idk if anybody really cares but unfortunately my health has really declined so i can’t even write atm. hopefully when i get better in the future i’ll be able to get back to it.
⤷ ꒰ঌ ignition (biker!gojo) ໒꒱ :: 36k. ongoing. ⤷ ꒰ঌ hate to break it to you (ao3 only) ໒꒱ :: 170k. ongoing. ⤷ ꒰ঌ chaos theory (professor!gojo) ໒꒱ :: 32k. hiatus. ⤷ ꒰ঌ well kept (dads bsf!gojo)໒꒱ :: coming soon.
⤷ one-shots/drabbles :
⤷ ꒰ঌ 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 ໒꒱ ::
⤷ ꒰ঌ satoru gives you an emergency ultrasound with his six eyes!! ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ hands off on ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ dungeons & dragons & d*ck! (nerdjo) ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ i do it all for you (serial killer!gojo) ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ overboard (shark!gojo) ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ winner takes all ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ stress eating ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ a common language ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ so sweet ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ serial killer!gojo HC's ໒꒱ ::
⤷ ꒰ঌ 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 ໒꒱ ::
⤷ ꒰ঌ NOBLE ໒꒱ ::
⤷ ꒰ঌ 𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢 ໒꒱ ::
⤷ ꒰ঌ drop the ball! (satoru + suguru) ໒꒱ :: ⤷ ꒰ঌ pink + white (satoru + sukuna) ໒꒱ ::
all works belong to @iamsoclone. do not repost or feed my content to AI. comment on the pinned post to be to become mine ♡ (permanent taglist)
❝ what's worse than one idiot in love? two idiots in love. this poor friend group has had to suffer through their inability to communicate enough, but maybe this summer retreat is the perfect opportunity to finally confess some not so secret feelings❞
pairing friend!choso x f!reader
wc 10.9k
content mdni, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, multiple characters (gojo, sukuna, geto, shoko, nobara, yuuji, megumi), choso is down bad and everyone knows it, idiots in love, summer fun, jealousy, hidden feelings (from a few people mm...), love confessions, dry humping, soft dom choso, body worship, fingering, praise kink, handjob, oral (m receiving), piv sex, cuming inside, pet names (baby), aftercare, alcohol, crushes, minor injuries, friend group dynamics, soft intimacy
a/n this is a rework of an oldddd fic of mine, updated in my current writing style <3 i hope you enjoy! the choso art is by @torucider
The salty summer breeze was the first thing you noticed when your eyes started to blink awake.
It wasn't like the smell of the city, no, it was fresh and gentle, filling up your lungs with the promise of heat, fun, and sun ahead of this much anticipated holiday. Your arms stretched far above your head, and a long sigh escaped your lips as you felt every muscle loosen up atop this unfamiliar bed.
Slowly. Everything moved slowly.
Considering your hectic city life, slow felt good. Maybe this getaway really was a good idea, and you made a mental note to express your gratitude to Shoko for suggesting it and practically forcing you into saying yes.
She was right – this was exactly what you needed. The trip had barely started but you were already sold. All you needed was some quality time away with your best friends.
Doctors really did know best.
But among the chirping birds and the distant crashing waves, another noise caught your attention. More… human this time. A laugh you'd recognise anywhere.
It seemed your peaceful morning wouldn't last very long.
You turned to look at your phone with a groan, the screen shining a bright "7am" right in your face.
It was way too early.
But when did that ever stop Satoru Gojo?
You tried to ignore the noise for as long as you could, but eventually your interest was peeked by the commotion. It's not like you could avoid the group you chose to come on this vacation with forever, after all.
So you opened your door, leading straight to the open patio of the villa you and your friends had rented for a quiet summer getaway. Maybe it was your fault for ever believing that was a real possibility.
You were promised cocktails by the pool, sunbathing on the grass, and wholesome bonfire nights. Knowing this group, you had expected a little bit of chaos, sure – but why the hell was Gojo grinning like a maniac, with a water gun pointed directly at a drenched, and, not at all amused Sukuna at 7 in the fucking morning?!
“You have 3 seconds...” the pink haired one murmured under his breath, his voice a promise of a million ways he could and would kill Satoru.
You wondered how long Gojo had even been planted outside the other man's door to perform this ambush, considering Sukuna had barely stepped outside of his room before being attacked. From Gojo's wide smile, he was clearly pleased with how the plan went.
"One…" he started counting, but Satoru didn't move. Considering even this far away Sukuna made your blood run cold, you did respect Satoru for standing his ground.
"Two…" Sukuna snarled, and, to his dismay, was met with another splash right on his already soaked face.
He wouldn't bother counting to three.
Your white haired best friend ran backwards as fast as he could, still facing Sukuna to continue his unrelenting water gun assault. A loud "Worth it!" escaped his lips, but the sound was cut off half way when Sukuna began his chase.
Unlucky for him, it seemed it was all a trap – Suguru was already joining in the fray, jumping in from behind one of the deck chairs.
Well… it was nice to know them.
“Can we not start the day with murder...” groaned a voice coming from the door next to yours, and your brain immediately forgot about the war raging on a few feet away.
Choso stood there. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, torso in full display with nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low from his hips. It was rude to stare, but… come on, it was impossible not to.
I mean, looking like that should be illegal.
Choso's muscles were curved in all the right places, perfectly toned from his shoulder's to his abs and everywhere in between. Damn the universe for making your crush be this ridiculously hot – at least if he wasn't you'd have some hope of getting over it.
You had had a crush on Choso ever since his little brother Yuuji introduced him to the friend group. It was love at first sight, or, well, lust at first sight. The love thing came later. Not that you'd ever admit it to yourself or anyone else, of course.
Even though you went to bed thinking of him most nights, and could barely stand in his proximity without feeling the heat pooling around your cheeks. You kept telling yourself he was just a man, just attractive, you had crushed before and everything turned out fine. It just took time, but you could get over it.
I mean, remember how you had a crush on Gojo when you had just met? Looking at the idiot being tackled by Sukuna now, you could barely remember what that even felt like.
It would be fine. There was still hope.
But then Choso turned to you – his posture immediately straightened, and you could have sworn you saw the tips of his ears turn pink.
“Oh...morning” he said, smiling softly at you.
Damn that stupid smile.
You opened your mouth to reply, but another mess of pink hair suddenly peeked out from over his shoulder, way too excited for this hour. “Water gun fight?!” Yuuji yelled, running back into the room to find his own weapon.
Choso stepped out of the way with a sigh, watching his little brother run into the grass to join in Gojo's and Geto's bullying of Sukuna. You half expected him to join in just to protect him, but… he didn't.
He just stayed right there, dark eyes shifting from your face, to the floor, then back to your face. He almost seemed nervous, or maybe you were reading too much into it.
“Did you sleep well? I hope they didn’t wake you” he asked finally, that deep voice that made your knees weak.
You just nodded and smiled gratefully, always struggling to find words around him. It was really sweet of him to ask. But it didn't mean anything, Choso was sweet, everyone knew that, it's not like you were special or anything. He looked back at you with those careful eyes you loved so much, his mouth opening up to say something when–
He immediately got splashed with water.
“They made me” said a very guilty Megumi, on the other end of a water gun that was still pointing at Choso.
You brought a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh at Choso's surprised expression, trying to keep your eyes from the way the water dragged along his muscles and dripped on the floor.
“Come on bro!” yelled Yuuji, still running along the grass. “Revenge!”
Choso let out a small chuckle that definitely said it’s too damn early for this, but went inside to find his water gun anyway. Just like you expected – he'd always rush to his little brothers side.
You actually really liked that about him.
So you stood by your door, taking in the scene as it evolved in front of you.
Sukuna had now seized Gojo’s weapon and split it in half, turning his attention to Suguru, who was running to refill his ammo with the water from the pool. From the way Satoru looked pleased, you guessed he was definitely hiding a spare water gun somewhere.
Yuuji and Megumi were running circles around the pool and trying to splash each other, the dark haired one definitely more invested than he let on. You watched Choso run to his brother's defense, aiming perfectly at the other one's back, before Yuuji betrayed him and splashed his neat twintails.
But Choso didn't mind, laughing along with it.
It's just a crush, you repeated to yourself like a mantra. Be cool.
Finally, you spotted the girls. They watched the scene from the bean bags on the other side of the grass, Shoko smiling with a cigarette already dangling from her lips, and Nobara wildly waving in your direction.
You couldn't help your smile at the way the morning had unfolded.
The sun was shining bright above your perfect little circle of chaos, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Idiots, all of them” Nobara groaned as you sat down on the bright green bean bag next to hers. She had a hat on to protect from the sun, and the most stylish pajama set you think you had ever seen.“Who has that much energy at this hour?!”
"It's better for them to let it out early" Shoko hummed, blowing smoke into the breeze.
"I haven't even had coffee yet" Nobara complained, throwing her had back and covering it with the hat.
"I think it's kinda cute" you said, watching as they all ran around.
"Yeah, yeah" Nobara mocked. "We all know who you think is cute"
"What are you–"
Before you could complete the question, a jet of water hit you square across the face, splashing everywhere from your chest to the girls sitting next to you.
“What the hell?!" you groaned, casting a very mean stare at the white haired menace in front of you. Of course it would be him.
“Oops” Gojo hummed, a litte guilty. As expected, a fresh water gun was already in hand. “I missed?”
“Who exactly were you trying to hit?” you growled at your best friend, motioned to the others still splashing each other on the other side of the patio. If this was his attempt at getting you to join in the fun, it wasn't working.
The girls stared at him too, soaked and annoyed, but suddenly Nobara's eyes widened and she passed you her hat, motioning to cover your chest with it. Only then had you noticed.
For fucks sake. You were wearing white.
“You pervert!” you yelled, throwing a sandal at your best friend, though he caught it with ease.
“Just a happy coincidence, princess!” Gojo retorted, ducking from the sandals Nobara and Shoko threw his way too. "Ow! I'm sorry! I'll give you my shirt, here, I'm not even looking–"
The commotion easily caught everyone else's attention.
“I swear to God, Satoru–” you growled, but as he promised, Satoru had already thrown his soaking shirt for you to shield yourself with, a chorus of apologies still leaving his lips. "I really didn't realise–"
“What’s going on?” Choso cut in. Water dripped from his dark strands, and his breathing was a little heavily from rushing over so fast. But he suddenly stopped, dark eyes immediately narrowing at Satoru's half naked body standing over your group, and his wet dark shirt clinging on to your body.
His eyebrow twitched slightly and his jaw clenched, but he still looked at you with kindness. “Are you ok?” he asked you directly, completely ignoring everything else.
Nobara pointed at Gojo, whose mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Satoru was being a pervert” she deadpanned, as Shoko nodded solemnly.
“I said I’m sorry!” Satoru yelled, putting both his hands up in surrender. "We all make mistakes!"
“You’re an idiot” Choso rolled his eyes at his friend, holding out his hand to help you stand up.
“And you’re too obvious” Gojo retorted with a wink, running off before he could catch the way Choso snarled at his comment.
But whatever grimace Choso threw in Gojo's direction, it was all gone when you accepted his hand. Suddenly, his focus was completely locked on you.
"I'm ok" you smiled, the touch lingering for a little longer than necessary. “Needed to get changed anyway”
Physically, your body was going through your luggage, looking for something to change into, but your mind was gone – the butterflies still danced in your stomach, reminding you of how quickly Choso had come to your rescue just now. At the way his hand fit so perfectly around yours. And God he looked so good in those–
“Am I interrupting your spiral?” Nobara clapped her hands to get your attention. You had completely forgotten her and Shoko had come in after you. “Are you gonna answer the question or not?”
You pursed your lips, exploring your memories but coming out empty handed. “Sorry, what was the question?” you asked awkwardly.
"We lost her" Shoko sighed.
“I swear to God...” Nobara exhaled, standing up to join you by the suitcase. She looked over the mess with a hand on her hip and another under her chin, analyzing the options like this was extremely important. Finally, she seemed to have made her choice, raising a swimming costume up near your head.
"If you want impress him, this one”
You blinked up at her, opening your mouth to ask who, but everything about the way she glared at you screamed don't play dumb with me.
So you snapped the swimwear from her hands, throwing yourself on the bed next to Shoko. “What was your question?” you sighed, staring at the ceiling so your friends couldn't read the embarrassment in your face.
“I asked if you’ve fucked him yet” she declared, matter of fact.
“Nobara! No!” you sat up so fast the blood rushed to your head, putting your hands forward to motion her to be quiet. But the other two just stared at you, waiting. “He’s not like that" you completed with a surrendering exhale.
"You guys are not together?" Shoko raised an eyebrow.
You just shook your head side to side, biting the inside of your cheek. "We haven’t even kissed" you admitted.
The two gasped at this very unexpected new information.
“You’re joking” Nobara crossed her arms. “He looks at you like you’ve been married for decades already”
“Well, he hasn’t said anything to me and I...I don’t know!" you stood up, pacing across the room, finally able to get these feelings off your chest. "What if we’re wrong and he doesn’t even like me?"
“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone knows" Nobara huffed out.
"You’re the only one who’s questioning it” Shoko agreed.
That made you stop pacing.
“Everyone?” you asked.
“Everyone” Nobara repeated. “It’s disgusting”
That at least got a laugh out of you. “Thanks” you murmured, looking down at your hands. You didn't even know if this realisation made you feel happy or anxious – the stakes were just too high.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever” Nobara waved it off, walking towards the door. “But seriously, that one” she completed, pointing at the swimming costume in your hand.
It was a little more… bold than you would normally wear, but hey – maybe it was about time you took your friends advice. They were the ones witnessing you fall apart over this crush for years already anyway.
Maybe it was time to be a little more bold.
You stepped out of your room a few minutes later. Hair fixed with a pair of sunglasses on top, and the swimming costume Nobara had chosen expertly hugging your figure.
Every head snapped to you as you walked towards the group.
Nobara looked proud. Shoko nodded in encouragement. Satoru let out a wolf whistle, and Choso… looked very much not ok.
In fact, he looked like something had short circuited in his brain.
“She broke him” Gojo whispered, earning a laugh from Suguru next to him.
“Pathetic” Sukuna just rolled his eyes.
“Over here!” Nobara waved with a wicked smile of approval.
Most of the group seemed to be half asleep already, all sunbathing by the pool after a busy morning with all the running around and death threats. You could swear Yuuji was snoring softly, distracting Megumi from his book every few seconds, who looked over at him with an annoyed sigh every time.
"Nice of you to join us" Satoru grinned, moving over to the side to open up space for you.
Right next to Choso.
Had the girls been right about everyone knowing?
"You all look half asleep" you rolled your eyes, sitting next to the dark haired man, but trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. If they all knew…
Did Choso know too?
Did he think you were an idiot?
"We're recharging" Suguru nodded, that casual smile of his.
"Tch. Weak" Sukuna muttered from the side, resting his hand on two bent elbows as he relaxed on the grass.
"You were asleep ten minutes ago" Suguru retorted.
"I wasn't" he growled. He probably was. "The only one asleep is Itadori"
That seemed to wake him up like a spell. "I'm awake!" he said, standing up so fast Megumi almost dropped his book on the pool. "Is it time for another water gun fight?" he asked eagerly.
"I don't have any more guns left" Satoru pouted, while Sukuna opened an evil grin.
Yuuji started listing off different games you could all play, and little by little, everyone seemed to regain the energy. Gojo barely let the man speak, cutting in every half second to offer his own suggestions or agree excitedly with what he was already proposing.
Everyone was joining in the conversation, apart from… you and Choso. Who looked at you like he definitely wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure on how.
"You look beautiful” he said finally, when your eyes happened to meet. You didn't even mean to, but it seemed neither of you could keep avoiding this dance for too long. “That’s a great colour on you” he completed, cheeks growing an adorable shade of red.
You hoped he couldn't see in your face the way your heart was leaping out of your chest.
“Thank you, Choso” you smiled, biting the inside of your cheek.
“So it’s settled!” Gojo snapped your attention back to the group, clapping his hands dramatically. “The first game is chicken fight – the winning team gets control over the speaker for a full 2 hours!”
Shoko and Suguru immediately exchanged a conspiratorial nod. Megumi let out an exasperated sigh, but didn't argue. Nobara rolled her eyes and asked if Gojo was thirteen. Yuuji fist bumped the air, excited like a golden retriever, and Sukuna seemed too enticed by the reward to object.
Choso, in a moment of courage, turned to you, swallowing hard. “Do you want to–”
“You’re with me, princess!” Gojo scooped you up before Choso could finish his sentence. “Let's talk strategy!”
The sun shone bright up above where the four teams met in the middle of the swimming pool, ready for the first brawl.
Nobara announced there was no way in hell she was getting on anyone’s shoulders, so she lunged in the shade as the self appointed referee. "Remember, no fowl play" she instructed. "Did you hear that, Sukuna?"
The pink haired man only rolled his eyes, the only indicator that he was listening.
Team number one was you and Gojo: Team The Honoured Ones. You sat tall on his shoulders, as Satoru held you down with firm hands on your thighs, pretending not to notice the way Choso looked murderously at him.
Team number two was Yuuji and Megumi – the latter looking like he'd rather be anyone else. Their team name was Black Flash, which Megumi only agreed to so Yuuji would stop talking.
Team number three was Shoko and Suguru, who looked far too ready for this. Shoko barely waved where she sat atop Suguru's shoulders, the two the very image of serene confidence. Their team name was Uzumaki, suggested by Suguru.
Team number four was Choso and Sukuna: The Cursed Duo. After a long argument, Choso relented and agreed to sit on Sukuna’s shoulders. He had a bit of a pout on his face, you suspected because Yuuji had gone straight to Megumi, but when he saw you – it changed into a smile.
You were halfway through waving at him before Satoru tapped your thigh incessantly. "Focus, princess" he complained. "You're on my team"
If only you weren't resting atop his shoulders, you would have noticed a little pout in Satoru's handsome face. It wasn't like him to be this possessive over you, but it's not like you weren't used to his taunting and teasing.
"I was just assessing the competition" you quickly recovered yourself. "Who are we going for first?"
Satoru hummed underneath you, pondering the question. "I doubt Choso will go against Yuuji, so I can only assume they'll come for us or Suguru" he started, like a professional tactician. "I say we go for Yuuji and Megumin to avoid Sukuna and your boyfriend"
"My wha–"
"I don't trust Suguru and Shoko, look at them" he immediately cut in, bringing your attention to the other two, still calmly waiting for the brawl too start, not even exchanging a word, like they could speak telepathically. "They're too calm" Satoru squinted, suspicion all over his voice.
"You're right" you hummed, started to feel a little nervous. "But what if they come for us?"
"True" Satoru sighed. "We should be ready for anything"
You nodded, swallowing thickly as you prepared mentally.
"Ready?" Nobara yelled from her reclining chair, laying back to enjoy the sun. "Go!"
The word had barely left her lips before Sukuna was lunging towards Satoru. Clearly someone still wanted to take revenge on the water gun attack from earlier.
And to your complete dismay, Team Uzumaki was quickly moving towards you too.
"Satoru!" you yelled, but his hands were strong where he held you down.
"Fight, princess!" he urged, and the sound of someone sinking was enough to snap your attention back to the game.
Team Black Flash hadn't survived the first charge, with Megumi collapsing from on top of Yuuji before they had barely moved an inch.
At least that left you with only two other teams to worry about. But Yuuji sinking had caught Choso's attention, distracting him.
This was a perfect opportunity.
But before you could extend your hands to try a shy push at Choso's shoulders, Suguru had already reached your team.
"You're getting slow, Satoru" he taunted, Shoko immediately grabbing you by the shoulder's with a non chalant "sorry".
You managed to interlock your hands with hers, the two of you laughing and not trying all that hard to push the other off. Suddenly, though, your body sank deeper, and Shoko's face twisted in surprise as she plummeted off Suguru.
"Fault!" Nobara yelled. "You're not supposed to kick the opposing teams, Satoru"
"That was never a rule!" he yelled, as Suguru and Shoko emerged, scowling at their white haired friend and his cheese eating grin.
