Synopsis: Sylus had stepped into your world and now you learn first hand why his standard Myth companion is called Relentless Conqueror.
Characters: Sylus x Non-MC!reader
Warnings: fluff. Lonnggg.
A/N: Hahaha. Synopsis is weeeird. Also also probably inaccurate description of whatever Sylus was doing to build back his power. And yes, I used the name of his standard myth companion, shoot me~
You thought you were going insane. Completely and utterly insane. There was no other explanation for why you kept seeing him. Someone who should not have been there. Someone who could not have been there.
You were sitting in the corner of your favorite café, with your back turned toward the rest of the room. On the surface, it probably looked like you were simply fixing your hair or checking something on your face. In reality, you were doing something far more ridiculous. You had a pocket mirror angled just enough to catch the reflection of the man sitting a few tables behind you.
And oh, you knew that man.
You knew the lazy tap of his fingers against the tabletop. That infuriatingly composed posture. That shirt with the feather pattern and the jacket draped over his shoulders like wings. The silver-white hair, unruly and impossible, and those crimson eyes that had ruined your ability to think straight far too many times for someone who did not technically exist in your world.
Sylus Qin.
In the flesh.
Somewhere he absolutely should not have been.
Your first guess was that he had to be a cosplayer. That was the only reasonable explanation. A very convincing cosplayer, admittedly, but still. Except there was no event in the city. No convention. No staged shoot. No photographer lurking nearby. And this small, ordinary café was a completely absurd place for a photoshoot for a man like Sylus anyway. Besides, cosplayers wore masks. For health reasons, but also because people could be cruel. Because strangers did not always know where fantasy ended and reality began.
No.
That man behind you did not look like a cosplayer. He looked exactly like Sylus. You caught his reflection shifting. His gaze had lifted. He was looking right at you now. Your breath caught, and you snapped the mirror shut so quickly your fingers nearly slipped.
Think.
You needed proof. You grabbed your phone, unlocked it with trembling hands, and opened the game. The loading screen appeared. You almost laughed at yourself for how ridiculous this was, but then the game music burst out too loudly and you had to fumble to turn the sound off before anyone noticed. When the main screen loaded, you were expecting to see him there. In some ridiculous outfit, maybe. Probably sporting that awful scarf from one of the promises, that you actually regretted buying now. That same maddening expression he wore as if even in game he knew something you didn’t.
But the screen was empty.
You frowned and checked the settings. He was selected. You exited and reopened the game. Still nothing. Then you went through the other Love and Deepspace men, one by one. They all appeared exactly where they were supposed to.
You returned to Sylus.
Nothing.
Just the café background. Blank. Empty. Wrong.
Your pulse began to race. This did not make sense. None of this made sense. You started a game repair with shaking fingers, as if that would somehow help. It did not. When the screen finished loading again, the spot where Sylus should have been was still empty.
Your stomach dropped.
This was impossible.
This was…
“Looking for someone?”
You jolted so hard your shoulder hit the back of the chair. Your head snapped to the sound of his voice. And there he was.
Sylus sat down across from you like he had every right to be there, like he had merely stepped over a line no one else could see. His crimson eyes rested on you with that same amused, knowing look that had made your brain short-circuit a hundred times before.
You stared at him.
Then at your phone.
Then back at him.
His gaze flicked to the screen, and your face went hot enough to set the café on fire. You shoved the phone face-down onto the table and locked it.
You wanted to ask how he had gotten here.
You wanted to ask if you were hallucinating.
You wanted to ask if this was real.
But the words would not come.
Sylus tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Not going to ask anything?” he said.
You swallowed hard.
“This…” Your voice came out small. Frayed. “This isn’t real.”
His brow lifted. “Is that so?”
“I probably ate something strange,” you muttered, staring at your own hands now because it felt safer than looking at him. “This is probably some kind of stress-induced hallucination.”
Then you felt it. Warm fingers covering your hand. Solid. Real. You sucked in a sharp breath. Sylus’s hand was larger than yours, warm and steady and undeniably there. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles, and the sensation sent a shock of awareness through you.
“Does this feel like an illusion to you?” he asked quietly.
You shut your eyes for a second and shook your head. Your heart thudded painfully.
“How…” You swallowed. “How are you here?”
Sylus leaned back slightly, though he did not remove his hand.
“For a dragon,” he said, “sensing abnormalities in a world is not particularly difficult.”
You blinked at him.
“What does that mean?”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious.
“At first, it was subtle. I started hearing things.” His gaze remained on yours. “Voices. People talking to me. About me.”
You stared.
“Voices?”
He nodded once.
“At first, they were fragmented. Hard to understand. But the more I listened, the clearer it became.” His thumb stroked slowly over your knuckles. “There was a collective desire behind them. Not one voice, but many. A pull.”
Your breath caught. He glanced down at your phone, then back at you.
“The players.”
The word landed heavily between you.
Sylus continued, calm and matter-of-fact in that way he had when explaining something extraordinary as if it were completely ordinary.
“The concentration of so many thoughts, so much attention directed toward me… So much desire… it created pressure. Enough to reveal weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses?” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
He looked at you a moment longer, and the expression on his face made your chest tighten.
“Cracks between worlds,” he said. “Small ones. Unstable, but usable if you know where to look. I slipped through.”
You stared at him. Your fingers curled slightly beneath his. You suddenly became aware of how quiet the café had gone for you. The espresso machine hissed in the background. Cups clinked. Somebody laughed near the counter. Life went on around you as if you were not sitting across from a man who had stepped out of a game and into your reality. Then the thought hit you so hard it nearly made you dizzy.
“Why me?” you asked.
Sylus said nothing. That made the ache in your chest worse. You gave a small, helpless laugh that did not sound like laughter at all.
“I mean… if this is really possible… if you really crossed over because of all of that… then why did you come to me? There are so many other players.” Your throat tightened. “So many people who probably know more, or are prettier, or have better reactions, or have spent more money, or have loved you longer…”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. You were spiraling now, and you knew it. But you could not stop yourself.
“Why me?” you whispered again, quieter this time. “I’m just one player.”
Sylus went very still. Then, very gently, he took your other hand too.
The gesture was careful.
Deliberate.
Like he was grounding you before you floated too far away from him.
“Sweetie,” he said, and there was something far softer in his voice now, “you are not just one player.”
Your breath caught. You looked at him, and he held your gaze without flinching.
“You asked questions. You looked at me as though I existed even when I was only a collection of data on a screen.” His eyes softened, just slightly. “That matters.”
You stared at him, stunned. And then the insecurity came rushing back, because of course it did. Your voice dropped to a whisper.
“But there are other players who care more.”
Sylus’s brow furrowed.
“More?”
You looked down. “There are people who know every detail about you. People who have played longer, spent more, made more art, written more, loved you harder. I’m just…” You swallowed. “I’m just me.”
The words felt stupid the second they left your mouth, but they had already escaped. For a moment, Sylus only looked at you. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I do not measure value by how loud someone is,” he said.
You blinked. He squeezed your hands once, briefly.
“Nor by how many times they repeat my name into the void.”
That almost made you laugh. Almost.
“You’re impossible,” you muttered.
“And yet, you are still here.”
You glanced up at him. The amused softness in his face had not changed, but something deeper lay under it now. Something steady. Certain.
“I heard many voices,” he said, quieter. “Many desires. But yours was the one I could follow.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
He looked at you like the answer had always been obvious.
“Because you didn’t look at me like a fantasy to be consumed,” he said. “You looked at me like I was real long before I ever became real to you.”
You forgot how to breathe for a second. You looked down at your hands, still in his, and suddenly you felt too warm, too aware, too small in the face of something huge and impossible and entirely real.
“That’s unfair,” you murmured.
“What is?”
“You say things like that and expect me not to freak out.”
His eyes crinkled faintly. “I am not expecting anything.”
That, somehow, was worse. You let out a shaky breath. Across from you, Sylus continued to hold your hands like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had not crossed between realities to sit in a café with you.
It made your chest hurt in a completely different way. Because if he had chosen you…Then he had seen something in you.
Something the others had not.
Something you were not sure you could even see in yourself.
“You really mean it?” you asked quietly.
Sylus’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No teasing.
No games.
You stared at him for another long moment, then looked away again because your eyes were beginning to sting and you absolutely refused to cry in a café over a fictional dragon.
Not fictional, your traitorous brain reminded you. Real. Very, very real.
Sylus seemed to understand the direction of your thoughts without you saying a word.
“You are overthinking,” he said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
You glared at him, and this time he actually looked pleased with himself. That familiar amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, grounding you just enough to breathe again.
Then he stood.
The movement startled you.
Your head shot up. “What are you doing?”
He glanced at the untouched cup beside your hand, then back at you.
“Leaving before you decide to vanish into that spiral of yours,” he said. “Unless you would prefer to stay here and continue interrogating me.”
You blinked up at him.
“You say that like I have a choice.”
His mouth quirked.
“You do.”
That single answer made your chest ache all over again. You looked at his hand still resting lightly over yours.
Then at his face.
Then back down.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you,” you admitted.
Sylus’s smile widened just a little.
“That makes two of us.”
He reached for your hand and lifted it from the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before letting go.
“Come on,” he said.
You stared at him. “Come where?”
His red eyes gleamed.
“Anywhere you want.”
And after everything, after the disbelief, the fear, the insecurity, the impossible reality of him sitting across from you… you found yourself standing too. Because maybe you were still scared. Maybe you still did not understand why he had chosen you over anyone else.
But Sylus was here.
And for the moment, that was enough.
The first thing Sylus did after stepping into your apartment was look around as if he were assessing a hostile territory.
The second thing he did was ask, very calmly, “How does one acquire money in this world?”
You choked on your own air.
He stood in the middle of your living room like he had somehow already decided this was now his domain, red eyes sweeping over your tiny apartment with cool, exacting focus. He had taken the answer to “you can stay here for now” with alarming seriousness. Not even an hour had passed, and he already looked less like a man displaced from one world and more like someone preparing to conquer another one from the ground up.
You stared at him.
“You could start with a job,” you said carefully.
Sylus’s brows lifted a fraction.
“A job,” he repeated, as if the word itself were mildly insulting.
“Yes. Employment. Welcome to Earth.”
He looked at you for a moment, then gave a thoughtful hum.
“How much money does this world consider acceptable?”
You blinked.
“That depends on a lot of things.”
“And how quickly can I acquire enough of it to be useful?”
There it was. That familiar tone. You had heard it before in the game when he was planning, maneuvering, deciding. The same cold efficiency. The same absolute refusal to accept helplessness. Only now he had no power, no money, no network of loyal people waiting at his call.
You should have found that amusing. Instead, a strange little warmth curled in your chest. Because he looked offended by the very concept of starting from nothing. And Sylus Qin, apparently, did not intend to stay at nothing for long.
He adapted too quickly.
That was the first alarming thing you learned. The second was that his version of “adapting” did not involve slowly learning how to survive like a normal person.
No.
He treated your world the way he treated everything else: as a system to be understood, mapped, and eventually mastered. Within the first day, he was already analyzing local business trends with unsettling speed. He read everything. Job listings, investment articles, corporate structures, property values, tax laws.
You found him at three in the morning, sitting at your kitchen table in silence, one of your spare laptops open in front of him while he read through financial articles.
You stopped in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t even look up.
“Learning.”
“Learning what?”
“How this world works.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“You’ve been awake for four hours.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not even blinking enough.”
He lifted his gaze then, one brow arched.
“Do you need me to be less efficient?”
You made a face.
“No, but I do need you to sleep.”
“I will. During the day. I thought you knew I’m nocturnal.”
You stared. Then groaned and went to make tea. Because somehow, despite everything, he still looked unfairly good sitting at your kitchen table while dismantling modern society one website at a time.
By the end of the second week, your apartment felt like the beginning of something.
He had folders stacked neatly on your table, notes organized by color, a second laptop of his own already ordered and somehow delivered with suspicious speed. He knew the transit routes in your city. He had memorized the names of half the relevant companies. He had probably already identified three people who could be turned into allies, two who could be pressured, and one who would likely become a problem later.
You should have been alarmed. Instead, you found yourself watching him from the kitchen doorway with a coffee mug in both hands, a little helpless and a little in awe.
He looked up.
“You’ve been staring.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No.”
You smiled faintly.
“Do you ever slow down?”
Sylus’s expression softened at that.
“Not when I have a reason not to.”
You went quiet.
Because you knew what he meant.
You.
You were the reason.
And now Sylus was already making himself into something larger. Because he was determined to make a place for himself here, in your world. And because, as always, he had decided that if he was going to love you…
Then he would do it properly.
The shift wasn’t obvious at first.
It didn’t happen in one dramatic moment where everything suddenly clicked into place.
It started with names.
At first, Sylus mentioned them casually over breakfast, while scrolling through his phone, or when you passed by him in the apartment.
“This one is useful.”
“That one is predictable.”
“He’ll fold under pressure within a month.”
You had assumed he was still studying people. You didn’t realize he had already started moving pieces. His phone rang more often. Short calls. Precise conversations. Meetings that he didn’t even bother to explain to you anymore. He started leaving the apartment more and coming back later with that look in his eyes, the one he had after a successful move. Satisfied. Focused.
Then came the news.
You weren’t even looking for it. It just… showed up. A headline on your phone. Something about a shift in ownership. A company restructuring. New investors entering the field.
You wouldn’t have paid attention. Except the name.
Qin.
Your heart skipped. You opened the article. Read it once. Then again. Then a third time, slower.
There it was. Buried in the details. A newly established entity. Minimal public information. Rapid acquisition of influence. And at the center of it him. You swallowed.
“No way…”
You found him at home that evening.
Calm as ever. Like he hadn’t just quietly inserted himself into your world’s power structure. You stared at him. Really stared this time.
This wasn’t just adaptation anymore. This wasn’t just him trying to get by. He was building something. Faster than should be possible.
And the worst part?
It didn’t look like luck.
It didn’t look like coincidence.
It looked like control.
Like he had done this before.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re going to take over everything, aren’t you?” you asked quietly.
Sylus’s gaze softened slightly at your tone.
“Not take over.”
You waited. He tilted his head just a fraction.
“Establish myself.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
You let out a breath.
“It feels like it.”
Silence stretched between you. Then you stepped closer.
“Sylus.”
He looked at you immediately. You swallowed.
“You just got here.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have anything here.”
“That’s temporary.”
“That’s my point,” you said, voice tightening slightly. “You’re acting like you’ve been here your whole life. Like this is just another game to win, another world to conquer.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“I don’t lose,” he said simply.
You exhaled shakily.
“I know.”
And that was the problem.
You looked down at your hands.
“You’re moving too fast.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I am moving at the speed required.”
You shook your head.
“You don’t even know if this world will let you…”
“It will.”
You looked up at him.
And froze.
Because he wasn’t guessing. He wasn’t hoping.
He knew.
Sylus stepped closer. His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your cheek.
“You’re worried,” he said.
“Yes,” you admitted.
“Why?”
You let out a small, helpless laugh.
“Because this is insane! Because you’re doing things people take years to do in weeks. Because I don’t even understand half of what you’re doing anymore. Because…”
Your voice caught.
“Because I don’t know where I fit into all of this.”
That made him pause. Really pause. His hand stilled against your cheek.
And for the first time since all of this started he looked not like a strategist. Not like someone calculating his next move. But like himself.
“You,” he said quietly, “are the reason I am doing any of this.”
Your breath hitched.
“Do you think I crossed worlds for power?” he asked softly.
You didn’t answer.
He huffed, almost amused.
“I had that already.”
His thumb brushed lightly under your eye.
“I am rebuilding it,” he continued, “because this world does not give me the means to take care of you the way I intend to.”
Your heart twisted.
“Sylus…”
“And I will not accept that.”
Silence.
“You’re terrifying, you know that?”
A faint smirk returned.
“I’ve been told.”
You shook your head, but your hand found his anyway.
“Just don’t forget to live here too,” you murmured. “Not just conquer it.”
Something in his expression softened again.
“I won’t,” he said.
Then, quieter:
“Not when you’re here.” And after a small pause he added as the familiar red mist gathered around him. “Now, what do you say to having three more guests here?”
@mrsqins @moonlightindeepspace @dandy-lads @quill-for-glory @satansdaughter123 @chubbymochi123 @animegamerfox @sylus-kittenpaw @mitsukichiis @thehyperfixationgirly
i think i tagged everyone...
People are judgmental. Some think they aren't, others don't mean to be, and then there are those who do it on purpose and simply don't care.
Parents are guilty of this.
Parents who pay you to teach their kids do this.
But the worst offenders?
Wives.
Particularly those with too much free time—gossiping Gertrude's who'd rather nitpick and judge than deal with the boredom of daytime TV and their kids screaming in the background. You’ve dealt with a handful before—a crack in the system that always rippled right under your skin whenever one of those vultures threw out a backhanded compliment.
“You’re so patient with the kids. I could never do what you do—how do you even manage?”
“Must be nice having all that time off during the summer. A little vacation every year, huh?”
“Teaching must be so rewarding. Though I imagine it’s not really about the money, is it?”
Each one, a subtle dig disguised as flattery, like they couldn’t help but twist the knife just a little deeper.
If there was one thing you’d learned about this job, it was to always kill them with kindness. The rumor mill among parents was ruthless, and the wrong rumor could ripple out and jeopardize your career. So, you’d mastered the art of the polite smile, the well-timed thank you, and the effortless small talk. It was a strategy that had served you well, keeping any overly curious mothers at bay.
Still, these women were relentless. They circled like hawks, always looking for an opening to pry into your life or make veiled comments about your parenting. You’d never given them the satisfaction of slipping up—until the day you almost did.
The sun was setting, the air brisk and tinged with the promise of winter as parents gathered their children. Little voices chattered away as teachers handed over day charts, neatly summarizing each child’s activities. Standing at the cubbies, you were bundling up Adira. Her small frame was snug in her sweater, jacket zipped up to her chin, and scarf tucked securely around her neck. She fidgeted as you worked, barely able to stay still with how much excitement bubbled in her tiny frame.
Her voice was high-pitched and animated as she launched into a story, her words tumbling over each other in her eagerness to share. “Messy man said, we play trains when he comes back!” she chirped, her dark eyes wide with delight.
You paused, your fingers lingering on the last button of her jacket. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you straightened her scarf. “Oh, did he now?”
Adira nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Yep! He said, “Adira, we make the best train track ever!” Her imitation of Simon’s deep voice was laughably exaggerated, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.” We gonna play with the biiig track!” She spread her arms wide for emphasis, nearly toppling over from the effort.
The mention of Simon was enough to draw some attention from the other parents nearby. You could feel their eyes darting your way, their curiosity almost palpable. Simon’s occasional appearances to pick up Adira hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the whispers had already started. Who was this tall, broad man with a thick accent? Was he Adira’s father? A boyfriend? The air was thick with silent speculation.
Ignoring the countless eyes and ears listening in on your harmless conversation, you assured Adira. “Well, if messy man promised, he’ll keep it,” Simon had made it clear that he intended to be a constant presence in Adira’s life, and so far, he’d stuck to his word.
As you stood and picked up her small bag, a sharp voice interrupted the moment.
"Well, aren’t you just the picture-perfect little family?”
Your polite smile returned instantly, masking the irritation that flared at the condescending tone. Turning, you saw one of the daycare moms—Linda, if you remembered correctly—standing there with her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around her designer purse. Her son trailed behind her, nose buried in a tablet.
“Evening, Linda,” you said evenly, keeping your tone light. “How’s Ethan doing?
She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes already scanning Adira with that overly curious gaze that made your skin crawl. “Oh, he’s fine. But I couldn’t help overhearing... this ‘Messy man’ your little one mentioned. Is he... new in your life?”
Ah, there it was—the opening she was fishing for.
Adira, oblivious to the undercurrents of adult conversation, grinned up at Linda uncharacteristically, the joy she felt for Simon completely expunging her normal glaring behavior. “Messy man makes pancakes! But they go splat!” She threw her hands out dramatically, mimicking the chaos Simon often caused in the kitchen.
Goddammit, poor Adira revealed too much to the wrong person, and you could already see the cogs turning in Linda's head. Forcing a chuckle, you reached for Adira’s hand. “Messy man is her nickname for Simon, her dad. He’s stationed overseas, so she gets pretty excited when he’s home.”
Linda’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted slightly, clearly surprised. “Oh, I see. Military man, huh? I suppose that explains why we’ve never seen him around.”
You gave Linda your most neutral expression, taking notice of the other moms matching from behind her. “He’s been busy, but he’s doing his best to be here when he can.”
"Oh, I see. I simply would've never guessed you were married. You never wear a ring," Linda remarked, her tone dripping with subtle judgment.
You knew what she was doing. It was a carefully laid trap, baited to catch you in a corner. If you rebuffed her comment, if you made a scene, it would only give her more ammunition to spread rumors. These women didn’t care for nuances; they thrived on gossip, and the topic of marriage—or rather, the lack of a visible wedding ring—would be a field day for them. They’d ride that horse straight to hell, and you'd be left cleaning up the mess.
With the growing number of parents in earshot, you understood that this wasn’t just a comment; it was a test. You had to choose your words carefully. It wasn’t just about keeping things smooth in the moment—it was about protecting your future.
You gave a small, practiced smile, maintaining your composure as you slipped Adira’s bag onto your shoulder. “I don’t wear my ring because I work with children. It could get caught in their hair, or worse, I could lose it.” You met her gaze with a calm confidence that bordered on dismissive.
“That’s understandable, dear. We all have kids after all!” Lina laughed, her tone attempting to sound warm and genuine, but it was too polished, too forced. The laughter rang hollow, like a poorly executed attempt to mask her true intentions. “Does this mean we’ll finally get to meet him at the fundraiser this weekend? We’ve all been here for so long, and not a single glimpse of your beloved other half. Right, ladies?”
Her words floated in the air, sharp with insinuation. The smile she wore was one of practiced sweetness, but the glint in her eyes was anything but kind. She knew what she was doing—attempting to pull you further into her web, hoping to get a reaction that would either reveal more or, better yet, give her ammunition to fuel the rumors she clearly wanted to start.
A few of the other women murmured in agreement, their eyes flicking from you to each other, already whispering amongst themselves. They were all waiting for a response, and the pressure began to build in the pit of your stomach.
“Yes, he is.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even process them, your own response surprising you as much as it did the group of wives surrounding you. You felt a jolt in your chest, your heart picking up pace as the reality of what you had just said began to sink in. What the fuck did you just do?
The laughter from Linda faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed your words. The others exchanged glances, some of their faces lighting up with an almost predatory curiosity, while others masked their thoughts behind polite smiles. You could almost hear the gears turning in their heads—oh, this was going to be something they could use.
The tension in the air thickened, and you suddenly felt exposed, as if every secret you’d carefully kept tucked away was now dangling on the edge of a cliff. You’d just handed them the perfect piece of gossip, but what would it lead to? Would they use it against you, twist it into something worse? You hadn’t planned for any of this—hell, you hadn't even planned on saying anything at all—but now that it was out there, you had to somehow steer this conversation.
You had to control the narrative, or risk letting it spiral completely out of your hands.
Your mind races, trying to formulate a response, but everything seems so loud—your thoughts, the laughter, the eyes watching you. How could you backpedal without it seeming like a lie? How could you walk that fine line between the truth and keeping your personal life hidden?
"Yes, Simon’s coming," you added quickly, trying to steady your breath. "But, you know... he’s not really into the whole fundraiser thing. He’s more of a stay-at-home guy, a bit of a quiet one, really. I’ll be there though, and we’re looking forward to it." You tried to sound casual, but the flicker of doubt in your voice betrayed you.
The women around you didn’t miss a beat, though. The moment had been set, and now it was only a matter of what they would do with the information.
“Well, I look forward to seeing you.” Lina’s voice was dripping with a false sweetness, and you could feel the weight of her gaze as she gave you one last look. Her eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary, as if trying to peel back layers, searching for some crack to exploit. Then, with a nod, she steered Ethan away, her entourage of women following closely behind, their chatter rising in the air like a distant murmur. The click of their heels echoed as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.
"And so, that's what happened," you finished, your voice trailing off as you leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to gauge Simon's reaction.
Simon blinked up at you from where he was sitting on the floor, his focus still mostly on Adira, who was happily arranging her toy train with her blocks, making a makeshift kingdom. He didn’t seem phased, just a little confused. "You want me to pretend to be your husband?"
The question hung in the air for a moment before he let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his eyes filled with that familiar warmth. "Out of all the things I've done in my life, this has to be the funniest, love.”
You blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected nickname. It felt oddly intimate, a shift in the dynamic between you and Simon that you hadn’t anticipated. Love. It wasn't what you'd expected to hear from him, not in this context, not when everything felt so messy and uncertain. But there it was, slipping out so naturally from him, like he'd always called you that, like he'd been in your life much longer than he really had.
Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of Adira’s laughter in the background making the moment feel surreal. It should have been funny—this whole situation, with you essentially asking Simon to pretend to be your husband for the sake of those gossiping women. But instead, you felt something else, something soft and unfamiliar tightening in your chest.
“Did you just call me that?” You couldn't help but ask, your voice a little quieter than you intended.
Simon paused, his playful smile faltering for a second as he caught the look on your face. “I—yeah, I guess I did,” he replied, his tone a touch more uncertain now. He glanced down at Adira, who was happily stacking blocks at his feet, then back to you. “It was just a slip of the tongue. Didn’t mean anything weird by it.”
“I’m not exactly husband material, you know,” he added lightly, his voice teasing. “I’m more of a... messy man.”
You chuckled at that, shaking your head. "A messy man, huh?"
He nodded, grinning. “Yeah, but I’m good at it. Just ask Adira.”
Adira, hearing her name, immediately let out a squeal of approval. “Messy man!” she giggled, throwing a block in Simon’s direction, her tiny hand pointing at him with delight.
"So, what's the plan here then?" That easy grin back on his face, his eyes still dancing with humor, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. “You want me to just walk into a room and act like we’re a picture-perfect couple?”
The way he said it made you laugh a little, though there was a slight edge of uncertainty to it. You found yourself shifting uncomfortably, knowing you had no real plan for what came next. It wasn’t like you had a relationship with Simon beyond the occasional dinner and time spent with Adira, and yet, here you were, asking him to play a role in your life, one that might end up blurring lines you didn’t fully understand.
“Well, you don’t have to pretend, exactly,” you said, running a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling all the weight of the day settling in. “I just... I just need you to be there. You know, to back me up, to—” You paused, glancing over at Simon again. “I guess I just don’t want them thinking I’m alone in all of this. It’s bad enough that has already started.”
Simon’s gaze softened as he leaned back in his seat, watching you with a quiet understanding. "You're not alone in this," he said, his voice steady. “And I’m here. You don’t need a ring or a title for that.”
The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten again, but this time it was different. His words weren’t a joke or a half-hearted attempt to make you feel better—they were real. He was offering something more than just pretending for the sake of others. He was offering his presence, his support.
For a moment, you forgot about everything else. The plans, the expectations, the pressure. Instead, all that mattered was Simon sitting across from you, smiling at you like you weren't asking for something too much, like it wasn’t strange to think of him in your life like this.
“Thank you,” you murmured. "Really."
He gave a small nod, then grinned, shifting his attention back to Adira, who had managed to get half the blocks stacked to an impressive height. “It’s nothing. Besides, I think Adira’s got the best part of this deal anyway.”
You glanced over at your daughter, who was watching both of you with wide eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Adira was your source of strength, a beacon that pushed you forward, her smile alone gave you determination. “Alright, let’s figure out what married people do.”
"I know just who to call." Simon reached for his phone, the battered thing covered in scratches, an old case and sporting a broken screen from a hazardous drop. Upon seeing it, the first thought running through your head was, how the fuck was it still usable?
Price’s living room radiated warmth and history, a perfect mix of domestic coziness and military precision. The centerpiece was a sturdy stone fireplace, its mantle adorned with framed photos of Price and his wife, Melanie. In some, they stood arm in arm at scenic locations; in others, Price was in uniform, the edges of his cap sharp against the backdrop of distant skies. Above the fireplace hung a shadow box displaying medals and insignias, each one polished to a shine, speaking volumes about his service.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from military strategy texts to well-worn novels. On one shelf sat a small globe and a model of a Spitfire plane, a nod to his admiration for history. A comfortable, overstuffed armchair, complete with a folded tartan blanket, sat near the fire. The coffee table bore faint scratches, evidence of years of use, and atop it lay an open newspaper, a mug of tea, and a small dish of biscuits.
You sat stiffly on the plush sofa, feeling distinctly out of place amidst this blend of home and honor. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence as you watched Simon talk to Price in the adjoining kitchen. Occasionally, their eyes flicked toward you, and you pretended not to notice, your gaze wandering instead to a black-and-white photo of a younger Price standing with a group of soldiers, all grinning ear to ear.
The awkwardness of the situation weighed on you like a heavy blanket. This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned your day—asking Price, of all people, to help stage your fake relationship. But you were in too deep now to back out.
In the kitchen, Price rubbed his hand over his mouth, barely concealing the grin that tugged at his lips. A low chuckle escaped as he grabbed a cup of coffee, shaking his head at Simon, who stood across from him, arms folded, his expression far more serious than the moment warranted.
“You want me and Mel to help you two seem like a couple? That right?” Price’s voice carried an unmistakable note of amusement, his words tinged with disbelief.
Simon shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Yes, that’s the gist of it."
Price’s laughter broke free, a warm, hearty sound that echoed off the kitchen tiles. “Bloody hell, Simon. You’ve seen action all over the world, but this—this is what’s got you nervous?” He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder, his grin wide enough to light the room. “You’re in for a treat, mate. Melanie’s going to love this.”
From your seat, you caught Price’s amused glance, and you couldn’t help the way your face heated. This was going to be a long evening.
