We Are Blossoming Into Release, Believe, Receive, And Achieve Season! Eras! Lifetimes! Timelines! Why??? Because WHERE IS THE LOVE? WHERE IS THE INTIMACY OMG BRING REAL ROMANCE AND COURTESY AND LOVING SMALL INTIMACIES RATHER THAN JUST PINNING TWO BODIES TOGETHER! ANY BODY CAN PIN TWO OR THREE OR FOUR BODIES TOGETHERâBUT WHO ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS THE SHEER CAPABILITY OF RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS!!?? WHO CAN UNDERSTAND THE DYNAMICS OF A RELATIONSHIP WHERE ONE IS THE SPEAKER AND ONE THE LISTENER?? WHO UNDERSTANDS WHAT IT MEANS TO RIDE WITH THE WINDOWS DOWN BECAUSE THE MARINA BREEZE BRINGS SUNNY JOY INTO THEIR OTHER?âœ! WHO AMONG US CAN VISUALIZE THE TIMID YET SURE STEPS OF TWO SOULS WALTZING AROUND ONE ANOTHER IN A COSMIC DANCE, WEARING THIS PATH FOR LIGHT YEARS UNTIL TWO HEARTS BUMP TOGETHER AS ONE?âœ! IT IS TIME TO BRING REAL LOVERS BACK, HEALED LOVERS BACK, REAL DEAL COMMUNITY AND COMMUNICATIVE SPEAKERS BACK!!!
sukuna sprawled out on your shared bed, two arms above his head, one across his stomach, and another lied idly on your thigh. his hair was messy, strands all over the place, and a few somehow shaped into bangs over his forehead. his stomach-mouth was open, softly snoring while showing off his large fangs.
and although he looked so comfortable, and the moonlight softly shone through the curtains of your quarters, you took a minute to leave. softly, you moved his large hand off your thigh, placing it close to where you slept instead.
after youâve quietly retreated to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, sukuna almost immediately woke up from the loss of your touch.
he softly grumbled when he didnât feel your body warmth, then he grabbed at what he wanted to be you, but instead met with sheets.
a huff escaped him, and he turned onto his side with a groan, half sitting up and using a hand to prop himself up.
âwife..â he called out, mumbling with his natural rough voice, a frown appearing on his face.
and almost as if you could sense how he already missed you dearly, not knowing how long youâd been gone, you slowly creaked the door open, walking in with a glass of water. as you sat it on the nightstand, your heart ached as sukuna blearily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. he slowly blinked up at you like a cat, and his hair stuck up in many different directions.
some drool escaped the corner of his mouth, and you smiled. he probably didnât even notice.
finally, you climbed into bed again, softly mumbling, âi know, iâm here,â with a smile as he already began reaching towards you to pull you closer.
your hand found his chest, and you rubbed comforting circles on his tattoos as you left a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. before you could pull away, he softly nudged your head with his, letting out a soft sigh as his hand found your back.
but you reached up, hand finding his hair as you play with it. he pushed his head into your hand, asking for more touch.
âyou have bed head hair,â you whispered as his eyes nearly closed.
but he murmured, shaking his head with a pout, âi do not,â he let out a dramatic huff, glaring at you with all four eyes.
âwhatever you say, honey,â you mumbled as you looked down at him, hand still running through his hair.
and within seconds, heâs asleep as quickly as he woke up. this time, heâs lulled to sleep by your touch. heâs right where he wants to be, falling asleep every night in the arms of his wife.
ib this art by sukunaglazer23 on twt heâs so adorable oml
Not a fan of how people still disregard Son Hyunwooâs emotions, just because they donât have the cranial matter to accept a realm where he, indeed, has them! Itâs been 11 years people! LIKEâ thereâs a reason why the manâs stage name stands for âSHOWING Uâ LIKEâag BB habamdmxbd ahahhhhhbbbbbbgg!! Just because someoneâs reserved doesnât mean they donât have or know how to express deep ass feelings!
a/n: something little while I work on my summer series <3
more like this
àłàż*:
Rain patters the window loosely. Sunday quietly arrived hours ago, and now itâs seeping through into your bedroom. Maybe you should be preparing for the working week; instead, youâre still bundled up in bed with your husband.