Following a quick discussion where Sukuna agreed brute force from the base players should be allowed, Team The Honoured Ones were named the victors of the first round.
Naturally, Shoko and Suguru decided they'd rather have a smoke in the sun instead, and withdrew from the competition, calling fowl play.
"They're just bad losers" Satoru sighed, already helping you up on his shoulders again.
This meant there were only three teams standing this time.
Megumi and Yuuji had decided to switch positions, with Yuuji now standing proud on poor Megumi's shoulders. You and Gojo exchanged a glance, knowing very well what this meant – Sukuna and Choso were definitely coming towards you first.
"Ready!" Nobara called again. "Go!"
As expected, Sukuna and Choso rushed towards you – and Satoru rushed towards them.
“You’re going down!” Gojo yelled at the other team, wide smile all over his face.
“Try it” Sukuna retorted with an evil grin.
While you and Choso looked very much terrified on top of the other two.
Your hands snapped forwards, trying to reach for your crush even while your whole body felt as if electrocuted from the sheer anticipation of being that close to him.
The fact that Satoru kept waving you around frantically didn't help – every time you thought you had an opening, you were somehow swerved in the other direction.
What the hell were he and Sukuna doing down there?!
You finally managed to reach your hands towards Choso, but he blocked your attack with a loud "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I–"
“You have to push her” Sukuna growled from beneath him, clearly growing angrier and angrier at his teammates inability to harm you.
But just as he opened his mouth to complain again, his pink head disappeared into the water, taking your crush with him.
And thus, Team Cursed Duo was defeated.
"No complaining, Sukuna" Nobara clicked her tongue as the latter reemerged and immediately went for Gojo's throat. "You're the one who agreed to it"
The three teams regrouped for the third and final round.
The rules were clear this time: any attacks coming from the base players would result in immediate disqualification, and bluetooth speaker rights would be revoked for the time being. It seemed his defeat had changed Sukuna's mind fairly quickly.
"Don't worry, we got this" Satoru reassured from under you, and you offered another proud nod.
Your heart still beat fast from last brawl, and more so from how close you and Choso had been.
It was ridiculous, you felt ridiculous – but somehow, you thought you might not be the only one.
Because Choso himself seemed very preoccupied with looking anywhere else but at you, his gaze firmly fixed on the water and the sky and his brother like the whole world was far too interesting.
You tried to catch his gaze, give him a thumbs up that indicated he didn't hurt you, but every time you happened to catch his eyes he averted them straight away. And you could swear the tips of his ears were turning pink.
"Choso is acting weird" you said to Satoru, keeping your voice low.
You noticed the mess of white hair move from between your thighs, before he let out a low chuckle. "Someone's jealous" he hummed, amused.
"Jealous?" you questioned, tilting your head. It was true Choso didn't have his usual calm expression, and his arms were firmly crossed over his middle while Sukuna tried to argue some strategy. His jaw was locked tight, face turning into a tiny grimace.
It was adorable how he seemed to have no control over his facial expressions.
But…jealous?
"Of what?" you asked again, and you heard Satoru scoff.
"I'm pretty handsome, you know" you could feel him roll his eyes without even having to see it.
"Sure, but" you retorted. "Why would he be jealous of you? We're friends"
To your surprise, Satoru didn't argue again. You expected a tease, for him to say something along the lines of you're not my type anyway. But… it didn't come. If anything, you could have sworn you heard him sigh.
"Of course" he agreed, a few seconds too late. "Now focus, princess"
Nobara was already raising a hand, and motioning the beginning of the third brawl.
Team Black Flash were steadier this time, completely ignoring you and heading to Team Cursed Duo instead. "Come on bro, show me what you got!” Yuuji yelled, putting his hands up to reach for his brother.
Choso's hands locked with his as he tilted his body to the side. He was trying his hardest to not hurt Yuuji, of course, but the pressure was too much for poor Megumi to handle, and he ended up sinking after putting up a fair fight. Later, everyone agreed it was a honourable defeat.
"Yuuji? You ok?" while Choso was distracted by scanning the water for his brother, Team Honoured Ones attempted a sneak attack.
Satoru tried his best to be quiet, though that wasn't really his forte. Right as you were getting ready to push Choso, Sukuna turned around in the blink of an eye – and your hands ended up finding your opponent's chest instead of his broad shoulders.
Choso’s body jolted straight like the sudden contact had electrocuted him. He instinctively reached for your wrists, closing his large palms around them when you welcomed it with a laugh. Encouraged by your playful smile, he began trying to tip you over, but you were stronger than you looked.
Sukuna wasn't as amused, though. With a hinge of his hips, he tipped his weight forwards – and before you knew it, Choso was falling into you and you were falling backwards, losing all balance.
Gojo tried his best to hold on to your legs and stabilise you, but was quickly overpowered by the weight of both you and Choso falling fast, and soon he was submerged too.
The water filled your open mouth as you sunk slowly, your hands desperately reaching forwards, until it found his. Choso had already locked your hands together, his other hand finding your waist to pull you out of the water as fast as possible.
"I'm sorry" he panted, completely drenched himself, helping you hold on to the edge of the pool.
Despite the coughing from the sudden water you had inhaled, you still managed to laugh. "Don't worry about it" you waved it off.
“Team Cursed Duo wins” Sukuna announced, but Choso didn't seem that interested in celebrating.
Despite the enduring sunlight, night time eventually came, bringing with it a more forgiving breeze to squelch the heat.
Because of the changing rules during chicken fight, no one could decide who had the rights over the speaker. Sukuna and Satoru had spent a good thirty minutes complaining, all the while Suguru took control of the music.
Nobara and Shoko were busy making everyone cocktails, but after you had been the test subject to a few too many failed attempts, you decided to excuse yourself to the furthest bean bag, and just let the summer breeze tickle your skin before your friends could get you too drunk.
Right now, you were in a perfect state, somewhere between tipsy and just high on the day's excitement.
Choso had been gone for a while, along with Megumi and Yuuji. It was sweet how close he was to his brother and his brother's best friend, but you couldn't deny you found yourself just…looking for him.
Every time you heard a shuffle of feet or a noise far ahead, you wondered if it was him. Looking for his presence somewhere up in the clouds and also in the nearby voices, your mind conjuring up a million scenarios and things you could talk to him about, despite being too shy to just tell him how you feel.
Was this even normal?
Did everyone with a crush just forget to function when the object of their admiration was near?
You groaned a little, sinking deeper into the chair and just staring at the stars above. They were so bright over here. So much more so than in the city.
It was only the first day, but you already didn't want to ever leave.
“Can I sit here?” a voice finally came, and you had to blink your eyes repeatedly to make sure you weren't day dreaming again, lost in one of your wild scenarios that would never come true.
No, Choso was actually standing there. Handsome and tall against the moonlight, his distracting abs now concealed in a compression shirt that was too tight for your own good.
And he was smiling.
He always smiled around you.
"Sure" you nodded, and he took a seat in the beanbag in front of you. He was clearly too large for it, and you laughed a little at seeing him awkwardly try to fit, but his adorable pout only made you laugh more.
"These aren't very comfortable" he sighed, extending his legs to try and regain some balance. They were so close to yours they almost touched – almost.
"We can move to the chairs, if you like" you suggested, though that would mean going closer to the group.
You didn't want that, but part of you also wanted to know if he did.
As much as everyone teased, you were still not that convinced he had a crush on you too. It would simply be too good to be true.
When was reality ever that kind?
Choso turned around, looking for where the other chairs were scattered. "I'm alright here" he said, despite his clear discomfort. "…If you are?" he added then, bringing his dark eyes to you.
"I'm alright here, too" you smiled.
"Good" Choso nodded awkwardly, his gaze moving from his hands, to where your legs almost touched, and then back to your face. The silence between you was a little awkward, sure, but it was far from quiet – at least on your end, the sound of your heart was loud enough to fill the whole space.
"Are you enjoying the holiday?" you asked.
"Yes" he nodded. "I'm glad Yuuji convinced me to come"
So were you.
"How did he convince you?" you asked lightheartedly, but from Choso's reaction you would have thought you just asked him something deeply personal.
"He, uh–" his hand came to rub the back of his neck, the curve of his bicep immediately catching your attention. Was this a plan to distract you again?!
Surely not. Choso wasn't one to play games – all his endearing awkwardness was exactly who he was.
"He said you were coming" he finally admitted, with a sigh.
You felt your brows furrow close, mouth opening before you even knew what to say. "You came because of me?"
"Um…yeah, I did" he confirmed, staring at his hands.
"So you weren't excited to hang out with Sukuna and Gojo?" you tried to tease, and he finally looked at you with that grimace you loved.
"Definitely not" he said, and you both laughed.
It was a gorgeous sound.
On the other side of the patio, your friends were all lost in casual conversation. Megumi and Yuuji had now rejoined the group, playing some kind of card game on the grass with Nobara. Shoko and Sukuna were talking about something, or, Sukuna was talking about something, but she seemed happy enough to listen. Satoru and Suguru were the ones standing a little further away, talking about something that seemed serious, but who could guess with those two.
"Did you hurt your hand?"
Your head snapped back to Choso, and you noticed it was only you who was distracted looking at your friends. He was focused on your wrist, and how you rubbed it softly with your other hand, flexing your fingers open and close.
You hadn't even noticed you were doing it.
"Oh" you tried to wave it off. “I think I fell at a weird angle during chicken fight” you admitted with an awkward laugh.
Choso didn't laugh, though.
“Let me see” he squinted his eyes, opening his palm for you to take.
You placed your hand on top of his, holding in your breath as Choso inspected your skin. He closed both hands around yours, focused on looking for any sign of bruising or broken skin. It didn't even hurt that much, but you weren't saying no to an excuse to have him look at you like that.
And you watched him – how beautiful he looked with his hair down, falling all messy around his handsome face; still a bit wet from the pool and clinging on to his forehead. His skin felt soft and warm against yours, the perfect contrast to the cool night breeze.
Choso's eyes darted to yours quickly, shyly, but you didn't avert yours. And so he didn't either.
How odd that this was the most tender moment the two of you had exchanged so far, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to be fully present. It felt like a dream, like you were floating high above the clouds – if it was the alcohol's doing, or the adrenaline from the day, or simply the way Choso's eyes looked at yours, you weren't sure.
But everything about this felt… magical.
Slowly, carefully, Choso closed your hand, satisfied that you weren't actually hurt. But then, he brought it close to him, as you watched with wide open eyes – as he left the tiniest kiss on your knuckles.
His face went all red, finally breaking the eye contact, and you could swear you heard his heart beat just as loud as yours.
Maybe all your friends had been right, after all.
“If you do it again, I might forget it hurts" you teased, earning a warm smile from him.
“Good" Choso hummed. "Then I’ll keep going”
Your breathing hitched as Choso touched his lips against your knuckles again, firmer this time. You instinctively opened your palm, an invitation, and Choso interlaced your fingers together, looking at you under his dark eyelashes.
“Do you… want to go somewhere else?” he whispered, and you nodded yes.
You opened the door to your room, hoping no one else from the group had noticed the two of you sneaking away. If you had only looked back you might have noticed Shoko's approving smile and Nobara's whispered "finally", as well as Satoru's puzzling stare. But you weren't exactly paying attention to them right now.
Right now, it was just you and Choso.
"Sorry it's a bit messy" you said awkwardly, noticing you hadn't had the time to clear away all the clothes you had left on the bed, in your haste to find an appropriate swimming costume. You quickly shifted your attention to it, anything to get you away from how nervous you felt, and started putting everything away again.
Refusing to look at how Choso stood awkwardly in the middle of your room, unsure of what to do. "It's fine" he tried to say, though you were hard at work. "You should see Yuuji's room"
You smiled, finishing up and placing the suitcase back on the floor. Now you really had to turn back to him.
"Do you want to get some fresh air, maybe?" you asked, again trying to calm your beating heart. There was a little private balcony at the back, with a loveseat that would do just fine. Some air would definitely help your nerves.
"Yeah" Choso agreed, following you out into the night again.
As predicted, the breeze did help you breathe easier. You sat on the loveseat right by the back wall, shuffling your feet nervously on the ground; but Choso didn't join you.
"I've been meaning to talk to you" he said, putting his hands inside his pockets. Were his trembling like yours were?
"About what?" you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, hoping he couldn't hear the anticipation in your voice.
"I just…" he started, clearly unsure of what he even wanted to say. "I've been meaning to say something, and I'm not sure if it's the best time, but–"
"You can tell me" you cut in, hands clasped together and sweating embarrassingly.
Choso's eyes narrowed at you, clearly having noticed how odd you were acting. But then he smiled. And then his smile turned into a chuckle that you joined into.
Two idiots, weren't you?
"Do you remember that one time we went to the movies?" Choso started, a little more confident than before. "The first time, maybe a couple weeks after Yuuji introduced me to your group?"
"I remember" you nodded, turning your head at the memory. You were surprised Choso even recalled it, considering how long ago it had been.
"It was some horror movie Yuuji picked" he laughed, shuffling a little. "He was so excited, but I… I could barely look at the screen. When he asked me about my favourite scene later I had to lie, and I felt terrible. I never lie to my brother"
You were a little confused, but listened to what he was telling you with a focused expression. "Why weren't you paying attention?" you asked.
Choso finally looked at you. Breathing in, and out. Taking his time.
"Because you were sitting next to me" he admitted finally. "And all I could think about was how pretty you looked"
Your mouth fell open in complete surprise, but Choso kept going.
“You... you’re incredible, you know” he exhaled. “I’ve always thought that. Every time. And the way you smiled today…"
He took a breath to steady himself, his eyes closing as if lost in memory, and the sweetest smile on his lips.
“Seeing how you smiled today made me wish I could be around to watch you smile like that every time” he continued. “It made me wish I could be the one making you smile that way”
Oh.
Oh.
You were sure your hands were still trembling, but you couldn't really feel them. It was like time itself… had just stopped.
“You are” you heard yourself say though your throat was squeezed tight, and then the dip of the loveseat as Choso settled next to you.
"Hey" he said softly, one hand finding yours where it rested nervously on your lap, the other cupping your cheek. "Don't cry" he begged you, using the pad of his thumb to dry the tears threatening to fall.
"I didn't realise I was" you laughed at yourself, leaning into his hand. "I think I'm just happy"
"Really?" Choso was the one whose voice sounded a little strained this time, but his face had a smile to match yours.
"Really" you nodded. "I didn't think you felt it too"
Choso's bottom lip pushed forward a little in a small pout hearing you say that. "How could I not?" he asked.
How could you not?
Right then, you weren't sure if you felt like an idiot for dismissing all your friends claims and waiting this long, or if the surprise just outweighed anything else.
Why did you automatically expect good things wouldn't happen to you?
Because right now, the best person you could have dreamed of was staring at you with stars in his eyes. And he wasn't pulling back.
Neither were you.
"I like you too" you finally admitted, the words you struggled with for so long finally leaving your lips. In your worse nightmares, Choso turned away or mocked you – but in reality, he didn't do any of that.
If anything, you didn't think you had ever seen him this happy.
"You do?" he repeated, like he just wanted to hear you say it a million more times.
"Yes, you idiot" you laughed at yourself. "Apparently everyone knows" you added, hoping to share some of the shame you felt.
"Yuuji said that too" he sighed, embarrassed. So that's why he had disappeared with his brother for so long.
Despite being mortified by the prospect, the two of you shared an easy laugh. One that was like a weight off your shoulders.
"I wasn't sure if I should do it here, I mean–" he started to say, interlacing your hands together. "I didn't want to make the trip awkward"
"I'm happy you did" you reassured. There was no way you would have survived this trip otherwise… not with Choso constantly half naked around you.
"You are?" he swallowed thickly, shocked at how this had gone better than expected. You wondered what his expectations were, if he also had nightmares as bad as yours.
Instead of answering, you shifted forwards a little forwards, resting your forehead on his as you let the tears flow as they needed to. Choso was right there to catch each one, with his lips this time – kissing every inch of your cheeks as the two of you breathed together like a question waiting for an answer.
When you opened your eyes and smiled at him again, Choso closed the gap.
His lips found yours tentatively at first, nothing but a soft brush as the two of you held your breath. It was when you finally exhaled deeply that he pressed against you more firmly, and your lips parted to invite him in.
You were finally doing this.
Not even your most wonderful dreams could have been better than this.
Choso explored your mouth like he was dying to learn the shape of you, your taste, every smooth curve of your lips. His hands stayed on your cheeks, enjoying how warm and soft you were, still dragging each tear away.
"Cho…" you whispered his name, pulling him into you, all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss.
You wrapped both your hands around his neck, leaning so far back you almost fell from the loveseat, but Choso was right there to pull you back. His hands hovered, a little unsure before landing on your waist, steadying you, digging into your skin with sweet reverence and desire.
"You're so beautiful" he hummed again, like he couldn't believe the two of you were finally here. The kiss was a little messy, but between each awkward bump of your noses the two of you laughed, remembering the years of affection that had led to this moment.
You pulled back a little, bringing your hands to caress his cheeks instead. "I really like your tattoo" you laughed a little, brushing your thumb over the dark stripe right above his nose. "Is now a good time to tell you that?"
Choso laughed, leaning his forehead on yours. "You could have told me anytime" he said, rocking his head side to side and enjoying where it touched yours.
"I think I was embarrassed" you admitted, biting your lower lip.
"Why?" he asked, tilting your head up so he could look in your eyes again.
How were you supposed to think of anything else when he kept looking at you like that?
"I didn't think you felt the same" you admitted, nose scrunching at how silly it all felt now.
Choso's response was to press your lips together, firmly now, a promise. "I always did" he whispered against you, making all the hairs in the back of your neck stand up.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you taunted, playfully pushing his chest back, and enjoying how that only made him pull you in more.
"I thought you might be… with someone else" he admitted, digging his hands just a little further into your waist.
"It was always you" you confessed this time, a little shy.
Choso blinked at you like that was the last thing he expected you to say.
He kissed you again – deeper, more passionate. Before you knew it, he was on top of you, your two bodies far too big for the small two-seater, but he was very careful to not crush you with his weight.
"Is this ok?" he pulled back a little, giving you space to readjust underneath him.
You nodded with a smile, wrapping both legs around his waist and pulling him back into you. The poor man blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears, but he eagerly sank into you, rocking his hips against yours in a way you did not expect from sweet Choso.
Still, his touch was respectful, careful not to touch anywhere that could be too much too soon. His hands remained steady on your waist – but the growing bulge where his hips pressed pressed into you was getting harder and harder to ignore.
If he wanted you just as much as you wanted him… it was only right to be a little more forward, right?
So you bit his lip playfully, not enough to hurt but enough that his dark eyes snapped open in surprise. Your legs closed around his waist again and your hand moved down to where his was, still resting on your middle, gently encouraging it even further down.
His breathing completely stopped, but Choso allowed you to move it for him, slowly dragging his palm from your waist to your hips and, finally, settling on your thigh. Like a match had just been struck, Choso let out a guttural, deep grunt as he squeezed your flesh, lowering himself down to kiss you again.
His hips kept dragging into you with barely contained desire, all sense out the window now that you gave him permission to touch you in that way. You matched his rhythm, breath growing more and more shallow as you felt the heat pooling between your thighs.
"Fuck, Cho" you moaned, nails digging deep into his shoulders that you used to stabilize yourself. "Feels good"
"Y-yeah?" he moaned, almost a desperate whimper with how bad he wanted this.
You didn't bother responding – your body was already moving on its on, urged by this primal need you had for him. Your hands moved to remove his shirt, not caring at all that the little clothes you had on were askew, revealing far more of you than Choso thought he'd see this early on.
And you noticed the way Choso looked embarrassingly away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by staring. You looked down at your swimming costume, then back up at him with a wicked smile.
“You can take it off if you want” you suggested, perching yourself up on your elbows.
Choso wasted no time – he swallowed hard, and with a hypnotized nod, moved to undo the swimming costume you still had on.