Price, still chuckling, crossed the room to the wide bay window, pushing it open with ease. The crisp evening air drifted in, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint hum of distant crickets. He leaned out slightly, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Mel! Come on inside, love. You’ve got to hear this one,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the quiet of their backyard.
From where you sat, you caught a glimpse of Melanie in the garden. She was tending to a neat row of vibrant flowers, her hands gloved and a straw hat perched on her head. At the sound of Price’s voice, she straightened up, brushing dirt off her knees with a curious look on her face.
“Be right there!” she replied, her voice warm and lilting. She removed her gloves, tucking them into her apron pocket as she began making her way toward the house.
Price turned back to Simon, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better hope Mel doesn’t laugh you out of the house, mate.”
Simon groaned softly, rubbing his temples. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Price.”
Moments later, Melanie stepped into the living room, a radiant smile lighting up her face. She was the epitome of grace, her presence immediately softening the room’s atmosphere. Her gaze shifted between you, Simon, and her husband, her curiosity evident.
“What’s all this about, then?” she asked, removing her hat and setting it on a nearby chair. “You’ve got that mischievous look again, John.”
Price grinned, gesturing toward you and Simon. “These two need a favor, Mel. A big one.”
Melanie’s brows lifted as she looked between the two of you. “Oh? Do tell.”
Simon, looking equal parts determined and mortified, cleared his throat. “We... need help convincing a group of nosy parents that we’re married. Long story.”
Melanie’s smile widened as her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, this sounds rich. Go on, I’m listening.”
You shifted in your seat, feeling the warmth of Melanie’s gaze settle on you. Her smile was kind but tinged with unmistakable amusement, and it was clear she was holding back a laugh as she took in your flustered state.
“Well,” you began hesitantly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “It’s a bit of a mess, really. One of the moms at the daycare cornered me, started asking questions about Simon, and… I might’ve let it slip that we’re married. Which we’re not. Obviously.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, and you glanced at Simon for backup. He was rubbing the back of his neck, caught between exasperation and amusement.
Melanie let out a soft laugh and gracefully sat down beside you on the couch. “Ah, I see. And now you need to sell the story before it falls apart. Oh, love, I’ve been in a similar pickle—not quite like this, but close enough.”
“See?” Price chimed in from his armchair, leaning back with an amused grin. “Told you Mel would get a kick out of this.”
Simon shot him a flat look. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, mate.”
Melanie waved a dismissive hand at Price before patting your knee in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t mind him. Now, let’s think this through. If you’re going to convince anyone, you need to act the part. People pick up on the smallest details—how you talk to each other, how comfortable you seem together. If you’re too stiff, they’ll see right through it.”
Simon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he nodded. “Alright, so what do we need to do? We’ve got about a week before the fundraiser, so I’m open to ideas.”
Melanie’s eyes lit up with a mix of mischief and determination. “Perfect. We’ll start with body language—how you interact without saying a word. And then we’ll move on to the conversational stuff. You’ll need to know each other’s habits, quirks, and all those little details married couples just know.”
Price clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. “Right, then. Let the awkward training sessions begin. This’ll be one for the books.”
You groaned inwardly, glancing between Simon and Melanie. This bizarre charade was only just beginning, and while you couldn’t imagine where it would lead, one thing was clear—you were in for a wild ride.
Happy new years friends! The holidays were a riot and I spent most of it spending time with family instead of writing as I felt kind of burnt out from writing in November, sorry about that but I hope this makes up for it.
Synopsis. Five times that Ryomen Sukuna - most desired man on campus, frat boy extraordinaire, your longtime FWB - would rather sIeep with you than tell you how he feels. And the one time he finally, finally does both.
Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, frat boy!FWB!Sukuna, 5 + 1 things, FWB-to-Iovers, accidentally falling for your FWB, no strings attached, slightly toxic, pIayer!Sukuna, Kuna’s MEAN, denial, distractions, emotionaIIy stunted Kuna, jealousy, hurt + comfort, YEARNING, Choso cameo, Sukuna with tattoos, college wrestler!Sukuna, manhandIing, oraI (fem. rec), p talking, p sIapping, spítting, pússydrúnk Sukuna, spelling, overstím, HEADLOCKS, rough s, tummy buIges, talking you through it, running from it, chokíng, DÚMBlFlCATION, dirty taIk, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight bréeding, confessions, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 16.9k
A/N. Officially my longest fic hehehe- inspired by all the frat!Kuna edits I’ve been seeing on my FYP, bIess all editors.
“You’re obsessed with me.”
Sukuna grins. “Other way ‘round, mama.” He takes his long, languid time swirling around the liquid in his red Solo cup. It was some cheap bottle their new pledges had snagged, and it burned down his throat.
The aftermath was in the way the man stumbles just a little closer towards you. He catches himself with a tattooed hand pressed on the wall above your head. Abs against your core. Caging you. “Other. Way. ‘Round.”
You’re jutting your chin up in challenge, “It isn’t.”
He hums, “Isn’t it?”
“And what makes you so sure of yourself, Ryo?”
He shivers at the sound of your pretty voice. He could almost taste the cherry punch in it, and something about that made him tighten in his pants…“Maybe it’s the drinks talking, but I just know.” Sukuna leans in so close that there was barely a centimeter between you both, between your lips. “And I also know you want me, girlie. Bad.”
Even with your highest heels on, the pink-haired leader of Curses Epsilon (Curses ε, the most sought-after fraternity on campus) seemed to loom above you. Crimson eyes narrowed. Smile predatory. Signature black t-shirt tight.
He always had caught your eye, you had to admit.
C’mon, it was impossible for him not to: a few heads taller than most of the student body, more sculptured, more attractive. You’d heard a rumor that he did modelling down in Shibuya sometimes and you didn’t doubt it. He walked around this very university like he owned it. He probably did.
Sukuna pushes back his cotton-candy locks, and you’re seeing the roots of reddish brown where his undercut was.
The shade was so at odds with the utterly devilish look those tattoos gave him. Even now you could see the ink peaking out at his wrists, his collarbones, his nose bridge. They snaked all over his body. Sensual. And when he slowly dips his head down to kiss the underside of your jaw, you start to wonder just how far those patterns went…
“Oh.” You gasp, grabbing onto his well-built shoulders.
They flex through his thin t-shirt when he’s leaning even closer, and you’re suddenly remembering that he was here on a scholarship for wrestling. The infamous leader of his weight class on your university team. The King of the Court. At least that explained his irresistible build - you wonder whether he was a semi heavyweight? A heavyweight? Did they even have those?
You couldn’t think.
You’re tipping your neck further to the side, and from the edges of your peripheral vision you see the way that Sukuna raises one pink brow- before draaaaagging a line of soft kisses down the side of your throat. Filthy. Fleeting.
You’ve seen that look on him before - it’s the one he’d shoot at admirers that dared to stare too long. That sort of ‘if you want it come and get it’ look. That sort of challenge. Prowling through campus corridors that seemed to shrink whenever his figure waded through, sports bag slung over his shoulder, hair still wet from his shower, you could expect the sports superstar to throw at least ten at a time.
Though you couldn’t really blame them! You suspected that about half the student body - and perhaps even some professors - held a burning fire for Ryomen Sukuna, and the other half simply wouldn’t admit to it.
And just as long as his list of admirers was his roster.
Or so the whispers claimed…‘His latest catch is actually the mother of-’ ‘They say he has five girls at once and they know about it but stay-’ ‘He swings both ways so what I’d give for a chance-’ ‘His longest relationship was two days and that’s because they begged him-’ ‘Stay away.’ ‘Stay away.’ ‘Stay away.’
Stay away.
You didn’t have to be told that to know.
It was an unspoken rule on campus, the lay of the land.
Quite the dichotomy, wasn’t it? Stay away from Ryomen Sukuna, unless he’s the one that approaches you first and then it’ll be like your wildest fever dream, your wettest, and when he finally leaves- well, weren’t you told to stay away?
That’s the way things were. And all any heartbroken ex-companion would get is a few soothing words by the very same people who would turn around and make an example out of you.
‘Didn’t you see what happened to so and so…? Stay away.’
He was like a guilty pleasure that most people knew better of, knew would become an addiction. However, still indulged in anyway.
And so here you were. Cooped up in some dimly-lit frat party, cramped until every breath felt like it was singed with the copious amounts of alcohol around you, surrounded by booming beats and bellowing boys. In nothing but the most sinful dress you’d stowed away for a night just like this. Though you had to give yourself some credit- you didn’t wear this just for Sukuna, that’d only happened to be a happy accident!
In fact, you hadn’t even been expecting to meet him here.
Sure, it was the fraternity that he was the leader of, but Sukuna was always quite the…busy man. To put it lightly.
No—when your friends had urged you into this very party, you’d worn it with the thought of another man in mind. None other than your two-timing, two-toned, two-inched ex Zenin Naoya.
Your relationship was never meant for a happy marriage with two kids and a house that had a picket fence, but the straw that surely broke the camel’s back was about a week ago when you’d sneakily scrolled through his social media likes. And say whatever you want about privacy, but the multiple other girls he was entertaining and the deplorable podcasts about women he’d been secretly listening to let you say whatever you wanted.
And your first words to Naoya afterwards had been that you wanted to break up. Your second had been cussing him out.
Which was why, when Utahime had told you that he’d be attending (likely to try and pick up another poor girl), you’d immediately rifled through your closet for this skimpy dress you knew he’d hate. And still jerk off to later.
Speaking of…how ironic was it that you’d run from one red flag and straight into the arms of another.
The thought mulls lazily in your brain, before it’s quickly overtaken by the feeling of Sukuna resting his hands just over the small of your back. Something stirs carnally at the pit of your stomach, and you don’t think you’ve felt this way for a long time - not even when you were still with your ex.
“Prove it.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.
He stops, raising those brows of his again.
And you don’t hesitate a single second before looping both arms around Sukuna’s neck and bringing him closer to you. And the hulking man lets you manhandle him as you please, lets your lips whisper just a breath’s distance away from his. In the distance you think you can hear a few gasps, feel a few stares. “Prove that I want you. Badly.”
And Ryomen Sukuna’s realizing that he didn’t need the alcohol, not really.
Not when he was already drunk on you.
His lips are on yours before you can say anything else.
Your first time meeting Ryomen Sukuna ended up with you pushed into the bedroom at his frat house and holding onto the headboard so that it won’t break against the wall. Bang-bang-bang. He’d lifted your trembling hands off of them, eventually, and placed them between your legs to roll over your clit. You don’t think he cared for a single sultry moment if any of his frat brothers happened to hear.
In fact, with the way that he’d been plunging his massive girth between your legs (the rumors really hadn’t exaggerated!) you’d almost wondered if he wanted them to hear. You wouldn’t be surprised.
Sukuna fucked hard, fast.
He made you stupid on his cock and chased his high like an absolute madman- though, that’s not to say he was a selfish lover. No—perhaps for his own ego, you were made to cum at least thrice on his fat, throbbing length.
And after the deed was done he’d rolled over to the side of the bed and tugged off the sticky condom. Discarding of it into the nearby trashcan, Sukuna rifled through his bedside cabinet for some wet wipes.
Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t the type of after-sex cuddles and aftercare, you’d come to learn. As he’d handed them over to you gruffly, and flicked at his lighter to burn up a cigarette.
Taking a deeeep drag of it, he turns towards you and brings his lips so close that you think he might just kiss you—only to puff out a smoky cloud in your face. “Inhale.” You do as he says, and let the fumes burn your throat. The side of his lips were quirking up in a smirk, “Mmm, good.” Sukuna gestures at his walk-in closet, one that you’d been eyeing for the sheer luxury of it when you’d first entered. “Might wanna find a t-shirt in there, your dress is a little…”
You looked at the sad heap of silky fabric on the carpet - torn now. “And whose fault is that?”
“Heh, just go get yourself a t-shirt, girlie.” Sukuna sits back on the headboard, and you’re appreciatively eyeing his half-naked figure. Prominent pecs. Ladder-like abs. Tattoos that stand out against his golden, tannish skin. He’d tugged on a pair of black boxers by now that did nothing to hide the happy trail of dark pink hair that you had your nose pressed up to minute ago. “Or don’t.” He looks at you with a sleazy smile- shit, he’d caught you staring. “I don’t mind.”
“S-sure ya don’t.” You’re managing out, tight.
And almost robotically, you manage to pull yourself onto your wobbly legs and take one step—Sukuna chuckles to himself as you stumble.
With a glare thrown over your shoulder, you walk into his closet. About as large as your entire dorm. Rows upon rows. Shelves upon shelves. Clothes upon designer clothes that made you wonder just how loaded a future professional wrestler is.
There were brands on his shelves that you couldn’t even recognize but knew were high-end simply from looking at their logo. Gawking, you flip past a few hangers - Versace, Burberry, Burberry, Gucci, Loro Piana, Dior, Dior, Dior, Dior-
Eventually, you simply give up to snatch the (hopefully) least expensive thing you could find: a wrestling hoodie with colorful logos on its front and ‘Sukuna’ emblazoned across the back.
The fabric was oh-so-soft in your hands, made of pure cotton that tempted you to tug it on your body as soon as possible. Oh, you’re marveling at the way the ending hem of it reaches well past your torso, engulfing you like some sort of blanket. Experimentally, you’re pulling the hoodie flap over your head and giggling at the way it droops down all the way to your nose. Unable to help yourself, you tug the sleeves up to where your wrists were and press the pink fabric to your nose.
Strawberries.
What a smell for such a guy.
“Fuck-” You’re whispering into the fabric, slightly muffled. The rush you were feeling gets dampened down a bit as you remember where you are, “I’m getting way too ahead of myself.”
When you’re finally walking out of the closet, Sukuna was lounging on his king-sized bed and scrolling through his phone. You take a moment to admire him like this- his long limbs stretched across the mattress, hair still sex-ruffled, your nail marks prominent down his shoulders, hands hugging a pillow to his chest.
He looked as if he was carved by the heavens themselves. Though he fucked like the devil.
He’s flicking his eyes casually your way, eyebrows slightly raising as he takes in your attire. “Nice choice.” Sukuna hums, voice deep with sex. “Didn’t think ya had it in you.”
And then he’s patting the empty side of the bed once more.
More, his eyes said. He wants you even more.
You almost instinctively take a step forwards before-
“Actually-” You start, fighting to keep your words steady. You keep yourself rooted in front of his closet and fidget with your fingers. “Before we do anything more, I wanted to make some things clear.”
“Mn.” He’s turning his phone off with a slight sigh, placing his hand atop his head.
Sukuna says nothing more, and you take it as a signal for you to continue. Taking a deep inhale, “I don’t really do this one-night stand thing often- not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Heartbeat quickening at the way his lazy smile grows, you don’t know why he made you feel the need to explain yourself. “But since we’re-”
“And who says we’re a one-night stand?”
Your heart does something funny with its tempo, “Wh-what?”
He tilts his head as if analyzing you, almost feline with his movement. Sukuna’s pinkish tongue darts out to wet his lips, still sweet with the taste of your pussy. “What if I want two nights? Three? Four? What’re you gonna do then, girlie?”
“Th-then-” You’re clenching your fists—fuck, it made it so hard when he was looking at you like that. “Then you’d have to get tested.”
And that…seems to make him pause.
“What?”
“Then you’d have to get tested, duh.” You’re crossing your arms in front of your chest - oh, it was quite amusing to watch the Ryomen Sukuna scramble for words. And you can’t help the spike of satisfaction, as he so-very-obviously didn’t expect that. “And we’d have to set boundaries. And share schedules. And you’d have to tell me if you meet up with another one of your ‘friends’ so that we can get tested again.”
“…”
“…”
Without warning, he bursts out laughing. “Thorough, aren’t ya?”
He wipes away a tear of mirth from the right side of his face and- c’mon! You honestly didn’t think it was that funny! Sure, you hadn’t had any…arrangements like this before but you couldn’t have been too far off for the requirements?
“What are you-” But as you start to protest Sukuna only guffaws even louder.
“Alright, alright-” He’s raising up a hand as if to tell you to stop before his (well-toned) sides start to split. It’s only once you take a step back and huff n’ puff yourself into silence that the man finally starts to calm down. Looking down at his lap, “Damn- fuck, I’ve never had my boner killed so fast.”
“It’s just the requirements.” You’re grumbling.
“Girl, I might as well cut off all my ah- ‘friends’ as you so-nicely put it and marry you.” Quite dramatic, but alright. You notice that he doesn’t push back against your boundaries, however. Sukuna stares you down, eyes twinkling with something that you couldn’t quite discern. “And what exactly would you like to call our little relationship then?”
“Friends-with-benefits, what else?”
“Mm, I like it.”
“And nothing more- no marrying any time soon.” You shudder when you think of your last failed relationship.
Sukuna grins, “Keh- don’t have to worry about that.”
.
.
.
“Okay-” Utahime slams! all one-thousand pages of Shoko’s anatomy textbook down on the cafeteria table, rattling your trays and making the surrounding students glance at your trio. You’re watching as her glass of orange juice splashes precariously around the rim and inches one watery hand towards the pages of the book. “-spill.”
You’re startling at her sudden interrogation, “What?”
And to your horror, even Shoko puts aside her medical notes to pay full attention to the commotion between her friends. Both of them staring—squarely at you.
“You heard me.” Utahime crosses her arms, “Something’s up with you these days- and we want to know what.”
Shoko nods, sighing the way she did whenever she was assigned a particularly difficult medical case to discern. “Sudden glow about you- likely a mix of estrogen and dopamine boosts, slightly dazed look in your eyes, increased screen time, unconscious smiles, unexplained disappearances at odd times of night.” She taps her pen on her chin, “Science says you have a boyfriend.”
Utahime gasps, “And we haven’t heard about it?” Throwing an arm around a deadpan Shoko, who says nothing when the other girl shakes her to and fro. “We- we, your very best friends since freshman year, haven’t heard about him.”
“So who is it? I’m curious.” Shoko probes.
“Tell us or I cry-”
“It’s no one.” You’re finally managing a choke out, to which you’re met with the most dramatic groans from both your friends. This time, they’re loud enough to garner the attention of over half this section of the cafeteria- and in your peripheral vision, you swear you could feel the intensity of two crimson eyes…
Your eyes flick to the side - and there’s your first mistake.
Utahime gasps, kneeling on the bench to look over Shoko’s head. “He’s there-” Above your frantic pleas for her to just settle down, “Don’t lie, I saw your eyes move! He’s there I just know it-”
You grab onto her dress and start tugging, “Uta, for heaven’s sake just sit- down-”
“Hmmm, the only ones there are Professor Yaga- no. Todo- no. That PhD student, Higuruma- maybe.” As her options dwindle, she sweeps her eyes. “Ijichi- no, eugh. No offense, my dear, it’d just get so troubling to have to peg him all the time.”
You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “U-Utahime, oh my god!” Even Shoko simply lets it happen in amusement.
Until finally, her eyes waft over the group of fraternity brothers that sat tall amongst the rest of the students. She wrinkles her nose at them, “One of the Curses Epsilon boys- no way, you’re smarter than that.”
They were such a boisterous bunch. Murmuring what were most likely innuendos with each other, clapping each other on the backs with guffaws. Almost handsomely stupid the way they kept looking to their pink-haired leader for approval. Occasionally, someone from a neighboring table would walk up to them in an attempt to talk to Sukuna - and the entire table would fall over themselves to erupt in wolf howls.
You were almost thankful for the way Utahime had given you the excuse to stare right at him. The way he’d wave off whichever newcomer, the way he’d roll his eyes at his friends’ antics. You’re realizing that his group was mostly composed of athletes, evidenced by the team jerseys and the trays upon trays of food were wolfing down.
Sukuna, noticeably, wasn’t wearing his wrestling hoodie.
The thought makes something shift at the pit of your stomach.
“Oh my god, it’s one of them-” Utahime’s following your line of sight with something akin to horror, and even Shoko seems to be rapt with an attention that she didn’t ever have in her classes.
Both of them had easily let their eyes slip past the boys, it seems. And it’s only once they saw your lingering gaze, only once they saw that familiar smile across your face, that they’re realizing.
Widened eyes slipping back to the rambunctious table.
You snap your eyes to your purple-haired friend once you register her words, “N-no, wait-”
“You stuttered!” She squeals, and you don’t know whether it’s out of excitement at the gossip or sheer fear. She turns to Shoko, “She stuttered, right? I’m not dreaming? She stuttered?”
Shoko nods, “She stuttered.”
Utahime whirls back to face you, “You didn’t even stutter when you told off that asshole Naoya- thank you for that recording by the way, it was quite the pleasure to listen to.” Shaking her head as if to make herself get back on topic, “Either way, are you or are you not dating one of the Curses Epsilon boys?”
“I am…” You pause, “-not.”
They both groan at your response. Utahime even reaches over the table to shake you by the shoulders, “Tell us- I can- tell- when- you- lie-”
“No- no listen!” You’re defending yourself, swatting away her grabby hands. “I’m really not dating one of them, promise! It’s just…”
Shoko asks, “Just?”
You sigh, there was no getting out of this now. “Remember that party we went to at their house a few weeks ago?” Continuing as they nod, your heartbeat starts to accelerate as you realize you’re getting to the meat of the story. “Right- and remember how I disappeared halfway through the night and told you that Akari dragged me off somewhere?”
Utahime gasps, “I have connected the dots.”
Shoko frowns, “You haven’t connected shit.”
“I’ve connected them.” She replies, “I always assumed you ended up hooking up with someone that night and didn’t think much of it. Now you’re telling me that it was one of them-”
“Keep your voice down!” You plead, “But yes, it was…and the thing is that one night turned into two, two turned into three.” Your skin starts to heat up as you remember just last night when you’d snuck out to be let in through the back door of Curses Epsilon. To be pressed onto all fours and ruthlessly ploughed into- “But look, the point is that now we’re kinda…sorta…friends-with benefits.”
They gasp in unison.
Utahime’s all but standing on the bench once more, “Who is it-”
“Whose dick do I need to cut off.” And Shoko is, too.
You put your face into your hands with a groan as they start listing off names.
“No.”
“Choso?”
“No.”
“Larue?”
“No.”
“Kenjaku?”
“No.”
“It surely can’t be fucking Sukuna-” Both of them look at you, look at the impression on your face. And they turn to each other with serious expressions, “She’s fucking Sukuna.”
There was no use in telling them to keep their volumes down now - people turned their heads your way and started to whisper. You could only imagine what the rumor mill was conjuring up now. Hell, even Sukuna himself casually flicked his head your way in interest.
And you wished you could sink even deeper into your seat.
“Did you see that-” Utahime hisses.
“I saw.” Shoko replies.
And the purple-haired girl reaches over to clasp your hands, “He was giving you that look- oh my god. He looked like he was about to eat you up—” And you think that Utahime is perhaps the only one who’d look over and glare at Ryomen Sukuna the way she did just then, “You know what they say about him, right?”
“I’m well aware.” You breeze off, “It’s nothing serious- just no-strings-attached fun, promise. I could break it off at any time and not feel a thing, and I know the same goes for him.”
Utahime scoffs, “Yeah but it’s not like he’s seeing you that often, right?” A pause. “Right?”
“Well…”
You’d been saved in that very instance by a bzzzz—! in your pocket: a text from the man of the conversation himself. And with a quick apology to your friends (you loved them, you really did, but you supposed that was enough interrogation for the day) and a glance at your calendar to make sure you didn’t have any more classes for the day—you were racing out of the cafeteria.
Followed suspiciously closely by a certain pink-haired wrestling superstar.
You didn’t quite care who saw what or thought what, because a few hours later found you back in your single dorm room.
Fucked stupid.
Sex still hung in the air.
You were sprawled out across your humble single bed, heaving as if you’d just ran a marathon. Head sinking into the pillows. Cunt all drooling with your splashin’ slick. Still reeling from the aftershocks of your multiple highs.
With Sukuna’s athletic stamina, however, he seemed to be barely affected. Taking a light drag of his cigarette (you’re sure the building had a no smoking policy…), he looks over your dorm room with faint interest. Much smaller than his but also much…cozier, you had to admit.
Lived in.
He takes in the polaroids of you and your friends, all the cutesy lights, the columns of books. Sukuna stares hard at one of the pictures above your headboard—it was one of you, Utahime, and Shoko after shotgunning a few beers. On the verge of throwing up.
“Cute- the dorm, I mean. S’nice.” He says, blowing out a streamline of smoke at the photograph. “This purple-haired one s’the one that was screamin’ about us in the cafeteria today?”
“You heard that?” You exclaim.
“Girl, the entire cafeteria and Gakuganji’s senile ass heard y’all.” He rolls his eyes with a grin, “Dunno whether you’re louder then or…” Such a devilish, devilish grin. “-here.”
“Shut up.”
“You certainly didn’t-”
“They threatened to cut off your balls if you broke my heart, y’know.” You don’t quite know why you’re telling him - Sukuna was probably used to the threats of his love interests by this point. You’re turning to your side and facing him, trying not to shiver at the way his eyes glide appreciatively down your exposed body. “Not that there’s gonna be anything at stake to break.”
“Of course.”
“Of course.”
“And what if?” He asks you, to which you only look at him in confusion. Sukuna takes his sweet time puffin’ on his cigarette once more before satiating your curiosity, “What if I break your heart?”
You think about it for a little bit, “I won’t cut off your balls.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll cut off your entire dick and feed it to you myself.”
The cigarette falls from his hands and onto your carpeted floor- which Sukuna hastens to put out with an uncharacteristic yelp. You guessed wrestling scholarships didn’t cover burnt-down dorm rooms, and you have to stifle a giggle at his actions.
“You-” He pants out, finally looking up after picking the scorched nub between his fingers and throwing it into your trashcan. Almost glaring those rosy eyes down at you, “You think you’re soooo funny, huh, mama?”
You chuckle, “I do.”
“Well, yer lucky you’re cute.” He grumbles to himself, at least- you think that’s what he grumbles to himself. Because the moment you’re looking at Sukuna in slight surprise, he turns his head.
You see nothing but the sharp edge of his jawline, those high cheekbones, the tips of his ears that were flushed with…the sex? Surely? Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, Sukuna brings a hand up to cover them under the pretense of scratching his sweaty undercut. “Never met anyone with this much fuckin’ audacity.”
You yelp, “H-hey!”
“Hey yerself.” And then he’s heaving himself up and digging underneath your own fucking bed as if it was his. How strange, this familiarity. The two of you had only known each other for a few weeks (though you had to admit you had spent considerable hours together) and here Sukuna was rifling through your room like nothing - you just wasn’t sure whether that was a him thing or…He’s finally pulling out—
“That- that’s my rose toy?!”
“Yeah, let’s give ‘er a spin.”
.
.
.
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Itadori Jin’s voice echoed out from the other line, almost reaching a fever pitch in defensiveness.
Sukuna rolls his blush-red eyes, he’d been standing outside this godforsaken café on a call with his brother for what felt like hours now. With you inside and waiting. All warm. All…fucked-out—anyway! The point was that you were inside all comfortable, and he was a hulking figure looming outside some frilly café grumbling profanities underneath his breath.
In his defense, it was after one of your ‘hangouts’, alright!
It was just another day with you. After he’d pumped deep into your lungs, Sukuna just-so-happened to hear your stomach rumble in hunger. And he was the one to have suggested taking a stroll down to the lil’ café down the block. It was packed with college students, and he didn’t really care who saw - besides, bearing through the gaudy interior theme and re-play of music certainly not his taste was almost bearable for the pleasant surprise in your ears.
And the refueling, of course. The main reason he was taking you here was because (surprise, surprise!) a house full of college men didn’t quite have the nutrition needed to last a few more rounds. And Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t done with you just yet.
He just didn’t expect to have been assaulted by a phone call from his older brother the very second he’d taken a step inside. And Sukuna had told you to find a seat for the two of you, deciding to take the call outside. He knew his brother wouldn’t give up if he declined the call.
They always were alike, Sukuna and Jin.
Sure, maybe not in personality - Jin was always a bit of a goody-two-shoes, though he could hold his own in a fight. Sukuna was the one everyone said they had to watch out for.
The one that didn’t get invited to birthday parties by fearful parents, the one picked last during team sports because they said he’d start a brawl, the one visited only by his brother and his father the first time he’d ended up in the ER after a fight, the one who only had those two to cheer at his wrestling matches. Only ever those two.
Whatever.
Same rosy hair.
Same features (for the most part, at least. Sukuna’s constant trips to the gym and the ER had resulted in him having a rather more rugged look than his twin).
Same stubbornness.
They’d ended up going to different universities, with Jin attaining a scholarship for marine biology a few hours away. Which meant that family functions weren’t quite as frequent as they used to be, but he could still hear it in the man’s voice - that stubbornness.
It made the younger of the two brothers feel the heat creeping up on the back of his neck, slightly squirming as Jin admonished him—“I’m just saying that you sound happier than usual-”
“Jin.”
“And that’s a good thing!” He could practically envision the bespectacled man throwing his hands in the air, trying to hold back his smile. “Hell- Ryo, it’s a wonderful thing! You finally have someone making you happy! You’ve finally met someone special! You finally have someone in your life-”
“I don’t have trouble getting around.” He grumbles, and—well. Ryomen Sukuna isn’t quite the type to explain himself, but with his brother…
“Ryo.”
“Alright, alright!” Sukuna bursts out, and a mother nearby grabs her child by the hand and speedwalks away. “Alright, I haven’t met up with anyone else! I’ve cut off all of my ah- friends, for lack of a better word.” He could hear the smug hum of his brother, “But that’s not because it’s special or anything, it’s just because…”
Jin urges, “Go on…?”
“Because s’just convenient, alright?” He’s finally answering, “S’too much of a hassle to get fuckin’ tested after each one, so I might as well only have her in my life- ah wait, fuck, I didn’t mean it like that-”
“I knew it.” Comes the squeal, “Listen, Ryo, I just don’t want your stubbornness to get in the way of something special-”
“And I don’t want to hear yer voice- goodbye, old man.”