You shift just a little, feet and legs tangling with Nanamiâs under the sheets as he pulls you closer- your back pressed to his front, curled up together like you were always meant to end up this way. Distantly, you can smell the rain landing on the windowsill outside.
âMmfh.â You sigh into the pillows, pressing your cheek into the awaiting softness while your husband gently moves your hair aside to press a soft kiss to your nape.
âGood morning, my love.â He says quietly. The nickname has become second nature to you both now, but it still carries the significance it did the first time he spoke it while passing you the salt on a date and you both froze.
You love that memory, it reminds you of the way his face had cracked into a nervous grin and youâd smiled back just as brightly, brushing your hand against his while you giggled at his expression. Now, if you ever tease him about it, Nanami will just shrug beneath his shirt and mutter something about how âit felt rightâ.
But you still notice the blush on his face when he turns away.
âMorning, Ken.â You mumble back, letting your fingers lace casually with his across your stomach. âDid you sleep well?â
âI did, thank you.â He replies.
God, you think, itâs all so domestic it almost scares you. It scares Nanami too, having a constant in his life that isnât mundane or arduous. Itâs just you, and he loves you so much sometimes he canât bring himself to express it with words.
Itâs a feeling that sweeps over him in moments like this, in tiny snapshots of married life. Whether itâs you tutting at him when he forgets to sieve the flour before adding it to the cake batter or him tutting at you when you leave your heels strewn across the corridor, Nanami is prone to a sickeningly sweet gush of emotion.
What Nanami feels for you is everything, happiness and reverence and desire and nostalgia and pure, unadulterated joy all mixed up into one big ball within that he can only describe as love.
Which is exactly what he whispered to you on your wedding day, stood at the altar as he slipped the ring onto your finger through the sheen of tears he didnât bother denying to anybody who teased him about it at the reception afterwards.
Itâs exactly what heâs whispering now, as he hugs your warmth closer underneath the puffy duvet. You giggle and squirm when his breath fans across your ear, his lips curving upwards into a smile when the sound drifts to his ears.
âKen, that tickles.â You laugh quietly, the melodic tinkling of your voice the most gorgeous thing heâs ever heard.
âShh.â He laughs back, so unlike the stoic salaryman-turned-sorcerer everybody expects from him, âlet me have my fun.â
You do, you lie there and melt into your husband and his words while you gaze out into the morning.
Nanami listens to the rain too, and reminisces. He thinks fondly about ducking into nearby bakeries to wait out drizzle on dates, he thinks about the time you both got soaked to the bone during monsoon season in Malaysia.
Nanami loves that memory, he adores and cherishes it close to his heart. The way you'd looked so shocked when the clouds split open above you, hearty waterfalls of water spattering across your clothes and wetting you head to toe. You'd laughed at his hair, at the way it stuck to his forehead, the sea crashing on peacefully behind you while the sand ruffled beneath your bare feet. Bare because Nanami was carrying your sandals.
Raindrops trickle across the glass, and you hazily watch them through half-opened eyes as they pool together and splash. The water flows smoothly, calmingly, and reminds you of the vase of flowers you need to mist.
âKen.â You murmur, voice muffled by the duvet tugged up to your nose, âI need to water the flowers in the kitchen or theyâll wilt.â
His arms hold tighter and he groans defeatedly into your shoulder. âIâll buy you a new bouquet later, darling.â
âBut I feel bad for them.â You say, only half meaning the empathy over your flowers, but Nanami is quickly swept over again by yet another wave of bubbling affection.
âI love you.â He says against your skin, his fingers tracing the metal of your wedding ring. You smile sleepily, the sound of the rain and your husbandâs gentle touch lulling you back to sleep.