The fabric fell down, revealing your bare chest to him. Choso looked somewhere between drunk and completely awestruck, with the way he softly gasped at you, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Can I?" he asked, a small drop of sweat trickling from his temple.
You smiled, tangling your hand onto his dark strands to urge him forwards. Choso relinquished with no push back, sinking his face into your breasts and closing both hands on them.
"Cho…" you moaned out his name, encouraging him further, all restraint out the window.
The sound of his name from your lips drove Choso absolutely insane, his large hands roughly palming your mounds as his mouth tried to give similar attention to each side, sucking and licking every inch of you. "Fuck, baby…" he whimpered between them, making you moan at the affectionate nickname.
Your hand tightened on his head, pulling his hair slightly, though it only seemed to turn him on even more. Your back arched against the love seat and Choso took the opportunity to slide a forearm behind you, making you arch into him further.
He sucked on your already hard nipples, playing and rolling it with his tongue as his eyes moved to your face, so beautiful and needy for him.
Your thighs were still squeezing his hips, his rhythm against your clothed cunt never faltering. It felt good, really good, but you wanted more.
"Cho" you called, biting your lips at him.
"Yeah, pretty?" he asked, face all flushed and eyes dilated with pure desire. Even when addressing you, he refused to stop his worship of your body.
"You can take it off" you repeated your words from earlier, hoping he'd understand what you meant. "All of it" you completed, with a roll of your hips, making a point to press against his bulge.
Choso swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath in. "You…want me to?" he asked.
Maybe it wasn't the best idea – your friends were somewhere outside, probably too drunk to care, but surely someone would notice your absence soon enough.
At least, that's what your brain would have thought if you weren't in the exact position you had been dreaming about for years.
You wanted Choso. Needed him. For far longer than you cared to admit.
So you were ok with being greedy.
"I want you to" you rolled your hips again, and that was all Choso needed.
He nodded, immediately bringing his hands to finish removing your clothes. He was clearly nervous, but when he finally began to pull the fabric down, he did it so slow it felt like torture.
Was Choso also trying to seize the moment? The thought alone made you giggle. To want someone who wanted you just as bad… it was more than you ever thought you could get.
And there was no denying Choso wanted you bad.
“You’re going to kill me...” he sighed when he revealed all of you, laying beautifully onto the loveseat, eager for him. He pushed himself back on his knees, taking his time to admire you like a painting.
His defined abs glistened in the moonlight, distracting, stealing all your focus. Choso was built so beautifully, like he had been sculpted by the gods themselves.
And it seemed he thought the same of you.
"Fuck…" he muttered as one hand dragged from your cheek, to your collarbone, to your navel. Choso took his time exploring every inch of you, letting his warm touch ghost over your skin before he took things further, like he knew he was already addicted and wanted to savour each moment.
When his hand finally reached between your thighs, he found you dripping.
"You're–" his words cut out as his fingers played with your heat, coating himself in your slick, your legs parting eagerly. His head dripped forwards, bangs covering his eyes, trying as best as he could to control himself.
Until he couldn't anymore.
Carefully, he slid one thick digit inside of you. It found no resistance, sinking into you so eager and wet, earning a loud moan that had his head snapping back to yours.
“Like this, baby?” he asked so sweetly, despite how he was already adding another finger inside to stretch you further. His fingers moved slowly at first, but soon they pumped into you faster, and faster, and you had to bring your hands to his thick forearm to brace yourself.
“Mmmh yea” you moaned, squeezing the veins that protruded from his skin, his dark eyes completely locked on where your bodies met.
"You're taking it so well" he praised, groaning when it made you clench around him. "Fuck–You like that?"
You nodded, biting your lip as you felt his movements become rougher, faster. "So beautiful like this" he praised you again.
Your back arched off the seat, and Choso again used the opportunity to snake his other arm around you, pulling you close into him. In this position, you could feel his rock hard erection against your thigh, and you were desperate to know what it felt like inside of you.
One of your hands moved to his bulge, pressing into it as Choso curled his fingers just right inside you. Choso let out a surprised breath, but didn't pull back – instead, he shifted so you could feel all of him.
Your hand found its way past his swimming trunks, your mouth immediately hanging open in shock at the sheer size of him. You moved your hand up and down, exploring, noticing how he was just as long as he was thick, the thought of taking all of him already making you drool.
"Ah" he panted, head falling to your collarbone as you continued to stroke him. Despite his closed eyes and fucked out expression, Choso never stopped the motion of his fingers inside of you, completely focused on your pleasure.
You could feel yourself getting close from his fingers alone, but you didn't want it to stop there.
“I want you” you whispered into his ear, and instantly felt his whole body jolt on top of you.
The movement of his fingers stilled for just a second, before he resumed them like clockwork. "Are you sure?" he asked you, pulling back to look in your eyes again.
How could he be so handsome and sweet at the same time.
“I'm sure” you nodded, bringing one hand to cradle his beautiful face, while the other kept stroking his cock.
Choso pressed a kiss to your lips as he slowly removed himself from you. He stood up slowly as not to hurt you, and finally began to remove the rest of his clothes.
Just as you expected, Choso was beautiful. Every inch of him. And seeing him like that, naked and towering over you with affection in his eyes, only made you need him more.
You sat up fast, your mouth opening around his cock before Choso even realised what you were about to do. You held it with one hand, giving it a shy lick first, tasting the saltiness of his precum on your tongue.
"Baby…" he moaned, placing one hand on your head. He didn't push, just felt the movement with you; the way you started to open up around him, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. "You're–ngh, really good at that" he groaned.
Your mouth kept the back and forwards motion, struggling with his length as it started to hit the back of your throat. Choso moaned at how it constricted around him, seconds away from coming in your mouth if he didn't pull himself back.
"You're gonna make me–" his voice shook a little, his hips chasing you already.
"What?" you asked, knowing exactly what he meant, but unable to resist seeing his lustful face.
His adams apple bobbed up and down when you playfully licked him again, the hand on your hair pulling your strands just a little bit more. Choso was close to losing control, and you loved every bit of it.
"You want me to–ngh" he tried to speak, bringing his eyes to your beautiful face. "You want me to come down your throat?"
You nodded yes, eager, salty tears starting to streak down your face. You were desperate to make him feel good, to know what he tasted like, to keep hearing those delicious noises he kept making.
But then, he pulled away again. Fast, just at the last second when he really couldn't hold it in anymore, and moved to tower on top of you, laying you back down on the loveseat. "I want to feel you first" he panted, his tip already touching your entrance while you opened your legs wide for him.
"Please" you moaned, and Choso swallowed the end of the word with a kiss. His mouth sank into you, and his cock sank into your heat, stretching you fully as you whimpered into his mouth.
He was big. Too big. And Choso was aware of it.
“Slowly” he reassured you, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’ll be gentle” he said with a kiss to the top of your head, and you had no reason to believe otherwise.
You let yourself sink into him, closing your arms around his shoulders as you began to relax. To further help, his hand moved to circle your clit, gently massaging the bundle of nerves that made you clench around him.
"Does it feel good?" he asked, starting to move his hips into you, in and out, in and out.
"So good" you whimpered, chasing his lips for a kiss again. "You're so big, Cho"
He smiled at the compliment, but didn't let the praise distract him. His touch was careful and precise, helping you relax around him and take him inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out.
"You're doing so well, pretty" he kissed the top of your head, fully sheathed into you now.
Your body clenched as it tried to adjust, and Choso was already struggling to keep his composure. But when your nails dug into his back, and you bit your lips at him, Choso knew he was done for.
He let himself pick up the pace, stretching you so deliciously all else faded to the background. All you could think about was Choso Choso Choso, and how good he felt, how warm his hands were all over your body, how delicious his tongue tasted.
"You have to be more quiet, baby" he whispered against your mouth, muffling your moans with a rough kiss.
“Fuck, Cho, you-” you tried to say, but his hips angled just right and his pace grew even faster, all your words meshing together into a whimper of pleasure instead.
“You’re so beautiful” he groaned against your lips. “So fucking beautiful like this”
Your nails were drawing blood from his shoulders, but neither of you cared. It felt too good to stop. You had wanted this for too long to stop.
Despite his earlier words, Choso was also struggling to control his sounds. His moans of pleasure filled your ears like music as he panted on top of you, kissing every inch of your face and neck he could find.
"I'm close" he said, head falling forwards as his eyes shut tight, face contorting in pleasure.
You wanted to see him like this forever.
Completely drunk in you.
“Cho” you muttered, pulling him even deeper with your legs, nails leaving marks all over his body. “Cum inside of me” you asked.
He huffed out all the breath from his lungs, struggling to believe what you had just said.
“Fuck” he grunted, hips going faster and faster. “Are you sure, baby?” he checked again.
“Yeah” you moaned in pleasure, the sounds mixing in with his as you both approached your climax.
“Not before you” he said instead, taking your clit between his thumb and index, rolling the bud carefully, knowing exactly how to drive you insane.
Your body began to shake as the heat started pooling upwards, and just as you were about to tip over the edge, Choso closed your lips with his, drinking up all your moans.
Your body was shaking, pulling him in and milking him desperately, but it was the sounds you were making that made him reach his peak.
"Take it" he grunted, slamming his hips into you as his seed began to spill. You felt the heat filling you up, and your whole body begged for more, but the only words you could get out were his name.
"Choso…" you whispered once more, and he let himself relax on top of you.
His arms closed around your waist, pulling you into his chest as he readjusted to your side, slowly removing himself from you. It was a little awkward in the two-seater, but you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Being nestled into Choso's chest was everything you needed right now.
He slowly caressed your thigh, hand brushing the sweat away from your forehead and tucking your hair behind your ear. Even after all of this, he looked at you like something precious, something he needed to protect.
“Thank you” Choso whispered against your hair, leaving a kiss to your temple.
How the hell was he so sweet?
“…Thank you?” you echoed with a laugh, trying to tilt your head towards him, but Choso didn't let you – choosing to leave another kiss to your forehead, then another, and another, until you went back to resting on his chest.
“I guess...” he started, all shy. "For being you” he completed, dropping his head to the crook of your neck.
"You're really sweet" you murmured, unsure if you wanted to cry or laugh. All you knew is you just wanted to be right here.
Choso didn't reply to that, his face turning into a small pout, but he was too happy to pretend to be self conscious. "I'm sorry I took so long" he said instead.
"I'm sorry too" you nuzzled into him, hand finding his. “I’ve wanted this for a while, you know” you muttered, your face warm against his chest while Choso softly caressed your hair.
“Really?” he asked, enjoying how your words made him feel. "Me too" he admitted.
“Since when?” you asked, curious.
But Choso only let out a small chuckle. “I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you” he admitted, looking up at the sky instead of you, letting you in on a secret he had never dared utter out loud.
You followed his gaze, turning your head around to look up at the stars. It was a beautiful night. "Why today?” you asked again.
“I couldn’t hold it in anymore” he replied, resting his cheek against your head.
“Was it because I was on Gojo’s team for chicken fight?” you teased, remembering how your friend had said Choso was jealous earlier.
“No” Choso answered too quick, though his arms held you tighter. “But I can’t say I was a fan of that” he murmured shyly, earning a chuckle out of you.
"You're cute" you laughed, sinking into him.
"How's your wrist?" he asked, hand brushing over the skin that felt tender earlier.
"Doesn't hurt anymore" you noted. "Guess the kissing really did work"
Choso laughed, bringing your hand to his lips again. "As many as you need" he said against your knuckles.
"I might not ever want you to stop" you muttered, a little shy.
"I hope so" he exhaled, bringing you in closer.
You both stayed like that, holding each other in the hot summer night. You didn't speak much, but you didn't need to – so much of what you felt rested in the in between, in the space the two of you effortlessly shared. Choso just made you feel so incredibly comfortable, so perfectly safe.
You could hear some faint laughter coming from the other side of the villa, the signs of a party raging on without you, but neither of you rushed to join the group just yet.
Shoko really had been right, after all. You really needed this holiday.
You let the weight of the day wash over you, as Choso cradled your body close under the stars. All the fun and laughter and confessions, and the promises of much more to come.
And as you held each other close, you both knew – this would be a summer to remember.
i hope you enjoyed <3 this won the poll for my 1 year anniversary here on tumblr, thank you to everyone who voted and for all my readers too! hope you all have the most wonderful day/night. mwah!
you’d never gone out on a date before. never experienced any semblance of intimacy or any romance that everyone else already seemed to have mastered. kissing? not on your radar. but you got the bright idea to go on a dating app—matching with suguru geto.
PAIRING: suguru geto x fem! reader
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. alternate universe/no curses. slightly awkward and inexperienced reader. cat dad sugu. consent checks. dry humping/grinding. nipple play. cunnilingus. blow job. unprotected p in v. pull out method. cum eating. some aftercare. stupid humor. pet names. a scientology visit.
NOTE: unfortunately this piece will have to be ripped away from my cold, dead hands. but i do apologize for the instability and for posting it once more <3
“you brought cookies.”
you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."
oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.
suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"
you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.
regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.
the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.
“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?
now it was just plain awkward.
well, awkward-er.
sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?
how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?
suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”
“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.
he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.
you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.
you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”
either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”
the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.
suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)
you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.
“that’s sage.”
you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.
sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.
just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.
your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.
"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.
"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!
and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.
"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.
"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.
needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.
he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.
"...no."
you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”
you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”
suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.
“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”
the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.
that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.
“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.
“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.
"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.
"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.
sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)
and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.
you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).
"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.
you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.
you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”
rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.
his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.
everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.
his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.
latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.
his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?
suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.
is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—
that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.
"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.
"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!
"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"
suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"
and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."
his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.
not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.
suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”
“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”
closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.
you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?
should you start moaning?
“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.
you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.
"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?
the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."
his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.
well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.
"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.
you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.
when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.
now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.
your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.
you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.
“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?
“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.
suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”
you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.
mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"
you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.
strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.
peck. your collarbone.
peck. your tits.
peck. your navel.
peck. the waistband of your shorts.
“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.
you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.
suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.
despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.
he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.
but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.
he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.
you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."
immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"
you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."
"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."
and then he dove in like he was a man starving.
his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.
your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.
soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.
"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.
"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.
it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.
your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?
his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.
it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.
he'd never been such at bliss before.
each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.
once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"
suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."
getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.
you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"
suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.
“then by all means, go for it.”
that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.
a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.
all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.
you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.
"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.
thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.
you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.
you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.
suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.
and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.
“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.
suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”
he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”
he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”
just one more time to confirm. you nodded.
“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.
“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”
"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.
"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.
a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.
suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.
“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.
suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.
so goes the super suave geto suguru.
a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.
you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!
“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.
“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”
suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!
your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?
suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.
“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.
his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.
everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.
“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.
your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.
“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,
“w-where do you hic want it?”
you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.
you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.
"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.
one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.
suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"
you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."
he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.
each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”
“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”
you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.
you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.
holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.
loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.
you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.
the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.
"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.
a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.
the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.
suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.
the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.
"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.
but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”
the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"
the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'
but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.
"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.
suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"
"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.
this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”
"am i wrong though?" you countered.
no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."
the only thing softer and sweeter than you is…sukuna?
synopsis: being captured by the king of the koopas would be horrible — if he didn’t have such a big dick. when you see the opportunity to save yourself from his clutches and claws, will you take it? or be his bride? (follow up to this!)
pairing: bowser!sukuna x princess peach!reader
wc: 5.2k
content: MDNI, smut!!, porn with plot, technically kidnapping but reader doesn’t really mind, oral sex (f! receiving) unprotected piv sex, mating press, pulling out, manhandling, restraints, biting, they’re both freaks for each other, teasing, mocking, mario!gojo slander, bratty reader and brattier sukuna, dual pov
art cred: @numbuh666
“Don’t you think this is a little overkill?”
What, since when were ropes and restraints frowned upon in a relationship?
Couldn’t you just see it as another form of foreplay?
“No?” He grunted, heavy footsteps echoing across the floor as he studied the ties binding you to his bed.
His pretty princess sprawled out in his sheets, your once perfect pink dress wrinkled and ruffled from all your squirming. The mushroom kingdom might miss you, but they didn’t appreciate you anyway.
Didn’t adore you enough to memorize every tiny detail of your routine and make sure no one like him would be able to snatch you straight from underneath your weak guard’s noses.
What else was he supposed to do when you let a couple lousy plumbers hang around your castle?
“Just take some of them off. It’s uncomfortable,” you complained, pushing out your bottom lip in a pretty pout, chest heaving against the ribbons wrapped around them, bows his claws clumsily tied earlier to make you look like a present he wanted to save for later. “Please?”
That was Sukuna’s problem.
How the hell was he supposed to say no to you?
His own mouth twitched down, eyes narrowing as he exhaled hard.
There were meetings he meant to attend tonight. Plans to be made to make sure no one from your old life would show up to cause problems for your current one.
All derailed just because he couldn’t resist the way you batted your lashes at him.
He walked over to your bedside, feeling even more like a beast with his lumbering steps before he bent over to examine the ties keeping you here.
“Can’t you just wait an hour?” He gruffly asked, dragging a claw over your stomach, itching to sink it in just enough to tear your clothes clean off.
“It will take you two to come back,” you quickly retorted, tilting your head to the side – as if you held the power here instead of him.
You were supposed to be his hostage. A prisoner he pined for.
But the second you even hinted that perhaps you wouldn’t mind being his lover, whatever shred of his sanity he’d retained had unravelled at the first taste of your body.
It wasn’t enough that you would be his bride soon.
And even up in his air ship, where no one should be able to reach you, there was the discomforting fear someone might steal you from him the way he saved you before.
“You could take me with you,” you hummed, giving him your best set of pleading eyes as he felt the once shriveled organ he called a heart squeeze at how sincere you looked.
“I-”
“Shouldn’t I be there anyway if it’s about our wedding?” You insisted, and despite his reservations, the only thing he was weak to was you.
So he dragged his finger over the ribbon, slicing through it and the thick fabric easily as he cleanly cut each and every restraint keeping you tied to his bed.
You had requested your own chambers when he first abducted brought you here, but these days, you rarely even stepped foot in them when you’d taken to staying up sleeping in his sheets. He liked your little scowl when you peeled off the now torn dress from your body, getting out of bed and rubbing your wrists with a haughty huff befitting your status.
His future queen.
“Happy?” He grumbled, shoulders rolling back as his greedy eyes dragged over the shape of your breasts, mouth watering enough he had to swallow his own spit.
“No,” you sharply scoffed, striding over to your now-shared closet as you swiped through the selection of outfits he had made for you. “That was my last pink dress from home.”
“I think these suit you much better,” he dryly replied, having to keep himself from snarling at your disdain for the clothes he’d chosen. So what if they showed a little more skin? “But if you wish, I’ll kidnap your dressmaker.”
“Can’t you just hire him?” You asked, giving him that look, like he was somehow testing your patience.
Personally, he found that most prisoners, or well, workers only did their best after some time in the dungeon.
But he didn’t mind bickering with you about it.
Not when it made him almost feel like you were already married.
“I guess,” he begrudgingly grunted, making a mental note to send a koopa down to find him tomorrow for you.
Watching you get dressed was nearly as intoxicating as seeing you strip, studying the lines of your body, the way you moved your limbs as you squeezed into the tight outfit he was absolutely correct in assuming would look fantastic on you. Eyes glazing over as he committed and etched the image of you in his head, content to capture you like this in a painting later, frame it and hang it up in his private study as a new permanent fixture.
Sukuna was not accustomed to compliments.
But he found himself awkwardly clearing his throat, reaching out for you right as you glanced over your shoulder at him.
“My bride is beautiful,” he muttered, his voice coming out all low and gravelly as heat creeped up his neck and threatened to color his cheeks in an obvious blush.
Forcing himself to look back at the barred windows, biting the inside of his mouth until it drew blood. The thick taste of iron on his tongue as a delicate digit tapped his much larger hand.
“Thank you,” you softly said, tempering your tone as you laced your fingers through his. “Shall we go?”
He wasn’t stupid enough to assume you truly loved him back. Not the way he loved you, at least.
