorry," he laughs, shaking his head. "stupid question."
"well," you hum. "see what you think first. and then we can talk about it."
you dont mention that you notice the way his eyes light up. you just smile encouragingly when he nods and breathes out nervously.
"yeah. okay. cool." his fingers knead anxiously into your waist, and then he slides his palms up your sides.
you'd been mentally preparing to feel his hands on your breasts, because you know from experience how sensitive you are. but it all goes out the window when he cups you through your shirt.
your breath catches, and your thighs clench around his hips noticeably. he's kind enough not to point it out, too busy staring down at your chest in awe. his hands cover your tits completely, which sends a rush of heat straight to your core. you're not sure that any man you'd ever been with has had hands this big. you find yourself staring down at them, the same way he is.
"wow, i wasn't-" yuuji shifts, swallows. "i didnt know theyd be this soft. are they all soft like this? or is it just you?" he steps closer, pushes his hips absentmindedly into yours. your heart flies into your throat. he's not even hard, and you can still feel him.
nervously, you shift away, just to maintain some sense of propriety, but he drops one hand to your waist and all but drags you back.
"wait, where are you going?" he breathes, eyes still trained on where his hand is kneading you through your tank top. "come back."
you swallow a gasp when he slides your hips flush to his and goes back to the task at hand like he doesn't even realize what he's doing. you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white and cheeks burning when you feel the outline of his cock fit snug against your core.
stupid sweatpants that hide nothing about what's under them. stupid thin baby shorts that leave you with nothing but the knowledge that itadori yuuji's dick is massive, just like his hands.
"yuuj," you croak. "maybe we should-"
a whine builds in his throat, audible and petulant. "no, c'mon, not yet," he pleads. "i still wanna try it under." his skin flushes a deep red, almost like hes finally realizing what hes asking. "if that's okay."
why are you never able to say no to this man?
"okay," you sigh. "just for a few minutes, okay?"
his shoulders tense and his breath catches in his throat, like he can't believe youre letting him do this. you cant believe it, either.
"yeah, of course." he swallows, fingertips already curling around the straps of your top and sliding them carefully off your shoulders. he tugs gently on the low collar, slipping the shirt down and under your breasts. your bra stares back at him, and he freezes, unblinking.
you watch his eyes flick between the cups and the straps of the bra, like he's fighting an internal battle trying to figure out if he's allowed to ask for more than this.
your nerves ache beneath your skin.
"just do it, yuuji," you whisper, barely audible.
he doesnt ask what you mean. he just pushes at the straps with slightly trembling fingers, watching the cups drop low. his face radiates heat as he pushes your bra the rest of the way off.
his body reacts to the sight, even if he doesn't say it.
you can feel it perfectly, the way his cock twitches once and starts to harden, slow but noticeable.
you both stare down at your exposed tits, breathing roughly and saying nothing.
your arms start to tremble, from propping yourself up and also from sheer nerves.
yuuji noticed, his fingers tracing your wrist. "you're tired," he whispers, and then he reaches for your shoulders. "lie back."
well, thats a bad idea, certainly.
"wait, it's okay-"
but he's already nudging you down onto the countertop, grabbing you by the waist and sliding you closer again.
you feel the full length of him, warm and heavy and now quite hard, resting against your core. and hes got your legs spread wide for him to fit, eyes fixated on the way your tits spill out over your skin. once again entirely unaware of what he's doing to you.
it doesn't take much more for you to crack.
your spine tenses when he pushes his palms against your breasts, cupping and moving and playing with them all too curiously. his hands are warm and a little rough, just the way you like them, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing.
when your nipples harden against his skin, he grunts quietly and nudges his hips further into yours, eyes wide with amazement when he cups his hands underneath your tits and pushes them together to get a better look.
and then he bumps his thumbs up against them, circles them softly just to see what happens.
what happens is that your body twitches under him, thighs clenching tight around his waist and back arching off the countertop as a moan slips past your lips.
it echoes between you like a humiliating admission.
his breath is heavy, weighed down by something serious. that same something is in his eyes, dark and bordering on hungry as he stares down at you.
he whispers your name.
you have to get out of here.
"wait," you try, laughing nervously. "okay, just wait. let me breathe for a second."
he blinks, and that something heavy is gone, like he can hear the nervous tremble in your voice.
"okay," he breathes, helping you sit up and sliding your clothes back into place with ease. "you okay?"
"yeah," you say, keeping your voice light. "sorry. it just got a little-"
"yeah," he laughs, scratching at the back of his head. "my bad. i was kind of-"
"it's okay." you keep your eyes on him, as much as you want to hide. because you dont want him to think he's done something wrong. "im good, yuuj. just need a breather."
his eyes search yours, and then he nods, sighing in relief. "okay. yeah." then he laughs again. "i probably could use a breather, too."
he helps you off the counter, lifting you with ease and setting you carefully on your feet.
"i should probably go to bed," you say, glancing at the clock. "early morning, or whatever."
"yeah, me too."
you scurry away before your legs give out on you, slamming your bedroom door shut and spending the rest of the night hiding beneath your blanket.
he texts you an hour later.
[11:58 PM]
yuuj: can we do that again tmr?
your body aches for him.
you: yeah
you: sure
he takes a while to answer.
[12:09 AM]
yuuj: can we do more?
your fingers tremble as you slide one hand past the band of your panties and finally touch yourself.
you: yeah
you: we can do anything you want
when you bury your face in your pillow and shove two fingers into your cunt, you try your very best not to listen to the sound of yuuji moaning your name on the other side of the wall.
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