The ringing tone to denote that the call has ended is much more soothing than his brother’s voice, he decides. And he takes a few deep breaths before tucking his phone back in his pocket- turning it on silent mode.
He turns around to step inside and—there you are.
Dressed in that hoodie of his that he’d forgotten to take back from you. The air of someone that’d just been properly fucked. Through the glass, he sees you staring at the other people outside. He strays his gaze himself to see what you see- you’re chuckling at that little boy who skips along the pavement, you gasp at the delivery driver with a stack of boxes who almost trips, you coo at the elderly couple walking their dog. Hand-in-hand.
Sukuna looks down at his own empty hands.
Scarred and calloused.
Before he’s reaching his dominant one upwards and pushing open the swinging café doors. You look up from the booth you’d chosen for yourselves as he enters, waving him in the right direction. It was one by the window, he notices, though in the very corner of the place as if you’d wanted to hide yourself away.
Perhaps hide the two of you away.
Hm…Sukuna thinks, rubbing at his chest. And thrusting both hands into his pockets, he’s sauntering right up to you.
He’s not blind to the stares he garners from some of the other customers, and though any other time he might have thrown a stray wink or two - and honestly, nothing was stopping him now - he simply sides into the seat opposite you. “Sorry ‘bout that, mama- emergency calls.”
“Emergency?” You raise your brows in amusement, peering at the man opposite you as if you were analyzing every inch of him. And he almost couldn’t believe that just a few minutes ago, you’d been shaking and whining underneath him. “I don’t know anyone named ‘Emergency’ at our school.”
“Goes to another school.” He quips, knees bumping against yours as he stretches them out underneath the table. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, girlie~”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
In almost no time, the waitress is bounding up to your table and jotting down your orders. He orders his coffee black, no sugar—and you roll your eyes at him.
The older woman then coos down at the little interaction, “Oh, you know we’ve got a special offer just this week in honor of our upcoming fifth anniversary? 100% off on all desserts for couples!” Her eyes wrinkle beautifully at the edges, “Would you two perhaps be…”
You open your mouth, “Oh, we’re actually-”
“Completely in love.” Sukuna interrupts you casually, his large hand settling over yours on top of the table. “Maddeningly. We’ll take one of everything for the lady and a strawberry shortcake for me, thanks.”
“Oho, you two.” She chuckles, walking off. “Ah, young love~”
You watch as she leaves—and snap your head towards Sukuna so fast that you think you may have gotten whiplash. “You-”
“It’s for the offer, don’t overthink it.” He lets go of your hand and crosses his arms. You almost miss the heat of it - was the air conditioning in this place too high? You’re sinking your hands into the sleeves of your- his hoodie, and Sukuna’s slouching in his seat. “Take it home- all the desserts, share it with your friend or whatever. It’s for you, anyway.”
“Right.” You’re not quite sure what to say- “Thank you?”
It’s a rather long and awkward silence that follows.
You attempt to break it by grasping for some shred of conversation, “So ah- is everything alright?”
He raises a pink brow in question.
And you don’t know how he manages to do it - how he manages to make your veins bubble and bolt inside of you with just a single look. “The ah- the call, I mean.” You’re squirming in your seat at his half-lidded gaze, so intense. He always looked at you with this certain fire, whether in bed or…here. “You were just out there for so long, I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”
He rests his chin on one hand and tilts his head, “Not worried about me, are you? If it was anything serious?”
“And if I was?”
“You shouldn’t.”
To which you furrow your brows in confusion, “What do you mean? Of course I’d care if something bad happened to you.”
Sukuna only holds your gaze, his expression unreadable.
He reaches a hand down his chest - right over his heart - and lightly rubs that spot. Finally looking away from you, the frat leader answers. “No- no, it’s nothing serious. Just a…friend.”
“I see.” You still.
“You said I could still have ‘friends’, right?” He asks, a note in his voice that was imperceptible. Sukuna looks at you with a meaning that you didn’t fully understand, and you’re realizing that the two of you had been leaning over the table for quite some time. “Or has that changed?”
It seems like an age before you break his eye contact, “Nothing has changed.”
Sukuna leans back in his seat, “I see.” There’s silence between you both once he reaches into his pocket and starts scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. “Then yeah- it was a friend that called. I’ll get tested afterwards though, don’t you worry that pretty head of yours over it.”
“Good.”
A few more minutes of silence.
He can’t bear it. “Lemme eat you out in the bathroom as an appetizer before our food?”
“Be quick.”
.
.
.
“Truth or dare! Truth or dare! Truth or dare!” Utahime chants, jovial words slurring into a nearly-incomprehensible mess as she claps her hands. Messily, she’s pulling you and a few others into a haphazard circle on her bedroom floor.
All cooped up in a room that was decidedly not designed to hold this many people. The air dimmed with LED lights and cheap alcohol. Bass thumping throughout the bones of her apartment - it was a small get-together that’d turned into a large get-together that’d turned into friends of friends of friends both invited and uninvited
You swear you’d seen a few graduates sneak themselves onto the living-room-turned-dance-floor before you were being pulled into her room by your inebriated friend. One who, as the host, was deciding what the game of the night would be. “Truth or dare!”
Pronouncing, more like.
Shoko rolls her eyes, “Your ability to turn into a twelve-year-old when you’re drunk both fascinates and abhors me.”
“Jokes on you I don’t know what that word means.” Utahime sticks her tongue out, to which most of the group giggles.
“But seriously- are we twelve?”
“Fine…” Utahime grumbles, and clicks her fingers as if happening across a sudden epiphany. “Dare or drink, then!” She’s peering towards Shoko with a smug smirk, “How’s that for all adult and mature, hm?”
“That’s almost worse.”
You’re taking the opportunity to sweep a look at the (likely) players: some more of your friends, Ijichi, Haibara, Higuruma from the PhD students, a few sweet sorority girls, some strangers, one Curses Epsilon member-
Your eyes widen as you take in the long-haired man—Choso, you believe his name was.
He catches you staring and smiles at you shyly, an expression that you hope you’re returning without it looking too much like a shocked grimace.
You’d seen this very man around Sukuna sometimes, and he seemed to be one of the quieter amongst the bunch. Below Sukuna in terms of rank, certainly, they seemed to have an almost brotherly relationship that stood out to you when you looked at the group. And, listen! It’s not that you didn’t realize a member of his fraternity could attend parties - in fact, Curses Epsilon was synonymous with parties.
So you should have expected this. So you should have been prepared for this.
But the fact that he was here…a part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether that meant Sukuna was here, too…
What that meant he was doing…
Who…
You’re startled out of your little reverie by a call of your name- and to your horror, you’re realizing that you’d been staring right at Choso. The man was squirming before you, his ears tinged just the slightest rosy shade.
Heart thundering at your throat, you look away and turn back to Utahime. Slightly breathless, “Wh-what?”
“You’re up first!”
She’s pointing down at the carpeted floor, which had a glinting vodka bottle in the middle that’d been spun, it seems. Its transparent circular nozzle stares you down in an almost-accusing way and makes you shift uncomfortably—you didn’t even know that they’d begun spinning bottles yet. And whoever was to fall victim to the end of its vermicular spine was the first up for their dares.
And it just-so-happened to be you.
You gape, “I-I…”
“C’mon, c’mon! You can’t back out now-” Utahime taps her chin and pretends to think, “I dare you to—”
“Fucking hell…” You already know that this wasn’t going to end up well for you.
And just as you expected, her eyes slide over to meet another pair of eyes—dark, doe-like eyes that had been fixated on you ever since you’d been fixated on them. Subconsciously or not. She smiles as she drinks in the sheer intensity that Choso had been staring at you with, “I dare you to make out with the person sitting opposite you for ten seconds.”
Your brows furrow, “Sitting opposite…” Eyes lifting up to meet—his. “Oh.”
“Oh.” Choso’s pink lips part, the tips of his ears furiously red.
And there’s a few seconds of silence- between you two, but not the drunken students that surround you two. They erupt into cheers and wolf whistles, ribbing at a quiet Choso Kamo to get on with it.
As you stare, stunned, he peeks up at you through his long lashes. “W-would you mind?” His quiet voice was almost inaudible.
“I…don’t.” You find yourself answering, mouth moving faster than your brain can compute.
And before you know it, you’re rising to your feet and making your way to the middle of the circle. Those dark eyes widen as you draw nearer- so different from the red ones that you were used to.
Something in your stomach clenches, and you feel a strange buzz zing! throughout your entire body. You’re not sure whether you like it or not.
Choso himself starts to get closer to you, and your pulse quickens at his closing proximity. His eyes turn half-lidded as they flick to your lips and back up to your face, like he was making sure that you were okay with this. Tentative. Almost…shy. You’re admiring the tousled look of his hair, that tremble of his lips, and the way his eyeliner makes him look so soft.
You wanted to run. You wanted to kiss someone. You wanted to run. “I- I really don’t.”
Choso kisses you.
For a beat. Two.
One of his ringed hands snake upwards to grip the column of your throat, and you’re parting your lips with a moan! Fuck, you were getting wet. Just in time for him to slip in his tongue and-
CRASH! THUD!
You’re wincing at the rush of light that assaults your retinas, and as you slowly blink back your vision- you realize that there were tears in them. Because of what, you’re not too sure. But you chalk it up to the harshness of the light as your eyesight clears back up.
And then you’re seeing—oh, it couldn’t have been a figment of your imagination.
You’d never mistake that cotton-candy hair anywhere.
Sukuna was on Choso, with the other man sprawled out on the ground and the rugged wrestler on top of him. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. A vein throbbing at his neck. His entire body was rigid and honed for a fight that he knew he was going to win. He had one tattooed hand gripping the front of Choso’s shirt, and the other pulled back mid-punch.
A punch that he was frozen in.
A punch that clearly hadn’t landed yet.
From what you’re surmising of the situation, Sukuna had pulled the other man off of you by his collar. From what you’re surmising of the situation, he was all but about to attack the other man just because he was kissing—
“Ryo.” You’re starting, a hand reaching out as if to stop the fight yourself.
Any and all floatiness from the liquor had now completely dissipated from your body, and you were only left coiling in thick, unyielding tension. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t waver. “Don’t do anything fucking stupid or god help me-”
Almost as if jolted to life by the sound of your voice, Sukuna lets go of Choso in a single, jerky movement.
Though he doesn’t speak - and you’re almost thankful for it, you don’t know what you’d say to him. Instead you’re breaking out of your little trance and pushing aside Sukuna—yes, pushing him to the side so that you can get to Choso.
Stunned, he lets you move him.
He always has.
With both hands gently placed upon either side of Choso’s handsome face, you’re inspecting him for any injuries. He flushes slightly at your touch. And - tactfully - no one nearby says a single word about it. “I’m- I’m alright.” Choso says, his tone slightly hoarse.
But you don’t give up until you’re completely and utterly sure that he’s okay. “Hm, well alright.” Finally letting up, you start to move yourself- and only then do you realize that you’d been straddling Choso’s hips. Hurrying to scramble off, “O-on behalf of him, I apologize.”
You’re lightly bowing and he stops you with a hand at your shoulder- only to glance at Sukuna and let you go as if you burned. “No, no! It’s my fault for not knowing-”
“Don’t worry.” You spare a glance at Sukuna, who had his eyes downcast and his expression revealing nothing. “There’s nothing to know.”
And that…that makes the Ryomen Sukuna flinch—
As if he’d just been stabbed.
As if the temperature in the room had dropped to freezing.
As if you’d plunged your hand right through his ribcage and torn out his heart.
But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at his point. “Again- I’m so sorry.” Turning back to Choso, who’d been watching the exchange with side eyes - right along with half of the party that’d turned up from the living room now at the whispers of a commotion here. Especially one with the wrestling star—and over a girl at that! “And about that ah…” You gesture at his hips…the ones you’d been straddling.
Choso blushes even deeper, waving his hands in front of him frantically. “No- no, I didn’t mind! I mean- I mean, it’s alright and you don’t need to apologize! But you didn’t need to apologize anyway because I didn’t-”
“Man.” Shoko rests a hand on his shoulder, “Stop talking.”
He immediately clicks his jaw shut.
The next thing you’re doing, you don’t even know if you even fully thought it through. Because one second you’re standing up—and the next you’ve got your hand wrapped around Sukuna’s waist—and the next you’re dragging him through the packed party—
Through the crowd that turns their head to look at your unlikely duo, that turns their head to watch the gruff leader of the wrestling team be led out as if he was a naughty child.
Sukuna lets you take a few steps out of the apartment’s front door, before he’s halting in his tracks and gripping onto your waist instead. Not hard enough that it hurts, not gentle enough for you to be diverted anywhere but his one-track destination to…well, you weren’t quite sure.
“Ryo- I mean, Sukuna—” You squeal as your heels click-clack! down the stairs. You don’t pull yourself free from him, because you know he would let you. “Sukuna, I demand to know where we’re going-”
“There’s nothing to know.”
Your stomach drops.
It’s the last thing he says. The only.
And you can only follow as Sukuna draaaags you out into the night-lit street, cars lining the pavements like the straps of lingerie on a faceless body. An outstretched. A ready.
You’re recognizing the gleaming black body of his new Audi in an instant - you would anywhere, to be honest. It took up about half the street. Imposing, just like him. It always did make your heart skip a beat to see it parked outside whatever rager you were attending for the night. Just as soon as you’re registering the car, you’re having your back pushed up against it-
“What are you-” You gasp out, before his lips are on yours.
Furious. Feral. Fighting to open them roughly with his own mouth, he’s taking a single look at your prettily parted lips and spiiiiitting straight onto your tongue- before stuffin’ it with his own tastebuds, just in the way that Choso was about to mere minutes early.
You muffle out, “M-mmpf- Sukuna!”
“Ryo.” He rasps, blindly unlocking the door and pushing you into the spacious backseat. “You know m’always your Ryo.”
That night he fucks you harder, faster than any time before.
As if he was claiming every inch of you.
And you don’t end up going home for the night—no, you end up at Sukuna’s instead. And if he made you moan his name even louder than usual, well, it’s only in the morning that you realize that Choso’s bedroom was right next door.
.
.
.
Ryomen Sukuna had flowers—
An entire bouquet of red roses that he’s sure the florist ripped him off for - surely something grown out of the dirt couldn’t be that expensive?! But he did have to admit that it looked wonderful taking up more than half of his backseat—the very same backseat he’d fucked you senseless in not too many nights ago.
The two of you hadn’t seen each other properly since Utahime’s party.
What with his wrestling practices for the upcoming tournaments, and your finals rounding the corner. It’s honestly by sheer miracle that Coach Kashimo had cancelled today’s training for some reason or the other (he honestly didn’t look too closely, merely glancing at the email before driving to the nearest florist whilst texting you to ask whether you were free). And, well, here he was…
So fucking pathetic in his excitement to meet you that he’d forgotten the damned flowers in his car!
Sukuna hopes that they weren’t wilted as he struggles to put on his ripped jeans, discarded on your bedroom floor right along with the rest of his clothes. He’s looking around frantically for his t-shirt, when you glance over at him from the bed.
And he doesn’t see the flicker of hurt in your eyes.
“Leaving so soon, Ryo?”
“Uh huh.” He’s absent-mindedly responding—where the fuck where his socks? Did he even need socks just to go down to his car-
You bite down on the inside of your cheek, “Another appointment?” Another person, is what you really wanted to ask, but…
“Something important that I forgot.” Sukuna replies, looking underneath your bed and ah- there they were. He feels you sitting up on the bed, blanket clutched to your naked chest, as he sits on the mattress with his back turned and finishes dressing up. “Fuckin’ hell, can’t believe I even came up here forgetting-”
“Right.” Your tone was clipped.
“Should’ve gone down the second I remembered but-”
“Should have.”
“Because it’s mad urgent-”
“More than me.”
“I just got a little distracted, y’know?” The pink-haired man glances over his shoulder with a teasing smirk, slightly frowning at the way you turn your head away from him. Hm…he attempts to lighten the mood, “S’all your fault, girlie~”
“Sukuna.”
And that makes him slightly wither in on himself. That tone. That name. Trying to get a good look at your face, he leans towards you. “What’s wrong…?”
“I think we should end this.”
Everything.
Everything was wrong.
Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t fight your decision, Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t try to get you to explain. He lets your words sink into his being like a pebble cast out in the vast and unceasing Blue—and he lets them fester within him just as mysteriously.
He’s walking out of your dorm a hollow man.
Right up to his car, he’s taking automatic steps. Where he flings the door open and grips the bundle of stems of those- of those fucking roses.
He wants to destroy them.
Sukuna’s hand trembles as he raises them high in the air to chuck- before his peripheral vision features two familiar faces. Unbreathing, he’s turning his head jerkily to the side and staring at them—matching crows’ feet, a slow hobble, the slightly hoarse laughter between a whispered conversation. A vision so private that he almost wants to look away, he didn’t know how you did it.
It scares him how quickly he recognizes the elderly couple to be the exact same one you’d been admiring from afar that one day at the café.
It scares him.
Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t know why he hands his heartbreak bouquet to the old couple that day. But he does remember one thing - the delighted smiles on both their faces, the way the old man had so-clearly wanted to hold the blushing, beautiful flowers. But he’d given them to his wife anyway.
Seeing the young man staring, the old man had winked.
A knowing smile on his face.
“Oh dear, oh dear.” To which the sweetly older woman had reached down to pluck! two blossoms from the bouquet. And without hesitating, she’d tucked one behind her husband’s ear—and then beckoned Sukuna to lean down to tuck the last one behind his. Rosy red against lovely pink.
His eyes widen as her slightly roughened hands cup his cheek.
Humming with a smile, “You are so easy to love, my dear.”
Something in him breaks a little at that very moment.
And Ryomen Sukuna drives the entire four hours it takes him to drive to Itadori Jin’s university, to damn-near bang down his apartment door.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez…” His older brother’s familiar voice - stubborn, so stubborn just like his calls out from inside the apartment. He doesn’t care that it’s 2AM and Jin’s neighbors would be complaining, right now he just…really needed his big brother.
He can hear the footsteps get even closer. “Who the hell is it at this time- I swear if it’s rent then I already paid it two weeks ag-”
The door clicks open.
Jin’s face freezes in surprise—before it’s dropping at the look on Sukuna’s face.
“Oh, Ryo.”
His arms are around the taller man’s instantly.
And if Itadori Jin felt his sweater drench where Sukuna’s face rested, then he doesn’t say a word about it.
“What did I tell you about keeping your someone special, Ryo?”
.
.
.
It’s the next day when you’re waking up to an incessant knocking at your door.
It pounds like the headache you’d been sporting all night.
And you’re getting up, your eyes swollen - not just from sleep (in fact, you don’t think you slept a single wink all night) - and your movements all sluggish. Looking down, you realize that your pyjamas- Sukuna’s wrestling hoodie, was still drenched in tears. Your blinks were heavy. You felt a mess.
You barely even wanted to get out of your bed, and you don’t think you would have had it not been for the sheer ferocity of the knocks.
Were they trying to break down your damn door?!
“C-coming!” You’re coughing out, sure you had a doorbell that was going unused. Disgruntled, you’re unlocking the door and reaching for the doorknob. “Jeez, Uta, I swear this isn’t really a good time if you’re going to-”
The first thing you see is red.
Red.
Red.
Red roses.
Bouquets of it lined every inch of your dorm’s corridor, as far as your eye could see, some even piled on top of each other, the largest held between Ryomen Sukuna’s trembling hands.
And the second thing you see is, well, red again.
The blush that dusts his handsome face, rivalling his pinkish locks. Sukuna takes a half-step forwards- before he seems to think better of it and lurches right back. His thick brows furrow in sincerity, as if he just wanted to make you feel his words— “I love you.” He pants, as if he’d just run here. And it feels like all the breath has been knocked out of your lungs. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you-”
“Oh, Ryo.”
And it’s all the confirmation Sukuna needs to let the bouquet in his hands drop down to the floor. Rustling. Letting the blossoms be replaced with something that is, to him, far more beautiful.
He crushes you so tightly into his embrace that you almost can’t breathe - nothing but the soft strawberry scent that engulfs you whole. And you almost don’t think you need to. Not right now. “I love you.”
“You idiot.” You choke out, “You idiot- you’re so- fucking- stupid.” You punctuate your words with punches to his chest, which makes it rumble with a chuckle. “And I’m even more stupid because I…”
“Yes?” Breathless.
“I love you even more, Ryo.”
He sighs with his entire soul and collapses in on his world—you.
A few minutes later.
What feels like absolutely no time later.
You’re finding your back laid flatly against your single bed - a humble compartment in your dorm room. But now it had you sprawled out across it and reaching for your rickety headboard to hang onto dear life, Sukuna kneeled at the foot of the bed and clawing at your tear-stained sweatpants.
Pulling at it.
Tearing through it.
Your whines intermingle with the rip-rip-riiiip of fabric once he’s exposing your naked legs. You were wearing nothing underneath it, and Sukuna’s fucking groaning as he opens up your thighs to take the heavenly sight in-between.
“Fuh-fuck…” You swear you see a line of glittering drool fall down the side of his mouth, one that Sukuna’s gulping back as soon as it comes. “Holy fuck, sweetheart, how do you look even tastier every time I see ya?”
You’re huffing, unable to stop yourself. “Maybe you’re just mixing me up with-”
“Don’t say that.” And though his voice was quiet, it was stern. It meant every word he was saying, “Never say that.”
Gliding his roughened hands down the tender inner parts of your thighs- you’re shivering as you feel every line and callus from his palms. Remnants of wrestling. The softness of holding you. It makes something in your heart lurch, “I-I just-”
“You don’t need to explain yourself.” Sukuna looks away with a light blush as he cuts you off, “But I do. We have much to talk about…but the one thing I need you to know is that ever since I met you, I have never, and will never, so much as look at anyone else.”
“Ryo—” You whimper, feeling the thick crowned edges of his thumbs inch towards your drippin’ core.
“And I want you to know that m’yours.” He nudges his handsome head closer, until he could breathe in the sultry scent of your pussy. You could feel the cold breeze of his inhale- “Soul…and body.”
And then he’s lavishing his loooong tongue out to lick a wet stripe at your clothed pussy.
Sluuuuuurp—! Such a greedy taste of your cunt. Before Sukuna’s drawing his muscle back in just to do it all over again - flick after flick where you were most tender. With the tip of his tastebuds he’s outlining your glistening crevice, and pinpointing them right where the knob of your clit was located.
You’re twitching as you feel him enter his lengthy tongue juuuust underneath the drenched fabric of your panties, before fishing it back out whenever he feels he got too close to your pussy.
“P-please-” You’re grabbing onto Sukuna’s head of pink hair, trying to move him even closer. “Want you even closer- stop teasing now.”
He rolls his eyes rudely, “Teasing? You think this is me teasing, sweetheart?” And before you can register it, he’s reeling his tongue all the way back into his mouth. Leaving your poor cunt all throbbing and completely untouched. “This is me teasing.” As you buck your hips pathetically with the desire for his ridged texture, “What I was doin’ earlier was just savoring, mama.”
You throat was thick with need, “But- but what is there to savor-”
“What the fuck are ya talking about?” One of his pink brows raise.
“I mean-” You hasten to explain, your entire body radiating pure heat and need. “You’ve already had me like this before-”
“Oh—” And suddenly, the most lecherous smile plasters across his attractive face - already slicked with copious amounts of wadded slick that sticks to him like some sort of adhesive. “Girlie, you don’t even know the half of what m’capable of.”
And before you know it—Sukuna’s rugged fingers come down to spank! right on top of your pussylips.
Before you know it, he’s clasping the side of your ass cheeks and flipping you right over as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. With one finger hooking onto your panties- you can distinctly sense when the wrestler seems to think better of it and instead bites his pearly white canines down on your soaked underwear.
You’re muffling out with your face pushed into your pillows, “Wh-what are you-”
Before he’s teeeeeeearing your panties right down with nothing but his mouth.
Exposing your quivering pussy all for him to see, smearin’ apart your folds with both his thumbs. He takes a few seconds to admire the slick that splashes out of your entrance, before spitting vertically down your slit.
Simply to add onto the mess.
It’s the only warning you’re getting before Sukuna completely surges in and shoves himself nose-deep between your puffy folds. Just the tip of his nose drags down the middle of your cunt from behind, and before you know it- his tongue is zig-zagging at your hole wiiiiiildly—
He’s like a madman. He’s like a man starved.
Gulping at the excess of your leaking sap and then munching himself even close to lap at the dewdrops of slick just about to fall out of you. They don’t even have to be pouring out of you for your greedy Sukuna to be gluing himself to your cunt.
Shovelling his tongue even deeper.
And when your tight orifice can’t take any more of him, he’s grunting out into your cunt and spitting.
“Fuck.”—He’s clenching his jaw and spitting out once more at the slight resistance of your hole. Just the way that Sukuna’s wet muscle was oh-so-thick, and he kept having to pry apart your pussy folds even further just to inch inside. Until you’re shivering at the feeling of his knobbly tastebuds dragging down your walls, “C’mon c’mon c’mon- just fucking take it my girl, I know you want to.”
“I swear your tongue got even bigger, Ryo-”
Your velvety walls close in on him, keeping his slippery tongue hostage while he only tries to ebb even deeper. He’s clenching his jaw at the slight resistance of your tight hole. “S’only been a day and she’s forgotten me this much?”
Fisting at the pillows, “I didn’t, it’s just you’re too big.”
“Appreciate the flattery, mama.” You could feel his grin against your softened flesh. “But it’s my fault.”
Instinctually, you’re raising your head off of the spit-drenched pillows to ask just what he meant-
“But I guess I hafta eat her out so she remembers this time, hm?”
But you didn’t have to ask for the answer.
You didn’t even have to think—honestly, you don’t think you can even, well, think by the time he’s got a hold of you.
Because Ryomen Sukuna was going to do well on his promise—Ryomen Sukuna was going to do well on all his promises.
He was latching one ruthless hand onto the side of your hips and manhandling your hips to start gyratin’ down onto his open maw. Angling you in just the right position so that his swollen lips can latch onto your throbbing clit-
“Bet’cha didn’t know that m’a good multitasker.” He’s gurgling out, wads of slick n’ spittle clogging up his throat. And the thing was—Sukuna didn’t care how much he had to suffocate on your pussy, he fucking loved that shit.
“I-I don’t think I did.” You’re replying.
“And bet’cha didn’t know that I- fuck, I can reach in so deeeeeep.” The large muscle of his tongue swipes in so deeply inside of you- you can’t even fully comprehend whether he’d plunged inside all the way up to his chin because of how dumb he was fucking you.
Rough, hard strikes at all your most delicate spots inside.
Finishing off with the most sinful noises - it’s like the deeper he gets, the louder those noises get. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I r-reach yer- hah, g-spot this fast, hm?”
You’re furrowing your brows. Sure, you were slowly getting more and more dazed on his cock - but surely you weren’t that mindless that you wouldn’t notice? “Wait, but I don’t think you ever actually—oh.”
And then you’re feeling it.
And you’re realizing that Sukuna had timed it precisely for the middle of your sentence, when he can hear the effects of you stumbling and falling apart on his very tongue.
Mazing all the way inside as if searching for treasure, his thorough inches are spreading out your walls so well. Not leaving a single crevice unturned, a single drivelling orifice, a single bundle of nerves- that he’s honing in on and darting straight against.
Pushing down on the area of your g-spot, you’re suddenly jolted by the electricity of your pleasure. He snickers, “There it is.”
Crying out, “Th-that’s just mean, Ryo.”
“Th-th-that’s just mean.” Mocking, in a lilting pitch that was most certainly not reminiscent of your own. With a tough roll of his eyes, he’s only unfastened his maw to take you even deeper from behind. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I could be meeeeean—fuckin’ meaner than you even even thought.”
“I-I think I know too well.” Or so you claim - but shit, Sukuna had never eaten you out like this before.
With his pointed chin jutting against the base of your treacly cunt, and his nose curving against your slit. Sukuna isn’t just thrusting his tongue inside you, he’s also making sure to flick and linger his tastebuds into any orifice he knew you were fragile at.
Again. Probing.
Again and again and again.
And with a smug chuckle, Sukuna claims. “Bet’cha didn’t know that I could go reeeeeal fast.” Until you’re hanging your head down to stare between your slick-sheened legs and all you could see was a pink blur intruding at your folds. “Or reeeeeeal slow.”
“F-fuck, that feels so good.” Your back arches into the perfect curvature when his velveteen tongue starts slowing down into an agonizing pace.
It was just so slow that you could feel each line and crevice of his rows of tastebuds, and just so thorough that speckles of your syrup were darting from your orifice and splattering! down onto the mattress. It starts forming a puddle on the sheets beneath you- one that Sukuna was certain not to go to waste.
His free hand skids down the insides of your thighs, layering his fingers in a thin glaze of your pussy’s slick. And whence his fingertips were all done and coated, the pink-haired man was raising them up to his mouth and sucking the sweetness off.
Not. A. Single. Drop. Wasted.
With a groan, he’s not letting his time go to waste, either. And he’s back funneling your snug channel with his tongue—in and out, in and out, in and out. “Take yer pick- s’all for you, mama.”
“Sh-shit, but I like both.” You didn’t even know whether he was talking to you or your pussy by this point - but you were too gone on his tongue to even care. Slightly bucking your hips into his mouth, “But I- ngh, do like it a bit better when you go…faster…”
A sudden spank down on your clit once more, “Atta girl.”
Nose pressed up against your slit, tongue lashing ruthlessly inside.
Ruthlessly.
If you thought you were ruined on the movements of his tongue just earlier, then this sudden sloppy cadence has you seeing fucking stars.
The gooey end of his tongue swabs against every tender spot at your innards, somehow forking at your luscious g-spot and attempting to reach even deeper. Perhaps your cervix. Perhaps your womb. And Sukuna’s permanently patterning his tastebuds against your walls. Swirling and swirling and swirling right on time with the caresses at your clit.