Knew damn well that this could just be some attempt to get his guard lowered enough for you to escape.
You might just want to know what their plans were. Where he’d send his troops of koopas to claim the land that used to be yours. Figure out any weak points.
It didn’t matter.
He wasn’t going to give you the chance to take advantage of it. No matter how much he might loosen your leash.
Still, the walk through the air ship was rather peaceful.
The warmth of your palm pressed against his, your skin brushing against his, those quick glances you’d steal up at him when his shell bumped into you.
The koopas were already waiting for him there, crowded around the table and chattering before they all froze at the creak of the door swinging open.
Turning to bow down before him, his ego inflating at their easy obedience while he caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes to his right.
“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “It appears there aren’t enough chairs.”
It would be easy to have a koopa scramble to fetch one for you. But just lazily walked over to his throne and sat back in it, spreading and patting his thighs while you stared at him with an adorable attempt at a stern expression.
He could picture you presiding over meetings like this back in your own Kingdom, addressing those morons in your dominion as if they even deserved to speak to you at all.
And now here you were, climbing on his lap in a tiny outfit, looking more like a concubine than a dignified princess.
“You did this on purpose,” you muttered, not that you actually seemed mad. More like you were pretending to be – acting out a role you knew you were supposed to fill.
“How?” He dryly mocked. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Well, sure, perhaps part of him suspected you’d protest being all tied up and ask to tag along. But the chairs were just a coincidence.
You shuffled on his lap, trying to get comfortable like he couldn’t feel the way you were quivering already.
That was the part you were horrible at hiding. Because despite that sweet mask you liked to wear of a proper lady, you couldn’t disguise your attraction to him, couldn’t pretend to be distinguished when he’d seen how much you craved his cock every night. Derived a certain degree of pleasure in him ruling over you instead of the other way around.
“You’re cruel,” you half-whispered, as if he somehow humiliated you when he could smell how horny you were.
You were cute when you were trying to be strong.
What would that plumber of yours think of you on his lap like this?
He supposed he’d take care of that business after the wedding. Once he had bound you to him for good.
“Lord Sukuna, we received a report from the koopas stationed-”
He waved it away, shaking his head before he could even finish.
“We’re discussing the wedding tonight,” he interrupted, running a calloused palm across your waist, feeling the way you shivered at his touch. “Since my bride is here.”
It would all belong to him soon enough anyway.
Your heart. Your home.
He’d conquer it all.
ཐི♡ཋྀ
You hadn’t meant to fall for him.
He was meant to be the monster in the tale.
The scary villain that needed to be slain.
A beast you were supposed to hate by the end of the story.
You’d grown up with plenty of fairytales. Romances spun about princesses who were saved by brave knights and lived happily ever after.
You had always thought you would marry a guy who wields a sword instead of spewing fire, someone steadfast and pure hearted.
Sukuna was stubborn. Strange. Hot-headed with that horrible temper of his, with claws that looked made for slashing rather than clumsily clutching the stems to bouquets you could hardly believe he picked for you.
You stared at his sleeping figure. The tattoos inked against his tanned skin as his chest slowly rose and fell.
His mouth parted, the low roar of his snore starting up as you untangled yourself from his heavy limbs.
The meeting had run far longer than either of you had anticipated, heavy eyelids drooping from exhaustion with you still on his lap. And even when it ended, he just yawned and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your room with one hand while the other rubbed his exhausted eyes.
He didn’t even try to fuck you. To your disappointment.
Just plopped you down in bed and joined you there, strong arms wrapping around you before he promptly passed out.
But no matter how many sheep you counted in your head, or how hard you shut your own eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.
Your brain was buzzing, hyperaware of his touch, of his breath, a big ball of tension coiling tight in your core as you tried to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs.
For a guy who kinda kidnapped you, the least he could do was have a smaller dick so you didn’t have to think about how good it felt to be fucked full of him constantly.
You bit the inside of your cheek, shuffling off the bed slowly, stare still trained on him as you avoided waking him up.
Usually though, once he was out, he wouldn’t stir until the sun was slipping through the cracks in the porthole he called a window.
Now, there were only a handful of candles lit to illuminate the dark, your engagement ring glittering in the low light. It was big, and well, a bit gaudy, a ridiculously large pink sapphire glinting in the middle surrounded by small diamonds embedded into a gold band.
Something that screamed you were taken from a mile away.
He’d gotten down on one knee, the spiky shell on his back seeming even bulkier when he was all bent down like that, popping open a velvet box to propose to you like you were a normal couple.
A year ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of him bowing to anyone. Laughed that someone might say yes to him.
But your own affirmation had come a bit too easily for even you to conceal your own crush.
Could you call it that?
Shrink your feelings down to something more comfortable to swallow?
He rolled over, and you froze, throat constricting as you waited for his body to realize you weren’t there and wake him up.
Instead, he grabbed the pillow, squeezing it tight as his nostrils twitched. Sniffing the scent of you left there before he let out a soft sigh and settled back into dreamland.
When you watched him like this, all peaceful and pleased, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that this could last forever.
But your feet were creeping closer to the door, heart thumping rapidly as you tried to quell your troubled mind with reassurances that you wouldn’t get caught.
This could be the only opportunity you ever got. Your only chance to just leave.
Your parasol had just been lazily stashed in a storage closet by one of the koopas, so it wouldn’t even be hard to snag it and slip off the ship.
All you’d really have to do is find the courage to jump and float down.
Of course, you’d need to hope that you weren’t drifting over anything dangerous.
But considering you were sharing close quarters with someone as feared as him, who had enough strength to probably split your former plumber in two, you supposed whatever was below couldn’t be much scarier than what you’d be leaving behind.
Were you scared though?
Truly?
Did his pointy teeth hold any terror anymore? When was the last time those sharp claws of his inspired even a sliver of apprehension?
You had started to see them differently. Him differently.
Anticipating the next time he’d sink his mouth on your skin and leave love bites. Fantasize about him scraping his claws down your back. Intoxicated by the weight of the restraints he liked to tie you down with.
Was it fucked up to be horny instead of frightened?
Yes, but that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to unravel while you were tiptoeing across dim hallways thinking about the logistics of an escape plan.
Where would you even run to?
Find some tropical island to take shelter in and hope none of the ape-ish men there would make things worse?
You couldn’t just abandon the mushroom kingdom either.
Leave the land you’d sworn to protect behind for him to seize in your absence.
If you stayed, you could still rule over them. Ensure their safety – and your own.
Although, you were sure it was only a matter of time before a certain someone attempted to take you back.
Gojo seemed to think simply saving you was enough.
He was always busy with Suguru or racing karts or doing other stupid shit that made you feel more like a second thought than a lover who was special to him.
Sacred.
You wanted to be worshipped.
Not strung along or simply sucking it up to see how long you could suffer.
You were a princess after all.
What purpose did you have if you weren’t born to be revered?
Perhaps that was why when you opened the door you stopped in front of, the first thing you saw wasn’t your parasol staring back at you – but your own face.
A hundred of them.
Canvasses of different sizes, some hung up on the walls and others lined up against each other, one still on the easel in the center of the room as you stepped on the crinkly plastic tarp laid out and covered in paint splatters on the floor.
Who said a villain couldn’t have hobbies?
You hesitated as you gazed at his latest portrait of you, the soft strokes, the delicate touches that seemed incapable of coming from his massive hands. Each one was deliberate. This painting captured you in a candid moment, your head turned to the side as you leaned over the edge of the ship, the sky behind you and the sun on your face.
Some of the others featured a…more flattering version of him next to you.
Ones that made him look more regal.
More like a man instead of a monster by your side.
Gojo would have scoffed.
Said it was cheesy or stupid or came up with some other cheap insult to diminish his work.
But it made your heart stutter.
Slam faster into your ribcage the longer you stared at yourself.
This was how he saw you.
And it was how you wanted to be seen.
You could blame it on reason.
Say you had a responsibility or you were just doing what was rational.
But you simply didn’t want to run away.
Would it truly be so horrible to marry him? To be his wife and rule two kingdoms instead of one?
Maybe give him a Sukuna Jr.?
A loud bang exploded in the distance.
The sound of wood splintering and faint crashes that seemed to get closer by the second.
Oh well.
It seemed your groom-to-be had woken up.
You didn’t budge though.
Just folded your arms across your chest as a chill ran down your spine and waited for him to find you – even as his gruff voice barked orders for his koopas to start sweeping over the ship for any sign of you.
It didn’t take him too long to find you, the door thrown open so fast it hit the wall behind it and made an awful noise. You stilled, only throwing him a bored look over your shoulder.
“You’re making a racket,” you commented, pretending to be casual as you returned your attention to your own portrait.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded to know, stomping over and grabbing your wrist to spin you around. It was hard to hide the hint of a smirk your lips attempted to curl up into, but you managed, fixing him in your most unamused stare. “You’re trying to fuckin’ run away, aren’t you?”
You didn’t know whether to deny it or offer the admission that you at least changed your mind.
The feral scowl etched into all his rough features was pretty hot.
“I’m admiring your art,” you murmured softly, wondering how difficult it would be to make him melt for you.
“Liar,” he accused, thick brows pinched together tightly. “You left me.”
“How could I leave you if I’m right here?” You pointed out, tilting your head to the side.
For all his fire, he faltered when you offered him a small smile, his own mouth curving down to form a disgruntled frown.
“Stop playing dumb,” he hissed, barring his teeth as if it would work on you now.
“Are you calling me dumb?” You asked, arching a brow up as if you believed he was.
His free fingers curled into fists he immediately shook out, jaw clenching as his red eyes seared straight through you.
“I am not-” He stopped himself, maybe realizing he was falling into your trap before angrily shaking his head. “You little-”
“Little what?” You dared him to actually finish his curse, but he had clamped his lips shut. Pulling you closer to him before unceremoniously scooping you up bridal style, muttering to himself as he stormed back in the direction of your now shared bedroom.
“Thought that fucking idiot came and stole you,” said the man who stole you first.
You had to hold in your snort, keeping your head down as you tried to not let him see you roll your eyes.
But his intense stare was fixed on you, his nose scrunching up, lips parting in an annoyed scoff.
“You think this is funny,” he grunted.
“Is it not?” You asked, tempted to test just how crazy you could drive him.
“You are-” Sukuna grimaced, biting down on the inside of his own cheek so hard you knew he probably drew blood.
“You’re really having trouble finishing your sentences tonight,” you commented, pushing your luck further. The vein bulging across his forehead ready to burst at your trivial giggle was a cute perk to pissing him off. “Tell me, my king, what exactly were you going to do if I had run away?”
“Get you back,” he grumbled, as if you somehow could miss the glint in his eyes when you called him your king.
You wondered how long it would take for him to ask you to say that in bed.
And got your answer a lot sooner than anticipated.
The moment you had crossed the threshold, he was ripping the barely-there clothes off of you and pinning you to the bed.
Bites buried into your skin as he travelled from your stomach up to your breasts, teeth skimming against every available inch of skin until he was sinking the deepest ones into your throat, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you squirmed underneath his heavy weight.
His tongue dragged over your neck, leaving a lewd line over the sensitive spots he’d just been sucking on until his mouth was positioned right by your ear.
“Say it again,” he commanded, all husky and hot as your stomach found a way to tie itself in an even tighter knot.
“Say what?” you played just as dumb as he accused you of, the tension just building on top of itself as his warm breath fanned over your skin, claws sinking into your hips just careful enough to not hurt, but to make you feel the pressure.
“You know what,” he hissed, too prideful to admit what it was he really wanted.
“You want me to call you my king?” You hummed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, softening your voice.
Sukuna might not say it. But his heavy cock pressed up and throbbing against your thigh surely told you the truth.
“I want you to mean it,” he murmured, his defined jaw catching the candlelight while you watched the lump in his throat bob.
You hesitated.
Considered giving up this charade the two of you had been embroiled in.
Him dutifully playing your captor while you pretended to be a damsel in distress as if you hadn’t been having sex like partners instead of just lovers.
He might not know the difference.
But you did.
Because even after he came, he didn’t just roll over and conk out. And when you woke up together, he didn’t just abandon you to handle his own affairs.
He took care of you, fed you only the best foods and offered the best baths, pampered you in luxuries and made sure you wouldn’t want for anything when you were with him.
What else could a girl ask for?
So what if he was a little…sharp around the edges?
You could love him and all his spikes.
It wasn’t like you were ignoring him, but you’d been so swept up in your own thoughts you were caught off-guard when he abruptly buried his face between your thighs.
Mercilessly shoving his tongue inside you, diving in without a sliver of reluctance, with a single obvious goal in mind.
Making you moan what he wished to hear if you wouldn’t just outright say it.
Swirling his tongue around with the precision of someone who was determined to drag you to an orgasm. The thick muscle working you open ruthlessly, his fingers pressing down and pulling you into his mouth.
Groaning into your cunt to make your body unhelpfully spasm, giving into those maddening patterns he was painting inside you as those reverberations traveled up through you.
Resisting felt pointless.
Holding back was so much harder when the pleasure he was providing was overwriting all your common sense.
You were tugging hard at his roots, hips arching off the soft surface of the bed to drive him in even deeper. But it simply wasn’t enough.
He made you just as greedy as him.
“M-more,” you moaned, swallowing hard as the heat started to get to your bed, the warmth he was radiating making beads of sweat roll down your forehead.
He pulled out, laughing crudely as he looked up at you with wild eyes.
“More?”
Ah.
Maybe that was a mistake.
But you couldn’t find an ounce of regret when Sukuna was roughly flipping you over onto your stomach and nudging your thighs further apart with his knee next. Making sure you were properly spread as he climbed back on top of you, trailing the sharp edge of his claw up your spine before grabbing the nape of your neck.
You couldn’t look back.
Could barely breathe.
Stuck there with your face pressed against the smooth blankets as you waited for him to make his move.
“You want more?” He echoed his previous sentiment, disbelief still ringing in his tone.
“Do I have to ask again?” You teased, even if your question came out half an octave too high.
You would.
But only if he made you.
“Say it then,” he growled.
“My king is mean,” you wryly mocked, knowing that he would fuck you harder for it.
“I’ll show you mean,” he muttered, the swollen tip of his cock pressing right up against your slick entrance as you tensed up.
You used to think you were smart.
But considering how soaked you were waiting to have sex with him, you supposed you weren’t half as intelligent as you’d been before.
And the moment he was sliding in, you were losing even more IQ points you didn’t know if you had to spare.
Thoughts getting all fuzzy as they faded away to be replaced with mantras of his name, desperation bleeding into each one as you ached to be full.
He was still gracious enough to ease you into the first thrust, slowly splitting you open on his length before pulling out and doing it again.
Walls clamping down and straining to get accustomed to all his ridges, to his sheer size.
But he was bottoming out before you could get your sanity back in check, all your rationality dissolving in a puddle of raw need as he hit a spot that made you jolt.
“Not running from me now,” Sukuna snarled, pulling your hips back down as he plunged his cock even deeper, grinding it up, up, up for you to practically feel him in your lungs.
Air squeezing out with each one of his rough thrusts no matter how desperately you tried to quickly suck more back in.
A snarky piece of you wanted to argue that you hadn’t technically run away at all, but you didn’t think he had any reason left in him either.
This was just about you and him and fucking until he felt better.
Until you were both so enmeshed you would never want to leave him again.
The connection between his cock and your cunt driving you nuts as he drove it in again and again.
“Being real quiet now,” he taunted, and you just scoffed back at him, unable to form any coherent words to bicker back.
But before you could try to find him, he was pulling back out right as you were getting edged closer.
He flipped you over in a second, impatient fingers digging meanly into your thighs as he folded them against your chest.
Sukuna didn’t have to verbalize it. Mutter a word for you to understand the why.
He wanted to see your face when he made you cum.
Cock sheathing itself back inside you as if it was the most natural fit in the world.
His other hand reached for your throat, big fingers wrapping around it like your own personal necklace as he squeezed just enough to steal some of your air.
“You just like punishing me,” you breathlessly moaned, gripping onto his muscled biceps as his thick cock stretched you to the limit, rubbing just right on all those sensitive spots. Contrary to the filthy words he was spewing, he was still fucking you precisely how he knew you liked.
“You liked being punished,” he retorted, thumb rubbing over your tendon, feeling the faint indents of his teeth he’d left behind.
Was that what you liked?
Or was it simply him?
“What would your plumber do if he saw you like this?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he fucked you harder, hips smacking into your skin in harsh thwaps. “Panting and begging me for more.”
“Probably ask to join?”
Sukuna froze, brows furrowing as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty before he changed his mind and decided to just fuck that thought out of you instead.
Letting go of your throat to move his big hand south, his thumb finding your clit to toy with that too. Drawing more practiced circles over the sensitive bud, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you as he dragged you towards a cliff.
You wanted him to throw you off.
To jump off with you and fill you up.
The pressure mounting higher, your thighs tensing and toes curling in anticipation as your limbs began trembling.
You weren’t sure what the last straw was. Whether it was his warmth or his touch or the way his mouth crashed into yours for a messy kiss right as he pressed just right on your clit, but you crumbled.
Cumming with his name on your tongue, shuddering as the pleasure wracked through you – just for him to pull out midway through, cum leaking out all across your skin. Steady drips falling on top of you as he stroked his shaft, your vision hazy in the corners before you shut your eyes and let go of the tension still lingering in your bones.
“Fuck, you’re so-” He started to groan, his head tilting back to expose the seductive line of his collarbone, the tattoos standing out across his chiseled chest. Your husband-to-be.
“Perfect?”
ཐི♡ཋྀ
What good was a wedding without a bride?
Sukuna touched your hair, unable to wipe the scowl still lingering on his face while he huffed and puffed over your disappearing act a full hour after you fell asleep post-sex.
He didn’t believe you.
Even if he wanted to.
You were as clever as you were cute. Crafty.
There was a chance for you to go. To get as far from him as you could.
But he found you standing there in your own shrine.
Unbothered by the commotion and the chaos, just staring at yourself before throwing him that annoyingly attractive glance.
Were you trying to piss him off?
Had you simply come to your senses and realized fleeting would be futile?
He didn’t know.
And you wouldn’t tell him.
You were still wearing your ring though.
It looked rather good – especially when you weren’t wearing anything else.
Sukuna sighed, chewing his already bitten raw bottom lip as he tasted the iron in his mouth.
Fingers flexing as he possessively held you tight, unable to loosen his grip in fear you’d just slip away again.
You had made him a fool.
And he didn’t think there was any way for him to undo it.
He didn’t think he made a noise, but you began to stir, sleepily blinking up at him and yawning as you started to pull away, wait no, snuggle closer?
Nuzzling your nose against his chest as you draped a lazy arm around his side, your scent invading his system and frying all his synapses.
“Just go to sleep,” you murmured, delicate fingers decisively patting him. “M’not going anywhere.”
Yeah, not under his watch.
a/n: this was a super fun commission i did and i really hope you guys enjoyed it too!!
a handful of moments you'd been convinced you were doomed to be stuck in Satoru Gojo's orbit forever - or a handful of ones where he realized he was stuck in yours
pairings: gojo x f!reader x geto
content: MDNI, angst and fluff and smut, childhood friends-to-lovers, crushes, teasing, gojo is so in love it's not even funny, heartbreak, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, threesome, loss of virginity, breakups/makeups, piv sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, everyone is bad at feelings, complicated relationships, happy endings
scrapbook entries
page one . . .
playground bully | tutoring session
page two . . .
rainy day | happy birthday | prom date
page three . . .
lifeguard duty | long distance
page four . . .
hotel room | goodnight kiss (i) | goodnight kiss (ii) | tennis match
page five - full spread!
spilled drinks
page six . . .
empty seat | lost cause | morning, after(i) | morning, after (ii) | missed chance
page seven - full spread!
double date
page eight . . .
old friend | bad idea | secret letter(i) | secret letter(ii) | secret letter(iii) | night out | two kisses
page nine - full spread!
shattered illusions
page ten . . .
not friends | something worse | not lovers | something better
page eleven . . .
borrowed | blue
page twelve . . .
picket fence | playground kiss
alternate ending . . .
last chance
art by @dinneratgios + divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
after a painful breakup, Sukuna finds himself alone with your things, finally forced to confront the wreckage of the relationship. as he sorts through memories, he stumbles upon a letter you wrote him—a letter he never bothered to read, dismissing it as sentimental nonsense. but when he finally does, it starts to feel like something else entirely—like a reckoning. with every line, the past resurfaces, and with it, Sukuna’s buried emotions. tags/warnings: failed relationship, mentions of abortion, angst, some smut (flashback).
