the comment just slips out of nobara’s mouth like it’s nothing. “honestly, he’s like a dog.”
you blink. “who?”
she levels you with a bland look. “who do you think?”
she nods her head to yuji, who’s walking past with megumi. he’s all smiles and as if summoned by the universe itself, he looks up, eyes landing on you. his smile softens, he waves.
your heart does an embarrassing little somersault.
nobara leans in. “exhibit a.”
“i don’t see it,” you say weakly.
“if he had a tail, it’d be wagging right now. he likes you.”
“…no, he doesn’t,” you mumble unconvincingly.
“please. he’ll start bringing you sticks if you asked.”
you feel heat creep up your neck. “you’re exaggerating.”
nobara snorts. “am i? call him a good boy, see what happens.”
“i am not doing that,” you choke.
she just hums, already bored with your resistance. “suit yourself. you’re missing out on prime entertainment.”
so, naturally, later, when you and yuji are asked to pick up supplies from storage (extra training mats? you weren’t quite sure), nobara’s words linger in the back of your mind.
he grabs the boxes without complaint, and reaches over to add the ones you had in your arms to his pile.
“i got those,” he says, easy and bright.
“yuji, you’re already carrying like—five.”
he grins. “six isn’t that different.”
your chest does that stupid flip again, and: “thanks,” you say softly. “you’re such a good boy.”
silence.
yuji freezes mid-step, and you immediately regret everything.
“i didn’t mean—i mean, i did mean it, but not like—i just—” you start rambling, heat flooding your face.
he turns to look at you, and oh.
if nobara had been exaggerating before, she isn’t now.
his ears are bright red, eyes wide, and his smile, that usual easy grin of his, has gone all shy around the edges.
“i—what—” he stammers, voice cracking. “wha—did you just….”
you briefly consider faking your own death. “i just meant—”
his expression softens, deepens, turns warm and a little dazed. “say it again,” he blurts.
you blink. “what?”
“th-that,” he says, flustered. “what you just said.”
your pulse is loud in your ears. “…good boy?”
if possible, he gets even redder.
“man,” he laughs nervously, ducking his head. “that—uh—felt really nice.”
your heart melts, reduced to a puddle on the floor.
“it wasn’t, like…weird?”
“no!” he blurts immediately. “i, uh—you can say it again. only if you want to! just—yeah.”
he looks at you with those soft brown eyes, that gentle smile.
nobara was right.
you smile despite it. “c’mon, good boy. let’s drop these off.”
you don’t miss the way his entire face lights up this time “right!” he says, grinning. “i got it!”
yeah. if he had a tail, it’d be knocking things over.
summary: when sylus thinks you forget his birthday he broods, stomping around all angsty until he gets the surprise of his life..
warnings: none!
wc: 2.4k
yapyap: i love sylus and this is aprilus!! this got very romantic at the end but he brings it out of me.. part 1 of aprilus! also thank u for 300 followers omg!!!
sylus felt like he was going insane. a bit dramatic for the leader of onychinus but that was how he felt when matters related to you.
for the past week you and the twins had been secretive. whispering to each other, conversations quieting when he walked into a room with hushed promises of "we'll continue this later", every single one of you had been lingering around him when he sat to do his daily shopping scroll.
sylus wasn't stupid. he knew why you had been doing it but it didn't stop him from feeling slightly frustrated. your attention was elsewhere and he was having withdraws.
he had to hand it to you, he had no idea what you were planning for his birthday. he had no bank statement coming in telling him money had been withdrawn—something he'll have strong words with you about.
there was no physical evidence that you had even gotten him anything. he never once saw either of you hauling decorations or hiding gifts away in closets.
he never even saw anything on mephisto, though that just confirms his belief that the bird was working for you.
while sylus wasn't one to celebrate his birthday, he really only let the twins do what they wanted because it amused him and warmed his heart. he had many silent and blood-ridden birthdays, what was some more to the list?
with a heavy sigh he removed his helmet, lightly shaking his head to combat any helmet hair. today was his birthday and he heard nothing.
the twins didn't immediately explode confetti canons when he walked out of his room, he didn't have mephisto cawing in his face with happy birthday music blaring through his speakers as he struggled to open his eyes.
and he definitely didn't get anything from you. when he opened his eyes this morning he had expected you to attack his face in kisses, whisper in his ear "happy birthday sylie" as you held him close, keep him in bed for some fun.
but he didn't get any of that. all he got was a soft "g'morning baby" and a kiss on the cheek. the cheek. you had sprung out of bed talking about how your friends wanted to go to this newly opened mall as an uncomfortable feeling settled deep in his chest.
he watched as you got ready, chest tightening as you flitted about the massive room. his jaw unclenched when you placed a knee on the bed, leaning over him and he thought this was it. you'd tell him you were actually heading out to get a gift or that you had the whole day planned for him or something.
but none of that came. you placed a soft kiss on his sleep puffed lips and cupped his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone as you gazed at him with such love in your eyes.
"forgetting something kitten?"
your eyebrows furrowed at his question before you smiled widely and he thought, really thought, he would get what he wanted. but you just got off the bed and clipped your necklace with the gleaming red gem on. "thanks for reminding me baby! would have felt off if i didn't have that on."
sylus barely managed to kiss you back before you were bounding out of the double doors, singing your way down the hallway while his teeth worked his bottom lip.
shutting the garage door with a little more force than necessary he made his way through the base. the dark walls only added to his frustration, not a hint of streamers or glitter staining them. his fingers clenched tightly around the helmet in his hand, leather gloves crinkling at the force.
he shouldn't care. he shouldn't feel a heaviness nestled deep inside of his chest just because no one had wished him a happy birthday. he was sylus qin for crying out loud, the feared leader of onychinus who made a name for himself young, quickly rising to the top of the n109 zone.
people split paths for him when he was walking down the street, whispered warnings to each other as he passed, bodies pressing as far as they could go to get away. he has a nine billion dollar bounty on his head that people frequently try to claim.
so why does he care right now? why has his chest felt tight all day?
the hair on the back of his neck stands, evol activating as he mutedly steps inside of the living room. the whole room was dark, the moonlight from the window barely illuminating the ground.
red mist swirled around his body, ready to attack, when the lights turned on, so bright it would have made a normal person squint.
"SURPRISE!!"
confetti shot out of canons in multiple rounds, multi-colored paper dancing around the room. sylus took in the sight before him. luke and kieran jumping in place and clapping their hands, chanting "happy birthday bossman!"
mephisto was cawing in sync with them, wings flapping as he flew circles around the small group. sylus took everything in, confetti still floating around, red and black streamers spread across every wall he could see, it kind of looked like halloween threw up.
tinsel and lace draped from the ceiling, he was a little surprised at that considering the ceilings were so tall. a huge banner with the writing "Happy Birthday Sy!" (with the Y being squished in) hung across the entrance to the dining room.
movement brought sylus back, looking to where you were walking up to him. when mephisto dropped something in your hands, a tiara, he realized everyone was sporting a birthday cone on their head. even mephisto had a little one.
"lean down for me?" sylus felt his heart race even faster as he did what you asked, bending forward so you could secure the tiara in his hair. he had to hold back a purr as your fingers ran through his hair, adjusting the silky strands so they sat just right.
"all of this for little old me?" he spoke finally, setting his helmet down onto the coffee table as his free hand wrapped around your waist.
"you didn't think we'd forget right bossman?"