He didn’t care how much you bucked and trembled at the sheer pleasure of it, the frat leader’s fingernails dig deep into your flesh every time you lurch away.
“Ah ah-” Only to be hauled back down in mere seconds by one of his strong arms. Back and forth, back and forth, baaaack and forth. With an unceremonious squelch! your pussy’s being plastered back down onto his mouth. And Sukuna tongues your folds back open to start jutting in between your lips, “Don’t- haaaah, fuck, don’t fucking run away…how m’I supposed to eat out my girl’s pussy if yer fucking running away?”
“I don’t know, you’ve never- hck!” Before you can open your mouth with your next few words, Sukuna’s showing you what it means to be his girl.
To have his knobbly fingertips pinch at your clit and start drawing—“H-heh…can ya spell it?” He rovers his thumb even harder on top of it like a button, “Bet’cha didn’t know I could do that. Spell it. Or are ya fucked dumb on m’mouth already?”
You’re replying crossly, “M’not fucked-”
“Then spell it.”
With a pitiful moan, you’re throwing your head in a downward direction to try and see exactly what he was-
Smack!
Yet another mean swatting on top of your puffy pussylips, and Sukuna’s tutting against them. It was as if his lips were glued to your pussy using the slick adhesive of your juices, and he didn’t want to detach himself even to speak—even to speak. “Ah ah- no cheating now, mama. Noooo cheating.”
“Fuh-fuck—” He angles his fingertips as if he was about to strike you once more. “Fine- I meant fine! The first letter is, mmm…”
“Yeeeees?” Drawling out.
And your pupils are swirling in time with the sultry motions of his digits. It was a pattern that makes every hair on your body stand on end - too curly to be a particularly pointy letter like ‘A’ or ‘K’ and yet not even half as curly to have been an ‘S’ that might mean his name. “Is it…R?”
“Atta girl.” Yet he plants another slamming of his fingertips that makes you throw your head back and whine, “Whoops- accident, sweetheart, accident.”
“F-fu—” Fuck you, is what you meant to say.
But Sukuna’s roughly bashin’ away at your sweetest orifice a few more times, leaving a big bruise against the side of your walls with his tongue. And it simply leaves you speechless, “Mmmm, nope! The next letter isn’t ‘F’, try again.”
“Y—!” You’re bawling out, your jaw falling agape at the sheer incredible speed at which he was drawing out all those whines and noises. It was simply unbearable in the best way. Unbearable.
You could tell that he had so-very-clearly been holding back at your previous…hangouts. And you could feel the burning sensation of bliss start up at the pit of your stomach, “And is the rest of the word ‘Ryomen’?”
“Mmm, three correct.” He answers, to which your hazy mind guesses that the first letters were R-Y-O…“Quite the sneaky lil’ thing, aren’t you? And ah- here’s a little hint, this next one’s an apostrophe.”
“Fuuuuuck, m’close.” You’re whimpering out in response- and his response, he’s only slashing at your g-spot at a faster rhythm. Only plucking at your tender clit—“S, and the next letter is- ngh, P.”
“Good, goooood—”
“U.” You gulp, and you’re unsure whether it was because of your oncoming high or because a lecherous part of you already suspected what the rest of what he was writing may be. “S…S…” Your entire body shivers, limbs unravelling - and you’re not quite sure whether you’d make it until the end of-
Your lips wobble as you try to enunciate, “Ryo’s pussy…”
“That’s my girl.”
You’re seeing a split-second of flashing lights before you’re suddenly pushed onto your high - hard, overtaking waves of pleasure that leave you all boneless against Sukuna’s eating mouth. But that worked just alright for him- he’d simply white-knuckle onto the side of your hips and lavish your tight entrance with his entire tongue.
Probing, again and again.
The cushy edge of his tongue swipes forwards to strike your g-spot right on time with the peaks of your euphoria. Like a perfect button for him to press on and increase your pleasure until you were simply shaking, “And my girl feels so goooood on her Ryomen’s mouth, doesn’t she?” He pants, fingers pinching your clit now and rolling between the roughened pads of his index and thumb. “Feels so nice cumming on Ryo’s tongue- bet’cha didn’t know it could feel this good, huh, sweetheart?”
Furiously shaking your head, “Didn’t- didn’t know- hck!”
And with a few more moans you’re just splashin’ your clingy wads all down Sukuna’s throat, all across his handsome lower half. “Ooooo- aaaaaatta girl—”
“C-can’t stop cumming.” You shake, tears sparkling at the edges of your eyes. “It just feels so good-”
“Leave some for m’cock, alright?”
But he was the one that wasn’t leaving anything, that wasn’t showing you any mercy.
Even once the sparks of your startling orgasm have bated, he’s plunging his wide tongue in and out. Scouring the inside and outside of your treacly pussy. Licking up every single ounce of slick sploshed down your front.
Dripping wet.
Only once you’re well and thoroughly overstimulated does Sukuna actually falter his movements, “Mmmm, there ya go, girlie~” He’s pulling his prolonged muscle out of your hole with a sloppy squeeeeeelch! He looks down at your mindlessly clenching pussy and admires his handy-work. “And now for the real deal.”
“Th-that wasn’t the real deal?” You’re asking through a whimper.
“That? That was just my appetizer, y’know?” The pink-haired man snickers at his own joke - though it really didn’t sound like a joke to you.
You attempt to flip yourself over- but Sukuna keeps you firmly in place with a hand at your hips. “Ah ah- don’t you think of running from me. Not now. Not ever.” And while you’re still draped across your front on the bed like this, Sukuna’s starting to tug off your hoodie—
Before he realizes just which one it is - his, his name on the back - and he stops immediately.
“Actually…” Sukuna stands, and you know that tone of voice didn’t bode anything good for you. “Why don’tcha keep it on, hm?”
Instead, he’s the one that’s stripping now.
That skin-tight shirt.
Those baggy pants.
Those boxers that were—oh.
Your eyes widen, “Is it just me or did…grow even bigger since last time, Ryo?”
“Mmm- why don’t we ask my pussy about it later, hm?”
And with that said, you’re getting to turn around and admire all of Ryomen Sukuna’s toned, tanned muscles. They ripple as he discards his clothes somewhere over his shoulder, making those tattoos of his look as though they were moving by themselves.
Greedily, your eyes follow the circles on either of his deltoids. The snake-like patterns down his pecs. The rings around his beefy biceps. The rings around his wrists. All the way down to the rings around either of his meaty thighs.
Shyly, you’re realizing that you’d skipped over one spot in particular.
And you drift your eyes back up—Sukuna’s erection was hard and hot between his legs. The most furious red at his mushroom tip that made him look as though he was so achingly needy he might as well fall off.
That you might as well count each one of his throbs.
Biting down on your lower lip, you’re impatient as you follow a bead of milky pre that dollops on top of his thick tip. Smearing just a bit. Travelling down, down, dooooown the veiny length of his shaft- until it ends up at the unruly tufts of pink at his base.
His tattooed base.
One more ring around his hilt, and next to that—you gasp.
“Oh…oh my god.” Without a second thought, you’re leaning in to get a closer look at that irritated patch of skin next to Sukuna’s v-line. And if your eyes weren’t deceiving you - that part of his skin had a swirling black calligraphy of none other than your fucking name on him. “Don’t tell me you’ve-”
“I did.”
You gape up at him, “Ryomen Sukuna, you’re fucking crazy-”
“I know.” He shivers as you reach out to touch it. Sukuna was fully unclothed now and prowling towards you on the bed, like a predator closing in on his prey. “But I couldn’t just name that pussy of yours ‘Ryo’s pussy’ and not contribute my part, too, could I? I had to show my dedication too, mama.”
“But putting it permanently on your skin-”
“Is the best decision I’ve ever made.”
You knew there was no talking him out of it, and Sukuna’s eagerly smoothing his calloused palm on top of your stomach. Caressing you. Drinking you in with his eyes.
Flipping you onto your stomach once more-
“Now face down, ass up- I wanna fuck my girl right.”
You’re barely managing to let your sweaty scalp hit your pillow before Sukuna suddenly has his obtuse tip squeezed between your pussylips and pushing and pushing—
“Oh—” Your eyes are scrunching as tight as they could close, and the only thing you can do is utterly melt into Sukuna’s carnal desire. You don’t think you’d ever get used to his sheer size. “Oh my god- oh my fucking- ngh, I always love h-how you feel-”
“For now-” And it’s a damn miracle that the man could speak - especially when your tender walls were squeezing him like that. “F-for now just pretend it’s the first time.”
Did he just stutter? What was he even…“Wh-what- oh.” You’re being shut up by Sukuna’s rugged, ravenous tip once more. He’s swabbing every treacly spot of your insides without even trying - simply just attempting to fit and fit and fit—
“Just- hah- just pretend s’the first time.” He kisses his lips to his teeth, both clammy hands plastered onto the side of your hips to help him funnel his massive cock inside.
His flared slit lodges against the roof of your cunt, and you’re arching just so beautifully into him- that he can’t help but lean down and bite at the side of your throat. Humming in satisfaction at the way the marking is just covered by his hoodie, it gives him the courage he needs to say those next few words. “Pretend s’just you and I. Pretend s’our first time- ngh.”
“You mean to say—oh.” You’re dizzy on the way his honed tip was perfectly opening up your hidden spots, and every time he’s reeling his hips back it’s just a constant back and forth. “Don’t think I even knew I had a spot there…”
“Good- good, jus’ like that.” He grunts out, holding you even tighter to his muscular body. “Pretend s’like we’ve never fucked before. You’re my girl- always have been. M’your Ryo- always have been. Always will be.”
“A-always will be-”
“And right now s’our first time, I’ve never fucked you before- oh, forget about all those fucking times in my room and in the car.” He whispers out, something desperate cracking primally at the back of his throat as he eases his way inside. “S’our time now—and I get to finally, finally fuck you as mine.”
All his.
And you’re finding that when Sukuna’s fucking you as just his…it means he’s so much more ravenous than you’ve ever known him to be.
So much more ruined.
So much more out-of-control—
It’s like he’s truly realized his full potential. “Since yer mine I get to- hah! stop you from running from my cock whenever I like.” Hauling you down like a ragdoll with both hands on your waist, you shrill at the slamming contact of his hips against your hips. His thighs against the backs of your thighs. His large cockhead against your ready cunt. “I get to fuck you raw for the first time. I get to fuck you so much- s-so fucking much n’ I don’t even have to worry about the marks I leave.”
“What marks?”
A slam so hard that you swear you can feel the globular end of his shaft right near your throat—“These marks.”
And you’re almost about to repeat your question in search of an answer once more- before you’re realizing what exactly Sukuna means.
Marks.
The marks he was leaving on every gooey orifice inside your cunt, on the globes of your ass being pummeled by his hips, on the sides of your body under the mercy of his grip.
Using that very same grip, he’s folding you on all fours underneath him. Tighter and tighter. Closer and closer to his hulking body. Before your muddled brain can register it, Sukuna’s reaching over his meaty right leg to plant right on top of your sweaty scalp.
Yes—on top.
The heel of his foot ends up on your head, and your eyes snap open in- perhaps shock, perhaps at the sheer audacity of him. You jolt.
“Ah ah-” The only thing you hear before one of his hands clasp ‘round the cottony fabric of your hoodie and tugs it down - it seems that your sudden lurching movement had made his uniform bunch up by your head.
And the famed wrestler wasn’t just bringing it down to take a good look at your pretty self. No—he was also bringing it down to read the name - his name - emblazoned across your back and jostling to and fro while you were being fucked by his ruthless hips. “Theeeeere we go, gotta rep the name, mama. Especially the first time.”
“Rep the set? You’re already fucking me- ngh, senseless.”
“And yet I already get to have you- fuck, wear this f’me. My girl. My lovely, lovely girl.” His toned figure leans down and he’s sloppily kissing at the name.
His name—fuck, how he loved this position. That was why he’d purposefully chosen it, to have his name peak up at him as he ploughed himself into you like a madman. Grunting out once your sopping lips squeeze him at the stretch, “The girl with my- hck! last name-”
“Ryo!”
“Whoops- too soon?” He doesn’t even sound the least bit regretful. And you can’t even answer, because then he’s only fucking your surprised whines out of you, “Mmm, and don’t forget that I also get to do- heh, this.” And as if it was even possible, his vicious hips accelerate their tempo against you. “I get to do whaaaatever I want with my girl’s pretty pussy- ah, apologies, my pretty pussy just to fit my thick cock inside.”
“I-inside-” You mindlessly babble out, “Want it inside-”
“Yeah? Want it all the way until my tattoo? Never been fucked like this before, have ya?”
Well, he has fucked you like this before. But that coherent part of you realizes that that wasn’t exactly the answer that Sukuna wanted right now—“No- no, never. You’re the first to fuck me like this, Ryo, mmm.”
“Good.”
Whether he was praising you for keeping up with his conversation - or whether he was praising you for taking his cock until he’s bottoming out - you’re not quite sure. Either way, the curly pink hairs at his base finally reach your folds—and they scritch-scratch at your pussy in such a carnal way you never knew you needed.
As he’s fully inside of you, the wrestling superstar hunches his entire body over and shivers. And pants. And throbs his entire length deeply inside of you in a way that makes your head pound with a rapid ba-thump! Ba-thump! Ba-thump!
“H-here….” One of his hands lifts off of your hip to caress down the front of your stomach. Sukuna feels for where his swollen tip was pulsating against your womb, and presses doooown against that lil’ bump. “S’my first time kissin’ my girl over here, isn’t it?”
“It- it is—”
And Sukuna truly is fucking you like it’s the first time - he’s fucking you like he’s angrier he didn’t have you earlier, he’s fucking you like he’s making up for all the lost time.
Just roughened, piercing bashes against your g-spot- he doesn’t even have to try to locate that bruised n’ battered little area on your channel. The rounded orifice of it gets pummeled by his shaft, and you’re seeing stars due to the sheer pressure of him. “It feels so- ngh- fuck.” You could barely even string together a sentence, head feeling all airy.
“Feels soooo—?”
“I don’t- I don’t even…” He doesn’t even have to be fully inside to let his curvaceous tip poke into your cervix. Purposefully angling his hips, Sukuna’s rub-a-dubbing the door to your womb with his puckered tip. “Th-think m’cockdrunk, Ryo.”
And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the way that his rude cadence seemed to stutter. “C-cockdrunk?”
Nodding through your tears, “I am, I am—oh.”
But of course, never let Ryomen Sukuna be known as the man that doesn’t take care of his cockdrunk partner.
Never.
Because in a split-second, he’s lifting his rude foot off of your head and you jolt at the sudden rush of blood to your scalp. “Oh- oh my…”
Only mere moments of mercy before you feel your entire limp body be hoisted off of the mattress.
Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your scalp, and you’re flailing at the feeling before- “Shhh, shh sh- be a good girl f’me before you make me put that foot atop your head again, mama.” Sukuna grunts, and suddenly you’re feeling one of his strong arms look around your neck.
You could feel all those developed biceps of his bulging against your throat once Sukuna cradles your neck and squeeeeezes. Spittle flowing out of you and down his veiny forearm like a fountain, “D-did you just put me in a fucking- ngh, headlock?!”
“Mhm.” He shows absolutely no remorse, “And I don’t hear her complaining.”
In fact, he could only hear the most sopping wet squelches emanating from your cunt.
And so Sukuna keeps holding you in this treacherous headlock whilst he’s pummeling you from behind. All those veiny inches of his cock being slurped right up between your pussy lips. Again. And again. And again and again and again—
It feels like hours have passed before you’re jolting at the sudden feeling of Sukuna’s warm fingertips slithering down between your sheeny legs once more. Your clit throbs like it’d missed his touch- and never one to leave you wanting more anymore, he’s twisting his rugged fingers on the nub.
Letting the patterned edges of his digits start twistin’ and turning that swollen knob in his hand. Your cunt squelches out a wet splash of slick at the sudden pleasure, “I-it just feels so good-”
“I know.” Sukuna hums, all smug with himself. “She’s told me- heh, think about thaaaat—I get ta speak with her for the first time tonight.” Before you can say anything else, he dips his head down to look at your cunt from underneath you and coos. “Hey, girlie, how are ya~?”
“Y-you’re unbelievable-” And yet he’s rovering his thumb all over your clit in a way that just has you gasping for more, and your cunt squelching out even louder.
“Mmm, m’doing good, thanks for asking.” He continues…a fucking conversation with your pussy. And at your widened stare, he shrugs. “What? M’only having a chat with- hah, my pussy. Wha’s wrong with that?”
“N-nothing…” You suppose.
“Exactly.” And then he times the ministrations of his thick thumb just right to roll over your clit in synchronization with his cock. You’re feeling one incredible thud! at your g-spot, and then you’re feeling another drag on your clit. This time…a pattern that you’re finding strangely familiar- “Can you spell, mama?”
“Are you asking—” Smack! A rude spank on your cunt, “F-fuck…”
“Apologies ‘bout that. S’my first time with you, remember? And I hafta get to know you. Get to do this.” He hums, and it’s not to you anymore. He’s completely and utterly devoted to keeping all his concentration on giving your pussy the utmost pleasure possible - from two different places of origin. “So about that spelling—”
“Fuck, Ryo, what are you trying to…”
This time, he’s not cutting you off. This time you’re trailing off out of your own volition, your ears listening for the sequences of letters that Sukuna calls out.
A sequence that sounds oddly familiar.
A sequence that spelled out your name.
He drag-drag-draaaaags your clit and it lets out a particularly loud lecherous sound that the larger man beams at, “Mmm, exactly. Perfect pronunciation and all- now let’s see if you can spell the rest.” And without further ado, Sukuna’s expert fingertips start outlining a different set of letters on your throbbing clit.
Making you shake with pleasure, “W-wait that spells…” Silently mouthing along.
S—he’s accelerating the thumps all the way at the back of your cervix, until you’re feeling dizzy.U—K—just the sheer amount of tears that streamed down your cheeks already told you that you were getting close to your high. U—
Your eyes widen, “Y-you’re not seriously-”
“Shhhh.”
N—but oh, he was. As if he was reading off of that sports hoodie on your back. And he was letting you tremble uncontrollably in the aftermath of his constant strikes and thumps at your greedy orifice, drilling into you with a hunger that never satiates. A hunger that tells you he’s wanted to do this for a long, long time. A—
You whisper what exactly it spelled out.
Your name, with the last name of-
“-Sukuna.” The man himself finishes off, before leaning down to leer at your drivelling cunt. The very same that was slurping and squelching away maddeningly at your gushing slick—“S’gonna be your name very soon, my girl.”
You don’t quite know which one of you he’s talking to - you or your pussy.
But you don’t quite care at this moment, either. Because in almost no time, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night - it’s no longer simply your second anymore.
Because as soon as you’re crashing into the white-hot wave of your second, you’re plummeting into your third. Your fourth. Your fifth. Seemingly dragged out of you as if it was oh-so-easy by none other than Sukuna’s ruthless cock.
You shake as it explodes through you, harder than any other orgasm you’ve experienced in your entire life.
Toes curling.
Lashes staining with tears.
The only thing you can do is arch your back into Sukuna’s sculptured one and let him thoroughly bash you through your zaps of euphoria. Over and over.
He lets his veiny shaft glide down your gooey insides, caressing every inch of you that seemed to explode with pleasure any time he was pistoning into you. “Yeah-” He grunts, feeling you uncontrollably clench around him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- cum around my cock, sweetheart. Only around my cock—” His headlock on you tightens, “-got it?”
“Got it-” You babble out stupidly, your cheek slipping along the sheen of saliva you’d created on his forearm. “I got it, I got it- but…”
One pink brow raises, “But…?”
“But I also want you to do o-one thing f’me.”
He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “Anything.”
“Cum inside?”
And, well, Sukuna did say ‘anything’—didn’t he?
Because with a few more vulgar thrusts, the infamous frat leader is tipping his head back and emptying himself out inside you. You could feel the way that his thiiick balls clench from behind you, each of those wadded webs of ivory sap being poured out into you.
Each and every single one.
Stuffed and stuffed inside of you.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you take in the second skin that he’s layering on top of your insides. Something so warm and filthy feeling heavy inside of your orifice—fuck, you’re discovering that a primal part of you loved the feeling.
It sploshes! out into your deepest depths and create a lil’ puddle that you can feel even at your cervix. Just swirled around by his thickened tip, “C-cumming—” The man rasps out, voice botched with a primal sort of hoarseness. He stutters as he cums. He shakes as he cums. Crimson eyes shuttering at the most blissful feeling in the world, spurting his seed inside your needy pussy. “And then there’s that- hah! I get to cum inside you for the f-first time…”
And it really was the first time he was filling you up like this. All the way up to the brim and fucking those pearly beads of cum right back inside you, “Kinda- ngh, always wan’ you to cum inside me.”
He pecks the side of your temple, hips still shifting filthily. “Hey then we’re gonna have a- mmm, mini-Sukuna before you’re even Mrs. Sukuna, girlie.”
“M-maybe I don’t mind…” Bucking your hips back into his for more friction.
“Talkin’ outta that pussy, I see.”
With yet another sudden spank! on top of your sultry folds, you’re being flipped over once more and stuffed right back up to your womb with Sukuna’s thickened inches. All of them shoved right up until you can feel them at your very throat- “We might have to dumbify her too, I’m afraid.”
“S’gonna be a long night.” You’re commenting with a shiver.
Sukuna grins, “How’d you spell ‘the first of many’?”
.
.
.
The tournament was in an uproar by the time you’re running into the stands.
Well, more bowing and apologizing as you scramble to your seat past rows of other supporters- but you stand by it nonetheless. You’re letting out a pant of relief as you finally plop unceremoniously down onto the only empty chair in the stands, placing down your bag and pulling on the collar of Sukuna’s wrestling hoodie in an attempt to fan yourself.
“You’re late, my dear.” Utahime hisses from the row behind you, flipping off the middle-aged man that grumbles at her.
“I know, I’m sorry!” You whisper back - ah, so that’s where they were. A few more rows behind her were some of the Curses Epsilon brothers - including Choso - that you had been starting to get to know, little by little. They wave happily at you and you wave back with a grin. You’d been wanting to get seats next to all of them, but it seems they’d filled up faster than you’d hoped.
At the very least you were lucky to have your friends so close by you, and you’re shooting them an apologetic smile - after all, you were the one that’d bugged your two best friends to join you watching Sukuna’s wrestling match. You mouth, “Whole story. Explain later.”
“Traffic?” Shoko asks from next to your purple-haired friend, looking up from her anatomy textbook. For what reason she had that, you weren’t quite sure…and you weren’t brave enough to ask, either.
Choosing the short story, you’re nodding at her suggestion.
You’d run all the way here, truth be told.
Sukuna was already halfway through his final match of the tournament, one more and he’d win this collegiate title. And though a part of you was upset that you’d missed out on so much (sure, you could watch them later on the recordings, but it was the principal that counted!), it made you so-very-proud to see so many of the recruiters with their eyes locked on Sukuna and Sukuna only.
Your boyfriend of just shy of a month.
You couldn’t blame them—fuck, you just wished you hadn’t had to wait so long at the dry cleaner’s! Apparently there had been some sort of mix-up that’d resulted in you being quite delayed while you actually waited to claim the hoodie you knew and loved too much.
Sure, it’d been slightly stained from some of last nights…activties (somewhat of a good luck ritual, he claimed, though you knew what he really wanted to do was fuck you in the hoodie with his name), but beloved nonetheless!
Anyways—after falling behind your schedule, you’d been hit by traffic, and then there was the issue of actually trying to navigate the stadium, and then- well, here you were!
Evidently, it seems that Sukuna is sensing the same thing.
Because in the middle of an ankle lock, Sukuna’s crimson eyes flick upwards towards the stands- and they’re meeting yours instantly.
A charged tension only the two of you could feel.
Squirming slightly in your seat at the intensity of his stare, his realization, you give him a wave.
In mere split-seconds, Sukuna has the other man slammed down onto the floor and his sweaty body struggling to even move. You cheer, that had to have at least been two points.
“We’re lucky you’re here, my dear.” Utahime leans down to whisper to you. “You won’t believe what that boyfriend of yours was like before the game- moping around, calling you, staring longingly at his phone wallpaper of you—eugh! I didn’t even know that a man of that size and strength could act like a lost puppy.” She shudders.
Shoko states plainly, “What she means to say is that your boyfriend missed you.”
And you’re just about to open your mouth to answer- when right beside you, a jittery voice speaks up.
“P-pardon me.” The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the man that’d been seated to your left, you hadn’t paid much attention to him considering the frantic state you’d been in when you first got here. “Did you say ‘boyfriend’?”
And now, you almost wished you did.
Because the man beside you looked exactly like Sukuna only…softer. Quieter. Calmer. With an air about him that told you that perhaps he was the type that grew up with quite a bit of responsibility. He wore a sweater with the shapes of some marine animals sewn into it. He didn’t have any of Sukuna’s tattoos or the chiselled look of a recent athlete or the gruffness he wore like a cloak - but the resemblance was uncanny.
The bespectacled man adjusts his glasses and your jaw drops—this must be his older brother that he told you so much about! “You must be his girlfriend that he’s told me so much about.”
“Y-yes!” You snap out of your little reverie at his words, and you’re immediately reaching out your hand for a handshake. “You must be his older brother, Jin?”
Jin pulls you in for a hug, sighing out against you. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
“No- not at all! The pleasure’s all mine, and he’s the one that takes care of me most of the time.” You’re sheepishly admitting, “Thank you for taking care of him all this time, I know he looks up at you so much.”
The other pink-haired man blushes, scratching behind his neck. “W-well I wouldn’t say that…” He glances to his left, “Oh! And silly me- I forgot to introduce you to our father.”
You’re beaming at the gruff old man seated next to Jin, a furrow between his brows that you could’ve recognized anywhere on his younger son. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
The introductions between you and Sukuna’s family go swimmingly (if there was a wrestling alternative then you’d have said it), and you’re finding that they were the absolute sweetest. Jin was soft and compassionate, the polar opposite of Sukuna and yet so similar to him at his deepest core. Wasuke was more like Sukuna on the outside, and you swear you could feel your sides splitting at the quips he’d comment about his son while you all watched the match.
Eventually, the three of you along with your friends in the latter rows are chatting up so much of a storm that you almost don’t notice—“He’s about to win.”
At the sound of your voice, the rest of your group looks over at the ringed boundaries of the match.
Instantly, you’re all up on your feet and cheering at the top of your lungs.
All of you.
Jin and Wasuke.
Shoko and Utahime.
The Curses Epsilon boys.
You.
And when Ryomen Sukuna finally defeats his tough opponent, you can’t decide which one of you cheered the loudest.
But what you do know is that he’s sauntering up past the boundary the minute his win is announced - all sweat-streaked and spitting out his mouth guard, all panting and toned with his muscles, all uncaring whether or not his coach is talking to him right now.
He doesn’t care
He doesn’t care.
Sukuna’s breaking into a sprint once he sees you getting off the stands—and scoops you into his arms whilst you yelp in delight.
You knew you must look such a sight, you and this hulking man.
You feel him bury his face into the crook of your neck, whispering. “Could you all have been any louder?” And you could feel the way his face burns against your skin.
“What- the King of the Court fan club?” You’re innocently questioning, “Yes, that is our name and you can thank Jin for that. And no, we don’t show signs of stopping any time soon- we actually plan on expanding to the rest of the campus by the end of semester-”
He peeks up at the group behind you, here just for him - his brother and father, your friends, his fraternity brothers - and groans. And you can only laugh.
“You all are insufferable.” Sukuna says, baritone dramatically pained. “Especially you.”
What do you really want? 🥀🖤 [IVTI JOCKEMO AU PART 12]
+ Extra!
I think it would have been too convenient for the bottle to land on Till...their relationship is complicated so them getting back together should be too lololol
Chapter Three: A+ for Effort, F for Sleep Strategy
Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader
Word Count: 5,8k
Summary:
You've lived through countless timelines—each one shaped by monsters, magic, and the unbearable weight of knowing too much. Until you wake up in a version of reality where none of that ever happened. No dungeons. No deaths. Just high school… and him. Sung Jinwoo—quiet, intense, and impossibly familiar—is here too, and maybe this time, it'll be you who changes his world.
Notes:
honestly I've worked more on this chapter than on my thesis and I'm going insane
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Jinwoo lay on his bed, one arm lazily behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like it might have the answers he's looking for. The moonlight sneaked in through the cracked window, painting the room in silver streaks, and the night outside was so quiet it made every thought in his head sound louder.
Sleep wasn’t coming tonight. He could tell.
His mind kept drifting back — back to you, to that rooftop, to the way your voice had broken, how you had clutched at his sleeves like you were terrified of being left behind.
And maybe you had every right to be.
He hadn't even realized until then how much weight you were carrying. How much you had been hiding behind that easy smile of yours.
He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. His chest felt tight from something warm, aching, impossible to name.
He knew what he should be doing.
Preparing. Training. Finishing what he started.
There were Monarchs to defeat, a world to save.
But right now, the thought of leaving you, even for that, twisted his gut.
Maybe... maybe he didn't have to rush.
He had some time to spare.
He could stay until graduation, right?.
Another few months wouldn’t change anything — he was strong enough.
And you looked like you needed someone that could understand you.
And — he wanted to be here, too.
He cracked his eyes open, looking at the ceiling like it was a silent judge to his thoughts.
Would it be selfish?
Is it wrong to want a little bit of normal, before everything went to hell again?
He thought about it — about you.
How in the past, you had always seemed distant, like a celebrity just out of reach. But you were right there.
Someone he respected, yes, but also someone he could never quite approach.
You had always felt like a story he wasn’t allowed to read. Your eyes always held this quiet knowing—like nothing could surprise you.
But this time, you were different.
This time, you smiled without hesitation. You laughed like the world hadn't hardened you yet. You looked... free.
And maybe he wanted to be part of that.
Maybe he wanted to see who you were without all the weight, without the war, without the titles and expectations.