The apartment felt bigger without your voice in it.
Sukuna didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He didn’t need to. The late afternoon sun bled through the blinds in dull, gold stripes, cutting across the boards like prison bars.
He knelt beside the half-open closet with a cardboard box at his side, tossing things into it with the same indifference he’d used when you would tell him anything that remotely excited you.
Everything he saw, he threw in the box like it was chore—mechanically, brain never pausing long enough to register what his fingers curled around.
A scarf—vermillion silk, obnoxiously red. His kind of red. The color of his eyes, and the dried blood on the corner of his mouth after a vicious bar fight.
Then—heels, heels, heels.
You collected heels like you were set to walk on a runway show. He never paid much attention to them before—why would he? They were just shoes. But now? They almost felt like a declaration. Like each click against the floor was you strutting away from him, step by step.
Further and further.
Runway…funny. He’d always thought of you as the one who stayed. But now, he realized you had run away, and never looked back.
He scoffed, shaking his head before he paused.
Just a quick break—eyes flicking to the window, watchful and narrowed into suspicious slits.
More apartment complexes, boxed glass showing snippets of strangers’ lives: a couple making out as they made dinner, an old man reading a book, a single mother juggling her toddlers—their muffled laughter somehow infiltrating the apartment. It was like watching a live movie, but right now, nothing could be as dramatic as a man scavenging through his ex’s previously-prized possessions.
A pigeon flew by and perched on a balcony’s railing as if taking a break.
Just like him.
As Sukuna continued sorting through your things, his fingers brushed over a small velvet box at the bottom of the closet, pushed to the back like something unworthy of remembering. He pulled it out, studying the worn corners, how the fabric frayed slightly at the edges. He paused, staring at it before opening it with a quiet snap.
Inside, nestled on a bed of black silk, was a pair of diamond earrings that glittered in the dim light. They caught the light with a cold, perfect shine.
Cautiously, his touched an earring with his index finger—poking it like it was a live specimen and not a piece of delicate jewelry. With that touch, a memory broke loose, his mind transporting him to that moment before he could escape it.
His chest tightened. Those earrings. The ones he’d bought you after forgetting the second year anniversary.
He hadn’t meant to forget. But he always had an excuse on the tip of his tongue: work, something else—something more significant than a date that marked what he had thought was a stable relationship. His mind just never stayed in one place long enough to be present with you. When you’d confronted him, hurt written all over your face, he’d tried to make it up to you. He’d bought you diamonds because he didn’t know how else to apologize.
It was a fake apology.
One that, unfortunately, couldn’t cover the void he’d left in your heart, the countless nights where you had to fill in the emotional space he had refused to occupy.
You’d worn them once, he remembered. The sharp edges of the diamonds gleaming as you smiled weakly at him. But he’d never seen the look on your face then—or perhaps it hadn’t fully registered—the silent resignation that you weren’t about to keep fighting for something that wasn’t real.
He closed the box slowly, and trapped the memory inside, his heart sinking with the weight of it. Another gift that meant nothing.
In that same corner—the corner of memories—there was a stack of shoe boxes. Sukuna assumed they housed more designer heels, but when he opened on of them—
It wasn’t shoes.
It was him.
Not literally, but close enough to make something in his chest tighten before he understood why.
Inside were folded scraps of paper. Ticket stubs. From the many nights where he’d promise to go with you, but he’d always flake at the last minute—until you stopped inviting him altogether—stopped expecting him to show up. Underneath were Polaroids with the corners bent soft from being handled too many times. He could picture your trembling fingers creasing them, like you couldn’t decide whether to keep or get rid of them.
A dried flower pressed flat in the middle like it once mattered enough to preserve. Hydrangeas—Sukuna recalled. Your favorite. He’d read somewhere it symbolized gratitude and apology. You bought them especially during the rainy season, always blue. You’d put them inside the vase, their scent filling the apartment while you prattled on about the legend of the emperor who had gifted them to his beloved. His mouth twitched at the memory, almost instinctively, like he could brush it off the same way he used to.
“Ridiculous,” he’d probably said back then as you recited the story for the umpteenth time with a bright smile on your face.
He could count the times he’d bought them for you in one hand.
Not even a hand—one finger.
Only once.
His fingers hovered over it before he picked it up, careful in a way he didn’t realize he was being careful at all. The petals were brittle—too fragile for pressure, too dull for color—like they’d given up on staying alive. Still, with his sharp vision, he detected a lavender hue before it faded into the browned edges.
He recognized it—this was it—the bouquet he’d bought you—-and he hadn’t even bothered to get the right color.
Not the pale blue that you loved. Not the soft, careful shade you had pointed out many times to drill into his head—as if hinting that you wanted him to buy them. Finally, he had enough of hearing about them and purchased them on a random day while passing the floral shop. He hadn’t cared enough to double check on the color. Just took whatever the florist had handed him, wrapped too neatly in paper he didn’t look twice.
Back then, it hadn’t felt important—just a task he had to cross off his list because work awaited. And work was his top—if not only—priority.
Flowers were flowers.
They grew, they bloomed, they withered.
Just like the love you both shared.
Until this moment, he wasn’t sure why he’d given them to you. Perhaps they were an apology, or maybe it was due to another forgotten anniversary.
He remembered tossing them into your arms with the same ease he did everything else—like making an effort was optional, like meaning could fill itself in later.
You’d smiled anyway—kissed him on the cheek like you wanted to preserve your love onto his skin.
That was the part that should’ve bothered him more than it ever did.
Sukuna exhaled through his nose—low and sharp—like he could cut the feeling out of himself if he did it hard enough.
His grip tightened slightly around the flower, and for a second, thought about crushing it into fine dust.
But he didn’t—he couldn’t bring himself to.
He just stood there, holding yet another version of an apology he’d never properly made—realizing too late, that even when he tried to fix things, he’d never really been looking at what needed fixing.
He stared at the rest of the contents. At things that were too small to be valuable—not unless they carried meaning to whomever kept them.
His fingers twitched for a second as he eyed the next item, pausing midair before he touched anything like the box might bite.
Then, he picked up a random Polaroid.
It was him. Half-captured, unguarded. Not scowling, not smirking—just caught in an everlasting moment where he hadn’t noticed the camera. His eyes were turned away, yet you’d still kept it.
Another photo. Him again. A blur of motion—tousled hair like roseate flames like it had fought with gravity and won—probably taken without him caring enough to stop you.
Sukuna clicked his tongue under his breath, sounding a lot weaker than he meant to. “Tch…”
Except it didn’t sound like annoyance.
It felt like being watched from a place he hadn’t realized you’d been standing all along.
You’d captured him through your eyes.
Chaos and muddled motions.
He dug deeper.
Another movie stub.
A receipt from a nearby café he vaguely remembered you begging him to accompany you to—practically vibrating with excitement as you’d raved about their strawberry cloud matcha—folded carefully like it mattered.
Rain check—he’d texted you. No explanation, no apology.
He opened it, scanning the transaction even though he knew what you had probably ordered—but it was like he wanted a confirmation, proof that he knew you more than you knew yourself, despite never being—
Despite never being a good boyfriend.
Despite never being the kind of man who asked instead of assumed.
His eyes dragged over the faded ink, the numbers illegible, the date stamped on the corner like a quiet accusation. He swallowed, throat closing up, then reread it as if the words might change if he looked hard enough.
A strawberry cloud matcha as expected.
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed.
Not because of the drink itself—he’d seen you order it enough times to remember the stupid name—but because of the number beside it.
2.
Two fucking strawberry cloud matchas.
And below it, a list of baked goods: two slices of strawberry shortcake, two strawberry croissants, two strawberry mochis.
He stared at it longer than he intended, like the total number of items would disappear if he glared at it long enough.
Two.
Two of everything.
His first instinct was simple.
Maybe you bought them for him.
But he already knew the truth before he admitted it to himself.
He didn’t drink matcha.
He had more of a savory tongue than a sweet tooth.
And you knew that.
Could it be—no. No. Impossible.
His thumb pressed on the receipt. He scoffed quietly, folding it back up with unnecessary pressure.
Whatever.
Maybe it was for your friend—Shoko, or whatever her name was. Maybe it was nothing.
He tossed it back into the shoebox and moved on.
But the uneasy feeling stayed lodged in his chest like a splinter.
He skimmed over the other items.
A torn corner of wrapping paper with candle stencils on it. His birthday. The one he’d barely acknowledge. Even before he’d met you, it wasn’t something he thought was worth celebrating.
Not until you had showed up in his life.
Birthday surprises once the clock struck midnight. Meaningful gifts that he’d dismiss as corny—laughing under his breath, rolling his eyes like it was stupid.
But he’d still hold them in his hands a second too long.
He’d stare at them like they were the best thing anyone had ever given him.
Because he didn’t know how to stay thank you—to express his gratitude—without ruining the moment. He didn’t know how to accept love without acting like it was embarrassing—like it was worthless.
But you had noticed. You always noticed.
He blinked at the stuff before him.
Each item was quiet on its own.
Together, they weren’t quiet at all.
They were a pattern.
Proof of effort. Proof of waiting. Proof that you had been building alone longer than he ever noticed.
His hand paused over something softer at the bottom.
A small notebook.
Not yours, not really—one of those cheap ones people buy without thinking. Just a notebook to fill with addresses or contact information—maybe even doodles at the margins.
He opened it.
And for the first time he’d stepped into the apartment, Sukuna didn’t have something clever to say in his head.
Just your handwriting. Boxed characters, impatient slants, the occasional scribble where you’d crossed something out and rewritten it like you didn’t trust your own feelings to be correct the first time.
Short lines. Dates. Moments.
Not dramatic. Not poetic.
Just honest—unfiltered, unapologetic.
He started from the beginning.
Sukuna secretly loves that I call him Suki.
He let out of a huff of air from his nostrils—harsh, amused, the closest thing to a laugh he ever allowed himself. He remembered the first time you’d called him that.
It had slipped out so easily—so effortlessly—like you didn’t realize you were playing with fire.
“Suki.”
He’d turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing like you’d just insulted him.
“What the hell did you just call me?”
You hadn’t even flinched. Just smiled—sweet, smug—like you’d already decided you belonged in his space.
“You heard me,” you’d said, tilting your head. “Suki.”
He remembered the way irritation had flashed through him, hot and immediate, because no one dared to shorten his name. No one softened him down into something cute. Something harmless.
He’d grabbed your wrist then—not rough, but not exactly gentle either—just enough to remind you who you were talking to.
“Don’t call me that.”
You’d blinked up at him, eyes wide and innocent in a way that wasn’t innocent at all. “But it suits you…”
He should’ve shut it down—should’ve made you stop.
Instead, something strange curled into his chest—something warm and familiar, something that made him want to keep you closer just to hear you say it again.
And the worst part?
He’d never corrected you after that.
Sukuna flipped the page, skipping a couple of pages with silly drawings. For a second, he appreciated them—cherished this side of you. This childish, playful side that made him realize that life shouldn’t always be so serious.
He paused, his finger lingering on a crude drawing of a cartoon version of him—bold, exaggerated features, sharp fangs and crimson eyes and pinkish spikes—a jagged crown with a blood-red ruby perched on top of his head. You’d drawn him like that once you were sitting next to him on the couch, laughing as you scribbled with crayons and markers like some big kid, saying he looked like an “evil king who needed a good hug.”
It had been the first time he’d genuinely laughed at something that wasn’t a mocking snicker or an arrogant grin. He’d actually laughed with you. And it felt…easy. Comfortable.
For a moment, he wondered why he hadn’t let the moment mean more, why he hadn’t let that version of himself—that version—stay longer. But then the thought left as quickly as it came.
Sukuna turned the pages, catching pieces of your thoughts—thoughts you had tried again and again to share with him, only to have them swallowed by a boundary he’d built between you.
Not a wall, exactly.
A distance.
A quiet refusal to meet you where you stood.
He kissed me today. I think he meant it.
Sukuna’s throat tightened even more, like someone had secured a zip tie around it.
He kept reading.
He laughed at something I said. It felt…warm.
More notes, each one like a stab to the heart.
He didn’t come today. I said it was fine.
He laughed when I tried to explain it.
I wish he’d look at me when I’m talking.
I think I’m starting to stop expecting—
The last line wasn’t finished properly.
Just a sentence cut off like you couldn’t be bothered to finish what he already refused to understand.
But then he quickly turned the page, as if searching for the other half of this incomplete thought.
Maybe I’m asking for too much.
And he didn’t know why, but the pain in his chest grew unbearable.
Because you weren’t asking for too much.
You were asking the wrong man.
Sukuna remained in that same position, unmoving.
The box still open.
The room still silent.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was sifting through your things.
It felt like he was standing inside everything he never paid attention to—until it had already stopped being his to notice.
Blank pages after that. No more thoughts, no more entries—no more reminders. Because that was they seemed to him. Reminders of why you should walk away. Reminders of why you should give up on him.
But halfway through flipping, he found a loose page, folded and tucked randomly inside, like it wanted to be hidden and discovered at the same time.
Baby Suki Ryoumen Sukuna,
I don’t know why I’m writing this instead of saying it to your face. Maybe because I’ve tried and you look at me like I’m asking for too much.
You always act like love is something childish. Something embarrassing. Something worthless. Something beneath you.
But I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.
I’ve seen it.
I’ve seen how you soften for a second and then shut it down like it’s a weakness. Like you’re ashamed of it.
Sukuna scoffed, rolling his eyes—ignoring that sharp pang in his chest, and how it just kept fucking probing, probing, probing.
And I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
I’m tired of loving you quietly. I’m tired of having to translate your silence into something I can survive or else I’ll lose my mind.
His eyes started to sting, but he blinked the burn away. Annoyed.
You don’t say sorry. You just buy things.
You don’t talk. You just touch me, not mentally, not emotionally…just physically.
You don’t comfort me. You pull me closer like it’s supposed to fix everything.
And I let you.
Because I love you in a way that makes me feel stupid.
I keep lying to telling myself that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m not asking you to change who you are.
I’m just asking you to let me in.
Just once.
You need to understand:
I don’t need flowers.
I don’t need earrings.
I don’t need anything expensive.
I want you to look at me and mean it when you say you want me.
I need you to care when I’m hurting, to actually show it and not give me a dismissive reaction.
I need you to stop treating love like it’s something you can throw away and pick back up whenever you feel like it.
Because I can’t keep doing this, Sukuna.
I can’t keep waiting for the version of you that only shows up when you think you’re losing me.
And maybe…maybe I should’ve lieft sooner.
Because there’s something that I kept from you.
Sukuna paused, the ground tilting beneath his feet, his entire world in disequilibrium, and he couldn’t find the balance to stand upright. He had to take a break. His hands shook slightly as he set the letter down, as if it might burn him if he held it any longer.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
This was not how he imagined it.
A 6’5 man with the scariest demeanor, who got into bar fights like it was a sport…was scared.
He felt terrified of what was on the other side of this paper.
His chest constricted, his breathing shallow. He didn’t know what do with this knot in his stomach. Anger clawed at him, ready to push the fear aside, but it didn’t work. It never worked when it came to you.
For the first time in years, he felt something there than the rage he used to fuel him.
He ran a hand over his face, fingers cold against his skin like that could wipe away the pain. His jaw flexed. Hard. Teeth grinding.
Why the fuck am I like this?
He let out a frustrated breath. His hand clenched around the letter—knuckles turning white—crumpling it slightly. No. He couldn’t get weak now. He wasn’t going to break.
Not now, not ever.
With a determined effort, he flipped the page over, and continued reading:
I was pregnant.
The words scrambled and unscrambled like a code that didn’t want to be deciphered.
I was pregnant.
Was.
Was.
Was.
A sound tore out of him—something strangled, sharp. And then his mind betrayed him.
Another flashback—uninvited, vivid.
You were curled up beside him on the bed, the blanket half kicked off, like you couldn’t decide if you were hot or cold, so you had to compromise. The bedroom TV was playing in the background—some stupid show that he hadn’t been paying attention to. You’d been quieter than usual, playing with the edge of the blanket like you were rehearsing something.
“Sukuna,” you’d said softly.
He hadn’t answer at first.
“Baby?” You’d murmured, reaching for his shoulder, Your fingers slid over the muscle slowly, gentle, careful—like you were approaching something that wasn’t easily tamed.
But Sukuna had shrugged off your touch without even thinking.
Not because you’d done anything wrong.
Because his mind was already elsewhere—still simmering over a bad investment, a phone call that hadn’t gone his way, numbers that refused to bend.
Your hand hovered for a second betore retreating.
“I have a question…” You’d said, too quietly—disheartened.
“Speak,” he’d ordered—jaw tight—eyes still on the TV screen.
“If we ever had kids…” You started, almost laughing like it was a joke. Like you were trying to make it easier on yourself. “What do you think they’d look like?”
He remembered the way you’d smiled when you asked. Nervous. Hopeful.
He remembered answering even without turning his head, like making eye contact with you was a tedious chore.
But he’d done so, angled his head just a tiny fraction as if to make sure you’d engrave his answer into your skull. “I don’t want any.”
Simple. Final. Cold.
It was a decision he’d barely made any effort to ponder over.
The smile on your face had faltered, the colors of the screen reflecting on your skin—but you’d recovered fast—too fast.
“Like…for now?” You asked, your voice sounding smaller.
His eyes returned to the TV, teeth gritted, expression bored—like the conversation was an inconvenience. “At all.”
“Oh,” you’d said lightly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
A lie. He could see it now. He could see it so clearly it made him sick.
You’d leaned into him anyway, like you could bury the disappointment somewhere he wouldn’t notice.
And he hadn’t noticed.
Or maybe he hadn’t cared enough to stop it.
He was staring at the letter like it was a corpse in his hands. The memory hit him with a punch to the gut because it proved how you’d tried to test the waters, and he had shut the door.
“Well, that explains the two strawberry matchas,” Sukuna said, relief filling his lungs because a part of him had assumed the worst, that you’d found someone else worth your time, someone who prioritized you. But deep down, he knew, if you’d cheated on him, he wouldn’t’ve handled it well.
Being pregnant was—in a way—a blessing.
A blessing he was robbed of witnessing.
I found out and I sat on the cold bathroom floor with the test in my shaking hands, staring at the two lines. Staring at them until my vision blurred and all I saw was lines, lines, lines. Then, I waited. Waited for fear, for panic, for something ugly—but it never came. I only felt quiet warmth spread through my chest. Something soft. Something hopeful.
And then I thought of you.
I thought of telling you. Thought of the way you’d look at me—confused, irritated, like I’d ruined your day by needing you. Like I’m an inconvenience that you want to get rid of.
I thought of how alone I already felt standing beside you.
And I realized I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t bring a child into a love that already felt like begging.
So I ended it.
So I ended it.
The blood in his veins ran cold.
A new sound left him. A growl. Or it could’ve been something else—a sound foreign to him. A sound that signified something breaking. Something deep within him he’d buried so long ago, he hadn’t even remembered it was there until now.
He blinked—once, twice—in hopes the sentence would blend with the white sheet and disappear.
He reread it again and again, his mind working through ways to rewrite history—to rewrite the painful past into something delicate. Into something that belonged in some ordinary love letter instead of his destructive hands.
“No,” Sukuna muttered, but the word had no strength behind it.
His eyes flicked to the top of the page.
A date.
His mind started counting without permission.
Months.
Weeks.
Days.
Nights.
Every gulp was razor-sharp, slicing his throat until he tasted the metallic remnants of blood.
When?