"yeah, we spent years saying it to you every day for the whole month! maybe we made you greedy."
the twins laughed at the joke and made work of grabbing their presents. while they were busy you urged sylus to sit down, planting yourself next to him. "surprised?" you asked softly as sylus shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it onto a chair.
a wry smile curved on his lips as he leaned back, hand resting on your thigh. "something like that. i knew the twins wouldn't have forgotten, they love my birthday more than i do." his fingers absentmindedly traced little shapes against the fabric on your leg.
you knew he wasn't telling the truth. you had felt how disappointed he was when you left him in the morning, remembered the way his lips had pursed into a cute little pout he didn't know he did.
your heart hurt to leave him without acknowledging it but that was part of the plan. if you acknowledged it he would have wrapped you up and kept you in bed and you had a time restraint.
no matter how well he hid it, he couldn't fool you. you saw the way his jaw was clenched when the lights turned on, the tenseness in his muscles as he stood rigid, eyes busy with the thoughts that swirled in his mind.
"did you think i forgot?"
the simple question made his fingers pause slightly before the began again. sylus knew better than to lie to you. the way you asked it so softly, with no judgment if he thought so, with love. he hummed quietly, not saying out loud what he thought, not confirming or denying.
"done!"
the twins stood proud next to the mountain of wrapped presents, smiles pulled wide as he took in every single one. it was definitely more than ten gifts, each one stacked on top of the other, you're pretty sure the pile started leaning.
"since i'm the oldest i think you should open mine first." luke grabbed a red wrapped present and tossed it lightly in his hands. this made kieran scoff and grab his own.
"that's stupid, it's his birthday he should get to decide."
luke stuck his tongue out. "you're just jealous 'cause he'll like mine more." he teased. kieran rolled his eyes so hard you were worried he'd strain them.
"as if! you pick presents that you would like, not what he would." luke gasped dramatically, hand coming to his chest as he stared at his twin incredulously.
"take that back!"
as they start to bicker you see sylus smile softly, eyes fond as he watches them go at it. since you knew he wouldn't stop them, you decide to say something. "how about you play rock, paper, scissors for who goes first. best two out of three? and no cheating."
the twins gasp like you just revealed something sacred and their fists meet their palms as they perform the most intense rock, paper, scissor battle you've ever seen in your life.
kieran reigns victorious in the end and happily presents sylus with his gifts. two whole hours pass before he's done going through both of the twins piles. wrapping paper is scattered everywhere, all of his new trinkets and gadgets (and weapons) lay around the couch and floor.
luke is finishing up tying a phone charm to sylus' phone —one suspiciously similar to the one him and his twin bear— when you walk in, flames dancing in the candles of his cake.
sylus sits up as you near, hands coming to hold your hips. you lower the cake toward his face as you and the twins begin to sing the classic birthday song, mephisto cawing along from his perched position on your shoulder.
when the song is done he closes his eyes and makes a wish, softly blowing out the candles. they reopen as the twins cheer and snatch the cake from your hands. you take a seat in his lap and press a warm kiss to his cheek, "happy birthday sylie."
sylus captures your lips in a soft kiss, nibbling your bottom lip before nuzzling your cheeks together. "there better be a slice left for me and y/n when i look up." sylus pipes up, gaze still on you.
you laugh softly as you hear the twins choke, patting at each others backs as they speak through full mouths.
looking up, you watch as sylus pulls up his boxers before making his way to bed. he easily maneuvers his way under the covers, big hands already grasping your hips as he pulls you into his lap.
he stares up at you in pure adoration, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "hi." his nose comes to brush against yours just to hear you giggle.
doing just that, your arms come to wrap around his neck. "hi yourself." you smile at him. sylus looked so soft in this moment. hair slightly damp and skin heated from his shower, eyelids low as he relaxes against the headboard, pupils dilated as he gazes at you.
your stomach flips, which could possibly be from the amount of cake you've eaten tonight. sylus doesn't say a word, just simply watches you like this was all he needed, all he ever wanted.
"i got you something."
sylus quirks an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. pulse racing slightly your hand reaches into the pocket of your sleep shorts. your fingers curve around warmed metal, thumb rubbing over the band you've become familiar with.
holding your hand out, you gently drop the ring into sylus' awaiting hand. if you were anyone else you would have missed the expressions on his face. surprise filled his eyes as he held the ring up to inspect it.
it was simple, something with a red gem in the middle and engraved wording on the inside. it sparkled in the low light, captivating the dragon that rested inside of him.
chewing on your bottom lip, you watched him carefully, waiting for him to say anything. "it's something like a promise ring." you inform, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. "it's okay if you don't like it, i know it's a little more simple than what you're used to but-!"
the breath leaves your lungs when sylus squishes you to his chest, lips crashing onto yours in a heated and passionate kiss. your hand comes to cup his face as you match his pace, thumb brushing against his warm skin.
sylus poured all of his love into that kiss, keeping you firmly rooted to him as he moaned softly. patting his chest, you pulled away, a thin line of spit following your retreat. a deep purr rumbled through sylus' chest as he planted kisses across your face.
"don't say that. it's perfect, beloved."
the ring looked so small in his hand as he held it back out to you. brows furrowed you grabbed the ring and watched as he held his left hand out.
"what is it you're promising?"
grabbing his hand, you rubbed his ring finger. "that i will never leave your side. to always complain when you crush me beneath your body for a nap, to always let you steal half of my meals because you secretly think my junk food is delicious. to always annoy you and make you worry about me." you slid the ring onto his finger.
"that even when we part from this world we will always find a way, we will be together until the end of time. that our story is never done. that i'll always love you. that i'll never forget you."
looking up at sylus you see a thin line of tears in his eyes. placing a kiss against his finger, you do the same to his lips. "i love you sylus. you are my soul, what keeps me going when things are tough, what keeps me grounded when the world is carrying me away."
feeling a drop on your hand, you kiss along the thin tear tracks on his cheeks. sylus holds you close, like you were the oxygen he needed. his big hands firm against your back, lips capturing yours. "i'll hold you to your promise beloved."
smiling, you moved around so you were the one laying down. you pulled sylus in, letting him rest his head against your chest, heart steady as it beat just for him. a hand rubbed his back and the other ran through his hair as you placed a kiss on his head.
Maybe it's the low lighting, the warm lamps he has scattered around his home. Maybe it is the countless little reading and napping nooks he has for you. Shelves upon shelves of books and DVDs stacked up for movie nights. Or maybe it's his leather seats that you slide your thighs onto after a hot summer day in Linkon.
No… Perhaps the thing you love most about his home is the man himself. The way he's always sitting on the sofa after you have a hard day. Glasses perched on his nose, eyes squinting softly as he reads whatever book he's decided to pick up. He's gotten more into fantasy, enjoying the action and suspense of war, fairies, and dragons.
There is always music playing. It's soft and low. Other times high and lively as you two dance around the room together. Occasionally, it garners the attention of Luke and Kieran. They'll join shyly. Luke laces his hands with yours, letting him twirl you around as Kieran catches you.
There is always laughter in his home. Serenity, serendipity.
Even when the days are long and hard, sometimes bloody. There is always joy. Whether that is Sylus awfully humming a lullaby, Mephisto curling onto your lap, or maybe even the sight of the twins playing a stupid card game they spent their allowance on.
No matter the circumstances, Sylus ensures there is always happiness in his home. For a man who believes he is nothing more than a monster, Sylus is an oxymoron. It's funny, actually. Despite his life being dangerous, despite every awful belief he has about himself, his love is anything but that. It is warm. It is safe.