He curled his fingers into the bedsheets, frustration bubbling quietly under his skin.
He always wanted to talk to you — not as a warrior to a comrade but just... as himself. Jinwoo.
And you — just you.
Was that so wrong?
He huffed quietly into the dark.
He needed an excuse, some way to justify staying longer.
He could say he needed to rest before going into the next fight. He could say he wanted to finish school properly. That he wanted a normal life, even if only for a little while.
And that wouldn't even be a lie.
He did want that.
After so much time, he should be allowed to live a little without rushing toward death, right?
He should let himself have this small slice of something normal.
He turned onto his side, eyes heavy but mind racing, and pulled the thin blanket up over his mouth, letting out a muffled, frustrated noise.
He'd stay until graduation.
He decided it in that moment, locking it in his chest like a secret.
He would protect you and when the time came, when you were ready, he would leave.
When you didn’t need him to be your safety net anymore.
Maybe, he thought, if he did this right, he could be a part of your freedom.
Maybe this time, he could leave you smiling, not broken.
The thought — embarrassingly corny as it was — made something flutter weakly in his chest, like a tiny bird finally stretching its wings.
God, he really couldn’t sleep now.
He swung his legs off the side of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, running both hands roughly through his hair.
He needed to see you. Needed to talk to you.
Even if you weren’t awake yet, even if it meant waiting until morning.
He didn’t care.
He would wait at the school gates if he had to.
Just... to catch a moment. To say something.
He got up, grabbed his jacket — and hesitated a moment, glancing back at the bed he knew he wasn’t coming back to tonight.
One last small, stupid, stubborn smile tugged at his lips.
For now, he'll allow himself to be selfish.
Just for a little while.
Moments later, Jinwoo found himself standing at the school gates — freezing, sleep-deprived, and questioning why he thought this was a good idea.
He shivered and stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. His breath fogged in the cold December air, little clouds puffing out with every exhale.
Not once in his entire school career had he been this early.
Not once.
He didn’t even know how early you showed up every day. All he knew was that whenever he walked into class — dragging his feet, half-awake — you were already there, bright-eyed, chatting easily with a couple of girls about whatever drama had aired the night before.
He had always thought you were just one of those people — the morning people. The ones who could watch TV until late, still beat everyone to school, and somehow look good doing it.
Meanwhile, he stood here now, bleary-eyed, teeth chattering, and half-certain his ears were going to fall off from the cold.
Maybe I got here way too early, he thought, miserably blowing into his cupped hands for warmth.
Maybe this was stupid.
The sky was still more purple than blue, and frost clung to the edges of the fence. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional car passing by with its headlights cutting through the misty morning gloom.
He shifted on his feet and tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the early hours of the morning — or what little of it he had actually slept through.
Jinwoo had swiftly rolled out of bed, eyes stinging from barely any sleep, and stumbled into the kitchen. And settling his jacket on one of the kitchen chairs.
His father, who was in the middle of sipping his coffee with the morning paper, blinked at him in surprise.
“You’re up early.”
Jinwoo scrubbed a hand down his face, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw. “Couldn’t sleep much,” he muttered.
“Is there a reason why?” his dad asked, setting down his cup with a hint of concern in his voice.
It wasn't just the lack of sleep that bothered him — it was... Jinwoo himself.
There was something different about him lately. Subtle. Hard to pin down. Like his little boy had suddenly grown a thousand miles away overnight.
Jinwoo fumbled for an excuse but came up empty.
“Dunno,” he lied unconvincingly, scratching the back of his neck.
Out of habit — and forgetting entirely that his dad was still there (normally he'd already left for work when he woke up) — Jinwoo reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a full cup of black coffee.
His father watched in stunned silence, mouth slightly open, as Jinwoo brought the cup to his lips and took a generous sip.
The coffee was bitter, sour, and somehow offensively strong.
It tasted like a battle.
Still, Jinwoo fought through the grimace, as he turned to face his dad — who was now looking at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Since when do you drink coffee?” his dad asked, suspicious.
Jinwoo hesitated for a beat too long. Then, with the slow carefulness of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he answered, “Uhh... I tried it last week when you had some leftovers? And I liked it?”
Even he didn’t sound convinced.
His dad stood up, took the cup out of his hands, and took a sip for himself.
Immediately he grimaced and shook his head.
“No more coffee for you, young man.”
Jinwoo sighed and offered a small, obedient scowl.
“Yes, sir.”
But even with the rejection, Jinwoo found himself smiling a little.
He was still glad to have his dad back.
Now, back at the school gates, the lack of caffeine — and the sleep he never got — was catching up with him fast.
The tips of his fingers felt numb. His legs ached from standing still for too long. His head bobbed once — twice — until finally, he gave up.
He slid down against the cold concrete wall, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.
Just for a second, he thought.
I'll close my eyes for just a second.
It was the world's shortest second.
The next thing he knew, a voice was calling his name, cutting through the haze of half-dreams.
“Jinwoo?”
He jolted upright so fast he smacked the back of his head on the wall behind him.
“—oh, ow, ow, ow—" he hissed under his breath.
You stood a few feet away, blinking down at him, your school bag slung over one shoulder, your hair tousled slightly from the cold wind.
There was a mixture of confusion and concern written all over your face.
He scrambled to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his pants, trying (and failing) to pretend he hadn’t just been sleeping like a hobo outside the school.
“Oh, hey!” he blurted, a little too loud. “Morning, (y/n)!”
You tilted your head. “What are you doing here so early?”
He opened his mouth, mind blank.
He couldn't just say 'waiting for you' — that would be weird, right?
So instead, he deflected as smoothly as possible:
“What are you doing here this early?”
You gave him a look that was halfway between amused and suspicious.
“I always get in early. You’re the one who's weird today.”
He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well... guess I couldn’t sleep.”
You narrowed your eyes, clearly not buying it, but didn’t push.
Instead, your gaze softened a little, your hands tightening around the straps of your bag to keep them warm.
“You’re gonna freeze to death if you keep waiting out here,” you said.
Jinwoo shrugged, pretending he wasn’t still half-asleep and lowkey freezing solid.
“It’s not that cold.”
You raised your eyebrows.
“Your teeth are literally chattering.”
He clamped his mouth shut immediately, but the rattling didn’t stop.
You laughed — bright and unexpected — and Jinwoo felt something warm and embarrassing blossom in his chest, like he had just been handed a trophy he didn’t deserve.
Maybe waiting in the cold like an idiot wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
"Geez, you're impossible," you say, reaching out without thinking to tug on the sleeve of his uniform jacket. "C'mon, before you turn into an ice cube."
He lets himself be pulled, a little stunned by the casual way you just—grabbed him. Like it was normal. Like he was normal. Like he wasn't the strongest human alive.
The small smile curling onto his lips is hidden as he ducks his head and hurries after you.
"You know," you continue as you lead him through the front gates, "if you were gonna camp out here like a weirdo you could've at least brought snacks. Or, like, a heater. Or a second coat. Or... I don't know, your brain?"
"Thanks," Jinwoo deadpans. "I'll remember to bring snacks next time."
You snicker at that, and it makes his chest feel lighter somehow, the way you laugh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He shoves his hands into his pockets as you both make your way toward the main building, his steps slowing slightly.
"I wasn’t... camping," he mutters defensively. "I was waiting."
"For who? Santa Claus?" you tease.
He glances sideways at you, your cheeky grin practically daring him to admit it.
"You," he says under his breath, like it’s a secret too fragile for the cold morning air.
"Huh?" You blink at him.
"I said, uh—" Jinwoo flails mentally for an escape— "for the... morning announcements. Very important stuff. Top secret."
You laugh again, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. "Right. Top secret business standing in the freezing cold at seven in the morning."
"I take my responsibilities seriously," he says, straight-faced.
"Oh, clearly. How many hours of sleep did you get last night?"
"Maybe like... three?" He shrugs, trying not to sound too proud of that number.
You gasp dramatically. "Three?! No wonder you look like you just got mugged by a coffee machine."
At that, Jinwoo almost trips over his own feet from laughing. "You're the worst," he says, but there's absolutely no heat behind it.
"You're welcome," you say brightly. Then, as you reach the doors, you yank them open and march inside, dragging him with you. "Now, get inside before your soul leaves your body."
He follows, a bit dazed, warmed more by your hand on his jacket sleeve than by the heating blasting from the school vents.
As you both shed your coats and stomp the cold out of your shoes, he can't help but sneak a glance at you, cheeks still a little pink from the cold, hair a little messy from the wind.
He thinks, Yeah. Totally worth it.
Even if he did almost turn into a human ice sculpture.
The two of you walk through the now mostly empty hallways, your footsteps echoing faintly on the polished floor. The building smells faintly like cleaning supplies and old books — something strangely comforting about it.
Jinwoo shoves his hands back into his pockets, keeping pace with you easily. It’s still so early that barely anyone else is around; the school feels almost abandoned. Peaceful.
"So," he says, kicking lightly at a tile as you turn the corner together, "why do you even get here this early, anyway?"
You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why, you planning on stealing my morning routine or something?"
"Maybe," he says, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If it comes with a free heater. You seem immune to the cold."
"I have layers," you say proudly, tugging at the sweater peeking out from under your uniform blazer. "Unlike some idiots who think a paper-thin jacket is enough in December."
"Hey, I thought I had coffee to keep me warm," Jinwoo argues. "But someone confiscated it."
"You’re fifteen, Jinwoo," you say in mock horror. "You’re not allowed to turn into a tired old man yet."
He pretends to look wounded. "Wow. Ageism. Wasn't expecting that from you."
You laugh, bumping him lightly with your shoulder again. It’s easy, being next to him like this. Easy in a way you hadn’t realized you missed until now.
Jinwoo watches you for a second out of the corner of his eye, then, emboldened by your easygoing mood, asks, "But really. Why so early? Doesn’t seem like you need it—you don’t even look like you study that much."
You snort. "That’s because I don’t study that much."
He stares at you, scandalized. "You mean to tell me you’re good at school and you don’t even try?"
"Natural-born genius," you say, flipping your hair dramatically.
Jinwoo makes a fake gagging noise, and you laugh so hard you almost trip over your own feet. He instinctively reaches out to steady you by the arm, and for a second, the two of you just... stand there, a little closer than before, your laughter tapering off into something softer.
You recover first, pulling away lightly and pretending not to notice how his ears are turning red again — this time, definitely not from the cold.
"I just like being here early," you say, more quietly now. "When it's still quiet. When I can just... breathe for a bit before everyone else shows up."
Jinwoo hums, thoughtful. He understands that feeling more than he can put into words.
"Well," he says, trying to sound casual, "guess you’ll have company now."
You glance at him, something warm and a little shy flickering across your face.
"Guess I will."
You both lapse into silence, footsteps echoing softly down the empty corridors. It's almost surreal how peaceful the school feels at this hour—an illusion of tranquility neither of you fully trusts, yet quietly treasures. You come to a natural stop near a window overlooking the courtyard, washed pale by the morning sun.
Neither speaks at first, just breathing in the silence until Jinwoo finally breaks it, his voice measured and quiet, layered with contemplation.
"If you had the chance," he begins carefully, eyes trained outward as though the answer he's looking for is hidden somewhere beyond the glass, "to forget everything. To just wake up here, like everyone else—no memories, no baggage—would you take it?"
The question hangs in the quiet space between you, heavy yet strangely gentle.
You pause thoughtfully, considering not just his words, but the weight they carry. It’s not a new question—you’ve asked it to yourself in darker moments, in the rare pauses between responsibilities. But it’s different hearing it out loud, especially from Jinwoo.
Finally, you reply slowly, deliberately, like weighing the terms of an important contract.
"Sometimes, I think it would be easier," you admit softly. "To wake up with no memories of any of it. To not have to carry all the fear, the pain, the weight of watching people fail and worlds end."
You shift, your tone steadying as your business-like calm asserts itself, bringing clarity rather than coldness. "But then I realize... without those memories, without that knowledge, I wouldn't be who I am now. And truthfully, I'm not sure I'd want to give that up. Painful as it is, all of those experiences—every failure, every loss—they made me someone capable of facing whatever comes next without panicking, without hesitation."
His eyes soften thoughtfully, brows slightly knit as he absorbs your words. "You don't feel... broken by it?"
You tilt your head, a faint, self-aware smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Maybe I was, at first. But somewhere along the line, I learned how to separate the pain from the purpose. You don't build anything valuable without a few cracks along the way. The trick isn't avoiding damage; it's knowing how to rebuild stronger each time."
A quiet moment passes as Jinwoo processes that, his gaze returning outside with a new intensity. "That’s admirable," he murmurs quietly. "The way you make sense of it all."
You let out a small laugh, gentle but sincere. "Not always. But clarity helps. Understanding what you can control, accepting what you can't. It lets you sleep at night."
He nods slightly, his voice quieter now, softer. "I haven't quite figured out how to do that yet."
"You will," you say, quietly confident. "You already have, more than you realize. You faced everything head-on when most would run. It might not feel clear yet, but it's all there."
He looks at you then, a lingering gaze filled with quiet gratitude. The silence feels comfortable now, warmer than before, as if both of you had silently agreed to let the conversation rest there—at least for today.
The distant murmur of arriving students drifts down the hallway, gentle yet unmistakable, signaling that your time alone has reached its end. The bell rings softly a moment later, punctual yet unhurried, pulling you both back to reality.
"Back to playing pretend," Jinwoo sighs lightly, though there’s a hint of a resigned smile in his eyes.
You nod, adjusting your bag with calm determination. "Only for a little while longer."
Together, you step into the now bustling classroom, Jinwoo slipping naturally into his seat two rows ahead of you.
The school day passes in a haze of ordinary moments and quiet exchanges. When the final bell finally rings, you glance up to see Jinwoo waiting by the door, casual and patient as always, bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn't speak, just lifts his chin slightly—a silent, easy invitation that, weirdly, says "Let's go."
You fall into step beside him easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, the air is crisp and biting, the kind of cold that makes your breath fog up in the air. You fold your arms into yourself, lightly shivering as you walk.
Jinwoo, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to freeze solid. His jacket is thin, barely enough for winter, and it’s not doing him any favors now. You glance at him, and the slight hunch in his posture makes it clear he’s not doing too well with the chill.
“Seriously, you should bring a warmer jacket tomorrow.” You say, eyebrows raised.
He shrugs, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “I don’t need it. I’m fine.”
“Sure,” you answer with a smirk, “If by ‘fine,’ you mean freezing.”
He mutters something unintelligible, refusing to look directly at you. “I'm not that cold.”
You snort lightly, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”
He shivers slightly, though he tries to hide it by shifting his shoulders. You sigh, amused but sympathetic.
“You know,” you offer, a little gentler, “I could lend you my scarf. You’d look good in it.”
He lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t even acknowledge your suggestion. “Please. I’m not wrapping myself up like a burrito.”
The walk home should’ve been fifteen minutes, tops. But you both somehow end up taking the longer route, cutting through side streets and weaving between narrow alleys that Jinwoo insists are shortcuts (they’re not).
"Left or right?" he asks at one point, standing at a fork in the road like a game show host.
"Which one’s faster?"
He shrugs. "Which one looks cooler?"
You squint. The right path has a bunch of neat houses and trimmed hedges. The left is a shady side road with crooked trees and a broken streetlamp flickering like it’s about to die.
“Left,” you decide instantly.
“Excellent choice,” Jinwoo nods. “Definitely not cursed.”
You laugh, and somehow that left turn feels like a small rebellion.
Halfway down the crooked street, an unexpected sight catches your eye: a dusty, hidden-away comic book shop squeezed between two tall buildings. Faded posters fill the window, and the neon “OPEN” sign flickers weakly.
Jinwoo stops and squints, eyebrows raised. "Do those even still exist? Are we in the 90s?"
The window displays old volumes of comic books—some you’ve never seen before, others you’ve only heard about in passing. The whole shop seems like a time capsule, stuck somewhere between childhood and nostalgia.
Curiosity piqued, you step closer, peering through the window at the nostalgic display. “Wanna check it out?”
He hesitates, but then shrugs. "Why not? If I’m going to freeze to death, I might as well do it somewhere cursed."
The bell above the door jingles as you both step inside, the air thick with the musty smell of old paper. The interior is cramped, with stacks of comics piled high, some leaning precariously against each other. The whole place feels like it’s stuck in time.
The guy behind the counter, a middle-aged man with glasses and a slight beard, looks up as you both enter. He quirked an eyebrow at you, clearly confused by the sight of two teenagers in this dusty corner of the world.
"Uh..." He clears his throat. "You kids... into comics?"
You exchange a glance with Jinwoo, both of you fighting the urge to laugh. The guy looks like he hasn’t seen anyone your age walk through that door in years.
The shopkeeper shrugs, clearly unsure whether you're serious, but leaves you to explore anyway. Jinwoo quickly picks up an old Spider-Man issue, flipping through pages with visible amusement.
“Never pegged you for a comic fan,” you tease gently.
He smirks lightly, eyes glinting mischievously. “Hey, hunting’s not my only passion.”
You roll your eyes fondly, smiling despite yourself. You spend the next several minutes comfortably bantering, lost in the comics until finally Jinwoo purchases an old X-Men issue, muttering about the cold walk being worth it.
“You’re officially a nerd,” you declare as you step back onto the street.
“Careful,” he shoots back, grinning, “or next week I won’t save you from the bad guys.”
You laugh again, nudging him lightly. “You’d make the worst superhero ever.”
“The best,” he corrects, clearly amused.
The teasing dies down slowly, replaced by a quieter comfort. Your gaze slips sideways toward Jinwoo, watching him closely. Before you can stop yourself, you say softly, honestly:
“You know, you already are a hero to me.”
He freezes for a second, his heart giving an unexpected flip. The words stir something in him—warm, unsettling. He can’t help but picture everything that’s waiting for him to finish, the battles ahead. His mouth feels dry.
Hero. The word is both too big and too small.
"I’m not a hero," he says, quieter than usual. "Not until this is all over."
You glance at him, confused. He doesn’t say more, just keeps walking, his shoulders tense, like he’s fighting something inside. You’re left with the echo of your words hanging between you both, and it feels... off.
"Over?" you repeat under your breath, but he doesn’t respond. The silence presses against you.
You think about the words as you walk.
It’s not over?
The more you think about it, the more it twists in your chest. Your thoughts run in circles—what did he mean by that? Is he really okay with this? With not being your hero, not yet?
"Jinwoo..." You hesitate, but you can’t let it go. "Do you mean... that things are going to go back to the way they were? That the gates will open again? Everything... Is it all going to come crashing down?"
The question hangs in the air between you, fragile and heavy. You already know the danger always lingers, waits. And you can't help but feel the fear bubbling up again, like a shadow you can't escape.
The nightmare isn’t over?
Jinwoo doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes—the quiet way he’s always thinking, always prepared for what’s to come. But this time, when he finally speaks, it’s different.
His voice is firm, though still quieter than usual. "It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it." There’s an unspoken promise in his tone, a weight to his words that you can feel deep in your bones.
You stop walking for a moment, looking at him, searching his face for any signs of doubt, but there’s nothing there. He looks calm, resolute, almost... detached from the fear that’s tightening around your chest. His eyes, always so serious, seem softer now. It’s like he’s trying to give you something—some reassurance, even if it doesn’t feel like much.
He stops after you, his gaze turning away as if he's collecting his thoughts. Then he speaks, his voice steady, almost to himself at first. "I’ve defeated them once. I’ll do it again." There’s a quiet strength in his words, a reminder of everything he’s already survived, everything he’s already overcome. "I’ve trained, I’m stronger now. And I’ve got something to protect."
He turns to look at you then, and for a split second, his eyes soften—just a hint of something you can't quite place. It's a look that makes your chest tighten, like he's letting you see just a little piece of the weight he carries, but also the purpose behind it.
You don’t know what to make of it, but you can feel the gravity of it, the unspoken promise.
"I won’t let anything happen," he continues, quieter now, more personal. "Not while I’m still standing."
For a moment, you feel the weight of his words settle in, the reassurance that the nightmare you fear won’t return.
"I’m not going anywhere yet," he adds, his voice lighter now. "I still have time. I’ve decided to stay for a couple of months—until the start of summer. After that, I’ll go. But for now, I’m staying.
He cracks a small, genuine smile. "And I think I can afford that, for once."
You take a step closer, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. There's a part of you that wants to believe him, to trust that the quiet will hold. But you can’t help but wonder—how much longer can he carry this alone?
He’s never asked for help, never shown the cracks that must be there, but you can see them now. The weight of all the battles, the sacrifices, the constant fight to protect the world, to make sure it doesn’t slip through his fingers.
You wonder if he's tired—if the constant need to fight and protect has worn him down more than he lets on. Even now, standing beside you, he's carrying so much more than anyone realizes. He’s always been the silent warrior, the one who never asks for rest, never speaks of the toll it takes. But you can see it in the way his shoulders slump just a little, in the quiet flicker of doubt in his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching.
You don’t say anything. In your silence, he tilts his head back, looking up at the stars, his face unreadable, but you can see the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders. The warrior who’s always carried the weight of the world is finally, if only for a moment, letting go.
It’s as if he’s giving himself permission to rest, to breathe, to exist outside of the fight. And for a fleeting moment, he’s not Hunter Sung—the one who has to save everyone. He’s just a person, standing there under the night sky, exhausted, yet finding something worth holding onto. The weight of responsibility seems to lift just a little, and in its place, there’s a quiet peace.
For the first time, you wonder if he could allow himself more of that peace—simple things, like laughing with classmates, not having to always be the one who saves everyone. He should be allowed to go to school, get scolded for being late, and not carry the burden of the world on his shoulders.
It seems so foreign, but maybe it's exactly what he needs. The world’s been heavy on him for so long, and pretending that he has nothing else to worry about—even if just for a little while—might be more of a relief than he knows.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.
You resume the stride, and the two of you continue walking, side by side, the quiet stretching between you but no longer feeling heavy. It’s different now—more comfortable, almost peaceful. It’s a small, shared moment, the kind of silence that used to feel awkward but now feels like an easy rhythm between two people who understand the weight of the world in different ways. You begin to wonder if this—this simple, quiet peace—could be your new normal. Maybe, just maybe, this calm before the storm is all either of you can ask for, and that’s enough.
By the time you reach your street, the sun has already gone, and Jinwoo stretches his arms overhead, yawning like a cat. "I think we walked enough to count as cardio today," he says.
"I think we got lost five times."
He shrugs. "Worth it."
You glance over at him, and for a moment, you catch something unexpected. He looks... happy. Not the guarded Jinwoo you usually see, but a boy your age, smiling at nothing in particular, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as he kicks a stray pebble down the sidewalk.
And in that moment, it hits you: this feels normal. It feels so easy—like something neither of you ever thought you could have again. Something simple and warm, like middle school was supposed to feel before all the chaos. You smile without even realizing it.
The evening air grows quieter, the world around you slowing down, and for a moment, you both just stand there, caught in the simplicity of it all. It’s strange, this little piece of normalcy. It almost feels like the world has given you both permission to breathe.
You break the silence with a small smile, looking over at him. "Thanks for walking with me."
"No problem," he replies, shifting his weight slightly. "It was... fun."
You both stand there for another moment, your gaze meeting his. His expression softens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s something about the way he looks at you that feels warmer than it should. You can’t put your finger on it, but the quiet of the moment lingers longer than expected.
A cold breeze sweeps through, breaking the stillness and sending a chill through the air. Jinwoo comes out of his trance, as if the shift in the atmosphere has nudged him toward the end of this moment.
"Well, I’ll leave you to it," he says, his voice easy and relaxed, as if the breeze itself made the decision for him. "See you tomorrow."
You watch as he turns to leave, his footsteps soft against the pavement, growing fainter with each step. His figure grows smaller in the distance, but the pressure in your chest stays, heavy with all the words you didn’t say.
“Jinwoo!” you call out, louder than you meant to. He stops and glances back, eyes meeting yours. “I think you’ve earned a break…,” you say, breathless.
The words hang awkwardly in the air, and heat rushes to your cheeks. But then Jinwoo smiles—genuine and bright—and something tight in your chest loosens.
He turns away again, and this time your heart pounds for a different reason.
The day had been quiet, simple even, but full in a way that catches you off guard. The memory of him asleep by the entrance, clearly waiting for you, pulls another smile from you. He’d claimed he couldn’t sleep last night, but the look on his face had said something else entirely.
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “What a terrible excuse,” you murmur, but even that feels strangely comforting.
You realize that something inside you has shifted—something soft, warm. Maybe it’s the way he looked at you today, or how comfortable it was, or the way everything about this moment felt just... right. You can’t quite name it, but you know it’s there, growing with each passing second.
You shake it off, but the feeling refuses to let go. There's no denying the warmth inside you as you turn to head inside.
AU where ivan time travels back to pre-meteor shower after his death. he now definitely knows that till would never pick him over mizi so with all the knowledge he gained from the past life, he manages to pull a miracle and get all four of them out of anakt garden safely. mizi was definitely hard to convince so ivan had to, um, kindly shatter her innocent worldview and now both sua and till hate him for making mizi sad lmao but that's fine, they're getting out of there. what's two more people ending up hating him, honestly ?
and by some other miracle, the children were found by human rebels. they're taken in, clothed, fed, and are now essentially free from the aliens.
ivan sees this as his job being done and starts to slowly drift away from the other three. now that theyre free and not being prepped like lambs for slaughter, he doesn't have anything to offer them anymore. what other use could they have for him, really ? so he just floats around the human base, distracting himself by making himself as useful as possible to the other humans
(the other humans are just incredibly worried about this blank-eyed kid who looks like he wants to be hugged so fucking bad but also like he would crumble into dust the moment someone touched him, but ivan's a stubborn bastard who wont listen to anybody so they give him easy tasks in order to keep an eye on him)
the adults take notice of the now strained dynamics between ivan, sua, and till and how mizi is caught in the middle and try to help the kids sort through their feelings.
idk maybe sua wont give a fuck since all she cares abt is mizi but mizi would definitely want to repair the broken bridges bc these are her friends :( and ivan has definitely risked a lot to bring them to safety, hasnt he ? it's unfair how sua and till were being mean to him all because he made mizi cry.
but then there's till. would he try to make amends for mizi's sake ? or would he look even further away from ivan out of guilt ? who knows.
(and imagine the other three start to get memories of their past life through flashbacks and dreams later on lmao)
— 🌦️
me: ooh! a concept! what would u like me to do with this?
🌦️: ideas!!
me: here's your half-a-fanfiction that will make you shed tears!
i have no idea how it happened, by the way. it just did.
===
the escape is rocky at best—ivan was just barely able to get till up in time last time. the only thing keeping this from falling apart is probably of his past experience and fantasies that never came to fruition.
before till or sua, he'd get mizi first, except she has the most security around her; her owner treated her as a precious princess, after all. he's forced to get till then sua (who posed quite a problem, too), and have them both witness his struggle in getting mizi to come along. sua would be a massive help in persuasion, maybe even till, but ivan had uet to disable the chips in those two that set off alarms whenever a certain place was breached. it'd be more efficient if all three of them were gathered while he turned those off.
it's no surprise the animosity that comes from both of them as he rips off the bandage that had been blinding mizi, losing her oh-so-precious smile in favor of tears. sua whisper yelled at him, beating him down for daring to make mizi cry and why were they doing this anyway? till joined in, too, and ivan was barely able to divert the guard's attention.
they do manage to leave successfully, though. it's nothing short of a miracle—sua and till's glares digging into his back, mizi's muffled sobs barely getting by security... it takes a few hours longer than the last life, too.
that's a shame. ivan would have liked to see the meteor shower again.
running across the fields, it's ivan who sees them first. he has to he diligent; he's the leader, the one in front, he's the oldest, and the other two are focused on mizi and her tears.
human rebels. ivan knew they existed, but he's never seen them in his past life. they are driving in motorcycles down the dusty road. he calls out to them, eyes wide and hopefully projecting an innocence he's lost before he went to anakt garden.
would this have been an opportunity he and till would have had in that life?
===
before, ivan would have assumed that till and sua would ease up on their fervent hate of him. tears weren't especially special, considering the life they had led—that ivan had led. while no one had cried for him, he knew that they cried for others, and an awful lot at that too.
a month later, as sua purposefully took the last sweet treat on the tray, glaring at him, all he could think was hypocrite. sua had made mizi cry the hardest, and would have had he not pulled them out so soon.
and when till screamed and beat him down whenever ivan tried to get near him or dares to talk to him, sparing no mercy as he expended his entire vocabulary on ivan, ivan... wished he could say he didn't care too much.
ivan looks at the adults and wonders how they thought of the messy situation. witnessing how the two children bullied the one they assumed was the leader, in defense of someone who didn't really need nor want it. watching how they guarded one from another, effectively isolating him. noticing how they took the happiness the rebels had tried so hard to make and provide from him.
ivan doesn't know, nor does he want to know, but everytime he sees a sweet pastry on his bed—well, it's impossible not to make a conjecture.
the adults have tried to meddle. in fact, mizi—their sun, their light of their life, their god—had tried to meddle. it's fruitless, though; till nor sua will let ivan get a word in, even if the adults are there, and they're thoroughly convinced ivan had managed to manipulate mizi into intervening.
ivan stopped in front of a cracked open door when he heard shouting. he and the others had split rooms, leaving him alone in the smaller one. "guys, ivan isn't that bad! he got all of us out, that day, he must've been stressed too!"
"he couldn't have done it nicer?" sua grumbled.
"he doesn't know how to be nice," till countered, equally upset. "ivan's no good news, mizi. it's better if you stay away. he might—he might steal your things and beat you up."
"glad we can agree on one thing."
"that's ridiculous! you're ridiculous! it's just a bit of tears, it doesn't mean a lot, guys!"
"you never cried before," sua pointed out, eyes narrowed. "stop defending him, mizi. ivan doesn't deserve it."