âMmm, I love you too.â You breathe softly, âthe flowers can wait.â
Friends Nanami and Higuruma go on a duo mission together... and fall victim to some unexpected effects.
âł pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami
âł warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bottom!higuruma, top!nanami, sexual tension, sex pollen, forced proximity, friends to enemies to lovers, rough anal sex, fighting, cum is lube, both a bit OOC but we can blame the pollen, generally feral behavior
âł wc: 13,675
âł notes: nanami art by @ hikonom on twitter, higuruma art by @ saksak_kazz on twitter. i hope you enjoy <3
âAh, good, youâre here too!â Higuruma greeted amiably, sauntering into the meeting room with steaming coffee in hand, the kind of shitty, bitter stuff the staff room machine spit out. But at least it woke him up, so maybe that was by design. Sleepy sorcerers were more often than not dead ones. Sinking into the cushioned couch with an early morning groan, arm draped lazily across the backrest, he sighed into the steam.
He tapped, tapped, tapped his paper cup with dancing fingers. âActually⊠any idea why weâre here?â
Smack!
Nanami dropped a manila folder onto the table between them with a sharp flick, his expression tight with irritation. âThis.â He muttered, the frustration clear in his voice, offering no further explanation.
Higuruma raised a sloping brow and lifted his coffee to his lips, peering pityingly over the warped plastic lid. He is not as bothered by this intrusion to the beginning of his weekend, years spent tethered to work had numbed him to the inconvenience.
Unlike Nanami, who needed it pried away and leaves it with claw marks, spitting smoke like a raging dragon, he is not as jealously possessive of his freetime. Higuruma had long since learned to surrender it with little more than a resigned sigh and a wave in the rearview mirror.
Higuruma bent forward, placing his coffee on the table and knuckled it slowly across to Nanami, the way one might endear oneself to a stray animal. He needed it more, Higuruma thought.
The silence in the room turned meditative, broken by a deep grounding breath from the other man as he watched his plans of baking, and reading, and relaxing and no responsibility turn to dust. Deep breath in⊠he could bake next weekend and perhaps treat himself to a new book, luck permitting maybe he would even start it⊠and breathe out. It gave Nanami a moment to cool, to steady himself beforeâ
Gojo burst into the room, all gale-force energy and unfiltered exuberance, with a complete disregard for any semblance of professionalism and ignorant of the air of resentment stewing from the rigid blonde-turned-gargoyle sitting in the chair across from him.
âGreat, youâre both here!â Gojoâs voice was far too chipper for the hour. âPerfect timing. Iâve got a fun little job for you two.â
Nanami looked up, unimpressed, maybe a little murderous. âAre you well aware that itâs a Friday afternoon? Which means that tomorrow is Saturday, which is the weekend and I absolutely will notââ
âYeah, yeah, I get it,â Gojo flapped a dismissive hand as he flopped into the chair opposite them, leaning back with an air of nonchalance that had a vein pulsing in Nanamiâs temple. Higuruma watched on with warring amusement and pity, both hidden surreptitiously behind steepled fingers where he kissed his teeth, resisting the overtaking urge to laugh.