Sylus makes his home safe. Despite the wounds of isolation that scar his heart and mind, he still holds space for you. Still invites you into his hoard, allowing you to mess with every little thing.
soft, quiet crying with zayne. nothing dramatic, no sobs, just tears welling up in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks with soft sniffles. sitting on his lap, facing him, your face buried in the point between his neck and shoulder. weakly gripping at the back of his sweatshirt while your tears soak into the fabric.
he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to say anything. he knows what you need right now isn't words, it's his presence. so he holds you against him, slowly stroking the palm of his hand up and down your spine beneath your shirt. his affection keeps you secure, stops the negative spiral from taking over your mind.
you listen to the calming, steady rhythm of his breaths, familiar and grounding to you after so much time spent in his presence. you hear the soft sound of his skin against yours, barely audible yet still there in the stillness of this moment with him. his body keeps you warm, staving off the chill that often comes when dealing with these things alone.
it takes a while, but your tears eventually slow, soothed by his endless patience and the calm he always brings with him when he enters a space. you know you can rely on him to be rational, a constant presence in your life who can bring you back down to earth when you panic or begin to overthink. he's logical and intelligent, examining things with a thoroughness that you've never found in anyone else.
he doesn't rush you, even once the tears stop. if you feel the need to cry again, he holds you through it. if you simply wish to rest in his lap for a while longer, he won't complain. your trust and vulnerability are precious to him, and he wouldn't trade them for anything.
thinking about how Caleb would always make you a late night plate. He knows you're supposed to keep it to just a 'light snack' before bed. And hell, he fed you a pretty filling dinner a few hours ago. But there's only a couple handfuls of things he hates more than sending you to bed hungry.
Especially after... more romantic nights in bed. His aftercare tends to be a plate being settled on your lap. Consisting of some cut up fruit, a carb (english muffin, bagel, toast, one of those frozen waffles you like...) And something else. Like cheese, or yogurt, or a sweet treat. Alongside some water.
He sets the plate on your lap. Watches you half sit up to eat it.
"Mh... thank you, Caleb." You lean against his shoulder. Eat an apple slice.
"Course, pips." His hands rubbing your shoulder. You offer him an apple slice. He shakes his head. Half of it slips into your mouth, before he's murmuring how he changed his mind, lips meeting yours as he bites the other half off.
"You..." you mumble as you chew, before you swallow. "Just eat a slice normally. You're so stupid.." Yet your cheeks are pink. Despite the fact he's done way more than just a 'kiss' tonight.
He hums. Rests his head against the head board. "I know, I know..." Yet his smiles wide as you munch on another piece of the plate.
You eat about half the plate, before your head starts to get heavy against his shoulder. Eyes drooping, fingers loosening on the apple slice and cheese cube you were grabbing.
Caleb's eyes soften. Full of nothing but affection as he cleans your sticky fingers and moves the plate off your lap to finish eating what you didn't.
𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼 : no one wants to patch up the most violent fighter in the ring. toji fushiguro is obnoxious, brash, and refuses to let any medic lay their hands on him. that is, of course, until you come along - brand new head doctor assigned his unit.
boxer!toji x doctor!reader !
𝓪/𝓷 ~ a little idea that’s been brewing in my mind for a bit :)) boxertoji…i need him
no one wants toji fushiguro as their client.
you figure that out in your first ten minutes in the med centre behind the arena.
“he’s an asshole,” one of the older doctors tells you without looking up from his clipboard. his tone is flat and practiced, like this is a speech he’s given a dozen times before. “refuses treatment, mouths off. i had him for two weeks. longest anyone’s stayed with him.”
another doctor snorts from across the room. “the last guy was here for half a match. toji didn’t like his face and told him to fuck off before he even had a chance to look at his cuts.”
you gulp audibly, the sound embarrassingly loud. “oh.”
“just hope he doesn’t lose,” one of the nurses tell you, patting your shoulder. “we normally stay out of the way.”
right. good. great.
⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙
you first see him in person mid-match.
it’s brutal. there’s no other word to describe it.
(there’s also the fact that he’s ridiculously handsome. you’re quick to push that thought to the back of your head.)
toji fights like he’s trying to prove something. every punch lands harder than the last. fast. violent. the crowd eats it up, roaring, chanting his name.
but you notice it immediately.
the slight twitch in his movement. his right shoulder.
it’s off.
his opponent notices the falter in his step, the way he guards his right side suddenly, and suddenly it’s one bad hit, one wrong twist, and —
he’s down.
knocked out, and that marks the end of the round, and the ref blows his whistle after counting to ten.
your heart sinks. you look over to your associates frantically, but they’ve already dispersed, muttering to each other under their breath.
the doctor who was with toji for two weeks looks back and gives you a sympathetic wave.
just hope he doesn’t lose.
⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙
and backstage is even worse.
he’s sitting on a bench in the med centre when you find him, head tilted back against the wall, blood drying along his cheek, chest rising and falling slow and controlled.
his shoulder looks bad. swelling already, awkward-looking and purple.
you step forward after a moment of hesitation.
“sit up.”
toji cracks an eye open. looks at you. doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“who the fuck are you?” his voice is rough, low. it drags across your nerves like gravel.
“i’m your new assigned doctor.” you introduce yourself with a polite smile, pulling up a chair across from him at the bench.
you hope he can’t see that you’re shaking. you’re very aware of how big he is. i mean, his bicep’s the size of my head. it’s hard not to be fucking terrified out of my—
“get someone else.”
you don’t move. you reach into your kit, pulling out gauze, antiseptic, tape. eyeing his shoulder.
“sit up, please,” you repeat, more calmly this time.
you look up into his eyes more properly. swirling, sharp, angry pools of deep green. measuring, lingering.
his lip twitches. “don’t touch me,” he mutters.
“well, you’ve got a busted shoulder and a cut brow, so i’m going to have to touch you.” you will your voice to stay even, your tone matter-of-fact.
he stares hard again. unblinking, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your knees tremble.
you swear his gaze drops to your lips.
then something shifts. he exhales through his nose, tension bleeding out of his posture. he visibly relaxes, arms settling at his sides. his eyes close.
“fine,” he mumbles.
your eyes widen.
that’s it? this is the man everyone warned you about? the toji fushiguro that has tantrums and throws people out mid-treatment?
that’s it?
you don’t want to take it for granted, and you pull your chair closer to him, hands settling on his shoulder.
“does it hurt here?” your fingers press softly into the swollen skin and he winces.
he flinches, barely. “no,” he bites.
“you’re lying.” you hum, unimpressed, adjusting your grip slightly. a faint crease appears between his brows. “alright, toji, on three—”
“wait, wh—”
you move your hands quickly, a sharp shift rolling his shoulder back into place.
toji sucks in a breath, teeth clenching. “what the fuck—”
his hand snaps to your wrist, holding it tightly. your heart skips at the contact.
“you’re welcome.”
he stares at you, still holding your wrist, and his grip flexes slightly before he lets go.
you move to his face next, cleaning the cut above his brow. your fingers press cotton and antiseptic into the bloodied skin.
the strangest part is how he just…lets you. no snapping, no cussing you out.
you can feel toji watching you the whole time. a lidded, heavy gaze.
he lets you tilt his chin up, and your fingers brush against his skin, gentle but firm. you patch his forehead wordlessly, his brow, give him a cold patch for the bruise under his eye.
you smile softly, gathering your items. “there.”
he stays silent, tracking your movements as you put your equipment back in your kit. as you fiddle with your hair absently.
then, a grumble of : “i guess i’ll see you next match.”
you pause and look up, but he’s already standing, rolling his shoulder experimentally.
he walks out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
you stand there, stunned. your wrist still tingles where he grabbed you. your mind replays the moment. the way he looked at you.
you let out a slow breath.
is this the right toji?