===
ivan stands alone in the field, looking at the night sky and trying to conjure the lyrics he had written so long ago. it's been a few years since the escape, and on the anniversary each year he'd go to see if there's a meteor shower and sing the songs that marked death.
at the age of ten, they'd manage to escape anakt garden; all four of them. at fifteen, ivan finds that he's forgotten both songs he'd sung on stage for aliens to listen and for till to hear. it's not that big a problem, except he can't recall what sua would look like on the day of her death, either, nor what dress mizi wore when she disappeared, nor how till looked when he sang that song for mizi.
maybe it'd be easier to imagine if they let him near then in this life. instead, in the five years he's been here, it's mostly ivan doing odd jobs alone around the base when he can. he lessens the work on till and sua and mizi by taking it upon himself to do it first. the rest of them don't say anything about it anymore.
not too far away, in his own room, till shoots out of bed, forehead dripping sweat. his eyes are wide, brain working overtime, yet he can only catch fleeting parts of his nightmare—a missing poster.
===
ivan is twenty, ten years since their escape, and nearly every memory from his first life erased. he desperately grasps onto a meteor shower, one that he missed in this life, but he's not an artist who can immortalize the scene. he wishes he could, he does, and as he stands outside, his last memory leaves him.
ivan's long stopped trying to grasp at the melody of black sorrow or the lyrics of cure, so he's silent as he looks up.
ivan doesn't go back to the base. he can't stand another round of shots in the heart, not when he lost his final memory. he doesn't know where he will go, but it's not here.
on earth, he'd officially be an adult. today, he feels as though he's a little child who lost his parents forever.
=====
OH MY GOD I MIGHT CRY WHAT THE HELL
what devil possessed me
FUCK IM CRYING
sua starts the whole "ivan doesn't deserve it" and till follows her lead. crowd mentality, ig, till has some doubts but mizi holds a higher place in his heart.
the adults don't get too close, because ivan doesn't let them, but they do remind him that he has a place in the base. candies, pastries, clothes, and toys are left in his room by them when they notice he's particularly feeling down. it's concerning how much this occurs.
ivan starts to lose his memories because he largest wish—give till freedom—has been completed. meanwhile, a deeper and more silent wish to be loved causes the other three to regain their memories. unfortunately, ivan runs away before that one comes true.
ivan says he feels like a child when he loses that last memory — that's because he never grew up after going back in time. his maturity came from the memories, and without them he is a lost child.
on the last night, till's last memory he gained is actually r6, when ivan dies for him. he gets up immediately to find him, except he's nowhere to be found.
perhaps in a sequel till goes to find ivan and they make up—or, perhaps in a sequel ivan is found dead or captured.
scrapped scene:
"ivan, you're the reason they managed to escape, right?"
"yes..."
"what would you change? if you had to escape again?"
"i'd want to see the meteor shower. we missed it because it took too long to get out of the garden."
Racism isn’t saying an uncomfortable word. Racism is every news media reporting on the individual lives of the 33 adult settler hostages to be released in Phase 1, and not one mention of the 100+ Palestinians, 25 of whom are children, that Israel has murdered since announcing the ceasefire. They’ll try to kill as many as they can before Sunday.
✨️• Im kinda shy to share this haha, im not really good with animatics or animation, but hearing the version of all in of Till, i imagined it would be fun if in the Actor AU ivantill did their own MV of that song
And honestly, i love any excuse to draw ivan 🫶
Of course, i used the original MV of All in as a base and reference, so please go support the original animation and song!
-> To have found you was the world's regret, not mine
trueform!ryomen sukuna x reader
summary: born with two too many limbs and faces, he was abandoned, left for the nature to bury him in a grave at the mere age of six. apparently, there was one enemy to the nature of the world, who seemed to go against every rule of survival; you.
warning/s: heian era, smut at the end (skipable), sukuna has two dicks, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, p in v, creampies, slight breeding kink, praise and degrading kink, overstimulation, aphrodisiacs, angst, mentions of blood, nearing death (no actual death though), sukuna's villain arc, he was a monster you'd never despise, growing up together, they were both doomed from the start, fluff so i don't end it all, sukuna using you as a weight for training
a/n: i have no words. this man awakens something inside of me.
The rumors had spread like wildfire.
The child born with too many eyes, too many limbs, had devoured his twin in the womb. A demon cloaked in human skin, they whispered. He was evil incarnate, an abomination that would only grow stronger if left unchecked. But killing him outright would be a sin too great for their souls to bear. So they left him to rot. On the desolate side of the country, where even the air could be considered poison, they abandoned him.
They thought they'd washed their hands clean.
They thought starvation would take care of what they couldn't.
But death didn't come as quickly as they had hoped.
Sukuna was nothing more than a husk of a boy now, his four arms limp at his sides, his ribs threatening to pierce through his skin with each shallow breath.
Nature, just as cruel as mankind, had left him no mercy.
And then you appeared.
"Hi,"
The sound was soft, almost too soft for his dulled senses to catch. He barely mustered the strength to crack open one eye, a faint glint of crimson meeting yours.
"What?" he rasped.
You didn't answer right away, instead stepping closer to the monster that the land itself seemed to despise. There was no hesitation in your movements, no fear, no disgust.
"You.. you're just like me," you murmured.
Sukuna's lower right eye twitched, barely enough to take you in. You were as battered as he was—maybe worse. Wounds marred your body, some barely crusting over due to the lack of vitamins, others oozing sluggishly with infection. Your skin looked like it could rip at any given moment, stretched too thin over bones that jutted out in sharp angles.
You looked truly pitiable.
But Sukuna didn't care. Or at least, that's what he thought.
He was going to die anyway. Forming a bond would be useless.
He scoffed, his head lolling back against the harsh, cracked tree he was leaning on, waiting for death to take him away at the mere age of six.
"We're both dying,"
You said what he couldn't, spoke his mind instead of plastering him with questions.
You were younger than him, yet knew such harsh reality to come.
Your lips quirked in something resembling a smile, though it faltered under the weight of your exhaustion.
The boy hummed in return.
With that, Sukuna let his eyes fall shut, deciding to fade out the world— and you— with it.
Hours later, a sharp scent cut through his haze.
Sweet.
Fruit.
His eyes snapped open. He turned his head and found you kneeling beside him, holding a piece of overripe fruit out to him.
"Eat," you simply said.
He snarled— or at least tried to— but his voice came out weak and hoarse, "Don't… pity me."
Your brows furrowed, frustration taking over you. Without a word, you leaned closer, your small hand pressing against his chest. His eyes widened, alarm breaking through his mind.
"What are you—"
Before he could stop you, you raised the fruit to his stomach mouth. Its sharp teeth parted instinctively, and before Sukuna could refuse again, you fed him.
Your fingers brushed against his canines, but you didn't flinch. You didn't so much as blink as the beastly maw devoured the offering, juice dribbling from its corners.
His lower eyes narrowed, glaring at you even as the sweet taste spread across his tongue.
"Stupid brat," he muttered, but his voice lacked any true hatred. Towards you, that is.
You didn't respond, only settling back into your spot beside him, already reaching into a cloth bag for more.
"Wh-what's your.. ah- your name?" you mused as you revealed another fruit to him, guiding it to his stomach.
Unlike him, the maw ate gratefully.
He seemed to think, his body relaxing at the feeling of it getting taken care of.
Truthfully, the boy didn't have a proper name. He was named Ryomen due to his two faces— that was all to it.
He grunted, "Sukuna."
You smiled, repeating the name. With a grin, you revealed your name to him.
And surprisingly, he did the same thing.
He repeated it.
This became your routine.
You, a ghost of a child, scavenged for what little life had to offer. Sukuna, the boy they had condemned as a monster, became your charge.
Each day, you'd sneak into villages, weaving through the shadows like smoke. You stole food, medicine, anything you could carry with your frail form, and brought it all to him.
You hardly ate yourself.
No one knew who you were, only that you'd often show up and steal relentlessly.
"That stupid brat! Don't let her get away next time; she needs to be punished properly!"
"Sinning at such a young age is so unfortunate. May she find the right path."
"—there's no right path for her! The devil's captured her soul— we should finally burn this brat for good!"
Sukuna could say the same about them.
Those 'saints' who left you with infection-littered wounds.
Those 'saints' who chased after you for simple fruit.
A little girl, with more bones than meat.
Was Sukuna really the disgrace of the world when this was the way other people thought of innocent life trying to survive?
Whatever. He didn't have the time to think about it.
Not when he'd hold you with his lower arms to stop your squirming.
He discovered reverse cursed technique at a very young age, which became good use. He'd heal you, acting as if he couldn't hear your sobs.
Sukuna's touch wasn't gentle, nor was it kind, but it was efficient. His hands, rough and calloused despite his young age, pressed against your frail frame, glowing faintly with cursed energy as it stitched together your wounds. He worked silently, his expression unreadable, but his lower eyes betrayed the tiniest flicker of something foreign. Something he wouldn't dare acknowledge.
"You cry too much," he muttered, his voice gruff as if to mask the faint twinge of unease your sobs caused him.
—that, unfortunately wasn't a lie. You'd cry a lot. So much, the beast wondered when you'd ever run out of tears.
But in no sense were you a dramatic little crybaby. You'd cry a lot, but not often. When you did, you usually couldn't stop it anymore, and it would go on for hours— the monster had no idea what to do in that case. He figured he wouldn't kill you for the simple act, since you were so useful.
But that weeping would go on his nerves. It replaced the warm feeling in his organs— the one sitting slightly beneath the sternum— with a cold one. It'd feel like it was clutching, singing a melody of helplessness.
That must've been his nerves, he figured.
You were annoying him, he figured.
You sniffled, your thin fingers clutching at his wrist. "hurts," you whimpered, your face streaked with dirt and tears.
And there it was again— that feeling. Something in his chest was crinkling together.
"Then stop getting caught, idiot," he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. He focused on his work, forcing himself to ignore the wetness in your eyes. "Be faster. Smarter."
"I am fast," you argued weakly, your lips trembling, "they're just... mean."
The feeling in his chest was getting worse. Sukuna frowned, it almost resembled to actual pain.
A rare snort escaped him, bitter and sharp. "The world's mean. Get used to it."
You didn't respond right away, your small body trembling under his hands as he finished patching you up. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost inaudible. "Why do you help me then? If the world's so mean?"
Sukuna froze for a moment, his hands hovering just above your skin. His crimson eyes narrowed as he stared at you, his jaw tightening.
"Because I don't like broken things," he said simply, his tone cold and dismissive. "they're useless."
You blinked up at him, your expression unreadable. "Then why not let me die?"
He didn't answer, couldn't answer. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled his hands back, the glow of cursed energy fading.
"You didn't let me die either. Now shut up and eat," he snapped, shoving a stolen piece of bread into your hands.
You obeyed, gnawing at the stale crust despite how it scratched at your throat. You were used to it by now.
Sukuna leaned back against his usual tree— the one he almost died on— his multiple arms folding across his chest. He stared at you as you ate, his gaze deciphering, as if trying to solve a puzzle he didn't even want to admit existed.
"You're too small," he muttered after a while, breaking the silence.
You looked up, crumbs clinging to your lips. "Huh?"
"You're weak," he clarified, his tone blunt, "pathetic, even."
"Gee, thanks," you muttered, rolling your eyes.
"But," he continued, ignoring your sarcasm, "you're still alive. That means you're stubborn. Maybe too stubborn for your own good."
You tilted your head, watching him curiously. "And what about you? You're alive too."
He smirked faintly, a sharp, cruel thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's because I'm stronger than them. Stronger than everyone. I just haven't gotten the chance to prove it yet."
"Then why didn't you leave?" you asked, your voice soft, "If you're so strong, why didn't you leave this place? Why are you still here? Feeding off fruit instead of hunting the animals to the north."
His smirk faltered, his expression hardening. "Because I have something to prove," he grunted, "to them. To the people who left me here to rot. To everyone who thinks they can decide what I am."
He was going to prove that the place they abandoned him to was the reason he was going to turn into a real monster. His career shall start from the place his realization begun. He would tear them apart, and only after this, shall he enjoy his own brought food; his victims.
You didn't respond right away, your gaze dropping to the bread in your hands. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I think you're just lonely."
His head snapped toward you, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "What did you say?"
You met his glare head-on, your expression tired, and yet still stubborn, "I said you're lonely. That's why you don't want me to die. You don't want to be alone again."
For a moment, the air between you grew tense. Sukuna's hands twitched, his fingers curling into fists as if he were contemplating smashing your fragile frame into the dirt.
But he didn't.
Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes with a huff. "You talk too much," he muttered, his tone laced with irritation.
You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite the exhaustion etched into your face. "And you don't talk enough."
Another silence fell between you, this one less heavy, less suffocating. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken children in a world that had already decided you didn't belong.
But for now, you weren't alone.
Then days started to turn into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months.
Sukuna grew stronger, his body filling out with lean, wiry muscle as his cursed energy became sharper, more controlled. You were still frail, still weak, but you had learned to move like a shadow, to steal like a raven amongst the humans.
Sukuna didn't understand it. Didn't care to, at first. You were wasting your energy on a lost cause. You should've run far away from him, left him to rot like everyone else had.
But you hadn't. Didn't.
And that caused him to grow over the years.
He grew rapidly, mainly because of his genes— but his muscles weren't something he simply got. He earned them by training.
What to understand under training? Well— he used you as weight, most of the time. You sat on his back when he did pushups or his arm when he trained his biceps. You were useful to Sukuna; that's why he kept you around.
Definitely for no other reason, though.
Nope.
Not because your voice relaxed him, lulled him to sleep.
Not because you smiled at him the day both of you were supposed to be left as nothing more than rotten bodies in this cruel world.
Not because you were so fearless of his anatomy— of him.
Not because you cared for him, so unnaturally much.
Not because you were a complete idiot for doing so.
And to keep things around meant taking care of them, unfortunately. He couldn't risk you dying on him. Not that he'd feel guilty.. sad or anything, but you were useful, could steal. And besides, he had spend a lot of years together with you. You'd grown into young adults together. He got used to your company.
So he never wasted any time when he healed your wounds. You usually had a lot of them, considering villages were basically hunting for you by now.
You even found a little shelter, good enough to hold the two of you. It was an abandoned temple, plants overgrowing the place— but it was enough.
The villagers were growing restless, their whispers turning to shouts, their torches raised.
"The girl's still out there!"
"She steals more than she can eat— she's bringing offerings to the devil himself!"
"We have to end this before they destroy us all!"
Sukuna listened to their cries from the shadows.
"Let them come," he muttered, his voice a low growl.
You glanced at him, worried, "Sukuna…"
He turned to you, his smirk sharp and merciless. "They wanted a monster," he grinned, "I'll show them one."
And for the first time, you weren't sure if you could stop him.
From the day Sukuna decided to show himself to the villages, things changed.
You didn't know what he was doing there. He wouldn't tell you, and you didn't ask. But every evening, without fail, he'd return to the little temple the two of you had claimed. Bloodied.
Always bloodied.
It was never his blood.
His steps would echo against the cracked stones, his frame filling the entrance. He wouldn't say a word, just slump down into his usual spot, waiting for you to do what you always did.
You'd kneel beside him, a bucket of water already at the ready, and begin cleaning him. Your hands worked methodically, scrubbing away the blood that painted his arms, his chest, his face. It didn't matter how much there was or how long it took— you cleaned it all, sitting in silence as the water turned red.
He never flinched. Never winced.
You didn't ask what had happened, and he didn't offer an explanation.
This was your routine now.
You decided you didn't like it.
You were getting left out. He was going cold— you couldn't care less if it were towards the village and the world only— but what about you? You wanted to hear his voice, to talk to him, to be with him.
It was only weeks later that you began to notice them. The marks.
The first time you saw one, it was faint, almost invisible against his skin. A single black line curling along the biceps that met the shoulder. You didn't say anything, even as more began to appear, making their way up his limbs, across his chest, spreading like a dark disease.
You knew what they were.
You didn't need to ask.
Each mark was a crime— a sin carved into his flesh, branding him for the world to see. Murder. Destruction. Chaos.
You knew that.
He knew you knew.
At first, he acted like it didn't matter. Sukuna was stubborn like that, always pretending nothing could touch him. But you saw it, the way his gaze would flicker to you when he thought you weren't looking. The way his hands sometimes twitched when you got too close, as if he expected you to pull away.
He was scared.
Scared that you, out of all people, would abandon him.
But you didn't.
You didn't say a word when the marks began to spread across his shoulders, his back, his neck. You didn't flinch when the blood he came back with multiplied. You didn't recoil when his smile started to look more like a snarl, his eyes gleaming with something you didn't want to name.
You didn't support what he was doing.
But you would never stop him.
For the world had done the same to him.
Because no one stopped when they left him to rot, when they whispered behind their hands and turned their backs and called him a monster before he even had a chance to be anything else.
Because even though you didn't agree with him, even though you hated the blood and the way he was slipping further and further away from whatever humanity he had left…
You would never abandon him.
So you stayed.
Even as the marks spread like a curse, even as the villagers' cries grew louder, even as Sukuna's laughter began to echo like something bad had won against the world, you stayed.
Because that's what you'd always done.
And maybe that's why, when the marks started creeping toward his face, curling along his jaw and across his lower eyes, Sukuna never stopped coming back.
No matter how bloody he was.
No matter how much darker he seemed.
He always came back.
To you.
After Sukuna had received all possible markings on his body, you found yourselves wandering off the place it all started with.
He'd proven himself.
It was time to take over his own estate now. He shall be the god amongst the mere humans whom despised him, with you by his side.
Sukuna found an estate on a whim.
It was a massive structure, sprawling across the countryside like a symbol of decadence. It belonged to a king, or at least someone who thought themselves important. Sukuna didn't care who— it didn't matter. All he saw was an opportunity.
He stalked through the gates, dragging you behind him by the hand like a silent shadow. You didn't ask questions, didn't protest. You trusted him. Perhaps a bit too much.
He wasn't sure what pissed him off more; the way you clung to his side so willingly or the fact that you made him hesitate.
Sukuna had stormed into that estate ready to kill— prepared to cut through guards, nobles, anyone who dared stand in his way. But the moment he stepped inside, the warmth of your hand in his made him pause. Just for a second.
He grumbled, the sound low and guttural in his throat.
"Brat," he muttered under his breath.
You blinked up at him, confused, but before you could ask, three of his arms moved. Two hands covered your ears, and the third wrapped protectively around your head, shielding and blinding you from what he was about to do.
The remaining arm was the one he used to guide his slashes, cutting through flesh and bone as if it were paper.
Guards rushed at him, swords raised, and fell just as quickly. Blood splattered the polished floors, the walls, the pristine decor meant to show off the king's wealth. Sukuna moved like a storm, calculated and ruthless, cutting down anyone who dared oppose him.
But there were some who didn't fight.
Some dropped to their knees without question, trembling as they bowed their heads.
Sukuna's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.
"Swear your lives to me," he commanded, his voice a deep, menacing growl that echoed through the halls, "pledge your loyalty, or join the rest of them."
And they did.
One after another, they vowed their lives to him, fear etched into every syllable. Those were the ones he let live.
By the time he finished, the estate was his.
Blood soaked the floors, the stench of death heavy in the air, but it was done. Sukuna had claimed his place.
Servants began arriving the next day, desperate for shelter. They came from villages he'd decimated, from towns that whispered his name with equal parts fear and reverence. They gave their lives to him willingly, swearing fealty in exchange for protection.
Because that's what you had always done.
There was one habit Sukuna had carried with him since childhood— a strange, unspoken thing neither of you dared to label or even fully acknowledge. Whatever it was between you two, it wasn't something the world could define.
Certainly not a couple. That wasn't the right word. No.
But also… not not that.
It didn't matter. No one dared lay a thought on it.
The habit in question? Sukuna couldn't sleep unless you were right there. Not just near him, but with him. On him, preferably.
From the time you were small, he'd insist you lay against his chest, your frail frame curled up against him like you were the only shield he needed. As you grew, it became more than that— skin to skin contact. He craved it, though he'd rather rot in hell than admit it.
When you'd press your cheek against him, limbs tangled together as if the world wasn't constantly trying to tear you apart, Sukuna could actually relax. When your warmth pressed into his, he could let his many eyes close, feel his breathing even out. He swore he didn't care about the way your fingers would clutch at him in your sleep, or how you'd bury your face in the crook of his neck.
Didn't care that you drooled on him, for God's sake.
He definitely didn't admire that.
But there were nights when you'd wake up to find him staring at you, his eyes soft in a way you rarely saw. And he'd smirk, teasingly so, just enough to throw you off.
"You drooled all over me again," he'd mutter, pretending to be annoyed as he wiped at his skin, though the smug tilt of his mouth betrayed him.
You'd groan, shoving at his chest, "Then stop using me as a pillow."
"Who's using who?" he'd reply, wrapping his arms tighter around you so you couldn't escape.
It was stupid. Pointless. But also… it wasn't.
Because in those moments, when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world could burn for all you cared, Sukuna wasn't the bloodied monster that came home to you. And you weren't the ghost of a child stealing scraps to survive. (Which, frankly, you didn't need to anymore, since Sukuna took charge of that. However, the villages contained a.. feeling.. you liked to experience. The bits of humanity. Sukuna didn't stop you, for he didn't understand, but he trusted you.)
There was once, when Sukuna had never experienced you like this. Not once in all the years he'd known you.
You came back from the village as usual, empty-handed this time, but without so much as a scratch on you. At first, he thought nothing of it— maybe you'd been lucky, maybe the villagers were slacking, maybe...
But then, you didn't say a word. Not one.
You were always the one to start conversations. Always the one filling the empty silence between the two of you with your endless chatter, your stubborn questions, your little quips that only made him smirk. So why the hell were you quiet now?
It irritated him.
"Oi," Sukuna barked, his sharp tone bouncing off the temple walls, "say something."
You didn't respond.
He narrowed his eyes, his arms crossing over his broad chest. This was weird. Really weird. Then he got a good look at your face, and something about it made his stomach twist, and the feeling in his chest cold.
You looked sad.
Why did you look sad? You weren't supposed to look like that. That wasn't you.
"Stop making that face," he snapped, scowling to cover the strange unease rising in his chest.
You still didn't respond, huffing and walking away to another room— that definitely was not the one you'd share with Sukuna. For mere sleeping habits, obviously.
Then he noticed you weren't eating either. That was the final straw. Sukuna was no saint— far from it— but when he was half-dead, starving, and barely able to move, you'd shoved food down his throat whether he wanted it or not. You fed him, cared for him, even when he didn't deserve it.
So maybe, he thought, he should do the same for you.
Yes. Yes, that was the answer.
Of course, Sukuna had never been great with the whole 'gentle' thing. Or 'patient.' Or 'subtle.'
So when you didn't eat the dried meat he shoved into your hands, he huffed and decided to take matters into his own hands.
Literally.
"Open your damn mouth," he growled, his lower arms grabbing your face with surprising force. Servants around the room stilled, their eyes widening. They knew you as the King's treasure— they never expected him to care, whatsoever.
You blinked up at him, startled, but still didn't say a word.
"Don't just stare at me— eat!" he barked, attempting to shove the food toward your mouth. When your lips remained stubbornly closed, his frustration boiled over, "Fine, you wanna be a brat? Then I shall make you—"
Without thinking, Sukuna grabbed your jaw, prying your mouth open with way too much force. His grip was rough, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he tried to shove the food in.
"Stop being so damn stupid—!"
Before any of the shocked servants could even dare to say anything, your muffled protest and wide eyes finally registered in his brain. He froze mid-action, realizing he was practically choking you.
"..Oh."
He pulled his hands back abruptly, the dried meat dropping to the ground between you. You coughed a little, your eyes watering, and for a brief moment, Sukuna actually felt awkward.
Which pissed him off even more.
"Whatever," he grumbled, crossing his arms again and glaring at the wall, "you're lucky I even bothered, fool."
You finally spoke then, your voice soft and hoarse from disuse. "…Sukuna?"
"What?"
Your lips trembled, and you looked up at him with that same sad expression that made his chest ache. "Thank you."
He scoffed, turning his head away so you couldn't see the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck. "Don't thank me. Just eat next time."
But you didn't.
And Sukuna, for all his glory, didn't know how to fix you.
And that terrified him.
He didn't know what was wrong, didn't know how to make you better, and the longer you stayed like this— silent, withdrawn, not you— the more it ate away at him. He wasn't used to fear, not like this, and it pissed him off.
So the next time you went into the village, he came with you.
It was a rational decision, he told himself. If he could just see what was going on, maybe he could figure out how to fix it. Plus, he'd make sure nothing happened to you while you were out.
The villagers, of course, noticed immediately. Sukuna wasn't exactly subtle. A hulking figure with four arms and marks that practically screamed danger didn't exactly blend into the background.
This was no longer just you, the lone thief darting through shadows.
No.
This was you and Sukuna, the two of you together.
A pair.
You were the reason Sukuna had survived this long. He knew that. Knew that now the villagers would too. They'd hunt you harder, piece together the truth of how you'd kept him alive, how you'd made him the monster they feared.
He didn't care.
He wasn't going to leave your side anyway.
You were safest with him. No one would dare lay a finger on you while he was there. That was the message he sent, loud and clear, as he walked beside you through the village, your hand clasped firmly in his.
But then he saw it.
The way your expression shifted.
You stopped, your gaze snagged on a group of children sitting in the dirt, their little hands busy smearing bright colors inside simple lines drawn on scraps of parchment. They were laughing, giggling, so blissfully unaware of the two of you.
Your frown deepened.
And that's when Sukuna realized.
This— this— was the reason for your depressive episode.
He froze, staring at you for a moment before he let out a loud, echoing cackle. He laughed so hard his sides ached, his upper hands clutching his stomach while his lower ones rested on his hips.
"That's what's got you sulking?" he sneered, "This? A bunch of brats smearing colors like idiots?"
You turned to him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, lips tugged into a pout. "Shut up."
He barked out a low, mocking laugh, leaning closer as his sharp teeth glinted. "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous of that? You wanna crawl around in the dirt and finger-paint too? What's next, you gonna cry about it? Pathetic."
You huffed, crossing your arms with a glare. "Hey! I haven't cried about such things since.. forever now— you can't bring that up!"
But you weren't mad.
Just pouty.
And he found that absolutely hilarious.
Back at the estate, though, Sukuna couldn't shake the image of your face in the village. That look of quiet longing, of sadness. It stuck with him, crawling under his skin until he couldn't ignore it anymore.
So, begrudgingly, he thought about it. Really thought about it.
And then, with a dramatic sigh, he sat down beside you, crossing his lower arms over his lap while the upper ones gestured at his body.
"Here," he said gruffly, as if this were a full sentence made to understand immediately.
You blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"My marks," he muttered, already annoyed at how awkward he felt, "use them. Color inside the lines or whatever. Just— stop looking like that. It's annoying."
Your mouth fell open in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he snapped, scowling, "if it'll stop you from sulking, then fine. Go ahead. You can even add new ones if you want."
Your face lit up, a spark of your usual self finally flickering back to life. "Really?"
"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?" Sukuna grumbled, pretending to be annoyed even as relief washed over him, "Just don't mess it up."
You grabbed a piece of charcoal from your stash with a grin, leaning closer to him. "Don't worry, S'kuna. I'll make you beautiful."
He rolled his eyes.
"To think of it, you're already really beautiful.."
He scoffed, his lips curling up, "I am no such thing."
"To me, you are."
"..."
Your relationship was fine. There wasn't much else you could say about it. You weren't ready to ruin anything, and being in his arms made you content enough.
But there was this constant urge to have more.
You didn't understand these feelings fully, but you did know there were times when you wanted to please him desperately.
That's why you started training. A lot.
Obviously, you'd never live up to the King himself, but there was no denying the fact that you did… bloom. You didn't run anymore— not when you were able to take out people on your own.
And while you did all of this with the intention of keeping yourself safe, you somehow got another reward out of it.
His praise.
Your guilty pleasure.
You tried not to let it show, but you were desperate for it. Almost like a dog wagging its tail, ready for a reward after performing a trick.
And while Sukuna hadn't noticed that you specifically craved his praise, he had noticed that you'd grown a lot more obedient. You'd follow his orders without snarky remarks, without hesitation.
Take eating, for example.
Back then, Sukuna would've been fuming because, despite your circumstances and how you grew up, you were a picky eater. And Sukuna had actually been trying his best to break that habit.
Now? Now you ate without another word. No sarcastic quips. No fights. No using the King of Curses as your personal climbing material to escape his four arms.
Nope.
Just you, grimacing after each bite of whatever questionable food you'd been handed.
Sukuna was confused.
Hence why you didn't get the praise you'd been so desperately hoping for.
Well, fuck you, you cunt. What did I eat this fucking piece of shit for?
As you sat picking at a particularly unappealing piece of food, Sukuna finally snapped.
"Alright," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest, all four of them. "What's your deal?"
You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb with me." His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the dim light. "You've been acting weird. Eating whatever garbage you're given, training like a lunatic, not mouthing off— what's going on with you?"
Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your food. "I'm just… trying to pull my weight, that's all."
"Bullshit," he said flatly.
You flinched, your grip tightening on your fork.
Sukuna leaned forward, "Out with it," he demanded. "what are you trying to prove?"
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are."
You hesitated, biting your lip, and Sukuna's frustration grew. He hated when you shut him out.
"I just…" You took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to make you proud, is all."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable.
And then, to your utter shock, he let out a low, rumbling laugh.
"That's it?" he said, his tone mocking but not mean, "You want to make me proud? You're such an idiot."
Your face burned with embarrassment, and you opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna cut you off.
"Listen," he begun, "You don't need to break yourself to impress me. You're already here, are you not? That's enough."
Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide.
"Now eat," he barked, his tone snapping back to its usual gruffness. "And stop making that stupid face. It's annoying."
A small grin tugged at your lips.
"Yes, your Highness," you said, mockingly formal as you took a big, dramatic bite of your food.
Sukuna rolled his eyes but didn't bother hiding the smirk that spread across his face.