When did it happen?
His eyes dropped back to words, but they blurred, the ink swimming as if the paper itself was mocking him. He blinked even harder, furious, his hand wiping his face again like it was sweat.
He couldn’t read anymore.
Not like this.
Not without knowing.
Sukuna threw the letter and notebook on the floor, mind in a haze. He stumbled to the closet, feet leadened, steps heavy.
His pulse hammered so violently it felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest.
No.
No, this was—this was ridiculous.
His eyes scanned the tower of boxes, hands moving without thought.
Shoeboxes toppled. Another scarf slipped from the hanger and floated to the floor like a dying thing. He didn’t care.
He tore through the clutter like a man looking for a weapon. Clothes flew over his shoulders as he tossed them away, creating a mountain of fabric. More receipts fluttered out of a bag like ribbons inked with reckless purchases. A bundle of hair ties fell that you’d used to decorate your hair, somehow they’d always complement your loud and colorful outfits.
A stupid little Polaroid that landed face-up on the carpet—your smile caught mid-laugh, soft and bright.
Sukuna’s stomach churned.
He stepped on it.
He didn’t mean to.
Or maybe he did.
His breath came out harsher. Faster. Like he was being hunted by the past, present, and future.
His fingers caught on the edge of an envelope wedged between two boxes.
Torn in haste—ripped open like you couldn’t wait—like you wanted to get it over with. Just like a bandaid.
He remembered how you always did it. Pulled it straight off, wincing as if it hurt more than it did, then looked up at him with wide eyes and asked him to kiss it, soft and careful, like you were a kid with a scraped knee.
The memory latched onto him, heightening the ache that had nothing to do with wounds.
He snatched it out—quick and easy—wishing you were here to kiss away the pain.
The paper inside was folded and folded and folded into a tiny square, like the sole purpose had been to make it nonexistent.
To shrink it down until it could fit into the smallest corner of your life.
Until it could be hidden.
Forgotten.
Erased.
Sukuna let the moment stretch, pulse roaring in his ear like a lion fighting for his territory. His fingers hesitated—cautious now, almost reverent—as he began unfolding it.
Each crease resisted.
Each layer revealed another.
Like peeling back something you’d tried desperately to bury.
And when the last fold finally opened, an image stared back at him. Black-and-white. Clinical. Grainy. A small shape suspended in static, unreal and yet horrifyingly real. A piece of you and him, combined mass of cells—forming into something…into someone. The clinic’s name was stamped at the top, the date printed neatly in the corner with bold, taunting numbers.
His eyes locked onto it.
Seven weeks.
And suddenly, his tongue felt too big in his mouth, and even when he moved it around, it couldn’t settle—just scraped against his serrated teeth, his tender gums, the ridged roof of his mouth—like he could grind the feeling away. It was like an invasive check-up at a dentist—being poked and prodded with pointy tools, gums aching, jaw locked, forced to endure it while someone dug around for something rotten.
The memory came to him like a strike to the ribs.
He remembered it wrong at first.
Or maybe his mind tried to as a form of protection, his usual coping mechanism where he would numb his senses. He’d done it enough times to where it became habitual—the go-to response.
Because the truth was too ugly to hold.
It came back to him in fragments—warmth, skin, the dim light of the room, the muffled patters of rain against the window. He had you pressed beneath him, your legs locked around his waist, your breath coming apart in little, helpless sounds. His hands settled on your hips—large, calloused, rough—dimpling your soft curves. Not cruel, not gentle either. Just Sukuna. Possessive in the ways he always was, like your body was the only thing in the world that listened to him.
You’d tried to move, restless, impatient, but he hadn’t budged.
He’d held you there, anchoring you in place—cock snug inside your heat, girth stretching your puffy folds apart, blunt head nudging that aching spot inside you. He was forcing you feel him, every slick inch that pulsed and throbbed.
Heat radiated from your skin in vehement waves, mouth grazing your sweat-slicked neck as if he was tasting the moment, dragging it out until it bordered on torture. Not because he’d wanted to hurt you—but because he liked knowing you’d wanted more.
Because he liked knowing you’d fall apart if he decided to stop.
You’d made a sound—soft, frustrated—and he’d let out a low exhale that could’ve been a laugh.
“Don’t squirm,” Sukuna had rumbled, his voice a sonorous sound that seemed to from his chest—dominant, authoritative—deep enough to rule empires and witness the downfall of enemies. “You can wait, can’t you? Don’t tell me that my business trip had softened you into this impatient, pathetic woman who can’t wait take my cock.”
You’d gone still beneath him like the words had slapped you.
Your lashes fluttered, mouth parting in quiet offense—eyes narrowing as if you were about to fight back.
But your body betrayed you.
A soft sound escaped you anyway, breathy and titillating, and Sukuna remembered the way heat rushed up to your face, coloring your cheeks. You’d tried to glare at him—tried to look angry, tried to look proud—but it hadn’t landed.
Not when you were trembling like that.
Not when your hands had tightened on him instead of pushing him away.
“Sukuna…” You’d whispered, voice cracking on his name like you hated how much you wanted him.
He remembered the way you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, forcing some fragile defiance into your expression.
“Move…” You’d breathed—borderline whining, voice trembling between the edges of patience and need. “Please…baby…move.”
Sukuna had tilted his head, slow, deliberate, a sneer tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What’s that?” He’d murmured, low and mocking. “I can’t hear you.”
Your eyes widened, lips moving as if you’d wanted to say more but couldn’t. The red tint on your cheeks had spread to your ears, humiliation and want blending into something raw and messy.
And even with your pleading tone, Sukuna hadn’t obliged. Hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Instead he’d bent his head down, watching your composure crumble, your defiance falter.
“Say it properly,” he’d chided, voice dark, amused, as though it pained him to be entertained by your weakness. “I know you can do better than that.”
Your nails had raked his shoulders, scratching like they way you’d scratched off the words you’d wanted unsaid but you’d wrote them down anyway. “Please…Sukuna…move,” you’d whispered again, barely audible.
The gleam that crossed his eyes then was dark, hungry, satisfied—like he’d finally gotten what he wanted. He liked seeing you like this—wet, vulnerable, needy.
“Good,” he’d replied, pleased with your answer, his lips tenderly brushing your ear, gently nipping it with his teeth, almost fondly, though it had disgusted him to show affection. But in rare occasions, he couldn’t restrain himself. “Impatient brat.”
You hadn’t retaliated, not with words. Not when he’d expertly stolen them away from you the same way he stole everything else: with pressure, with proximity, with the overwhelming insistence of his presence.
You’d only clung tighter.
When he’d finally moved, the first shift of his hips pulled a low growl from his chest—something rough and instinctive, like restraint snapping. He’d drawn back only slightly, just enough to make you chase the feeling, just enough for you to arch toward him like you’d always did—desperate, like you couldn’t bear the familiar hollow his absence left behind. Then, he’d eased forward again, slow and deliberate, feeding you inch-by-inch, grunting as your warm cunt fully sheathed him.
“S’kuna,” you’d keened, sounding like music to his ears, hips bucking up as if to aid with his lazy and unhurried strokes.
He’d set a pace that was agonizingly slow, a languid drag that had him feeling every groove of your walls. Every thrust that had followed was made to engrave his cock inside so you wouldn’t forget—the obscene sound of your pussy squelching as shared arousal slicked his length filled every space of the room. He could never erase the intensity he’d felt, how your walls tightened around him, pulsing with desperation that drove him to the edge.
He’d fucked into you, cataloging the wrecked noises that had escaped you—thin, reedy and ruined—proof that he’d stripped you of every sharp words you’d meant to throw at him. His crimson flicked down at you, flames hunger and possession burning into them as he slammed into you, harder, faster, unrelenting.
You’d cried out, body curving against him, legs trembling around his waist. “Sukuna—please—I can’t—”
He’d cut you off with another brutal thrust, lips grazing your neck, biting down just enough to make you shudder. “You’ll take it,” he’d growled, hips snapping with punishing precision. “Isn’t that what you begged me for? For me to move? Wasn’t your pussy being needy, wanting to be fucked?” He’d punctuated his taunting with another rough, the base of his cock grinding on your swollen clit. A hand had reached between your thighs, his fingers moving in cruel circles, counter-clockwise motions that had you writhing—a helpless thing he loved to control.
He’d felt your body convulse as release tore through you, a broken cry ripping from your throat. Your cunt palpitating around him, dragging him deeper, setting every nerve on fire as his own climax had begun cresting.
Sukuna’s rhythm had faltered, his smirk twisting into something wicked, hungrier. With a guttural growl, he’d thrusted into you one final time, burying his cock completely as his release had spilled inside you. His body had shuddered against yours, low groans escaping his throat, his grip on yours hips bruising, claiming you fully.
You had your head angled sideways, damp hair stuck to the column of your jaw. You had been avoiding his gaze, letting the pillow absorb your cries instead.
“Look at me,” he’d commanded, voice hoarse.
He remembered you Tilting your face up, lashes moist, mouth separated, eyes shining too much.
Sukuna had paused for half a second.
Something slid down the side of your face, he’d seen it even under the faint glow emitting from the lamp, disappearing into your hair.
He’d frowned, lips curling downward. “What the hell is that?”
He’d craned his neck closer, nose grazing the length of yours, and his thumb had swiped under your eye.
Wet.
For a long moment, the only sounds had been the exchange of ragged breaths and the fading creak of the bed beneath the both of you. He’d finally dropped his forehead against yours, lips hovering just shy of a tender kiss, his crimson eyes had remained locked on your face.
His eyes narrowing, confused, unsettled by something so small. “Didn’t enjoy it?” He’d murmured into your skin, voice gruff, half-mocking.
You’d nodded too fast—too eager—like an obedient pet.
“I did,” you’d whispered.
But another tear slipped free anyway, disappearing into your hairline like you were trying to hide it from him.
Then you’d pulled him even closer, like you could drown the emotion in something physical. Like if you’d held him tight enough, he’d become real. Like he’d become yours in the way you needed.
He remembered your lips by his ear, your breath shaking, your hands sinking in his hair.
“I love you,” you’d said, bleary-eyed and smiling.
So softly it barely counted as a sound.
And in his mind—God, in his mind—he heard himself answer.
I love you, too.
He heard it clear as day. Heard himself say it like it was easy. Like it wasn’t something that could split a man open.
For a moment, the memory softened. Became kinder.
A version of him that had deserved you.
A version of him that had given you what you begged for without ever having to ask.
But then reality had corrected itself.
Violently.
He hadn’t even looked at you.
He remembered it now—the tremor beneath his jaw, the way he’d exhaled through his nose like the words annoyed him. Like they were meaningless.
He remembered how he’d kissed you harder instead.
Not because he wanted to reassure you.
But because he didn’t know what else to do with tenderness except smother it.
He remembered the way you’d went quiet after that.
Still clinging.
Still letting him have you.
Still loving him into a silence that never loved you back out loud.
And Sukuna’s stomach turned as he stood in the closet, sonogram trembling in his hand.
Because if he had said it back…
If he had just said it—three words, three syllables, eight fucking letters—maybe you would’ve told him.
Maybe you wouldn’t have folded that paper into nothingness and tried to pretend you weren’t carrying something that could’ve changed everything.
Maybe you wouldn’t have been alone.
But he didn’t.
And now his brain was trying to rewrite history like it could save him from the fact that the only time you’d ever needed him the most…he’d been right there—within reach.
And still not truly there at all.
Sukuna’s eyes fixated on the black-and-white blur until it stopped looking like ink and started looking like a ghost. His thumb dragged over the print date again, like he could rub it away.
But the numbers stayed.
The proof stayed.
His throat burned. He forced an exhale, sharp and uneven, the folded the sonogram back with stiff fingers—using the creases you’d left behind as reference. Carefully. Like he was afraid that if he tore it, whatever had existed would disappear all over again.
His gaze drifted down.
The letter was still on the floor.
He didn’t want to read the rest.
He already knew what was coming. He could feel it in the way his chest kept tightening, in the way his stomach twisted like instinct was warning him.
But he picked it up anyway.
Because he deserved to know.
Because you deserved to be heard—at least once.
I did it by myself. I signed the papers by myself. I went home by myself.
And the worst part is…I still missed you.
Even then, I still wanted you.
I still wanted your hand in mine.
I still wanted you to tell me it was going to be okay.
But you weren’t there.
And I couldn’t keep pretending that you would be.
I don’t hate you.
I don’t think I ever could.
But I’m starting to hate myself for how much I’ve been willing to accept.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
I still love you. I think I always will…
But love shouldn’t feel like drowning.
So if this is the last time you ever hear it from me—
I loved you.
I loved you even when you made it hard.
I loved you even when you didn’t know how to love me back.
And I forgive you, Sukuna.
But I can’t stay.
Goodbye.
His vision distorted, the room tilting slightly as the rest of your words etched themselves into him.
I did it by myself. I signed the papers by myself. I sat in the clinic by myself.
His hand flew to his mouth, but it didn’t stop anything. It didn’t delay what he’d been running from for years.
I loved you.
The sob broke out of him like a fracture, and he crouched down, as if he could make himself smaller. His emotions smaller. Condensed.
Goodbye.
A sound that didn’t belong to the man he thought he was.
He’d been in fights. He’d bled. He’d been hit hard enough to see stars. He’d been punched and kicked and thrown until his skin had bruised in galaxy-like shades. But he’d survived it all.
Except for this.
Nothing had ever brought him to his knees like a sentence written in your handwriting. He left all your written evidence by his feet, refusing to touch any part of you.
His body folded forward before he could stop it, elbows pressing into his thighs, head dropping like the weight of it was too much to hold upright.
The tears didn’t fall neatly.
They poured in fat drops.
Hot and relentless, slipping down his face, dripping off his chin, soaking the paper until the ink began to smudge. He wondered if you’d done the same thing, cried while you spilled your emotions on paper. And he realized that he could almost see the ghost of your tears staining the words, but they had long dried.
He tried to wipe them way, furious—furious at himself, at you, at the universe, at whatever cruel joke this was.
But the kept coming.
Because this wasn’t just heartbreak.
This was grief.
And Sukuna finally understood something he should’ve understood a long time ago:
You hadn’t just left him.
You’d survived him.
You’d given up on fighting and battling someone who had never tasted bitter loss. Someone who had always prided himself on being a winner.
Even his own parents had given up on him, why would he expect for you to not?
But the only difference between you and his parents was that you’d stuck around a little longer.
Sukuna was crying like someone whose body had been holding it for years. Years of pent-up hurt. Years of silent suffering. He was so angry. So fucking angry. At what? His fucked up childhood? At how he’d never recognize the faces of his parents if he’d ever ran into them in public?
At the world for never letting him have the power he thought he deserved?
He didn’t even know anymore.
But what he did know you was you were the one person had been there. Who had tried to sand down his sharp edges. Who had tried to shape him into someone worthy of being loved.
His chest heaved, breath tearing in and out of him like something feral. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, frustrated at the wetness, at the weakness, at the way his body wouldn’t listen.
Pathetic.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control himself.
But control had already left him.
His fist tightened, fingers curling into his palm—until something hard pressed against his knuckles from inside his pocket.
Sukuna straightened.
Brows furrowed, as if confused by his own body.
Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out.
A small velvet box.
Black.
Perfectly intact unlike the current condition of his heart.
For a minute, he just looked at it like it didn’t belong to him. Like it was this foreign object he’d never seen before. Like it had appeared there by mistake.
He’d forgotten about it.
Then his thumb brushed the edge, familiar.
He remembered buying it.
Before the breakup.
Before the secrets.
Before your heart had caught up to your mind and he’d returned to an almost vacant apartment. Half your things gone—with the exception of all the hidden clues you’d left for him—shards of your broken heart, tiny souvenirs he should’ve glued back together and treasured.
Clues he’d never had the courage to sift through for months after the gut-wrenching breakup.
He ran his thumb over the box again as if to make sure it was still there—concrete evidence of a promise he’d made to himself—thinking he had all the time in the world.
He hadn’t bought it on a whim. And not because you or anyone else had pressured him.
He’d bought it because he’d looked at you one night—hair messy, wearing his shirt, barefoot in the kitchen—and something in his chest had tightened in a way he couldn’t explain.
He’d thought: Yeah. You.
Eventually.
Just not now.
There was always something else first. A deal. A fight. A distraction. A reason.
Again, he’d always reassured himself that there was time.
Sukuna’s hands trembled as he opened the box.
The diamond caught the dim light of the apartment, sharp and merciless. It glittered in rainbow colors like it was making fun of him.
Like it was laughing.
His breath hitched again, broken.
Because it was confirmation.
Confirmation that in his head, you had already been his wife.
That he had already chosen you.
He just never said it out loud.
Never made it real.
And now the ring sat in his hand—cold, useless, too late.
Sukuna peered at it until his vision muddled again.
And the he let out a sound that didn’t resemble a laugh at all.
Just grief.
Raw and humiliating.
Because he finally had everything he’d meant to give you—and no one left to give it to.
The diamond drowned in the fresh film of tears on waterline, blurring into a lackluster shimmer of light.
Sukuna shut the box with a sharp click.
His breathing was still irregular, chest going up and down, throat raw—but the sobbing stopped. Or maybe he forced it to. Maybe he strangled it back down where it belonged.
He arose slowly, legs unsteady—knees almost buckling from the weight of all he’d allowed himself to feel.
The apartment still felt too quiet. Too empty. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for him to leave.
Sukuna returned the ring inside the box and slipped it into his pocket.
Then he reached for his keys.
Metal teeth bit into his palm—grounding him.
His jaw hardened.
He wasn’t the type of man who begged.
He wasn’t the type of man who apologized.
But he was the type of man who took what was his.
And you—you had been his, long before you ever realized it.
Sukuna glanced once at the open pages on the floor—rustling like an invisible force was reading through it—your handwriting, your truth, your pain.
You’d given up on him, but that didn’t mean he should give up on you. He shouldn’t be here, throwing a pity-party for one, waiting for the cake to come and to blow out the candle for a wish.
For your return.
And just like that, his decision was made, his feet already moving before his mind formed a thousand excuses for him to shut the closet door and leave the past as it was—damaged, irreparable.
More footsteps and he was at the door.
Eyes still wet.
Heart still beating.
But his voice was steady when he muttered to himself, “…I’m not letting you go.”
And this time, he meant it.
an: happy belated Mother’s Day to all you moms out there, the moms-to-be and single moms, you’re all killing it out there and you’re all very much appreciated! and happy Mother’s Day especially to my fav MILF-to-be @iamsoclone this one’s for you! 🩷
꒰unrequited꒱ friend!gojo just can't tell you how he feels
꩜ angst; pining; unrequited feelings (maybe)
It wasn't easy, not being someone's first love.
To know that when he had met you, on that one fateful night that had changed the complete course of Satoru's life, you had been crying over someone else.
It wasn't until much later that this particular fact would become an uncomfortable itch; always present, always painful. Growing stronger day by day, an incessant rash he couldn't find relief from.
No, that night, it didn't even register. Satoru had just laid his blue eyes upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and all else had faded away.
For all he cared, it seemed like somebody else's bad day was his lucky one – even while you explained through rushing tears the whole story that had led to your very recent break up, all Satoru could hear was that you were single.
Maybe that made him an asshole, but he didn't care. He was too drunk to care that night.
And you clearly had been drinking too, drowning your sorrow in cheap alcohol, served at some random house party you had been invited to. You wanted a distraction, something to make you forget, you kept saying.
So Satoru sat with you all night. Listening, trying to make you laugh, as the rest of the party raged on behind you, the noise barely registering. Just completely hypnotized by you. Wondering how your lipstick tasted, and noting how good your smile made him feel.
He wanted to kiss you, desperately, but he didn't – why the hell didn't he?
Because now, here he was, in a position he never thought he'd find himself in.
Satoru Gojo was in love.
That was terrifying.
That night, he called you a ride home and got in with you when you asked him to. Satoru helped you up the stairs, made sure you were tucked in bed with a cold glass of water on the nightstand for the morning, and then he left.