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
the loss doesn't sit right in his head.
it detonates.
by the time toji steps off the mat the anger is already rotting through his system, sharp, hot and corrosive. he hates that he knows exactly where he went wrong. the misstep, that moment where his shoulder twinged with too strong a swing. he can replay it in his mind with perfect frame by frame clarity. that makes it worse.
just a mistake.
his mistake.
someone tries to talk to him as he pushes his way out of the ring. he doesn't register who it is. maybe someone from his PR crew. it's just a voice that annoys him deeply, saying the wrong thing at the wrong place at the wrong time. toji's patience snaps thin.
he shoves the guy hard enough to make a point, mutters something sharp under his breath that shuts up the people surrounding him quickly. someone else tries to calm him down and he yells, his left fist ending up in the wall instead of their face, a sharp crack splitting through the air.
skin tears across his knuckles, pain blooming fast and bright.
he then ends up in the med room. there’s nowhere else to put himself, and despite his consistent heavy refusal, toji knows that he has to undergo the mandatory medical checkup after every game.
he sits, head tipped back. his shoulder throbs, deep and wrong, but he ignores it the way he ignores everything else.
until the door opens, and he’s already irritated enough and he doesn’t want to deal with his doctor right now - he’s completely incompetent, wired, and too jumpy.
he’ll just piss toji off more than he already is.
when he looks up, his anger stutters for half a second.
you’re just standing there, calm in a way that settles in toji’s bones.
and, annoyingly pretty.
that thought hits first. sharp and immediate, cutting through all of toji’s simmering anger.
it irritates him.
he tells you to fuck off, to find someone else. he expects that to be the end of it.
but you don’t argue, or push. actually, you don’t really react..at all. you keep moving, setting up your equipment, and act like his refusal doesn’t matter.
it throws him off more than if you’d snapped back.
he watches you longer than he means to, waiting for something to give. for you to twitch, for the nerves to show, for your hands to shake.
nothing.
your hands are sure and precise, and when you pop his shoulder back into place with little warning, and everything snaps back into place, pain flaring high enough to drag a rough breath out of him, his hand catches your wrist on instinct.
you still don’t flinch, or pull away. you just look at him.
angel. she’s an angel.
you tilt his head softly, unbothered by the fact that he could snap at any second. you don’t rush, your steady hands carefully cleaning the blood off of his face.
for a few seconds, the noise in his head drops out. no replay of the loss, and no anger clawing at his ribs.
angel.
it sits in his gut, heavy, making his stomach twist.
and when you’re done, you step back quietly, your voice soft, your eyes soft, your hands soft, and toji doesn’t know what to do with the thought of that. that he’s been watching you like he hasn’t watched anyone in a long time, his eyes tracing over your form, the delicate features of your face.
he stands too fast, rolls his shoulders, jaw tight. he mutters something on the way out, barely registering the words himself, and he’s gone before you can respond.
pretty.
angel.
his mind lingers on it. on you.
and toji fushiguro hates that he can’t just punch it out of his system.
it’s no secret that your boyfriend, yuji, is obsessed with you.
everyone knows.
your friends are more then aware. nobara can’t get through telling you a single story without yuji ending up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, nodding along with whatever you’re saying. megumi has a homework question? yuji’s inserting himself into the conversation, latching onto your waist.
“you’re so smart, baby,” he tells you, a huge, happy grin on his face. “always helping everyone.”
megumi just stares at him.
when you laugh softly, patting yuji’s arm, he squeezes you tighter. this typically makes nobara gag.
it doesn’t stop there.
if you’re sitting, he’s next to you. if there’s no space next to you, he makes space. if you’re standing, his hand is in yours, always.
he’s warm. clingy, and affectionate in a way that’s so constant it becomes second nature.
yuji also loves touching you.
it’s constant. your hands clasped together. he likes when you loop his arm through his. your fingers in his hair.
god, he loves when you play with his hair.
the second your hand drifts up he’s melting, shoulders dropping, eyes softening. he sighs happily and lands in your lap, curling into you as you lace your gentle fingers through it.
“mmm, don’t stop,” he mumbles, voice already going soft.
it’s worse when you leave him alone for a few hours.
when you get back to your apartment you’re not surprised to find he’s already let himself in. you barely make it through the front door before he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with a content exhale.
“i missssed you,” he mumbles into your neck.
“yuji, i was gone for two hours,” you laugh.
“yeah,” he says like you proved his point. “two hours too long.”
it’s also in the way he looks at you.
always soft. always bright, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s still a little shocked about it.
you catch him staring sometimes. you’ll be mid-conversation. mid-laugh. mid-anything, actually.
“what?” you’ll ask him.
“…nothing.”
“you’re staring.”
“yeah,” he admits easily. he smiles. “i like looking at you.”
your face heats instantly. “yuji—”
“whaaat?” he grins wider, grabbing onto you again. “you’re pretty,” he says matter-of-factly, and you cover your face.
or : “he’s too clingy,” nobara comments, watching yuji jog over to you after classes. “like a puppy.”
“he’s adorable,” you say softly, giggling as yuji crash lands into you, enveloping you in a tight hug.
“hi, baby,” he’ll say, kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips softly. “you know i like you, right?”
you snort. “i would hope so.”
“no, like..i really like you.”
your chest warms. “i know, yuji.” you run your fingers through his hair in that way he likes. “you’re so good to me,” you mumble into his hair. “the sweetest boy ever.”
he smiles into your neck at the praise, arms tightening around you, happily. this is where he wants to be.
choso’s eyes widen and he makes a small, choked sound. his cheeks turn bright red, his entire body stiffening.
“i—i…you..we can..?” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. his hands are gripping your bedsheets so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“yeah, you can kiss your girlfriend, cho,” you murmur, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. his wide eyes follow the movement, and he swallows thickly.
choso’s face flushes further and he slowly, hesitantly leans towards you. his eyes flutter closed just as his lips softy touch yours in a gentle kiss. his hands stay frozen on his thighs, not knowing what to do with them.
you slot your lips gently against his, hand curling at the base of his neck before you pull back slightly, smile etched on your lips. “you can touch me, you know.”
choso looks at you like you’ve just presented him with an impossible math problem.
“wh—where?” his breath hitches and he tentatively places a warm hand on your thigh, the other hovering awkwardly near your waist. “here?”
“sure,” you giggle, pulling him back to your lips from his nape.
he makes a soft whimpering sound against your lips, his hand on your thigh tightening slightly. the hand hovering near your waist finally settles at your lower back, pulling you closer.
your hands trail from his neck into his hair, gently tugging at his inky strands, and choso makes another desperate sound that goes straight to your core, his hand slipping just under the hem of your shorts.
choso gasps softly against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a moment. his eyes are hazy with want, lips slightly swollen.
i definitely just touched her underwear, he thinks to himself, mind racing. lace. it was lace. oh my god, she hates me. she’s gonna hate me. am i supposed to tell her it was an accident? do i pretend it never happened?
choso feels his pants growing tighter. he nearly faints on the spot out of embarrassment. no, no, no, not now, nonono—
unaware of his inner turmoil, you pout, tilting his head towards you again. “cho, baby. what’s wrong?”
“nothing!” he chokes out immediately. “this is just—it’s so good, i—“
“we’ve only kissed a little,” you tease, pushing his hair back delicately. his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape gently against his scalp, and his cock throbs very insistently in his pants. both of his hands tense on your waist immediately. god, she’s gonna think i’m so weird. think of something else. think of broccoli. i hate broccoli. or—or boring, three hours movies. or..or…
choso loses his train of thought when you straddle his lap, eyes glinting at him before you kiss his jaw softly, sucking at a spot just below his ear. he whines, head tilting back, hands automatically gripping your hips. your lips on his neck send electric shocks straight to his groin, making him throb painfully against your core. “mmnh—“
when you start kissing him again — with tongue, he tells himself — he nearly whimpers. his hands pull your waist down onto him, straining for friction.
you pull your shirt over your head, breathless, eyes blown wide as you look at your cute, adorable boyfriend. he gulps, brain short-circuiting with your tits eye-level to his face.
you pull his hair, tilting his head up to yours, and he moans as he gazes at your parted lips, your lust-blown eyes.
he promptly cums in his pants at the sight with a full-body shudder, panting, a whine getting caught in his throat. “oh—oh my god, i’m so sor—“
“shhh, cho, s’okay,” you mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth before laughing softly and dropping to your knees between his legs, lidded eyes looking up at him through your lashes.