When letters started to come in, no one really knew how to address you.
You weren't his queen. You weren't his wife. You weren't his servant, and you certainly weren't his concubine.
You were you.
A force unlike anything the world had ever seen. The only soul who dared to hold Sukuna's gaze without fear, who could make him snarl one moment and laugh the next.
If there was one thing everyone knew, it was this; Sukuna respected you. A respect so profound that it bordered on reverence— something not even gods themselves could hope to achieve.
One day, another letter arrived.
It was addressed to you, though the sender didn't dare write your name. Instead, it bore a simple title,
The Crow.
The name wasn't unfamiliar. After all, it wasn't far from the truth. You had once been the solitary figure scavenging food for Sukuna, feeding him when the world left him to rot. Always flitting in and out of danger, quick and clever, much like the bird they now associated you with.
Sukuna scoffed at the name when he looked over your shoulder, your legs dangling off of his lap, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips. "The Crow, hm? How poetic."
You rolled your eyes. "What else would they call me? It's better than 'Bearer of Death' or 'The Pest', no?"
He barked out a laugh, leaning back on his throne, "I'd kill them myself if they dared to write something that pathetic."
The letter was an invitation from a village requesting your presence. It was worded carefully, dripping with false flattery and desperate pleas.
"They need you," Sukuna read aloud mockingly. "Right. As if this isn't a trap."
You knew it, and so did he.
But still, you folded the letter neatly and tucked it away.
"I'm going."
Sukuna's expression darkened instantly. His gaze bore into you, sharp and unrelenting. "No, you're not."
You raised a brow, "You're not my keeper."
"Correct. I'm your king," he snapped, hands finding their way to your waist, almost as if silently stopping you from an escape, "and I forbid it."
"Then come with me,"
He stilled, his gaze narrowing as he weighed your words.
"if it's a trap," you continued, "they won't expect you. In that case, we— you don't have to worry about dinner tonight."
Sukuna grunted, a smirk blooming on his face, "You're insufferable."
"So I've heard."
The two of you arrived at the village a few days later, Sukuna at your side.
The air was thick with unease as villagers scattered like mice at the sight of him. His reputation preceded him, the stories of his cruelty and power leaving no room for doubt.
What confused them most was him.
Why was he here? Only you were invited.
The village leader greeted you hesitantly, his voice trembling as he spoke.
"We… we didn't expect both of you to come."
"Clearly," Sukuna drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. His lower arms crossed over his chest while the upper ones rested at his sides, ready to strike if needed. "You thought you'd lure her here and what? Take her from me? Did you think you could threaten me in this way?"
The leader paled, stumbling over his words. "N-no, my Lord, we—"
"Enough." Sukuna's voice silenced the man immediately, "Speak. Why did you call her here?"
The village leader fumbled, his gaze flickering nervously between you and Sukuna. "W-We need her help," he stammered, voice quivering as he addressed the King. "A newborn… was recently b-born here." His words faltered, his fear evident as he glanced up at the King, "He's… different. B-Born with two faces."
The man swallowed hard, his trembling hands clasped together in desperation. "He's sick. None of the doctors outside the village will touch him," he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his plea. Then, his eyes turned to you, filled with a desperate kind of hope, "We heard the stories— how she saved you— and we thought…"
"You thought wrong," Sukuna growled.
But before he could end the man's life with a single swipe, you stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.
"Let me handle this," you said softly.
His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. After a long moment, he relented, stepping back with a low grunt.
You let the villager take you to the hut where the newborn was.
You knelt before the makeshift crib, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to the newborn. He was tiny, frail— two faced.
One face contained of nothing more than fear, whilst the other cried out in pain. Yet, when your arms wrapped around his fragile body, he quieted, though soft whimpers still escaped his lips.
"Shh, little one," you murmured, your voice as gentle as a breeze. Sukuna watched silently from the corner, his arms crossed.
Carefully, you checked the baby's temperature, your fingers brushing over his small, fevered forehead. You examined his tiny body for signs of illness, taking note of the unnatural features that made the villagers so fearful. His two faces twisted slightly as he squirmed in your arms, but he didn't cry out again.
Turning to the trembling leader and a few others standing nearby, you, usually being considered nice, spoke firmly, "He needs specific care. His fever has to be brought down immediately. You'll need fruits rich in vitamins— papayas, bananas, oranges. Vegetables too. Carrots, spinach. And a steady supply of milk." Your gaze hardened, daring them to question you. "If you fail to provide him with these, he won't survive the month."
The leader nodded rapidly, almost stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to fulfill your demands.
Meanwhile, the baby's tiny hand gripped weakly at the fabric of your sleeve, his innocent gaze drifting up to meet yours. His other face, half-formed but expressive, mirrored the longing in his eyes. He clung to you like you were the only safe haven in his fragile world.
But then his gaze shifted, catching sight of Sukuna looming nearby. The King's lower set of eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his lips twitching into something between a pout and a scowl. The baby's hand hesitated, releasing its hold as if sensing Sukuna's displeasure.
You glanced at Sukuna, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous expression. What was he? Jealous? Of a baby?
Biting back a laugh, you turned your attention back to the infant, cradling him closer and pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead. "Don't mind him," you whispered, though loud enough for Sukuna to hear, "he's just grumpy because he's not the center of attention for once."
Sukuna scoffed, his arms tightening across his chest. "Tch. Keep your bratty comments to yourself."
You grinned at him, unbothered by his tone. "Aw, is the mighty King pouting? You're really going to compete with a newborn now?"
"I do not pout."
"Oh, you absolutely do," you teased, hugging the baby close for emphasis. The infant snuggled into you, his soft breaths warm against your skin. He reminded you so much of Sukuna, except Sukuna's beginnings had been so much harsher, so much crueler.
Your smile softened as you glanced over at the man, "You were like this once, you know," you said quietly, "but worse off. No one held you like this, did they?"
"That's irrelevant," he muttered.
You turned back to the baby, rocking him gently. "Not to me,"
Sukuna didn't respond, but he didn't look away, either. Even in his silence, you knew he was watching, remembering.
He hated this.
Hated the way they looked at you, as if you were their savior. As if they had any right to ask for your help after the world had abandoned you. For no reason, might he add. You were not the devil's incarnation, you hadn't been a bad child, hell, for all he knew, you could be considered an angel. And yet, you were in the same state as he was the very day you two met. The world treated you so harshly for your mere existence. And Sukuna hadn't forgotten.
He stayed silent, letting you work.
When the day ended, you returned to his side, hands stained with herbs. He said nothing.
And yet, the villagers had the audacity to offer you flowers— an attempt at gratitude.
They were beautiful.
They promised you they smelled even better.
Who were you to decline?
But beauty has a cost.
The flowers— so innocent-looking, so sweet-smelling— were anything but.
The trouble began not long after.
At first, Sukuna noticed how clingy you became, latching onto him even more than usual. You'd run your hands through his hair (despite his scowls and harsh hushes), trace the tattoos along his arms, or rest your head on his chest longer than necessary. He didn't mind— not that he'd admit it— but it was odd. It was unlike you to be so needy.
Then, just as suddenly, you pulled away.
Your skin flushed, your breathing uneven. You seemed distant, yet restless, quirking around like a lost little thing.
And in the blink of an eye, you stormed off to the room you shared with him. No explanations. Just silence. The servants barely had time to question your behavior. You disappeared before they could even open their mouths.
Sukuna pretended not to care. You were probably sulking, he told himself. Maybe something the villagers said had gotten under your skin. But the longer you stayed locked in that room, the more agitated he became.
He wasn't going to check on you— not immediately, anyway. That would mean admitting he cared, and he wasn't about to give anyone that satisfaction.
Instead, he sent servants.
The first returned looking pale, as if they'd just seen a ghost.
"What's wrong with her?" Sukuna growled, standing at an intimidating height.
The servant stammered, failing to form a coherent response.
Useless.
A single strike ended their misery, and Sukuna turned to the next.
One by one, the servants were sent to your room, and one by one, they returned looking worse for wear— shaken, nervous, almost beaten down mentally. None of them gave him a straight answer. And that annoyed him beyond hell and earth.
By the third corpse, he was growing impatient.
Finally, one brave— or perhaps foolish— servant stepped forward, bowing low to avoid her wrath. "My Lord… it's not our place to say. You… you should see for yourself. But she… she needs time. Give her a moment, then go to her."
The King's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a snarl. Time? You needed time? For what?
Still, the servant's trembling voice and the hint of genuine concern in their words stopped him from storming in immediately.
"Fine," he grunted, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand, "half an hour. If she's not better by then, I’ll deal with it myself."
The servant bowed deeply, sharing a concerned look before retreating as quickly as they could.
And so, Sukuna waited.
What was wrong with you? And why the hell hadn't you told him?
Inside the room, you were fighting for your life. You were left dizzy and overwhelmed. You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. The sensation was maddening, your body betraying you in ways you couldn't explain.
Your abdomen burned. It felt too hot for your body, and you were desperate. Desperate to get rid of it, to loosen it, to feel pleasure.
You cursed under your breath, glaring at the damned flowers on the bedside table. They were the culprits. Had to be. Their sweet, heady scent lingered in the air, mocking you.
And then it dawned on you.
They were aphrodisiacs.
You yelped, mewling in, what you could consider, pain. Pain of the lack of touch.
One thought after another paced into your mind, but the one that stung the most must've been the simple question; why?
Why did the villagers do this? Hadn't you helped them well enough? Weren't you good?
Were they still, after having received your help, desperate to damage the King's property? In order to weaken him?
You scoffed at the thought. Yeah, as if.
The more disgusting thought probably had to be that they weren't in disgust of you, no, they wanted you to reproduce. They wanted more of Sukuna's kind, for the man also had worshippers, not only enemies. And this village had been such as those, you hadn't missed their eyes lingering on the King's large form.
What had you done to deserve this?
You'd have to tell Sukuna eventually.
And that would mean the death of the villagers.
You didn't want that, either.
But it was only a matter of time until said King would find out about your condition.
You thought, maybe he'd find out by the use of his enhanced senses. He'd smell the aphrodisiacs, and know what had happend to you. Or maybe he already knew these type of flowers, and he'd be able to tell by the mere look of them.
What you hadn't expected was for him to find you hopelessly humping a pillow.
The one placed in the bed you shared with him.
You had thought he went hunting— and no other servants dared to enter his room without knocking and getting an approval.
And for his sake, you would've been embarassed to see him standing there, his upper arms crossed, his expression fading from surprised to.. amused? Whatever. The King could never be surprised, could he?
You would've been embarassed, if it hadn't been for the high effects these flowers had casted upon you.
You felt like you were in heat.
You couldn't stop. A mess of whimpers, mewls and moans was what you were.
"..m-m ngh- haa- 'm s-so.. s.. sorry— 'kuna—!"
To Sukuna, you were a sight worth millions.
What could he say? Your tits, once hidden behind your kimono, were out, bouncing along to your hopeless humping. Your hair was messy, your eyes droopy, but open enough for him to catch your blown out pupils— not to mention the fact that you looked up at him as if he were your savior. Your breaths came out shallow, and your moans.. your moans were what he could consider a masterpiece. It only added to his own arousal when you moaned his name. Well, petname now, apparently.
He wanted to touch you.
To demolish you himself.
"They've drugged you. I see. Their village shall burn to the grounds—"
"N-no! -kuna p-please don't leave meee!—" you panted, desperately rubbing your clit now.
He wasn't planning to leave, however hearing you beg for it was a little cherry on top. He smirked, nearing you as he yanked your hand off of your poor bud.
And shit, the way you looked up at him— your eyes glossy, partly embarassed and partly so deep in the haze of your own arousal.
His other hand tangled into your hair, snapping your head up to look up at him.
He spoke lowly, his voice a mere rasp,
"Tell me what you desire, my dove."
"You."
No hesitation.
Well fuck, if that didn't make Sukuna rock hard, then he'd be doomed.
"Hm. Stop your humping on that thing. Come here."
His hold on your hair guided you up. You whimpered, the loss of friction and close release could've been enough of a reason for you to have started sobbing.
"Your body is truly pathetic. You can't even withstand a mere aphrodisiac. How are you to survive in this world without me by your side?"
He yanked you up, holding you with his lower arms by your thighs as he pressed you to the nearest wall. You whined, the little clothing you still owned slipping down your form, leaving you fully naked. He was already shirtless, never fond of any tops.
"Hm. A day ago you would've cried from embarrassment. How amusing."
That's when you felt it.
Your cunt was directly pressed to his stomach.
Exactly where his maw was located at.
He wasted no time, slithering the thick muscle from your thighs to your chasm, and into your folds. The dip was delicious, spreading your arousal all around as it began slipping inside of you.
Sukuna's actual mouth acted with thoughts, for he was the one controlling its actions.
His maw, however, acted on pure instinct. That's why on the day you fed him, it wasn't his actual mouth accepting your offer, but his maw, which knew what he had needed.
And it knew what you needed, now, because it was pumping inside of you like a real dick, stretching you out in ways that should hurt if it werent for the mixture of his spit and your liquid.
You moaned loudly, holding into the man as you squirmed. The canines of his maw brushed over your plush thighs, trying to savour your taste.
It was eating you.
Literally.
You gasped when you felt Sukuna's free hands groping your breasts harshly, running his thumbs over your hardened buds.
He pinched them.
And you cried out. Loudly, at that. It hurt, the overstimulation just adding to it as your breasts swelled.
And then he spat on them, meeting your druggen, almost passed out gaze with his grin.
His tongue, still pushing inside of you as if it were to devour you at any moment, was originally going to make you cum.. but..
"S-stop- 'kuna please! E- haah- enough!"
Said man stopped immediately, his tongue stilling inside of you, your walls pulsating around him.
"What is it, brat? You haven't even had your release yet. Don't tell me it's already too much."
You shook your head, blushing as your hands went around his head. He shot you a confused look before you leaned in to press your lips on his.
He was taken aback. A grunt left his lips as he accepted his fate, though he seemed to still, as if not knowing what to do.
But you giggled, actually giggled at him.
"Want you 'kuna. W-want you to feel good too,"
"Don't be silly. You will wither trying to take me."
"'n y-you'll just heal me then, no?"
"..."
He grunted, removing his tongue from you before placing you on the bed.
You looked so beautiful, spread out like a flower blooming. Your cunt was glistening, spread and messy from his tongue.
And yet, you had the audacity to feel shy at the moment.
Using your hands to cover what's his.
"Remove your hands at once, or I will not take any mercy on you, brat." He snarled, slowly pushing his pants down.
You obeyed.
And there he was.
There they were.
Standing at proud, over-human-sized inches, both of his cocks, glistening with leaking pre-cum.
He was right. You would wither trying to take him.
"Excited already?"
Oh, yeah.
How did you not notice the way you basically went on all fours within seconds, looking at his cocks as if they were treasures.
"S..so big—" your hands wrapped around his lower cock, experimentally giving a few pumps. The King, to all his glory, grunted, his eyebrows furrowed.
"So desperate, my dove. Tch."
Your mouth fell open as you went to take his upper dick, kitty licking over his tip, tasting his cum.
Fuck.
It didn't take long for you to wrap your mouth around his tip, pumping his other rock-hard, desperate cock.
And maybe, he was just as desperate— his hand wrapped around your neck, slowly inching his dick deeper into you.
You could cum on spot for what he said next;
"Good girl. F-fuck."
Not only did the big, bad King just do what you yearned for the whole time (praise you), but he also had stuttered (whimpered, really. But you'll take what you get).
You moaned around his large shaft, bobbing your head when you noticed you wouldn't be able to go any deeper. Tears were running down your cheeks, sobs escaping your full throat.
Your fingers engulfed him, your thumb rubbing his leaking tip while the other hand stroked his base, feeling the vein running underneath.
He was so perfect.
During your moment of bliss, you barely noticed his cussing, let alone his demands.
"G-get off— woman."
But you didn't.
You couldn't.
And he couldn't stop you, for the pleasure was way too great.
With that, he shot, not one, but two big loads onto you, one running inside of your throat and the other outside your throat, soaking your skin with white, sticky cum.
You were eager to swallow, and even more eager to continue, though your mouth was starting to get sore and tired.
"E-enough- for fuck's sake- off!" He groaned as he pulled you off forcefully, your mouth still connected to his dick by the mixture of cum and saliva.
Well fuck, if that wasn't a sight..
His dick remained hard, and you wondered how many releases he needed in order to soften.
"Real fuckin' minx. You think you can take both?"
You shook your head harshly, sobbing at the mere thought.
"Backing out? Already? How pathetic. I haven't even got the real chance to please you."
Without another word, he threw you on your back, gripping your legs and pressing them against your chest— literally folding you.
"'Kuna- Kuna haa!—" you cried out as you felt his tongue dive into your cunt again, his tip prodding the place right under your hole.
"Ca- can't take bo- ahh- both! Please!—"
He hummed, his tongue retreating.
"I suppose you can't, no."
"Huh?— Ah—!"
He entered you without another warning, without any time to adjust.
He was big.
He hurt.
But you did give him your promise that it'd be okay. And he said he'd heal you. So it should be okay if you could feel your walls clampering down on him, begging for a release and for him to stop his torture.
The pain easily mixed with the pleasure when he started thrusting into you, holding your legs with two of his arms, the other two keeping him steady above you. His other tip kept nudging your clit, making you cry out everytime your nerves got any kind of friction.
"Mhh. Such a glorious sight you are, my dove. So vulnerable.. can't even handle one cock, how are you ever supposed to take me?"
Ever?
You would've questioned it, if it weren't for the drool running down your lips, and the tears straining your cheeks. He chuckled, leaning down to you to lick away your tears and saliva.
His chest steadied your legs in position, and he used this as an advantage to run his hands all over your body.
You cried out when you felt multiple sharp teeth nibbling at your skin, some drawing blood, some sucking your skin.
He'd summoned mouths over his hands.
Moaning, you squirmed beneath him, his thrusts brutal enough to send you flying if it weren't for his grip.
"Ngh- ha- c-can't.. g'na cum-"
"Go on, little one. C-cum- fuck-" his breaths where heavy, and you could tell by his twitching cock inside of you that he was close aswell.
"Gonna f-fill you up, gonna fill you up so good— fuck- stop squeezing me like that, wo-hah- woman-!"
You came with a loud scream of his name, him following curtly after.
Hot, sticky cum filled your walls as he pulled out, his upper cock having spurt cum aswell. It coated your abdomen, up to your swollen breasts.
Shit.
"Haa- n-no! Enough-!" You yelped as you felt his fingers back in your hole.
He scoffed, "You're wasting my cum. Keep. It. In."
"Y-yeah as if I could do thaaa- holy shit!-" he filled you to the brim, knuckles deep inside of you, shoving every bit of his sticky substance into you.
"'Kunaaaaaa-"
"Fuck. Fine. I'll let this slip this time."
His hands hovered over the open wounds he'd caused, though he really rather looked smug. He healed you, fixing all what had to be fixed while hoisting you up into his arms.
"..this time?.."
He tilted his head.
"You didn't think this was a one time thing, did you?"
Oh but you did.
Whoops.
Blushing, you looked away.
"I- I don't want to be a concubine."
"..You're a fool to believe I'd consider you as such."
Silence.
Oh. Wait. That meant?..
"You know I'll still end those who hurt you, right?"
"Yeah."
He hummed, "Very well, I'll be on my way tomorrow. If you wish to follow, you are free to do so."
Silence.
"Sukuna?"
"Brat."
"Just.. spare the children and their parents, will you? They just—" you stopped, sighing as you nuzzled further into him, "—they.. he reminded me of you. You were like him too, once. I-.. it surprised me, that they didn't abandon him. I'd like him to do what we couldn't."
And what would that be? You and Sukuna basically could do anything. Were you saying he might've been uncapable of something? He killed all his life, he survived, he lived. What couldn't he possibly do?
"You must be mistaken, little one. We've done everything. We're capable of everything."
To his surprise, your voice came out weak. Weak like he'd never heard before. Not even when the people started chasing you with torches and knives, and spat mean words at you for your mere existence.
Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.
He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.
Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.
Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”
Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”
Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”
Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.
“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.
Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”
Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.
The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.
“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”
You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.
Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”
Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”
Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.
“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?
He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”
Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”
Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.
He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.
The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.
Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.
"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”
Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”
Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.
“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”
Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.
Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.
The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.
Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.
Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”
Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.
You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”
Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”
Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.
“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”
Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.
You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”
Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.
“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”
You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.
“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.
Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.
The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.
Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.
Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:
Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”
Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”
Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”
Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.
Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.
Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:
What now?
Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.
You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.
And you wanted her to be happy.
The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.
“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.
Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.
You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.
“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.
“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”
Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”
“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”
Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.
There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.
“First things first—likes and dislikes.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.
When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.
The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.
Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.
The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.
Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.
You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”
He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.
“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”
You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.
Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.
“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.
You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.
“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”
Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.
“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”
You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”
Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.
“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”
Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.
“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”
“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”
By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.
At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.
Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.
Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”
"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.
You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.
More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.
One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”
Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.
You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.
After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.
Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity.
You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.
But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?
That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.
That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.
You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.
Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”
You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”
He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.
You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.
Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”
“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”
Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.
“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”
Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”
You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”
His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”
You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.
He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.
Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"
Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.
"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"
Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”
“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”
Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.
“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”
Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.
Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.
“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”
Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.
“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”
Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.
“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.
After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.
Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.
Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.
The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.
Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.
Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"
Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.
“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.
“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”
Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.
"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.
Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”
Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory.
Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.
Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.
Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.
“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”
Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.
“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.
He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”
Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.
As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.
Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.
When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”
Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.
“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”
With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.
“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.
If Adira was here.
A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.
The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.
Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.
The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.
It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.
On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.
The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.
You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this.
Simon, with Adira, was something real.
Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.
As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!
P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3
I am presenting myself here, very very humbly to ask if we could please get another part of your Nerd Nanami fic?🥹🥹 please please puhleaseeeeeeeee
That was an actual masterpiece, I had to read it very slowly and savour it, making sure to process every single sentence of that fic. You’re so talented it makes me cry
Please offer us more Nanami, pleaseeeeeee
Giving the nerd a chance… part two
Tags: nerd!Nanami x fem!Reader, college au, smut with plot, nsfw, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, dom!nanami, sub!reader, marathon sex, exhibitionism if you squint real hard, mdni
Synopsis: Your nerdy boyfriend is so prim and proper in real life, but he has big dick energy over text.
An: 4K Follower Special! I got over 20 requests for a part two of this fic. At this time, it is my best performing fic on tumblr, and I fear… I may have peaked with it. I never EVER intended on writing a second part because I was sure that I couldn’t ever follow that fic up with something as good, but this sweet anon request warmed my heart so much that I decided to give the people what they’re asking for. This one’s going to be a long one… pace yourself because there will NOT be a third part… right?
Nanami’s a stoic lover. He doesn’t keep you hidden, but he doesn’t outwardly drag attention towards your relationship. Too much attention meant drama, and Nanami hates drama.
Nanami asked you to be his girlfriend a few weeks after the first time you two slept together. Of course, everyone in his friend group saw it coming long before you two had even hooked up.
They saw the longing gazes between you two when you pined for each other. They saw the cheeky glances once you two finally started texting. They noticed how their dear friend smiled more — was more laid back and relaxed.
Everyone welcomed you into their small found family with open arms. They simply couldn’t have picked anyone better to balance out Nanami’s far too strict nature.
Things with Nanami were absolutely a dream. You two had great chemistry emotionally and physically. Of course, he just made things so easy for you.
While he is a stoic lover, you never ever feel unloved by him. He’s always there to reassure you with words of affirmation or small touches that just remind you that he’s there.
Like when you two are at one of Satoru’s “exclusive” gatherings, if you’re not in Nanami’s lap, then he’s got his hand on you somewhere. Sometimes he gets so bored during those little get togethers that he spends his time leisurely pressing kisses into your cheek and neck. He never quite understood Satoru’s and Suguru’s affinity with public displays of affection until he met you.
Or there's those times when you need a little extra help with your studies. Kento is right behind you, with you on his lap, his cock is snuggly being squeezed by your warm leaking cunt. He presses small chaste kisses against your temple and ear while you try your hardest to focus on the homework.
"Do you remember this one, sweetheart? We went over it in class yesterday... Aw, don't go all stupid on me now."
When you get an answer right, he'll reward you with small, shallow thrusts, but you have to finish the whole assignment to get him to really fuck you.
Or if you two are walking together in the halls, Nanami holds his arm out for you, letting you latch onto him so he can guide you two through the crowd of people. He knows how you are in crowded areas, so he's keen on not letting anyone get too close to you.
Nanami’s a true gentleman too. His parents made sure they raised nothing less than a perfect man. You’ve never had to touch a door handle, any of your own money, or bags when you two go shopping. Nanami handles all of that for you. He doesn’t let you walk on the outside when you two are on the sidewalk. He’s respectful of you and your time, and he always listens to everything you have to say with his full attention because you deserve nothing less.
Nanami’s parents truly did their best work with him, and speaking of his parents, Nanami’s the type that wants to take you back home to meet them.
It was nearly fall break as you were sitting in your experimental research class — your final class before you’re free from the hell hole of academics for a full week.
You glance down at your phone as it buzzes in your lap. You and Nanami had been planning a trip out to his family’s home in Hakone for a little bit now, and the closer that time gets to you two leaving, the more stressed out Nanami feels.
Nanami: We’ll probably leave out early tomorrow morning and catch the first train. Will you be okay with that?
Yn: Mhm. That sounds fine, Ken.
Nanami: After class, I need to inform you a little bit more about my parents… I just don’t want you to feel shocked or surprised when you meet them.
Yn: I’m not sure why I’d be shocked or surprised, but I’m excited to hear more.
Nanami: Don’t get too excited.
You stare at his message for a bit, pondering what he could’ve meant by that. He hadn’t ever spoke poorly of his parents, but he didn’t necessarily praise them either. Actually… he never spoke of them.
*** *** ***
For the rest of the class, you wondered just what you were getting yourself into by going and meeting them. Maybe you two were moving too fast or..
“Sweetheart.” His steady voice broke your trance. He’s crouched down next to your desk to be eye-level with you, and the palms of his hand is gently caressing your cheek. “There you are. Spaced out on me.”
The entire classroom is empty. Class must’ve ended a minute ago because not even the professor is in the room now. You must’ve been deep in your own head.
You let force out an awkward laugh before nuzzling your cheek further into his palm, seeking out his affections as comfort from the insecure thoughts that somehow always manage to find a way in.
“I was just.. thinkin’ about your parents is all..” You finally give him some sort of explanation, and Nanami softens a bit.
“It’s just a weekend, my love. Then, I’ll make it up to you.” His words are a promise. You know for a fact Nanami doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean.
“I think that was the part where you were supposed to reassure me that they’ll like me-“
Nanami pulls you forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still love you regardless.”
Gods, his words are so sweet, but they cut deep like daggers.
“They’re… not going to like me..?” You mumble in a tone that makes Nanami’s heart sink. He takes your hands into his as he gets on his knee to better talk to you while you’re seated.
“My parents are… very traditional.” He carefully explains, and his hazel eyes search yours for a reaction before he reluctantly continues. “They want me to marry a girl from a specific family-“
“An arranged marriage!?” You blurt out — unable to control your emotions as it feels like your heart is trying to force its way up your throat.
“Something like that - but not exactly. It’s not arranged, but it’s definitely heavily pushed.” He tries to keep his tone steady, but seeing you so upset like this has him feeling raw with emotion as well.
“So, no, they will not be happy to know that I’m going against their wishes, but they’ll come around eventually.” His eyes focus on yours, and he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“… and if they don’t?” A small sniffle escapes you before you can stop it. The thought of Nanami being with anyone else has your head spinning. There’s another girl out there who might be expecting for him to take her hand in marriage.
“Hey... look at me.” He coaxes softly as his hand guides your face to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m doing this as a courtesy for them — not because I need their approval.”
Chills shoot up your spine from his words. Nanami rarely cusses, but when he does, it’s enough to even make Satoru blush when he hears it.
Your worry instantly flees your body when Nanami’s lips press against yours to seal the deal. This was just a visit to his parents. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“I’m still gonna love you…” He mumbles his words against your lips before seeking out more of your honeyed kisses. “…still gonna marry you one day…” His deep voice groans a little as he gently suckles on your bottom lip. “…still gonna fuck you senseless every night.”
“Ken..” A breathy whine; a whimper; a plea.
“Because you need it every night, don’t you?” His lips are still chasing yours with an insatiable hunger. It just wasn’t enough. If the next class wasn’t coming in the next 10 minutes, he’d take you right here on your desk, but he doesn’t fancy the idea of anyone else’s eyes accidentally falling upon your ethereal body.
“Mhm… need it.” You murmur against his lips quietly in agreement.
Nanami suddenly pulls away, and he reaches out, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Come on before I fuck you right here.” He threatens and picks your bag up off the floor for you.
*** *** ***
A gasp flees you as Nanami pushes your back against his bed. His lips are immediately assaulting your neck: suckling soft red marks into your skin and nipping at you gently.
He loves to see the aftermath of his love on you, but he has to be careful this time. Can’t have you going to meet his parents with hickeys all over your neck, can you?
“Mmm~ What about Haibara?” You ask now before you find yourself too hypnotized by his affections.
“He has a class right now.” Nanami answers before his hand trails up your thighs towards your already damp panties. He has had this on his mind all day since he saw you in that cute little skirt you’re wearing.
“Already so wet.” He groans into your neck before biting at your shoulder. The pads of his fingers tease your sensitive clit through the cloth of your cotton panties. “Fuck. You’re so good to me.”
Nanami drops to his knees on the edge of the bed, and his strong arms pull you by your legs to where you’re situated at the edge for him to eat you out to his heart’s desire.
He doesn’t even remove your panties before he leans in and presses a sloppy kiss to your cunt. He can already taste you through the fabric, and he needs more.
His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, carefully placing them on his bedside table. If he can swing it, he’ll definitely hide them from you and claim that you lose them — just so he can keep them for when you’re not around.