Not even a goodbye kiss, not even a number exchanged. He just wanted to make sure the pretty girl at that party made it home safe.
Imagine his surprise when you called the next day. Apparently had even messaged everyone at that party asking about the kind tall guy with white hair, until someone gave you his number.
And Satoru cringed at himself for how his heart leapt out of his chest hearing your voice through the speaker.
Truth was, even if both of you had been sober, Satoru sensed something that night that he knew he was better off staying away from. He should have kept it that way, spent the rest of his life wondering what if.
But now?
Now he was sitting next to you on your sofa, watching a movie he was barely paying attention to. Every time you moved your thighs touched, and Satoru felt like a fucking teenager again. This movie night thing had even been his idea, just an excuse to meet you now that the two of you were getting closer.
You texted almost every day. Went for coffee sometimes. Hell, he even started running so he could see you more often, suggesting you two join the local club.
Little by little, you opened up to him. Trusted him. And somewhere along the way, Satoru had fallen completely, desperately, deliriously in love with you. And you had found a best friend.
How the hell Satoru Gojo got friend zoned he didn't know, but his inability to just tell you his feelings might have something to do with it.
But every time he considered it, Satoru remembered that night. How you had cried to a stranger at a party because you felt so fucking alone.
It wasn't just that he was jealous you had loved someone already. Sure, that didn't help, but the truth is… Satoru couldn't bring himself to live with the fact that, if he did tell you his feelings and somehow you agreed to date him, then, one day, it could be him you were telling a stranger about.
The thought of breaking your heart pained him more than the possibility of never knowing the way that damn lipstick tasted.
Because he knew what that looked like already.
And he couldn't bring himself to be the reason for it.
after a painful breakup, Sukuna finds himself alone with your things, finally forced to confront the wreckage of the relationship. as he sorts through memories, he stumbles upon a letter you wrote him—a letter he never bothered to read, dismissing it as sentimental nonsense. but when he finally does, it starts to feel like something else entirely—like a reckoning. with every line, the past resurfaces, and with it, Sukuna’s buried emotions. tags/warnings: failed relationship, mentions of abortion, angst, some smut (flashback).
The apartment felt bigger without your voice in it.
Sukuna didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He didn’t need to. The late afternoon sun bled through the blinds in dull, gold stripes, cutting across the boards like prison bars.
He knelt beside the half-open closet with a cardboard box at his side, tossing things into it with the same indifference he’d used when you would tell him anything that remotely excited you.
Everything he saw, he threw in the box like it was chore—mechanically, brain never pausing long enough to register what his fingers curled around.
A scarf—vermillion silk, obnoxiously red. His kind of red. The color of his eyes, and the dried blood on the corner of his mouth after a vicious bar fight.
Then—heels, heels, heels.
You collected heels like you were set to walk on a runway show. He never paid much attention to them before—why would he? They were just shoes. But now? They almost felt like a declaration. Like each click against the floor was you strutting away from him, step by step.
Further and further.
Runway…funny. He’d always thought of you as the one who stayed. But now, he realized you had run away, and never looked back.
He scoffed, shaking his head before he paused.
Just a quick break—eyes flicking to the window, watchful and narrowed into suspicious slits.
More apartment complexes, boxed glass showing snippets of strangers’ lives: a couple making out as they made dinner, an old man reading a book, a single mother juggling her toddlers—their muffled laughter somehow infiltrating the apartment. It was like watching a live movie, but right now, nothing could be as dramatic as a man scavenging through his ex’s previously-prized possessions.
A pigeon flew by and perched on a balcony’s railing as if taking a break.
Just like him.
As Sukuna continued sorting through your things, his fingers brushed over a small velvet box at the bottom of the closet, pushed to the back like something unworthy of remembering. He pulled it out, studying the worn corners, how the fabric frayed slightly at the edges. He paused, staring at it before opening it with a quiet snap.
Inside, nestled on a bed of black silk, was a pair of diamond earrings that glittered in the dim light. They caught the light with a cold, perfect shine.
Cautiously, his touched an earring with his index finger—poking it like it was a live specimen and not a piece of delicate jewelry. With that touch, a memory broke loose, his mind transporting him to that moment before he could escape it.
His chest tightened. Those earrings. The ones he’d bought you after forgetting the second year anniversary.
He hadn’t meant to forget. But he always had an excuse on the tip of his tongue: work, something else—something more significant than a date that marked what he had thought was a stable relationship. His mind just never stayed in one place long enough to be present with you. When you’d confronted him, hurt written all over your face, he’d tried to make it up to you. He’d bought you diamonds because he didn’t know how else to apologize.
It was a fake apology.
One that, unfortunately, couldn’t cover the void he’d left in your heart, the countless nights where you had to fill in the emotional space he had refused to occupy.
You’d worn them once, he remembered. The sharp edges of the diamonds gleaming as you smiled weakly at him. But he’d never seen the look on your face then—or perhaps it hadn’t fully registered—the silent resignation that you weren’t about to keep fighting for something that wasn’t real.
He closed the box slowly, and trapped the memory inside, his heart sinking with the weight of it. Another gift that meant nothing.
In that same corner—the corner of memories—there was a stack of shoe boxes. Sukuna assumed they housed more designer heels, but when he opened on of them—
It wasn’t shoes.
It was him.
Not literally, but close enough to make something in his chest tighten before he understood why.
Inside were folded scraps of paper. Ticket stubs. From the many nights where he’d promise to go with you, but he’d always flake at the last minute—until you stopped inviting him altogether—stopped expecting him to show up. Underneath were Polaroids with the corners bent soft from being handled too many times. He could picture your trembling fingers creasing them, like you couldn’t decide whether to keep or get rid of them.
A dried flower pressed flat in the middle like it once mattered enough to preserve. Hydrangeas—Sukuna recalled. Your favorite. He’d read somewhere it symbolized gratitude and apology. You bought them especially during the rainy season, always blue. You’d put them inside the vase, their scent filling the apartment while you prattled on about the legend of the emperor who had gifted them to his beloved. His mouth twitched at the memory, almost instinctively, like he could brush it off the same way he used to.
“Ridiculous,” he’d probably said back then as you recited the story for the umpteenth time with a bright smile on your face.
He could count the times he’d bought them for you in one hand.
Not even a hand—one finger.
Only once.
His fingers hovered over it before he picked it up, careful in a way he didn’t realize he was being careful at all. The petals were brittle—too fragile for pressure, too dull for color—like they’d given up on staying alive. Still, with his sharp vision, he detected a lavender hue before it faded into the browned edges.
He recognized it—this was it—the bouquet he’d bought you—-and he hadn’t even bothered to get the right color.
Not the pale blue that you loved. Not the soft, careful shade you had pointed out many times to drill into his head—as if hinting that you wanted him to buy them. Finally, he had enough of hearing about them and purchased them on a random day while passing the floral shop. He hadn’t cared enough to double check on the color. Just took whatever the florist had handed him, wrapped too neatly in paper he didn’t look twice.
Back then, it hadn’t felt important—just a task he had to cross off his list because work awaited. And work was his top—if not only—priority.
Flowers were flowers.
They grew, they bloomed, they withered.
Just like the love you both shared.
Until this moment, he wasn’t sure why he’d given them to you. Perhaps they were an apology, or maybe it was due to another forgotten anniversary.
He remembered tossing them into your arms with the same ease he did everything else—like making an effort was optional, like meaning could fill itself in later.
You’d smiled anyway—kissed him on the cheek like you wanted to preserve your love onto his skin.
That was the part that should’ve bothered him more than it ever did.
Sukuna exhaled through his nose—low and sharp—like he could cut the feeling out of himself if he did it hard enough.
His grip tightened slightly around the flower, and for a second, thought about crushing it into fine dust.
But he didn’t—he couldn’t bring himself to.
He just stood there, holding yet another version of an apology he’d never properly made—realizing too late, that even when he tried to fix things, he’d never really been looking at what needed fixing.
He stared at the rest of the contents. At things that were too small to be valuable—not unless they carried meaning to whomever kept them.
His fingers twitched for a second as he eyed the next item, pausing midair before he touched anything like the box might bite.
Then, he picked up a random Polaroid.
It was him. Half-captured, unguarded. Not scowling, not smirking—just caught in an everlasting moment where he hadn’t noticed the camera. His eyes were turned away, yet you’d still kept it.
Another photo. Him again. A blur of motion—tousled hair like roseate flames like it had fought with gravity and won—probably taken without him caring enough to stop you.
Sukuna clicked his tongue under his breath, sounding a lot weaker than he meant to. “Tch…”
Except it didn’t sound like annoyance.
It felt like being watched from a place he hadn’t realized you’d been standing all along.
You’d captured him through your eyes.
Chaos and muddled motions.
He dug deeper.
Another movie stub.
A receipt from a nearby café he vaguely remembered you begging him to accompany you to—practically vibrating with excitement as you’d raved about their strawberry cloud matcha—folded carefully like it mattered.
Rain check—he’d texted you. No explanation, no apology.
He opened it, scanning the transaction even though he knew what you had probably ordered—but it was like he wanted a confirmation, proof that he knew you more than you knew yourself, despite never being—
Despite never being a good boyfriend.
Despite never being the kind of man who asked instead of assumed.
His eyes dragged over the faded ink, the numbers illegible, the date stamped on the corner like a quiet accusation. He swallowed, throat closing up, then reread it as if the words might change if he looked hard enough.
A strawberry cloud matcha as expected.
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed.
Not because of the drink itself—he’d seen you order it enough times to remember the stupid name—but because of the number beside it.
2.
Two fucking strawberry cloud matchas.
And below it, a list of baked goods: two slices of strawberry shortcake, two strawberry croissants, two strawberry mochis.
He stared at it longer than he intended, like the total number of items would disappear if he glared at it long enough.
Two.
Two of everything.
His first instinct was simple.
Maybe you bought them for him.
But he already knew the truth before he admitted it to himself.
He didn’t drink matcha.
He had more of a savory tongue than a sweet tooth.
And you knew that.
Could it be—no. No. Impossible.
His thumb pressed on the receipt. He scoffed quietly, folding it back up with unnecessary pressure.
Whatever.
Maybe it was for your friend—Shoko, or whatever her name was. Maybe it was nothing.
He tossed it back into the shoebox and moved on.
But the uneasy feeling stayed lodged in his chest like a splinter.
He skimmed over the other items.
A torn corner of wrapping paper with candle stencils on it. His birthday. The one he’d barely acknowledge. Even before he’d met you, it wasn’t something he thought was worth celebrating.
Not until you had showed up in his life.
Birthday surprises once the clock struck midnight. Meaningful gifts that he’d dismiss as corny—laughing under his breath, rolling his eyes like it was stupid.
But he’d still hold them in his hands a second too long.
He’d stare at them like they were the best thing anyone had ever given him.
Because he didn’t know how to stay thank you—to express his gratitude—without ruining the moment. He didn’t know how to accept love without acting like it was embarrassing—like it was worthless.
But you had noticed. You always noticed.
He blinked at the stuff before him.
Each item was quiet on its own.
Together, they weren’t quiet at all.
They were a pattern.
Proof of effort. Proof of waiting. Proof that you had been building alone longer than he ever noticed.
His hand paused over something softer at the bottom.
A small notebook.
Not yours, not really—one of those cheap ones people buy without thinking. Just a notebook to fill with addresses or contact information—maybe even doodles at the margins.
He opened it.
And for the first time he’d stepped into the apartment, Sukuna didn’t have something clever to say in his head.
Just your handwriting. Boxed characters, impatient slants, the occasional scribble where you’d crossed something out and rewritten it like you didn’t trust your own feelings to be correct the first time.
Short lines. Dates. Moments.
Not dramatic. Not poetic.
Just honest—unfiltered, unapologetic.
He started from the beginning.
Sukuna secretly loves that I call him Suki.
He let out of a huff of air from his nostrils—harsh, amused, the closest thing to a laugh he ever allowed himself. He remembered the first time you’d called him that.
It had slipped out so easily—so effortlessly—like you didn’t realize you were playing with fire.
“Suki.”
He’d turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing like you’d just insulted him.
“What the hell did you just call me?”
You hadn’t even flinched. Just smiled—sweet, smug—like you’d already decided you belonged in his space.
“You heard me,” you’d said, tilting your head. “Suki.”
He remembered the way irritation had flashed through him, hot and immediate, because no one dared to shorten his name. No one softened him down into something cute. Something harmless.
He’d grabbed your wrist then—not rough, but not exactly gentle either—just enough to remind you who you were talking to.
“Don’t call me that.”
You’d blinked up at him, eyes wide and innocent in a way that wasn’t innocent at all. “But it suits you…”
He should’ve shut it down—should’ve made you stop.
Instead, something strange curled into his chest—something warm and familiar, something that made him want to keep you closer just to hear you say it again.
And the worst part?
He’d never corrected you after that.
Sukuna flipped the page, skipping a couple of pages with silly drawings. For a second, he appreciated them—cherished this side of you. This childish, playful side that made him realize that life shouldn’t always be so serious.
He paused, his finger lingering on a crude drawing of a cartoon version of him—bold, exaggerated features, sharp fangs and crimson eyes and pinkish spikes—a jagged crown with a blood-red ruby perched on top of his head. You’d drawn him like that once you were sitting next to him on the couch, laughing as you scribbled with crayons and markers like some big kid, saying he looked like an “evil king who needed a good hug.”
It had been the first time he’d genuinely laughed at something that wasn’t a mocking snicker or an arrogant grin. He’d actually laughed with you. And it felt…easy. Comfortable.
For a moment, he wondered why he hadn’t let the moment mean more, why he hadn’t let that version of himself—that version—stay longer. But then the thought left as quickly as it came.
Sukuna turned the pages, catching pieces of your thoughts—thoughts you had tried again and again to share with him, only to have them swallowed by a boundary he’d built between you.
Not a wall, exactly.
A distance.
A quiet refusal to meet you where you stood.
He kissed me today. I think he meant it.
Sukuna’s throat tightened even more, like someone had secured a zip tie around it.
He kept reading.
He laughed at something I said. It felt…warm.
More notes, each one like a stab to the heart.
He didn’t come today. I said it was fine.
He laughed when I tried to explain it.
I wish he’d look at me when I’m talking.
I think I’m starting to stop expecting—
The last line wasn’t finished properly.
Just a sentence cut off like you couldn’t be bothered to finish what he already refused to understand.
But then he quickly turned the page, as if searching for the other half of this incomplete thought.
Maybe I’m asking for too much.
And he didn’t know why, but the pain in his chest grew unbearable.
Because you weren’t asking for too much.
You were asking the wrong man.
Sukuna remained in that same position, unmoving.
The box still open.
The room still silent.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was sifting through your things.
It felt like he was standing inside everything he never paid attention to—until it had already stopped being his to notice.
Blank pages after that. No more thoughts, no more entries—no more reminders. Because that was they seemed to him. Reminders of why you should walk away. Reminders of why you should give up on him.
But halfway through flipping, he found a loose page, folded and tucked randomly inside, like it wanted to be hidden and discovered at the same time.
Baby Suki Ryoumen Sukuna,
I don’t know why I’m writing this instead of saying it to your face. Maybe because I’ve tried and you look at me like I’m asking for too much.
You always act like love is something childish. Something embarrassing. Something worthless. Something beneath you.
But I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.
I’ve seen it.
I’ve seen how you soften for a second and then shut it down like it’s a weakness. Like you’re ashamed of it.
Sukuna scoffed, rolling his eyes—ignoring that sharp pang in his chest, and how it just kept fucking probing, probing, probing.
And I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
I’m tired of loving you quietly. I’m tired of having to translate your silence into something I can survive or else I’ll lose my mind.
His eyes started to sting, but he blinked the burn away. Annoyed.
You don’t say sorry. You just buy things.
You don’t talk. You just touch me, not mentally, not emotionally…just physically.
You don’t comfort me. You pull me closer like it’s supposed to fix everything.
And I let you.
Because I love you in a way that makes me feel stupid.
I keep lying to telling myself that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m not asking you to change who you are.
I’m just asking you to let me in.
Just once.
You need to understand:
I don’t need flowers.
I don’t need earrings.
I don’t need anything expensive.
I want you to look at me and mean it when you say you want me.
I need you to care when I’m hurting, to actually show it and not give me a dismissive reaction.
I need you to stop treating love like it’s something you can throw away and pick back up whenever you feel like it.
Because I can’t keep doing this, Sukuna.
I can’t keep waiting for the version of you that only shows up when you think you’re losing me.
And maybe…maybe I should’ve lieft sooner.
Because there’s something that I kept from you.
Sukuna paused, the ground tilting beneath his feet, his entire world in disequilibrium, and he couldn’t find the balance to stand upright. He had to take a break. His hands shook slightly as he set the letter down, as if it might burn him if he held it any longer.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
This was not how he imagined it.
A 6’5 man with the scariest demeanor, who got into bar fights like it was a sport…was scared.
He felt terrified of what was on the other side of this paper.
His chest constricted, his breathing shallow. He didn’t know what do with this knot in his stomach. Anger clawed at him, ready to push the fear aside, but it didn’t work. It never worked when it came to you.
For the first time in years, he felt something there than the rage he used to fuel him.
He ran a hand over his face, fingers cold against his skin like that could wipe away the pain. His jaw flexed. Hard. Teeth grinding.
Why the fuck am I like this?
He let out a frustrated breath. His hand clenched around the letter—knuckles turning white—crumpling it slightly. No. He couldn’t get weak now. He wasn’t going to break.
Not now, not ever.
With a determined effort, he flipped the page over, and continued reading:
I was pregnant.
The words scrambled and unscrambled like a code that didn’t want to be deciphered.
I was pregnant.
Was.
Was.
Was.
A sound tore out of him—something strangled, sharp. And then his mind betrayed him.
Another flashback—uninvited, vivid.
You were curled up beside him on the bed, the blanket half kicked off, like you couldn’t decide if you were hot or cold, so you had to compromise. The bedroom TV was playing in the background—some stupid show that he hadn’t been paying attention to. You’d been quieter than usual, playing with the edge of the blanket like you were rehearsing something.
“Sukuna,” you’d said softly.
He hadn’t answer at first.
“Baby?” You’d murmured, reaching for his shoulder, Your fingers slid over the muscle slowly, gentle, careful—like you were approaching something that wasn’t easily tamed.
But Sukuna had shrugged off your touch without even thinking.
Not because you’d done anything wrong.
Because his mind was already elsewhere—still simmering over a bad investment, a phone call that hadn’t gone his way, numbers that refused to bend.
Your hand hovered for a second betore retreating.
“I have a question…” You’d said, too quietly—disheartened.
“Speak,” he’d ordered—jaw tight—eyes still on the TV screen.
“If we ever had kids…” You started, almost laughing like it was a joke. Like you were trying to make it easier on yourself. “What do you think they’d look like?”
He remembered the way you’d smiled when you asked. Nervous. Hopeful.
He remembered answering even without turning his head, like making eye contact with you was a tedious chore.
But he’d done so, angled his head just a tiny fraction as if to make sure you’d engrave his answer into your skull. “I don’t want any.”
Simple. Final. Cold.
It was a decision he’d barely made any effort to ponder over.
The smile on your face had faltered, the colors of the screen reflecting on your skin—but you’d recovered fast—too fast.
“Like…for now?” You asked, your voice sounding smaller.
His eyes returned to the TV, teeth gritted, expression bored—like the conversation was an inconvenience. “At all.”
“Oh,” you’d said lightly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
A lie. He could see it now. He could see it so clearly it made him sick.
You’d leaned into him anyway, like you could bury the disappointment somewhere he wouldn’t notice.
And he hadn’t noticed.
Or maybe he hadn’t cared enough to stop it.
He was staring at the letter like it was a corpse in his hands. The memory hit him with a punch to the gut because it proved how you’d tried to test the waters, and he had shut the door.
“Well, that explains the two strawberry matchas,” Sukuna said, relief filling his lungs because a part of him had assumed the worst, that you’d found someone else worth your time, someone who prioritized you. But deep down, he knew, if you’d cheated on him, he wouldn’t’ve handled it well.