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
tags: drabble, alcohol, sfw, fluff, drunk! sylus, clingy! sylus, love confessions, sylus cries (he’s being a little dramatic), basically you babying sylus for the entire fic
you’re not quite sure how it ended up like this.
you know that sylus’s alcohol tolerance is average (he had told you so himself), but you didn’t imagine that it’d be anything lower than yours. it had started as a joke, while the both of you were slightly tipsy; you had said something about wanting to see him drunk, curious about if he was sleepy, clingy, or whatever else while in that state.
and now, you’re here with your giant, six-foot-three boyfriend who is hanging his head over your shoulder and clinging to you like a weighted blanket.
“sy, baby, you’ve got to get up,” you rub his shoulder, “i think you need some water, honey.”
sylus grumbles in that low, frustrated tone that you only ever really hear when he fails to get a plushie for you at the claw machine.
“no,” he says, stubbornly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as if he can avoid responsibility by hiding there.
you have seen sylus tipsy before, but not quite as drunk as he is now. he’s flushed from the tips of his ears and down to his chest, mumbling and groaning like a tired kid after a full day at the amusement park. not only has he been stubbornly sitting on your lap for the past two minutes, but he’s been leaving little wine-stained kisses all over you face.
“i’m serious, sylus. i think you’re a little too far gone.”
“ ’m right here, kitten,” he slurs. “how can i be far?”
“exactly my point, my love.”
with a heavy head, sylus looks up at you, gaze a little unfocused from the buzz. there’s an almost youthful innocence to him, his eyes round like a big cat; the complete opposite of the internationally-wanted criminal the world knows him as. you’re tempted to call him adorable.
“i could never be far away from you, ever. it’d kill me, kitten.”
you raise a brow at him, “that was quite dramatic there, sy. are you sure you don’t need the water?”
sylus frowns, “don’t.”
you laugh, “don’t what? give you water?”
he purses his lips in a way that looks like you’ve offended him. soon, unsteady, large hands come up to cup your face, staring into your eyes with a softness.
“my feelings are real. i belong with you in every lifetime.”
sylus has always had a habit of confessing his love to you at the most random time of day–you like to call it his shakespearian impulse–but you didn’t think it’d stay while he was intoxicated.
“oh gosh,” you laugh, truly taken aback. “even when you’re drunk, you’re a romantic! this is so cute.”
sylus, however, does not find this situation to be cute at all and frowns at you, his brows squished in frustration. at first, you think that he’s just pouting, the way drunk people tend to. but when you see the watery shine in his eyes, you soon realize that you are completely wrong.
“oh my god, sylus, are you crying?” you panic, grabbing a small napkin from amongst the mess of half-eaten steak and sticky wine glasses and bringing it to his face.
“no… it’s the sun. it hurts my eyes,” he mumbles, despite the fact that you are, in fact, wiping away the tears running down his cheek.
“the sun, right…” he is way, way too far gone. “why are you upset, my love?”
sylus stares at you in an almost accusing way. you’re sitting there in silence for an awkward five seconds before he leans in, pressing his face into your chest.
“yudisayit.”
you blink, “say that again for me, baby?”
he sighs as he pulls back, just enough to look you straight in the eyes. there’s a very determined look on his face, though you still feel like you can’t quite figure out what’s going on in his mind.
“you didn’t say it,” he repeats, “say you belong with me.”
the serious tone of his voice makes it near impossible to stifle the laugh that comes out of you. that’s what he was so upset about? thank goodness no one has ever seen him drunk but you.
“oh, sylus,” you coo, tilting your head so that you can plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “of course i belong with you. i’m sorry i didn’t say it back quickly enough.”
“in every lifetime,” he insists, “together.”
he’s so terribly cute.
you pull him in for a hug, kissing his forehead, then nose, then lips. he stares at you in awe, like you put the stars in the sky and the ocean on earth, full of love for you, like he always is.
♥︎ rugby player sukuna is so in love with his dolly girlfriend
ryomen sukuna, the biggest and scariest man on the university's rugby team, is dating one of the sweetest looking thing on campus — you. it's truly a wonder how someone like him even bagged someone like you... but the more people see you two, the more they begin to realise just how smitten this brute is with you.
everyday before his practice sessions, his teammates see him standing with you, burly arms wrapped around your frame as he leaves little pecks all across your face. and you're always seen holding a little flower in your hands, one that sukuna had handpicked from some bush for you just so that he can see that pretty smile of yours — it's become routine at this point.
his backpack has a few keychains that you'd bought for him — mostly my melody ones unsurprisingly, since she's your favourite character. he knows that there are some people who side-eye him for that, curious as to why a guy like him walks around with such cute trickets dangling from his bag. but he couldn't care less. you were so adorably happy when you'd bought them for him and when you'd attached them to his bag, he could never have the heart to ever remove the little accessories.
he adores how pink and cutesy you always look — adorning cute skirts and dresses, nails always done with pretty charms glued to them, and smelling like a whole bakery. he stares at you with the most lovelorn eyes known to mankind. it's impossible for him to keep his hands off of you, always finding purchase either on your waist or your buttcheeks. he does also adore teasing you in public, loving how easily flustered you get and how you yell at him like a misbehaved dog. but the smack on your ass is all worth it to him!
he's honestly just turned into a mini you. his clothes all smell like you, sugary and vanilla (though some of them still bear a hint of his own musk). he'll catch himself copying some of the cute phrases you use like 'what the flip?' or 'that's adorbs', saying it with the exact same intonation too. he's even started enjoying the romance animes you've introduced him to, even beginning to suggest shows himself.
sukuna has definitely changed ever since meeting you — going from this hard and brutish man that'd scowl at anyone who looked his way to a man who had softened so much, his teammates and friends finally catch him smile every now and then. of course, he's still rough around the edges, but he's still your dear swine of a boyfriend whom you love to bits!
୨୧ — Every damn morning like clockwork, 5:45 AM. Tiny fingers pry one of Sukuna’s eyelids open, a small face hovering inches from his own. Her hair still wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with excitement, "Papa! Wake up!" Small hands nudging him while clutching her pink brush and collection of scrunchies against her pjs, "Hair time!"
Sukuna clicked his tongue, a massive hand engulfing her tiny face as he gently pushed her back, "Go back to bed, brat."
"Nooooo!" She whined, pushing his hand off her face and climbing onto his broad back, "You promised!"
With a displeased groan, he rolls over, causing her to slide off his back with a delighted squeal. Sitting up while running a hand through his own disheveled hair, he looks at the brat he helped create with a scowl, "Gimme that," he grumbles, snatching the brush from her.
She scrambles into his lap, her small back pressed against his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. Sukuna couldn’t relate, it was early… too early, like always. He looks down at the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "She was supposed to be a boy..."
Propping yourself up on one elbow, you trace your fingers over his the tattoos that decorate his warm arm, "You say that every morning," you tease him softly.
"Because it's true every morning," he fires back, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Awkwardly, he begins working through her tangles, his calloused hands- hands that at times come home bloody, now trying to be gentle with his daughter's delicate scalp.
"Ooww! Papa!!! You're pulling!"
"Stay still then..." he grunts, trying again with more care, "Your hair's a damn mess." As he brushes through her strands, he couldn't help but think how absurd this was- he was Sukuna Ryomen, the fucking guy who’s got everyone pissing their pants in fear… The guy who was born out of bloodshed, who's never had a single care for the lives he's taken. How the hell did he end up with a little girl, a wife, and a home? … His eyes softened as they narrowed, how the hell did he find himself fearing for this tiny things future- the day she's old enough to be married off to a man like him…?
He’s grown soft…
But it doesn't mean he won't rip out the throat of any man who dares lay a finger on her...
You watch, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of Sukuna struggling, being utterly defeated by a five year old's bedhead, "Want me to take over-"
"No!" both father and daughter respond in unison, making you throw your hands up in surrender before they decide to kick you out of bed.
"I got this," Sukuna insists, his fingers, more accustomed to handling weapons and violence than hair accessories, fumbling with the thin strands. His brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to separate her hair into sections. How the fuck was he supposed to make three even parts again?