He’s not a pervert!! Well… he loves jerking off into his girlfriend’s panties when he’s too needy at night… Feeling the wet fabric that was pressed so unceremoniously against your heavenly cunt is more than enough to get him off quickly. It would be ungentlemanly to wake you up at your dorm for such a scandalous adventure. At least he washes and returns them to you promptly after using them a couple of times.
As soon as your panties are safely discarded, Nanami has his face right back between your legs. He uses his hands to prop your legs up on his shoulder, and he just.. absolutely begins to devour you.
“Ngh.. oh fuck— wait Ken.. I wan..” You can barely get your words out right while his tongue is lapping at your slippery folds.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to interrupt someone during a meal?” His hazel eyes look up at you with such a serious look — you feel like you’re being scolded.
Your face flushes a bright red before you relax back into his bed — accepting your fate. Kento smiles to himself, knowing that it doesn’t take much to pacify you. You’re too much of a good girl for him.
“Mmm~ that’s right. Just lay back and take what I give you, pretty girl.” He hums in satisfaction as his tongue connects with your cunt once more.
He licks up all the sticky wetness that you so graciously leak for him. He’s so messy with it, practically french kissing with your cunt. Your juices are smeared across his chin from him hopelessly lapping at you. His tongue writes love letters to you against your clit, making your body shiver with pleasure and excitement.
One of your hands is clasping at the sheets, and the other hand is entangled in Kento’s blonde hair, giving him small tugs as he gives you the best head of your life.
Your thighs unconsciously press together, trying to run from the weird sensations that his mouth gives to you. Your boyfriend grunts in dissatisfaction — not enjoying the sudden disobedience from you.
His hand press against each of your knees, and he forces your legs back open — spreading you wiiiide open for him.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asks while looking up at you through his lashes.
“Please — please~” You whine. Your hips involuntarily buck up, trying to get any sort of friction.
“Then be good, and sit still.” Nanami orders, and his hand ever so carefully swats at your sensitive cunt — sending shockwaves of electrifying pleasure through your nerve endings.
“‘m sorry.. ‘m sorry.. please.” You’re so whiny and desperate to be stretching by him. It’s honestly so pathetic that he pities you.
“My poor sweet girl.” He chuckles lowly before pressing a more gentle kiss against your clit. His tongue carefully dips into your wet heat. “Tastes too sweet for your own good. How am I supposed to stop enjoying you, huh?”
A glob of spit rolls down your cunt from Nanami’s mouth, and he uses his own two fingers to spread it around, softly toying with your glistening pussy. A smirk curls on his lips as he watches the way your entrance flutters — so enticed by the potential of being filled by him.
You quietly stifle a squeal as he stuffs you with two of his thick fingers. “So reactive, baby.” He murmurs as his tongue darts back out to gently lap and flick at your clit.
“Ken.. fuck, fuck-! Mmmph..” Your hips start to roll against his fingers, trying to force them inside you. Your boyfriend obliges your silent request, and he pushes his fingers in deeper, curling upwards to that spot he knows will make you cry out his name…
“Nanami-!” There it is. His fingers begin to roughly pump in and out, abusing your sensitive g-spot over and over again.
“Better be a good girl and tell me you love me.” He mutters lowly into your cunt. He knows he doesn’t have to tell you anymore — you’re already conditioned to tell him you love him when you cum. Even if he’s not the one making you finish, you’ll text him a quick “I love you” as you clench around your own fingers to the thought of him.
Your hips roll harder, and your moans are way more throaty — interrupted by small gasps for air. He can tell that you’re getting close. His mouth gently begins to suckle on the small bundle of nerves, and he focuses his tongue on swirling circles around your clit.
It’s all so much. It feels like Nanami is literally playing you like an instrument. He knows exactly what to do to make you a whiny trembling mess.
His fat fingers are pummeling into you, slamming into your sweet spot — making overstimulated tears well up in your eyes. “Sh-shit.. gonna cum.. Nanami… ah~ more..” You’re babbling utter nonsense while trying to find your orgasm.
Your stomach starts to clench, and it almost feels uncomfortable. Your breath stutters as Nanami murmurs into your pussy. “Let go for me, darling. Let it alllll out.” He encourages you as if his fingers and tongue aren’t absolutely tag teaming you.
“Ah~ Mmph… I.. fuck- I love you-!” You moan as you finally feel your orgasm suddenly break. Your tight walls clench around Nanami’s fingers, and fluids from your arousal gush out, making a big mess on his face and clothes.
Nanami quietly chuckles as he comes to realization that you just squirted on him. “Oh? That’s how you feel, huh?” He mocks playfully before pressing one last french kiss against your cunt. “I love you more darling.”
For a moment, you don’t know if it’s more directed towards you or your pussy.
*** *** ***
The early morning train ride was spent with your head cozied into Nanami’s shoulder as he had a protective arm around you. The scenery outside was beautiful. Hakone is known for their breathtaking sights of Mount Fiji. Too bad your eyelids were so heavy from getting up so early.
Nanami takes the silence as a time to reflect. He truly can’t remember a time when he was nervous like this. It was as if that emotion left him when he was a teenage boy. His family’s harsh regime for raising him left no room for shy or nervous behavior. Men were strong, confident, sophisticated. They exuded chivalry in everything they do.
Honestly, he’s glad that he was raised the way he was. Every time he bears witness to Gojo’s crude behavior, he can only think of how happy he is to have had a strict childhood.
But right now, he wishes he wasn’t so nervous. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s silently praying that you can’t hear it. Even though he didn’t care what his parents thought of you, he didn’t fancy the idea of seeing you torn down by his parents. Hopefully, they’ll have enough class to take up the issues with him — not you.
*** *** ***
Nanami’s parent’s house had a very traditional vibe to it, and it was easily twice as big as the house you grew up in. It was beautifully decorated, and the lawn was obviously meticulously cared for. It makes sense that Nanami grew up here.
“Just one weekend. Then, we’ll be back to normal.” Nanami murmurs softly into your ear. Though, he doesn’t know if he’s reassuring you or himself at this point. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door with a heavy fist.
“Oh, Kennn.” His mother immediately ran up to Nanami and gave him a big hug after answering the door, which he returned back to her.
“It’s good to see you, mom.” He responds heartily before he holds out his hand to his dad.
“Look at you. Our son has grown up on us.” His dad gives a sweet smile while gently nudging his mom with his elbow.
“Don’t remind me!” His mom practically wails with her arms still wrapped around Nanami, and you’re awkwardly on standby.
Nanami finally puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders, and he forces her to take a step back. “It hasn’t even been that long since you two saw me, and besides, I brought someone for you two to meet.”
His arm carefully wraps back around your waist, and he looks at his parents before collecting himself briefly. “This is my girlfriend, Yn. Yn, these are my parents.”
His mom’s smile falters almost unnoticeably, but you immediately pick up on her dissatisfaction. His dad seems to just he surprised.
“Ah, yes, welcome to our home, yn.” His dad finally says with an earnest smile, and he subtly nudges his wife. It’s definitely a silent reminder for her to stop looking at you like you’re an intruder.
“Your home is lovely, Mr. and Mrs. Nanami. It’s nice to meet you two.” You try your best to not sound nervous at all, but his mom’s face just makes your stomach turn.
His parents guide you through their home, but they mostly focus their attention on Nanami: asking him about his studies, asking how Gojo’s doing, and asking if he’s contacted some girl named… Allegra. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was the girl who they wanted him to marry instead.
They didn’t ask you very many questions. His dad was friendly, but it seemed like he was tip toeing around all the awkward tension. His mom was just flat out ignoring your presence — clearly in denial about her son having a girlfriend who wasn’t this mysterious Allegra girl.
When it came time for dinner, his dad finally broke the awkward tension and asked about you.
“So yn, you go to the same college as Kento?” His dad seems to be genuinely sweet — just more on the passive shy side.
“Yeah, Ken and I actually share quite a few classes together.” You smile as your utensil grazes along the food they prepared. It smells delicious, but your nerves will barely allow you to nibble on it.
“What are you studying?”
“Oh, I’m in general studies for now. I’m still deciding on what to major in.” You reply as you finally feel yourself beginning to relax in your chair.
“Did you tell your friend that Allegra is studying to become a doctor? Wouldn’t that be nice to have in the family?” His mom finally speaks up, only addressing Nanami and not you.
Your stomach sinks as you realize why Nanami was so apologetic and reassuring this entire time. He knew his mom was just going to take subtle digs at you the entire time.
“One, she’s my girlfriend — not friend. Two, no, I have no reason to speak about Allegra with my girlfriend.” Nanami responds, and he gives his mom a subtle look. It appears they have a brief challenging moment before his mom looks away and relents.
Nanami’s foot gently nudges yours underneath the table, and you try to give him a small smile in response. It’s just hard when clearly you’re not wanted in this household.
The dinner goes silent for a moment, and the dining area fills with the sounds of chopsticks gently touching against plates. You subtly check your phone for an escape.
Nanami: Don’t pay her any mind, okay?
Nanami: I promise I’ll make up for this tonight. I’ll kiss you for every rude thing she says.
Yn: and for every time she says Allegra?
Nanami: I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember her name… make you so dumb until you can only remember my name. That’s all you need to know anyways.
Yeah, that’ll do it. The negative emotions are gone — replaced by a feral need for his cock. You take a subtle breath before putting your phone away, not wanting anyone to accidentally see him dirty talking you right in front of his parents.
“Ah, do you think you can help me out with the car tomorrow, Kento? Your old man is getting too old and worn out to crawl underneath there.” His dad finally breaks the silence once more.
“Of course, dad. What are you needing done on it? I’ll probably wake up early and get it done before day breaks.” Your boyfriend is such a good son. It’s no wonder that his mom is stupid protective over him.
“I just need to breaks changed on it. It’s probably due for an oil change too.” His dad explains, and Nanami assures him that he’ll get it done.
“I didn’t know you knew much about cars.” You take the chance of speaking up, and Nanami’s hazel eyes meet yours. His face instantly softens, and his mouth opens to speak. Too bad his mom beats him too it.
“Of course, he does. He needs to know all sorts of things like that in case his future wife needs her car repaired.” His mom says with a hint of hostility in her tone. “Speaking of which, Allegra just bought a new car a few months ago.”
You sit in silence for a moment, and you feel your stomach twisting in discomfort. You don’t know why you care so much for this woman’s opinion of you. Nanami already warned you that they likely wouldn’t approve of you, but you didn’t know you signed up to practically be bullied all weekend.
“I know a few basic things about cars. Nothing major.” Nanami responds to you — ignoring his mother’s comments. “I can show you too if you’re interested.”
A small smile curls on your lips, and you swallow back your emotions— trying to stay strong for him. “That’d be nice.”
“You definitely have a….”
“Mom.” Nanami immediately warns, staring down his mother before she can even finish her sentence.
“What? I wasn’t going to say anything mean.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casually laughing as if she’s been nothing but friendly this entire time. “I was just going to say that your friend certainly has a bold personality… wearing red to meet someone’s parents is definitely… a choice.”
Your eyes look down at the nice blouse you’re wearing, and you swallow harshly. Nanami was actually the one to pick it out for you. He reassured you this morning that you looked gorgeous — unknowingly signing you up to be bullied.
Your face is burning hot with embarrassment, and you wish you could just fold in on yourself and die right on the spot.
“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.” Nanami frowns, and he puts his chopsticks down on his plate. “I’m serious. Being a bully at your age is unbecoming to you as a mother.”
“Kento.” His dad warns, but Nanami doesn’t relent for a second.
“No. I’m not going to sit here and allow her to continue disrespecting my girlfriend like that.” Your boyfriend retorts, and he switches back to glaring at his mother. “I’m not dating Allegra — nor do I want to. I’m doing you a favor by introducing you to yn. I figured you’d like to know your future daughter in law.” He gestures to you,
The color leaves his mom’s face as she stares back at her son — as if him implying that he is going to marry you is the worst news she’s ever heard. Her eyes cut over towards you in a vicious glare. “How long have you even known my son?”
Your heart is beating straight through your chest. Confrontation isn’t your strong suit, and to be honest, his mother was terrifying even though she’s literally shorter than you are.
“W-well, we met in college so…” You inwardly curse for stumbling over your words, and Nanami frowns as he looks at you. He hates that his parents are making you so unsure of yourself and your role in his life. He wants to take all your insecurities away and make you forget this ever even happened.
“It’s not even been that long! You don’t even have history with this girl. Allegra was your first kiss.. your first everything!” His mother raises her voice at Nanami, making exasperating hand motions.
His first everything? He told you that you were his first.
Tears prick into your eyes before you can even think to stop him. Overwhelmed by shame and just utter defeat, you don’t even know what to do other than to hide and cry.
Nanami’s eyes widen as he sees you clearly trying to cover up the tears streaming down your cheeks. His jaw tightens as he returns his gaze to his mother.
“That’s funny. I don’t recall you ever being present for any of those things.” His mom starts to speak up, but he is quick to shut her back down. “I kissed Allegra because you were breathing down my neck to. I was barely 15 at that time, and it happened once. That was the first and only time I ever even touched her.”
His mom starts to try to speak up again to probably bring up some other point about why he should be with Allegra. Nanami interrupts her again.
“Allegra and I do not like each other. We hardly tolerated each other for yours and her parents’ sake. You have to get over it. I’m with yn, and I’m happy — happier than I’ve ever been. She was my first everything. My first real kiss, my first girlfriend, and since you seem to want to stick your nose so far in my business, she was my first in bed too.”
“Kento, you’re being incredibly disrespectful.” Her voice is much more strict now as she scolds her grown son.
“I wonder where I get it from. It seems as though we both have a propensity for being rude.” He retorts, and while he’s arguing, his hand slides over to your inner thigh under the table, and he gropes it harshly.
He’s so pissed. He doesn’t even know how to get rid of this anger. His hand squeezes your thigh tightly, making your face go bright red as you look away from everyone.
“I’m not accepting her into this family. You can forget that. She’s changed you.” His mother’s words are growing harsher, and his dad is trying to quietly calm her. She doesn’t pay him any mind though.
“Fine. We’ll just go make our own family.” Nanami scoots his chair back, and he stands up. His hand roughly pulls you up as well — not giving you a chance to even think about what he just said. He bends down and effortlessly throw you over his shoulder, making you gape in surprise. His arm securing you by wrapping around the back of your thighs. “And by the way, I chose the red blouse. It matches the cute bra she’s wearing that I also chose for her.”
His parents stare at him — both completely dumbfounded by what just happened. They didn’t raise him to be like that, but what were they going to do?? Stop him? That’s a laughable thought. You’re not even sure God himself could pull Ken off of you when he’s feral like this.
His footsteps are heavy as he stomps up the stairs towards his teenage bedroom. Nothing has changed since he was last in here. It’s still completely sterile from how he was made to clean it each day. The walls are littered with posters of various science related things, and he has some posters of older video games he use to enjoy.
Your body is practically flung onto the bed, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second. His heart is pounding in his chest. His mind is fogged with pure anger. He hasn’t felt like this in so long. It reminds him of why he took up going to the gym.
With no punching bag in sight, you’re his only outlet.
His body is unwavering on top of yours — a force to be reckoned with, and his mouth immediately connects with yours in a suffocating kiss. Quiet hums and moans fill the air between you two, and he quite literally steals the breath from your lungs. His fingers wrap around your wrists easily, pinning them above your head on the bed.
No longer satiated from robbing you of your breath, Nanami trails his kisses down to your neck. To hell with not marking you — he needs to see his brand on your neck. You’re his, aren’t you? Who cares if his parents see?
“Ah~” You let out a breathy whimper as he angrily sucks and bites on your neck. Your skin is sensitive - already turning bright shades of blue and purple from his mouth. His dental imprint litters your neck and shoulders.
“K-Ken.. what about..?” You start to ask about his parents. They’re going to hear you two. Wouldn’t that just make things worse?
“Don’t care.” He responds so brashly. If he thinks about his parent’s behavior any longer, he’s going to need to fuck you into next week to get all his anger out.
Riiiip!
Your eyes widen as you look up at your boyfriend’s hulking figure. The blouse that you were just criticized for was now more like a coat, split down the middle, revealing your perfect breasts, so prettily on display in your red lacy bra.
His mouth waters as he looks you up and down. You have almost this panicked look in your eye, provoked by his unpredictability, and for whatever reason, it’s driving him insane.
His mouth is back on you like it never left: kissing and biting on your mounds, painting them so beautifully with his mark. “You’re mine.” He grunts lowly. His jealousy almost makes it sound like his parents were insinuating that you should marry someone else.
“Say it.” He demands before his teeth graze over your collarbone. His warm breath fans over your skin, making you shiver.
“Yours.” You comply with such a small whimper, and your body jolts when you feel his raging bulge rub against you.
“See what you do to me?” He rumbles lowly as he looks down to where he’s now shamelessly dry humping you through clothes like he’s a horny teenager.
“Fuck… Ken..” You whisper as you’re also mesmerized by the sight. His slacks are completely taught, outlining the shape of his cock so well. You can almost see the veins that protrude on him.
His hips rolls slowly against yours, savoring the way the fabric rubs against him and you. His dick is painfully throbbing — begging for the reprieve of being squeezed by your gummy walls.
“Are you as much of a mess as I am, baby?” He asks as his hand dips into your pants. His eyebrows furrow, and he lets out a low groan as his fingers are instantly coated in your slick. He slips his hand back out of your pants just to slide his fingers into his mouth. He holds eye contact with you as he hums in satisfaction. He'll never get enough of your taste.
“You want this, don’t you? Want me to fuck you where my parents can hear you?” He slides his hand back down into your pants, and his fingers rub tight, firm circles against your clit, making your body squirm from pleasure.
“Nngh~ ah!” You’re already so noisy, and he hasn’t even began fucking you yet.
“Give ‘em a show, baby. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”
“Mmm~ Ken…” You moan as your back arches up off the bed. His fingers press down harder on your swollen clit.
“You can do better than that, darling.” He can be so condescending in bed, using that insatiable need for praise against you.
“Ken!” You shout, all logical thought has abandoned you. He tells you to do better? You do better.
“Good girl.” He purrs before sliding his hand out of your pants. He can’t get your clothes off of you quick enough. His cock is beckoning for attention, still neglected from yesterday of just eating you out.
Your hands shakily try to unbutton his shirt, and he chuckles lowly at your pitiful efforts. “Aw, my poor girl. Already so shaken up. Go on. You can do it.”
You huff at his taunting. Usually, he’d just see you struggling and take off his clothes for you, but today he was thriving off watching you so desperately trying to get his clothes off him.
It takes you a minute to get his clothes off him, and you don’t even properly take off his pants. You merely shoved them down along with his boxers just low enough for his monstrous cock to spring out. Nanami merely watches you with a cocky smirk.
“Yeah? This is what you wanted?” He purrs lowly, and he carefully drags his tip up and down your core, smearing his precum along your lips as if his tip was giving you a sloppy kiss.
“Gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” His other hand releases your wrists, and he lovingly cups your cheek. His hand is so big compared to your face. He loves watching you nuzzle up into his palm.
You nod your head quickly in response, lifting your hips up to meet his with each slow movement. Wet slippery noises from your cunt weeping for him fill the room.
“Use your words.” He demands before he speaks up louder — just to spite his parents who are right below you two. “I said. You’re going to take this dick like a good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” You whine before your body is completely shell shocked from a quick slap to your cunt. His cock is so heavy — you can feel the weight of it as his rudely smacks it against you again.
“Louder.”
“Yes sir-!” You immediately oblige, following his commands without a second thought in your brain.
His lips curl into a lopsided grin, and he carefully guides his sweltering tip towards your entrance, plugging your hole with just his head.
“Keep being a good girl like that, and I might have to give you baby. Do you want that?” He asks while carefully stretching you by fucking his tip in and out of your tight hole. “You wanna have my baby, don’t you?”
“Ffffuck- Ken! T-too much..” You squirm your body against his bedsheets, and he chuckles at your poor attempt at getting away.
“You clearly want this, so why are you running?” He hands latch onto your thighs, and he pulls you back down towards him, inadvertently impaling you even further on his cock.
A smug chuckles bubbles up in his throat as he sees how much of a mindless mess you are. He loves how he can make you all dumb so quickly with his dick. It brings him great joy to know that you trust him and can just let go, letting the more primal urges take over.
“Mmm~ so tight and wet for me, aren’t you darling? Need to just let Ken take care of you, yeah?” His voice is like velvet as he slowly thrusts himself in and out, sinking deeper into you with each movement, splitting you wide open.
“Ah~! nnnnn… so good.” You manage to whine out.
“What a crybaby. I know you can take me better than that, darling.” Nanami gives you a soft kiss on the forehead before his large hand wraps around your neck, applying pressure in just the right spots to make you all lightheaded.
"Come on. Show me how good you can take it~" His hips snap forward suddenly, sinking his full length deep inside you. Your eyes roll back into your head as he takes full control over you.
His hips are pounding forward, bumping his tip right against your cervix with every mean thrust. His balls are heavy and slapping against the flesh of your ass — a reminder for how pent up he's been recently.
Maybe it's the lack of an orgasm for the last couple of days or maybe it's his parents being utter assholes to you, but Kento finds himself feeling frustrated all over again. Low grunts and growls escape him, and he uses his grip on your neck to push himself in even further -- harder.
The sound of skin clapping against skin fills the room, and his childhood beds starts to squeak out with each forceful blow. He knows for a fact that his parents can hear every single noise. The thin walls of this house absolutely hide nothing. He may as well have fucked you right there against the kitchen table to really prove a point.
"Fuck-! Kenkenkenken! Ah~" You can't even form sentences much less words other than his name. Before you can even warn him, your walls begin to pulse around him - practically milking him while your orgasm takes you over. "Nnngh~ I-I love you.."
"Mmnn~ I didn't tell you that you could do that, sweetheart." He hazel eyes bore into your very soul as his grin shifts to a more wild one. His hips move with even more vigor as if he's trying to push himself straight into your womb,
His hand lets go of your throat, finally allowing you to get a deep breath of air while trying to cope with his massive size pumping in and out of you as if you're nothing but a senseless fuck toy, but you clearly fucking love it. You're practically dripping all over him, soaking his bedsheets in your arousal.
At this point, his parents aren't sure if he's killing you or fucking you. Either way, they're too afraid to intervene. They didn't raise a gentleman at all. They raised a monster.
"Mmph... Need to give you a baby. Can I? You'd make such a pretty mama. School be damned. I need you." Normally, Nanami is pretty controlled over his pillow talk. He's really good at it, but right now, he's completely lost in you -- just babbling promises of giving you a baby and marrying you.
"Y-yes, Ken! Fuck... give me a baby, please." Your legs are trembling around his waist, and your fingernails are giving him such pretty decorations along his back. Small trophies for fucking you just right.
"Fuuuck- Take it. T... take it all..." His voice is a gravely groan as his cock twitches inside you, spilling all of his seed directly into your tummy. It's so fucking much from holding back for a couple of days - completely filling you up. "I love you so much. Gonna marry you one day."
The house is eerily silent for a moment as both you and Nanami catch your breaths. He stays planted on top of you, keeping your legs hooked around his waist. Small creaks of footsteps against a floorboard fill the air, and you tense up, thinking his parents were going to come in there and raise all sorts of problems.
Nanami gently strokes your face with the back of his hand. "Shhh, they're not coming in here. Promise." He whispers lowly, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You slowly relax in his arms, trusting his words that his parents weren't going to come in there.
You can hear a door open and shut, and it sounds like bickering back and forth between his parents.
"See? They're just going to bed." He presses another reassuring kiss to your cheek.
His hips continue to lazily pump in and out of you, basically fucking his cum back into you as it seeps out. His cock is hyper sensitive, but he can't get enough. You're completely drenched for him. You deserve more of his loving.
"Keennn~" You whine quietly, shifting in the bed slightly as your legs are all achy and sore from him taking out all of his anger on you.
"What is it, baby?" He asks in a hushed whisper against your ear. His breath tickles your skin, making you slightly squirm in response. "I'm just making sure it takes, yeah?" His cock sinks further into you, already growing hard all over again even though he just finished.
"Mmmph~" You hum as your eyes slipped closed. Nanami smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, knowing that you're already needy all over again for him.
"Answer me, darling. Want me to stop?" He asks while peppering kisses all over your face. If the last round was about degradation and taking his anger out, then this one was about how much he loves you and can't get enough of you.
"Nonono... don't stop, please." You murmur out quickly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.
"That's my good girl... Always needin' more, aren't you?" He hums lowly, and his cock pumps in and out so slowly, delicately smushing against your cervix with each loving thrust.
"Mmn.. I love you." You slur out, completely cock drunk at this point. Kento just smiles and continues to dote on your with messy kisses against your cheeks and neck. His hand is gently massaging your breast, just barely teasing your nipple while he makes love to you.
"And I love you, darling." He responds before he feels you squeezing around him already. "Oh pretty, again?" He asks as his eyes look down to your fluids gushing around his length. "Such a mess. How are we meant to sleep on these sheets now?"
"'m sorry... I c-couldn't help it. 'm so sorry." You whimper as your face dips into his shoulder, hiding you obvious embarrassment.
Kento's arms wrap around your waist, and he uses his hold on you to drag you up and down along his length — still moving at such a torturously slow pace, making you feel every inch as it enters you.
"Aw, that's alright, darling. I'll clean us up. Just take a little bit more for me, yeah?" He whispers into your ear while your pelvis is slotting against his. He's damn near holding you up into his arms. Lucky you for having such a strong boyfriend.
His lips find yours for a messy kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, claiming your mouth as his completely. A few seconds later, his cock is pumping you full again with his cum — still so much on the second round.
Without even missing a beat, Nanami's mumbling breathily in your ear. "Mmm, I know I said I'd clean us up, but you wouldn't hate a third round, would you?"
*** *** ***
Nanami didn't wake you up the next morning to watch him work on the car. He knew your poor little body was put through the ringer yesterday, so he gave you a tender kiss on the temple before making his way into the garage in just his sleeping pants and socks.
His father's car was already propped up on the jack, and his father groaned as he leaned up off the ground. "Well good morning." He says in a knowing tone.
"Good morning. Why are you down there? I told you I'd fix it today." Nanami asks as he shoos his dad out of his way, and he slides himself underneath the car.
"Well, I didn't know if you'd be up for it after your fun ventures last night." His dad hands Nanami a tool to help get the brake pads off the car.
Nanami stays silent. In his new found clarity, he does know that fucking you so loudly to where his parents can hear was a weird retaliation method, but he doesn't regret doing it.
"Your mother cried all night last night."
"Maybe she needs a reality check if she's that damn upset about who I choose to romantically involve myself with." Nanami rolls his eyes, and he grunts as he forces the brake pad away from the car.
"I don't think she was crying because of that. I think she realizes just how far she drove you away from her with her constant pressure over your love life." His dad explains, and he hands Nanami the new brake pad to replace on the car. "I'm not saying you or yn have to forgive her for how she acted today, but I am asking that you try to give her another chance today. I think she understands now."
Nanami takes a deep breath, but he nods quietly. "She's got one more time to say anything rude to my girlfriend, and we're taking the first train back to the university."
*** *** ***
Your eyes darted over to Nanami's nervously when his mother asked you to have a girl's day with her, but your boyfriend gently rubbed your back, silently assuring you that it'd be okay. At least, he hoped it'd be okay.
Nanami: Text me if she says anything rude. I'll pack our stuff up and we'll leave, okay?
Luckily, you didn't have to text him at all that day. His mom took you sight seeing around the town, out to eat at one of Hakone's favorite restaurants, and you two got your nails done.
"You know, I was being a bad person yesterday." She starts off as you two are sat next to each other. Her feet are being massaged by one of the workers, and you're getting your toes painted. "I guess I just had this idea of how I wanted Kento's life to go, and when things started not going to plan, I started trying to grasp onto anything that'd give me control."
You glance over at his mother, and she has a small nostalgic smile upon her face. "I can't believe I allowed myself to act that way towards you... especially after my parents did the same thing to Kento's dad."
"Your parents didn't accept Kento either?" You curiously ask, wondering how similar your stories were.
"No, but they didn't try to arrange me into a marriage either. They just didn't think Kento's dad was manly enough for me. They didn't like seeing me wear the pants in the relationship, but that's just what works for us... I use to beg for them to just let us be happy, but they never stopped criticizing him. I finally just.. stopping talking to them when I fell pregnant with Kento." She explains in a voice raw with emotion. You can clearly see how this still impacts her to this day.
"I don't want Ken to do the same to me... I want to be in his and your life and my future grandchild's life if that's what you two choose to do. I raised him well, and I know he has a good judgement of character. So, I know you must be a good person. If he's happy, then that's all that matters to me." She goes on, giving you a small apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you last night. It will never happen again."
*** *** ***
Nanami had spent the whole day checking his phone religiously while his dad kept him employed with random home renovation tasks. He was waiting for the moment to start packing up your stuff and telling his mom that he wasn't going to speak to them again.
When he heard sounds of wailing coming from the front door, he immediately hopped off the ladder that his dad was holding for him.
"Kento-!" His dad shouts as he wobbles around, but Nanami was already speed walking towards the front door to see what was happening.
To his surprise, there was no wailing. It was only hysterical laughter coming from you and his mom. He stood in the door way with a confused look on his face as he observed you two.
"Yes, he was such a cutie pie.." His mom laughs as she shows you another picture of Kento in high school.
"Aww, Ken... you didn't tell me you were emo." You greeted your boyfriend with a fit of giggles from seeing his high school photos. His fringe proudly in view.
Nanami rakes his hands through his shorter hair now, and he lets out a relieved laugh. Seeing you interact so happily with his mom was enough to make him feel full with love. His heart feels at ease now... until he remembers that he has to meet your parents at some point.
8k words for the sequel... my brain is much. seriously, thank you everyone for 4k followers. i genuinely do not understand how that number is even real. i hope this sequel lived up to your expectations, anon. <3