Being pregnant was—in a way—a blessing.
A blessing he was robbed of witnessing.
I found out and I sat on the cold bathroom floor with the test in my shaking hands, staring at the two lines. Staring at them until my vision blurred and all I saw was lines, lines, lines. Then, I waited. Waited for fear, for panic, for something ugly—but it never came. I only felt quiet warmth spread through my chest. Something soft. Something hopeful.
And then I thought of you.
I thought of telling you. Thought of the way you’d look at me—confused, irritated, like I’d ruined your day by needing you. Like I’m an inconvenience that you want to get rid of.
I thought of how alone I already felt standing beside you.
And I realized I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t bring a child into a love that already felt like begging.
So I ended it.
So I ended it.
The blood in his veins ran cold.
A new sound left him. A growl. Or it could’ve been something else—a sound foreign to him. A sound that signified something breaking. Something deep within him he’d buried so long ago, he hadn’t even remembered it was there until now.
He blinked—once, twice—in hopes the sentence would blend with the white sheet and disappear.
He reread it again and again, his mind working through ways to rewrite history—to rewrite the painful past into something delicate. Into something that belonged in some ordinary love letter instead of his destructive hands.
“No,” Sukuna muttered, but the word had no strength behind it.
His eyes flicked to the top of the page.
A date.
His mind started counting without permission.
Months.
Weeks.
Days.
Nights.
Every gulp was razor-sharp, slicing his throat until he tasted the metallic remnants of blood.
When?
When did it happen?
His eyes dropped back to words, but they blurred, the ink swimming as if the paper itself was mocking him. He blinked even harder, furious, his hand wiping his face again like it was sweat.
He couldn’t read anymore.
Not like this.
Not without knowing.
Sukuna threw the letter and notebook on the floor, mind in a haze. He stumbled to the closet, feet leadened, steps heavy.
His pulse hammered so violently it felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest.
No.
No, this was—this was ridiculous.
His eyes scanned the tower of boxes, hands moving without thought.
Shoeboxes toppled. Another scarf slipped from the hanger and floated to the floor like a dying thing. He didn’t care.
He tore through the clutter like a man looking for a weapon. Clothes flew over his shoulders as he tossed them away, creating a mountain of fabric. More receipts fluttered out of a bag like ribbons inked with reckless purchases. A bundle of hair ties fell that you’d used to decorate your hair, somehow they’d always complement your loud and colorful outfits.
A stupid little Polaroid that landed face-up on the carpet—your smile caught mid-laugh, soft and bright.
Sukuna’s stomach churned.
He stepped on it.
He didn’t mean to.
Or maybe he did.
His breath came out harsher. Faster. Like he was being hunted by the past, present, and future.
His fingers caught on the edge of an envelope wedged between two boxes.
Torn in haste—ripped open like you couldn’t wait—like you wanted to get it over with. Just like a bandaid.
He remembered how you always did it. Pulled it straight off, wincing as if it hurt more than it did, then looked up at him with wide eyes and asked him to kiss it, soft and careful, like you were a kid with a scraped knee.
The memory latched onto him, heightening the ache that had nothing to do with wounds.
He snatched it out—quick and easy—wishing you were here to kiss away the pain.
The paper inside was folded and folded and folded into a tiny square, like the sole purpose had been to make it nonexistent.
To shrink it down until it could fit into the smallest corner of your life.
Until it could be hidden.
Forgotten.
Erased.
Sukuna let the moment stretch, pulse roaring in his ear like a lion fighting for his territory. His fingers hesitated—cautious now, almost reverent—as he began unfolding it.
Each crease resisted.
Each layer revealed another.
Like peeling back something you’d tried desperately to bury.
And when the last fold finally opened, an image stared back at him. Black-and-white. Clinical. Grainy. A small shape suspended in static, unreal and yet horrifyingly real. A piece of you and him, combined mass of cells—forming into something…into someone. The clinic’s name was stamped at the top, the date printed neatly in the corner with bold, taunting numbers.
His eyes locked onto it.
Seven weeks.
And suddenly, his tongue felt too big in his mouth, and even when he moved it around, it couldn’t settle—just scraped against his serrated teeth, his tender gums, the ridged roof of his mouth—like he could grind the feeling away. It was like an invasive check-up at a dentist—being poked and prodded with pointy tools, gums aching, jaw locked, forced to endure it while someone dug around for something rotten.
The memory came to him like a strike to the ribs.
He remembered it wrong at first.
Or maybe his mind tried to as a form of protection, his usual coping mechanism where he would numb his senses. He’d done it enough times to where it became habitual—the go-to response.
Because the truth was too ugly to hold.
It came back to him in fragments—warmth, skin, the dim light of the room, the muffled patters of rain against the window. He had you pressed beneath him, your legs locked around his waist, your breath coming apart in little, helpless sounds. His hands settled on your hips—large, calloused, rough—dimpling your soft curves. Not cruel, not gentle either. Just Sukuna. Possessive in the ways he always was, like your body was the only thing in the world that listened to him.
You’d tried to move, restless, impatient, but he hadn’t budged.
He’d held you there, anchoring you in place—cock snug inside your heat, girth stretching your puffy folds apart, blunt head nudging that aching spot inside you. He was forcing you feel him, every slick inch that pulsed and throbbed.
Heat radiated from your skin in vehement waves, mouth grazing your sweat-slicked neck as if he was tasting the moment, dragging it out until it bordered on torture. Not because he’d wanted to hurt you—but because he liked knowing you’d wanted more.
Because he liked knowing you’d fall apart if he decided to stop.
You’d made a sound—soft, frustrated—and he’d let out a low exhale that could’ve been a laugh.
“Don’t squirm,” Sukuna had rumbled, his voice a sonorous sound that seemed to from his chest—dominant, authoritative—deep enough to rule empires and witness the downfall of enemies. “You can wait, can’t you? Don’t tell me that my business trip had softened you into this impatient, pathetic woman who can’t wait take my cock.”
You’d gone still beneath him like the words had slapped you.
Your lashes fluttered, mouth parting in quiet offense—eyes narrowing as if you were about to fight back.
But your body betrayed you.
A soft sound escaped you anyway, breathy and titillating, and Sukuna remembered the way heat rushed up to your face, coloring your cheeks. You’d tried to glare at him—tried to look angry, tried to look proud—but it hadn’t landed.
Not when you were trembling like that.
Not when your hands had tightened on him instead of pushing him away.
“Sukuna…” You’d whispered, voice cracking on his name like you hated how much you wanted him.
He remembered the way you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, forcing some fragile defiance into your expression.
“Move…” You’d breathed—borderline whining, voice trembling between the edges of patience and need. “Please…baby…move.”
Sukuna had tilted his head, slow, deliberate, a sneer tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What’s that?” He’d murmured, low and mocking. “I can’t hear you.”
Your eyes widened, lips moving as if you’d wanted to say more but couldn’t. The red tint on your cheeks had spread to your ears, humiliation and want blending into something raw and messy.
And even with your pleading tone, Sukuna hadn’t obliged. Hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Instead he’d bent his head down, watching your composure crumble, your defiance falter.
“Say it properly,” he’d chided, voice dark, amused, as though it pained him to be entertained by your weakness. “I know you can do better than that.”
Your nails had raked his shoulders, scratching like they way you’d scratched off the words you’d wanted unsaid but you’d wrote them down anyway. “Please…Sukuna…move,” you’d whispered again, barely audible.
The gleam that crossed his eyes then was dark, hungry, satisfied—like he’d finally gotten what he wanted. He liked seeing you like this—wet, vulnerable, needy.
“Good,” he’d replied, pleased with your answer, his lips tenderly brushing your ear, gently nipping it with his teeth, almost fondly, though it had disgusted him to show affection. But in rare occasions, he couldn’t restrain himself. “Impatient brat.”
You hadn’t retaliated, not with words. Not when he’d expertly stolen them away from you the same way he stole everything else: with pressure, with proximity, with the overwhelming insistence of his presence.
You’d only clung tighter.
When he’d finally moved, the first shift of his hips pulled a low growl from his chest—something rough and instinctive, like restraint snapping. He’d drawn back only slightly, just enough to make you chase the feeling, just enough for you to arch toward him like you’d always did—desperate, like you couldn’t bear the familiar hollow his absence left behind. Then, he’d eased forward again, slow and deliberate, feeding you inch-by-inch, grunting as your warm cunt fully sheathed him.
“S’kuna,” you’d keened, sounding like music to his ears, hips bucking up as if to aid with his lazy and unhurried strokes.
He’d set a pace that was agonizingly slow, a languid drag that had him feeling every groove of your walls. Every thrust that had followed was made to engrave his cock inside so you wouldn’t forget—the obscene sound of your pussy squelching as shared arousal slicked his length filled every space of the room. He could never erase the intensity he’d felt, how your walls tightened around him, pulsing with desperation that drove him to the edge.
He’d fucked into you, cataloging the wrecked noises that had escaped you—thin, reedy and ruined—proof that he’d stripped you of every sharp words you’d meant to throw at him. His crimson flicked down at you, flames hunger and possession burning into them as he slammed into you, harder, faster, unrelenting.
You’d cried out, body curving against him, legs trembling around his waist. “Sukuna—please—I can’t—”
He’d cut you off with another brutal thrust, lips grazing your neck, biting down just enough to make you shudder. “You’ll take it,” he’d growled, hips snapping with punishing precision. “Isn’t that what you begged me for? For me to move? Wasn’t your pussy being needy, wanting to be fucked?” He’d punctuated his taunting with another rough, the base of his cock grinding on your swollen clit. A hand had reached between your thighs, his fingers moving in cruel circles, counter-clockwise motions that had you writhing—a helpless thing he loved to control.
He’d felt your body convulse as release tore through you, a broken cry ripping from your throat. Your cunt palpitating around him, dragging him deeper, setting every nerve on fire as his own climax had begun cresting.
Sukuna’s rhythm had faltered, his smirk twisting into something wicked, hungrier. With a guttural growl, he’d thrusted into you one final time, burying his cock completely as his release had spilled inside you. His body had shuddered against yours, low groans escaping his throat, his grip on yours hips bruising, claiming you fully.
You had your head angled sideways, damp hair stuck to the column of your jaw. You had been avoiding his gaze, letting the pillow absorb your cries instead.
“Look at me,” he’d commanded, voice hoarse.
He remembered you Tilting your face up, lashes moist, mouth separated, eyes shining too much.
Sukuna had paused for half a second.
Something slid down the side of your face, he’d seen it even under the faint glow emitting from the lamp, disappearing into your hair.
He’d frowned, lips curling downward. “What the hell is that?”
He’d craned his neck closer, nose grazing the length of yours, and his thumb had swiped under your eye.
Wet.
For a long moment, the only sounds had been the exchange of ragged breaths and the fading creak of the bed beneath the both of you. He’d finally dropped his forehead against yours, lips hovering just shy of a tender kiss, his crimson eyes had remained locked on your face.
His eyes narrowing, confused, unsettled by something so small. “Didn’t enjoy it?” He’d murmured into your skin, voice gruff, half-mocking.
You’d nodded too fast—too eager—like an obedient pet.
“I did,” you’d whispered.
But another tear slipped free anyway, disappearing into your hairline like you were trying to hide it from him.
Then you’d pulled him even closer, like you could drown the emotion in something physical. Like if you’d held him tight enough, he’d become real. Like he’d become yours in the way you needed.
He remembered your lips by his ear, your breath shaking, your hands sinking in his hair.
“I love you,” you’d said, bleary-eyed and smiling.
So softly it barely counted as a sound.
And in his mind—God, in his mind—he heard himself answer.
I love you, too.
He heard it clear as day. Heard himself say it like it was easy. Like it wasn’t something that could split a man open.
For a moment, the memory softened. Became kinder.
A version of him that had deserved you.
A version of him that had given you what you begged for without ever having to ask.
But then reality had corrected itself.
Violently.
He hadn’t even looked at you.
He remembered it now—the tremor beneath his jaw, the way he’d exhaled through his nose like the words annoyed him. Like they were meaningless.
He remembered how he’d kissed you harder instead.
Not because he wanted to reassure you.
But because he didn’t know what else to do with tenderness except smother it.
He remembered the way you’d went quiet after that.
Still clinging.
Still letting him have you.
Still loving him into a silence that never loved you back out loud.
And Sukuna’s stomach turned as he stood in the closet, sonogram trembling in his hand.
Because if he had said it back…
If he had just said it—three words, three syllables, eight fucking letters—maybe you would’ve told him.
Maybe you wouldn’t have folded that paper into nothingness and tried to pretend you weren’t carrying something that could’ve changed everything.
Maybe you wouldn’t have been alone.
But he didn’t.
And now his brain was trying to rewrite history like it could save him from the fact that the only time you’d ever needed him the most…he’d been right there—within reach.
And still not truly there at all.
Sukuna’s eyes fixated on the black-and-white blur until it stopped looking like ink and started looking like a ghost. His thumb dragged over the print date again, like he could rub it away.
But the numbers stayed.
The proof stayed.
His throat burned. He forced an exhale, sharp and uneven, the folded the sonogram back with stiff fingers—using the creases you’d left behind as reference. Carefully. Like he was afraid that if he tore it, whatever had existed would disappear all over again.
His gaze drifted down.
The letter was still on the floor.
He didn’t want to read the rest.
He already knew what was coming. He could feel it in the way his chest kept tightening, in the way his stomach twisted like instinct was warning him.
But he picked it up anyway.
Because he deserved to know.
Because you deserved to be heard—at least once.
I did it by myself. I signed the papers by myself. I went home by myself.
And the worst part is…I still missed you.
Even then, I still wanted you.
I still wanted your hand in mine.
I still wanted you to tell me it was going to be okay.
But you weren’t there.
And I couldn’t keep pretending that you would be.
I don’t hate you.
I don’t think I ever could.
But I’m starting to hate myself for how much I’ve been willing to accept.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
I still love you. I think I always will…
But love shouldn’t feel like drowning.
So if this is the last time you ever hear it from me—
I loved you.
I loved you even when you made it hard.
I loved you even when you didn’t know how to love me back.
And I forgive you, Sukuna.
But I can’t stay.
Goodbye.
His vision distorted, the room tilting slightly as the rest of your words etched themselves into him.
I did it by myself. I signed the papers by myself. I sat in the clinic by myself.
His hand flew to his mouth, but it didn’t stop anything. It didn’t delay what he’d been running from for years.
I loved you.
The sob broke out of him like a fracture, and he crouched down, as if he could make himself smaller. His emotions smaller. Condensed.
Goodbye.
A sound that didn’t belong to the man he thought he was.
He’d been in fights. He’d bled. He’d been hit hard enough to see stars. He’d been punched and kicked and thrown until his skin had bruised in galaxy-like shades. But he’d survived it all.
Except for this.
Nothing had ever brought him to his knees like a sentence written in your handwriting. He left all your written evidence by his feet, refusing to touch any part of you.
His body folded forward before he could stop it, elbows pressing into his thighs, head dropping like the weight of it was too much to hold upright.
The tears didn’t fall neatly.
They poured in fat drops.
Hot and relentless, slipping down his face, dripping off his chin, soaking the paper until the ink began to smudge. He wondered if you’d done the same thing, cried while you spilled your emotions on paper. And he realized that he could almost see the ghost of your tears staining the words, but they had long dried.
He tried to wipe them way, furious—furious at himself, at you, at the universe, at whatever cruel joke this was.
But the kept coming.
Because this wasn’t just heartbreak.
This was grief.
And Sukuna finally understood something he should’ve understood a long time ago:
You hadn’t just left him.
You’d survived him.
You’d given up on fighting and battling someone who had never tasted bitter loss. Someone who had always prided himself on being a winner.
Even his own parents had given up on him, why would he expect for you to not?
But the only difference between you and his parents was that you’d stuck around a little longer.
Sukuna was crying like someone whose body had been holding it for years. Years of pent-up hurt. Years of silent suffering. He was so angry. So fucking angry. At what? His fucked up childhood? At how he’d never recognize the faces of his parents if he’d ever ran into them in public?
At the world for never letting him have the power he thought he deserved?
He didn’t even know anymore.
But what he did know you was you were the one person had been there. Who had tried to sand down his sharp edges. Who had tried to shape him into someone worthy of being loved.
His chest heaved, breath tearing in and out of him like something feral. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, frustrated at the wetness, at the weakness, at the way his body wouldn’t listen.
Pathetic.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control himself.
But control had already left him.
His fist tightened, fingers curling into his palm—until something hard pressed against his knuckles from inside his pocket.
Sukuna straightened.
Brows furrowed, as if confused by his own body.
Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out.
A small velvet box.
Black.
Perfectly intact unlike the current condition of his heart.
For a minute, he just looked at it like it didn’t belong to him. Like it was this foreign object he’d never seen before. Like it had appeared there by mistake.
He’d forgotten about it.
Then his thumb brushed the edge, familiar.
He remembered buying it.
Before the breakup.
Before the secrets.
Before your heart had caught up to your mind and he’d returned to an almost vacant apartment. Half your things gone—with the exception of all the hidden clues you’d left for him—shards of your broken heart, tiny souvenirs he should’ve glued back together and treasured.
Clues he’d never had the courage to sift through for months after the gut-wrenching breakup.
He ran his thumb over the box again as if to make sure it was still there—concrete evidence of a promise he’d made to himself—thinking he had all the time in the world.
He hadn’t bought it on a whim. And not because you or anyone else had pressured him.
He’d bought it because he’d looked at you one night—hair messy, wearing his shirt, barefoot in the kitchen—and something in his chest had tightened in a way he couldn’t explain.
He’d thought: Yeah. You.
Eventually.
Just not now.
There was always something else first. A deal. A fight. A distraction. A reason.
Again, he’d always reassured himself that there was time.
Sukuna’s hands trembled as he opened the box.
The diamond caught the dim light of the apartment, sharp and merciless. It glittered in rainbow colors like it was making fun of him.
Like it was laughing.
His breath hitched again, broken.
Because it was confirmation.
Confirmation that in his head, you had already been his wife.
That he had already chosen you.
He just never said it out loud.
Never made it real.
And now the ring sat in his hand—cold, useless, too late.
Sukuna peered at it until his vision muddled again.
And the he let out a sound that didn’t resemble a laugh at all.
Just grief.
Raw and humiliating.
Because he finally had everything he’d meant to give you—and no one left to give it to.
The diamond drowned in the fresh film of tears on waterline, blurring into a lackluster shimmer of light.
Sukuna shut the box with a sharp click.
His breathing was still irregular, chest going up and down, throat raw—but the sobbing stopped. Or maybe he forced it to. Maybe he strangled it back down where it belonged.
He arose slowly, legs unsteady—knees almost buckling from the weight of all he’d allowed himself to feel.
The apartment still felt too quiet. Too empty. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for him to leave.
Sukuna returned the ring inside the box and slipped it into his pocket.
Then he reached for his keys.
Metal teeth bit into his palm—grounding him.
His jaw hardened.
He wasn’t the type of man who begged.
He wasn’t the type of man who apologized.
But he was the type of man who took what was his.
And you—you had been his, long before you ever realized it.
Sukuna glanced once at the open pages on the floor—rustling like an invisible force was reading through it—your handwriting, your truth, your pain.
You’d given up on him, but that didn’t mean he should give up on you. He shouldn’t be here, throwing a pity-party for one, waiting for the cake to come and to blow out the candle for a wish.
For your return.
And just like that, his decision was made, his feet already moving before his mind formed a thousand excuses for him to shut the closet door and leave the past as it was—damaged, irreparable.
More footsteps and he was at the door.
Eyes still wet.
Heart still beating.
But his voice was steady when he muttered to himself, “…I’m not letting you go.”
And this time, he meant it.
an: happy belated Mother’s Day to all you moms out there, the moms-to-be and single moms, you’re all killing it out there and you’re all very much appreciated! and happy Mother’s Day especially to my fav MILF-to-be @iamsoclone this one’s for you! 🩷