Your daughter looks over at you, wholesome pride in her eyes. This was their thing- this morning struggle that somehow means everything to both of them. Even if Sukuna doesn't admit it, he loves being the protective girl dad... enjoys feeling needed and special in this way.
You lean against his bare shoulder as you watch him separate her hair into three uneven sections, trying to remember how braiding works. The girl in his lap patiently waits with the biggest smile, offering encouraging words as if she's the adult coaching the child.
"Papa! Papa! Like this! Over not under, remember? You did it yesterday!"
"Yesterday I fucked it up too." he mumbles, starting over for a third time.
When he finally manages something resembling a braid, secured with her favorite sparkly leopard scrunchie, she hops off his lap to examine his work in the bathroom mirror. You take the opportunity to press a kiss to Sukuna’s shoulder, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, "Looks like you're getting better~."
"Don't start what you can't finish," he warns, his voice dropping lower as he turns to catch your lips properly. His hand coming up to squeeze your cheek possessively.
Your daughter returns before you could respond, beaming despite the crooked, messy braid that's already coming undone at the bottom, "Perect! Thank you, Papa!"
Sukuna breaks away from you, looking down at her, at this tiny little being who fears nothing about him... not his size, not his tattoos, not how he puts the fear of god in her preschool teacher. She sees only her papa, the man who makes her burnt pancakes and braids her hair poorly.
The man who protects you- her mother, and would do anything for her. The man who would secretly die for her…
Placing his hand on the top of her head, he gives it a little ruffle, "Yeah kid... perfect."
♡ ₊˚‧ 𝓒.𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔. meets with you & your frightful boss to discuss business. but when things get heated, he's got nothing to fear with his guard dog satoshi is looming.
˖ ࣪૮₍ violent talks :: gojo twins :: city's sins au :: mercenary!reader :: satoru, suguru & satoshi x reader ࣪ა ࣪˖
they say the devil's charming, but they never quite tell you what to do when he comes knocking on your door.
ambiguity was what gojo satoru thrived on. he chewed the safety collar many wore around their throats and fashioned it into a crown.
volatile. cunning.
charming.
with sapphires for eyes and the shine in his smile. as he leaned back into his seat of some vip lounge in some club he's already forgotten the name of. neon swirls light up the darkness and accentuate the ever-changing rhythm. a bass that shook cocktails and liquors alike, and yet— he held his whisky glass without a falter.
hell, he even drummed two fingers on the rim to sync with the bass-ruined song.
“are you here to talk business or just waste our time?” you hissed.
you were told only two things from your syndicate leader:
show no fear.
don't break eye contact.
so even as your nails dug under the file in your hands and your legs flushed together to compensate for the scarily short dress— you maintained your glare.
a prodigy. perfection. your leader's greatest student and soon-to-be his sharpest weapon. you wouldn't let him down.
especially as he sat beside you, as calm as he was quiet. if gojo satoru was the devil, then by god— geto suguru was hell itself.
satoru directed his smile to you like a bullet. his head crooked as he lounges back. comfortable, for a man alone and facing his rival syndicate.
“fiery thing, isn't she?” a pale brow arched, his smile slipped into a smirk that oozed audacity. “this is your sweet little prodigy, geto?”
“we aren't here to speak about her,” suguru sighed, leaning forward in his seat. the first crack in his mask as lights danced over his dull eyes. “she makes a good point. are we here to tal business or what?”
“about the territory issue?”
satoru didn't sound like he thought it was an issue.
“your men occupy our section.” you spoke, flat.
the bastard grinned. “don't you mean: my men pussied yours out?”
you bristled, jaw tight as your spine straightened. “that wasn't apart of the agreement you spineless—”
a hand stopped you. suguru doesn't bother looking at you, but the gesture shut you up. left you fiddling with the hem of your dress and pressing your lips in a thin line. swallowing your bark. obedient as ever.
brushing away his long strands, suguru propped his elbows onto his spread knees. brows narrowing like blades as he stared the menace down.
“my student's right, gojo. that wasn't apart of the agreement. we agreed on an allyship.”
anyone with a half a brain would take the threat. smarter men would apologise.
satoru didn't seem like that kind of man.
maybe he didn't have to be.
“hm, that's right.” he leaned his head into his palm.
and fucking winked.
“guess I changed my mind.”
the chair creaked as suguru shot up, spine straight as his hand gripped the arm of his seat, a split second away from his weapon. his mouth a cold sneer and his eyes a hellish coal.
“keep that smile on your face when I gut you in that chair you arrogant bastard—”
a pale hand shot through the shadows from behind satoru. curling on his shoulder.
he didn't flinch.
but he did smile.
you jerked back in your seat instinctively. grip shooting to the weapon in the slit of your dress— suguru shot an arm out in front of you.
he was still. you were frozen. knees fighting off jitters as your unblinking eyes locked onto the towering shadow that loomed over satoru from behind.
broad shoulders shrouded from the shadows. white hair glinted like a sniper and hung over daggered, glaring blues.
a face that mirrored the grinning one below, yet firm like stone. with an ugly scar struck through his left eye.
and yet it were his eyes that struck through you.
“watch your mouth.”
he spoke. somehow calm even with a snarl.
gojo satoshi. the six eyes' guard dog. looking like a prowling mutt ready to pounce over the chair and tear his canines right into suguru's throat.
you'd heard the stories. the warnings. how many claimed to watch for the shadows in the presence of satoru, because that's where the true threat lurked. eagerly waiting to not only bark— but bite for his brother.
yes, brother. twin to be exact. identical.
satoshi looked meaner. bigger. rougher. like a diamond carved out rather than shined.
seeing him now, you understood why the rumours said he only wielded a blade for the sake of mercy.
his bare hands were weapons enough.
you've never seen your leader hesitate before— but he certainly reconsidered. his fingers loosening on the arm of his chair and his tight jaw ticking as he cleared his throat.
“need your bitch to watch your back again, gojo?” he grunted.
satoru merely hummed. reaching a hand up laxly to hold his brother's arm in a gesture that you could only describe as a man considering the leash on his hound.
“I'd be careful about what I say right now, if I were you.” he mused, then shot a glance up through his lashes.
not a word exchanged, but satoshi's grip eased. he hadn't returned to his shadow, only stared the both of you down.
specifically, you.
“the woman's easy meat,” he returned to your tensing boss. “do you really wanna risk your precious prodigy's life?”
you couldn't help but bristle. “easy?”
“take it from a fellow bitch.” satoshi spoke, not bothering to offer you his stare again, even when your nose curled at the name.
“your first instinct's the one that'll get you killed.”
you couldn't even fault him on that. your first instinct would be to protect your syndicate leader. you could easily hold your own in a normal fight but. . .
these two weren't normal.
sucking in a breath, you looked to suguru for answers, who only stared at the cheshire satoru. a standoff. a glaring game of chess that you were only a pawn in.
eventually, he slowly rose to his feet, his stare slipping to satoshi who only craned over his twin further. looming. waiting.
daring.
suguru motioned for you. “come. we're done here.”
the second you stood, he turned with you, nudging you in front of him with a subtle hand to the small of your back. guarding you with his body from any potential snide attacks.
you dared to glance over your shoulder. at the pair of sapphires striking through the shadows. fixed on you.
and for a moment, you read their lips.
“pretty thing, isn't she?” satoru crooned, leaning back to take a sip of his drink.
“attitude problem's more like it.” satoshi huffed, standing straight and folding his arms over his broad chest.
“guess that makes both of you.”
“you wanna die?”
“hey hey hey. now you're actually acting like a bitch.”
after a long year, you find a way to whisk satoru off on vacation for his birthday week. just you, him, greece's sun and all your married shenanigans.
⌗ wc : 2.9k
ᝰ.☆ cws : fluff :: so much smut :: vacation shenanigans :: lovesick reader :: lovesick toru :: oral ( m. + f. ) :: marathon sex :: creampie :: semi public sex :: angst . . .
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : cooked up something for my baby <3
Satoru thought you were joking at first.
"A whole week?" He blinked, doubt glimmering in his grin. You returned it brighter, hooking your pinkie beneath his blindfold and tugging it around his neck.
"Mhhm. Just you, me," you stood on your tippy toes. "And Greece." Then gave him a peck.
The kind of affection that was warmer than any European sun. The sort of kisses he could drown in rather than the crystal waters. You'd lathered him in them from head to toe— and you both hadn't even left Japan yet.
"Sweet girl— hey—" he huffed a laugh at the terminal, side eyeing airport security and their scowls as your lips smothered his. "C'mon pretty girl."
He snatched your waist. Squeezed. A quiet behave even when those playful blues smiling at you over the rims of his glasses begged you not to.
"It's not even the first."
"And?"
You tipped into him. Like you owned the damned airport and everyone else were simply hired extras. Arms thrown around his neck while his attempted to get you to your flight in time.
"It's Satorucember." You pouted.
"Satoru—cember?" He mused.
"Genius isn't it?"
"Einstein's envious."
You thumped his side and he coughed a laugh. For the next few minutes you withdrew from his arms. Playing up your huffs and avoiding his little pecks. But the second you were sat in your seats? All over him.
"It's an eighteen hour flight, baby," he mumbled into your mouth, hand fixed to the back of your head while the other attempted to jostle your seatbelt on. As if either of you were even listening to the safety seminar.
"Mm, better buckle up in then." You nipped his lip.
"Threats? For the birthday boy?"
"All these flight attendants are gonna hate me."
Sure, you could have teleported. But where's the fun in that? Satoru deserved some normalcy. A week where he didn't have to worry about being the Strongest, or even Gojo Satoru. He could just be Satoru.
Just Satoru. For a whole week.
A true Satorucember. ( Citation needed. )
If the flight attendants hated you, the hotel staff was gonna loathe you. Your little smooches on the plane had nothing on the liplocking the second your suite door was nigh.
"Mm, baby, lemme get us in," he huffed into your lips. One hand trying to grapple your waist while holding your luggage and the other tried ( and failed ) to get you both inside before you shredded his pants here and now in the hallway.
"Don't care."
"Sweetheart."
His drawl did little to soothe your efforts. If anything it willed your hands to the door to let you both in so that you could shove him inside. Suitcases and documents flying as you kicked the door shut with your heel and shuffled your husband in a messy stumble to the bed.
Plop. He just managed to brace himself. You were on him quicker than jetlag could settle in. Hands cupping his jaw and lips refusing to part from him. Five years of marriage and still— the suite looked like your honeymoon estate.
"Fuck," he groaned as your lips dragged down to his Adam's apple. "Barely even settled it."
"Mm. Gotta test the bed."
Your knees hit the floor. For a moment all Satoru could do was stare with wide eyes. How were your hands already on his belt?
"Woah— sweet girl," he brushed his thumb beneath your jaw. "Don't you wanna— fuck."
Did jetlag have anything on you? Not with the kisses you were already nuzzling into his crotch. As if he was any better with the growing bulge that rose to brush your lips.
Should anyone expect anything less from the Gojo's?
Satoru blinked and your hand was around him. Palming at his cock as your lips rubbed over the underside. His large hand trembled to the back of your neck. Mouth parted and hips craning into your soft suckles.
"Mngh— baby, wait, lemme—"
But your nails bit into his thighs and your head shoved all the way. Taking him down your throat and stirring a surprised hiccup.
"Fuck—!"
"Mm. Not a chance."
You slurred, withdrawing to circle your tongue over his tip. "Gonna treat you this week. Don't wanna hear a single protest."
"I better at least— hngh—" His eyes fluttered as you thumbed on a throbbing vein. White lashes batted as his hips stirred into your relentless pleasure. "—get to taste you, baby."
He was whinier than he thought he'd be. Perhaps your onslaught of kisses from the moment he opened his eyes and all through the eighteen hour flight did his head in.
But as he watched you take him back down your throat and cup his balls with tender squeezes— as his mouth parted and he groaned your name into the new Greek air. He decided he wouldn't mind his wife being all over him for a week.
If he could survive it, that is.
The first day of DecSatorucember wasn't quite what you'd planned.
You expected to take a stroll along the beaches. Put a pretty flower behind in hair. Dine along the shoreline.
Really, it was his fault. Why'd he have to look like an angel incarnate when he was fast asleep?
He was just asking to get his, already sensitive dick, ridden until he was stirring awake with whines.
"Fuckin' hell girl," he groaned, tossing his head back. His hands magnetically clamped on your ass, bringing you down onto his slowly bucking hips. He stuffed your greedy cunt to the hilt. "Gonna drain me dry by the time we get back to Tokyo."
"Mngh. Maybe that's the plan."
His jaw went taut at your intentional squeeze. Little brat. Were you trying to have him pussy drunk for a full week?
He let you have your fun. Grinding and humping on him with the bed bouncing before room service could even come knocking at your door. Greece's sunlight glimmered through the blinds and kissed your skin. Fuck, he was almost jealous.
"C'mere," he rasped, tugging you down so your lips meshed with his. All the breakfast he needed. Paired with your cunt spilling and creaming all over him— first thing in the morning.
Let's just say that was the only few minutes you found yourself on top of him that day.
Strong hands shoved you into the bed and mean hips pounded your ass into the mattress. Pouring your sweet songs into the salty air and breaking in your room for the week.
"This what you want?" He rumbled into your ear. Squeezing your throat with his bicep fixed around it. "Wanna cum on this cock all the way through to my birthday? Be my lil' birthday whore? Huh?"
You could only mewl and buck back into him. Clenching him just in time for your moaned answer.
"t-toru— hngh! Anything for— for the birthday boy."
"Gonna make me lose my fuckin' mind before that baby, fuck."
You're surprised he hadn't broken the bed that day. Hell— you're surprised he hadn't broken you. From fucking your screams into the pillows to suffocating his tongue and nose into your pussy— to even pulling you onto your back to stare into your eyes while he stuffed you up for the third, fourth, sixth time.
Perhaps it was the endless missions all through October and November that flicked that whorish switch in both of you. But hey, you're here for seven days. Might as well make the most out of it— right?
By the time you ( somehow ) finished, you realised both of your stomachs were rumbling as you snuggled into one another's arms.
"I just broke your dick and you're still thinking about food." You laughed into his chest with kisses.
Satoru whined. "You brought me here to starve me. Feed me nothin' but pussy."
You're certain you scared room service that day.
The second day of DecSatorucember ( are we warming up to the name? ) was spent making up for the first.
"Stay far away from me, you siren." Huffed your husband as he crawled out of the bed and made his way to answer the probably nervous room service.
You giggled from the sheets, curling up and sending him a wink.
"Mhhm. Keep pretending you can resist me baby."
"Watch me."
He ate you out on the balcony fresh after breakfast.
White hair kissing your thighs, tongue delving deep, blue eyes rolled back as you leaned against the railing and tipped your head back into the sunrise. Calling his name to the fresh air as he sucked on your clit like he was still starving.
"Mngh, what was that you said 'bout resisting me?" You stroked a hand through his hair.
"Shuuu' up nd cum on my tongue." He groaned.
Okay but seriously. You actually managed to get out of the hotel that day. Off into the white beaches and crystal waters. Greece wasn't ready for the both of you.
His shirt on you, tucked and tied just right to tempt eyes. Your colours matching, hand in hand, his ring so obviously on your finger? Eyes glued to you both like the breeze.
"Wanna take a dip?" You mused after spreading yourself onto the towel he laid down.
He adjusted the umbrella with a huff. "And watch everyone wish they were the ocean clinging to you?"
"Okay poet."
"Hey."
He dropped to his forearms and zeroed in for a smooch. Toppled over you and accidentally knocked down your umbrella. But what did that matter when you were laughing into his lips and making out on the beach?
"Big baby," you giggled, nipping his tongue for good measure.
"Yours. Say it."
"Mhhm. My big baby."
You convinced him to get into the water. Arms around you to steady you from the waves. You couldn't help but notice how comfortable you were in his strength. Head leaned back on his chest as the waters brushed over you.
But of course. You should have known your husband better by now.
"Don't kill me, okay?"
And that grin told you everything.
The fucker dragged you beneath the waves with him. Kicking and screaming while you still somehow heard his grating laughter even in the water.
You chased him across the beach with a flipflop for that.
Days three, four and five of Satorucember were all about roaming the town and immersing into the culture.
Of course food was a big thing on Satoru's list. So he made sure that you visited. Every. Single. Restaurant and stall his eye caught.
"Babbbyy, I'm full," you groaned, flopping back into your chair like a limp prawn. You shoved your plate over him, where he batted at you with wide eyes.
"We've only been to five places though!"
"Do you hear yourself? Five!"
"Weak."
You made sure to kick him under the table while he was mid spoon. Which resulted in him dropping whatever he was ready to gulp down.
The pout on his face almost made you feel bad. Almost.
"Oh well, five second r—"
"NO."
Shop owners found the foreign, bickering couple in their midst oddly endearing. Especially once Satoru got an eye for Greek fashion and sent you on a little runway show. What should you expect?
"Gojo Satoru, you are not buying me this entire store," you mumbled, flicking off some silly shell sunglasses he'd bought from the store before. I'm making a collection to put in my will for Megumi, he claimed.
"But babbyyyy," he pouted, nudging over another dress into you and readjusting the awful shades. "It's my colour and everything."
"Everything is blue here, Satoru."
"That's why I wanna see you in it all!"
The hotel room was getting increasingly more cramped with the dozens of shopping bags filling it up. How the hell were you getting all of this back to Tokyo?
"Do you want that?" He even dared to ask as you walked hand in hand along the docks.
You glanced in the direction of his enthusiastic index, then shot a wide-eyed stare right back at him.
"The horse!?"
"Yeah, do you want one?"
"What is your problem?"
"You married me."
"What was I thinking. . ."
"EXCUSE ME!?"
You got dunked in the ocean again for that.
Canoeing in which he almost capsized you both.
Horseback riding where you somehow bonked into each others heads and his horse decided to get lost.
Hiking where he had to play hero and catch your slip ups and kiss you every time.
You name it.
You're sure your camera roll's gonna hate you by the end of this trip— but you couldn't help it.
Despite his shenanigans, nothing beat Satoru's smile.
Especially when he didn't know you were looking.
It was genuine. Bright. Something that put even the dazzling sun to shame. You wondered, could you threaten the higher ups to leave you both alone for another week?
You might've.
Especially with the way you'd been fucking like rabbits for six days straight? Hell, he tried to eat you out on the canoe for crying out loud.
You stopped him.
Barely.
Not for long. By the end of the sixth day you found yourself back in the bed that you're sure is gonna have to be replaced by the time you two book out.
Dinner abandoned, dress hiked, thighs squeezing on either side of his head as he pulled you down flush on his face. Glossed and slick and creamed— but he didn't stop once.
"Don't move," he groaned, deep and hazed into your dripping pussy as his hands squished your ass into his palms. He dragged his face along your cunt sensitive from six days of stimulation.
"Mmm, b-but toru—" you hunched over, one hand fisting his messy locks while the other clung to the headboard. "Came s'much."
And still you were bucking into him. Greeting his nose with your clit. He ground back into the throbby nub.
"Don't care."
Seemed all he did care about was fucking you on his tongue. He couldn't even part to speak clearly. Muffling his groans into your flick like a man starved.
"Want you ridin' my face into m'birthday."
And by damnit, he got that. Even if it meant gripping your thighs and locking them to his relentless mouth while you squirmed and squealed. Even if it meant creaming his pants from all your whines and whimpers of his name. Even if it meant his fingers growing pruney from how how long they stayed buried to the knuckle in your spasming pussy.
He was tasting you on his tongue for the first second of his birthday. He'd make sure of it.
"Fuck— toru-!"
With both hands trembling into his hair and your cunt rubbing all over his face, you rode his head and his groans as the clock went ticking.
Fifty six.
Fifty seven.
Fifty eight.
Fifty nine.
"Cum for me, sweetheart," he groaned, hips bucking into nothing as he dragged you down. Fuck, did he wanna suffocate to death on pussy? What a way to go, in his opinion. "Cum on m' tongue. Be my pretty birthday slut."
White clouded your vision. Jaw slack and eyes rolled back as you helplessly bucked into his face. Teary gaze managing to just look down at him as your cunt went creaming and the clock struck midnight.
Day seven of Satorucember was spent loving your husband until you both couldn't breathe.
Endless. Hell— Limitless. Squirming, clinging, whining, crying— you're certain his back ran red with your nails and your thighs would bloom with his bruises.
Because all Gojo Satoru wanted for his birthday?
Was to feel his wife.
Feel that she was his.
That she was still here.
That he was.
And you proved that. With every load your greedy cunt took in. Every sobbed, I love you, into each other's mouths. Every gasping vow as he ruined the sheets and stained you in Greece itself.
By the time your bodies simply couldn't anymore, he still held you. Even when your skins screamed from sensitivity and a deep ache thrummed into your muscles.
"Did you get your birthday wish?"
You mumbled and rolled over onto his chest. "We still gotta cut the cake."
"Think I'm over sweet things for a bit."
You gasped, shoving yourself from his collarbone to stare him down.
"The Gojo Satoru? Tired of sweets?"
"Blame your pussy."
"She loves you dearly. And now you're blaming her?"
Your joined laughter shook the strained bed as his strong arms squeezed around you tight and rolled you over to your side. Legs tangling and lips still smothering into one another.
"Mm," he hummed into your mouth, fingers stroking down your spine. "Don't want it to end tomorrow."
You paused for a second. Pulled back and brushed your thumb over his brow.
"Yeah?"
"Mhhm."
"Maybe I could threaten the higher ups for seven more days."
"Yeah may— wait, threaten?"
You popped your lips at his confused look, then smiled. "Oopsie daisy."
Satoru's laugh warmed your chest. His lips peppered all over your face as he drew you in and nestled his chin atop your head. His deep breath eased your mouth into a more tender smile. Your kiss brushed his sternum, trailing right over his heart.
Seven days wasn't enough to show this man how much he meant to you.
Hell, seven years— seven thousand even— wouldn't manage to.
As his heart stilled, yours synched. Another week didn't sound so bad if it meant you could love him for every hour, every minute, every second.
He hummed, low and deep and oh so in love with you.
"Seven more days in Greece with me, sure you can survive?"
"The real question is whether or not Greece can survive."
"You know what I would do if I were you?" Zayne glances up from his book, seeing you standing over him. He raises a brow, already preparing himself for what ludicrous thing that will come out of your mouth.
"What would that be?"
"I'd jerk off more. You don't do it nearly enough." He nearly chokes on his own saliva, immediately coughing to clear his throat.
"I'm sorry?" He blinks at you in confusion, to which you just shrug, as if you've said something completely normal.
"What? I'm just saying that if I were you, I'd whip it out whenever I got the chance!" He can't help but cringe at your language, sighing heavily.
"I see no reason to masturbate when we're together. It would be a waste." Your brows shoot up, and he senses he's made an error in his phrasing. Of course, it's too late to take it back.
"A waste of what exactly?"
"You know what I meant."
"I have no idea what you meant! I mean, I assume you're talking about wasting your cum, but surely I'm mistaken?" You're grinning wildly, and Zayne senses a migraine coming on.
"Regardless, I don't need to "jerk off" anymore than I already do. I would prefer to abstain until I'm with you."
"Right...and what about that time I walked in on you jerking off in your office?"