âAnyway, thereâs this small issue out in the middle of nowhere. Some cursed incidents, blah blah blah, you know the drill. Strange happenings, couples murdering each other nearbyâ you get the picture, right? Easy peasy. Easy enough to send one of the students really, they could do it in their sleep! I really canât stress enough how easy itâs gonna be.â
Higuruma raised an eyebrow, finally speaking. âYou were supposed to handle this one, werenât you?â
âYes, technically,â Gojo grinned, not at all sheepish and wholly unapologetic. âBut thereâs this festival Iâve been dying to check out. Theyâve got all sorts of sweetsâmochi, taiyaki, ice cream, you name it! I mean, why waste my time on some low-grade curse when my time is better spent there?â
Nanamiâs frown deepened, if that were possible. âThis is below our paygrade, then.â
âExactly! Very astute, Nanamin!â Gojo cheered, completely missingâor more likely ignoring âNanamiâs tone. âWhich is why you two are perfect for the job. You can handle it in no time and be back before the weekendâs over. Unless youâd rather join me at the festival? But fair warning, youâll have to keep up with me while I sample everything.â
He leaned forward, blinding smile growing wider as if offering the deal of a lifetime complete with spread open palms. But to both Nanami and Higuruma who glanced at each other, reading, it looked much closer to a threat. âSo, what do you say? Curse or confections?â
Nanami didnât even hesitate. âTell Ijichi to prepare the car.â
Gojo sighed dramatically, as if truly disappointed they werenât taking him up on his generous offer. âYou two are no fun. But alright! Youâll be staying up there, got a place all set up for you. Should be a walk in the parkââ he clapped his hands, standing and swaying forwardâthen backâon mile-long legs.
âAnything else we should know?â Higuruma asked, leaning back in his seat with clinical consideration. Details, details, detailsâ
Gojo shrugged, already halfway out the door with a flippant wave over his shoulder. âNothing you canât handle. Just try not to kill each other before the curse does, yeah? Oh, and if you change your mindââ
âWe wonât,â Nanami cut him off, already gathering his things.
Higuruma blinked, leaning forward now. Where were the details?
Gojoâs laugh echoed down the hallway as he disappeared, leaving the two men to contemplate the unfortunate turn their day had taken. Higuruma sighed. âHe really has a way with words, doesnât he?â
Nanami simply scowled. âInconsiderate⊠incorrigible⊠no work ethicâ â he muttered, brushing his hands over a wrinkleless suit as he stood. âLetâs get this over with.â
Sleek black wheels hummed along winding woodland backroads, the thick forest outside morphed into a smudgy, dark green blur. Ijichi was laser-focused on the drive, his hands gripping the wheel with his usual sweaty-palmed intensity.
Higuruma gazed out the window and traced the endless stretch of trees with his eyes until they swam with dizzy shapes. He watched until his head felt uncomfortably light, swooping his attention down to his stationary lap for a reprieve. This place was really out there⊠strange location for a curse. Â
âYou know,â Higuruma's voice slipped through the quiet, âit could be worse.â He leaned back, letting the car seat handle him as he let out a slow breath. âAt least this should be simple. We like simple.â
Beside him, Nanami was the picture of calm, a book delicately cradled in one long-fingered hand. Heâd had enough time to calm down, to temper his frustration with resignation; it couldnât be helped⊠and this was somehow still better than the alternative of a day stuck with Gojo.
He gave a small, noncommittal hum, flipping a page. Heâd long ago trained himself out of car sickness, these drives now offering a rare slice of interim peaceâa chance to slowly make dents in his ever-growing reading list.Â
âTrue,â he murmured, eyes never leaving the lines of text. âAnd I suppose the company could be worse, hm?â
Higuruma turned his head and the beginning of a smile swept over his mouth. âOh, so much worse,â he agreed, letting his temple knock against the cool glass of the window. âWeâve been through enough to appreciate these quiet ones. In and out.â
Nanamiâs eyes remained trained on his book, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
âIn and out,â he repeated.
âMaybe we can unwind after this. Grab a drink, like last time.â Nanami's offer slipped out off-hand as he flipped the page, more a passing thought than a concrete plan. If his weekend was going to be hijacked, he might as well make the most of it. And really, drinking with the person he'd be spending it with anyway didnât seem like the worst idea. Higuruma was good company, always had been.
Higurumaâs grin was immediate, approval reflected briefly in the windowâs glass. âI like the way you think!â
As the forest thickened and the road ahead narrowed, their destination creeping closer, there was no tension, no unease. Nanami was not so foolish to ever feel safe on the job, but with Higuruma, he felt something suspiciously close to it.
It was just a simple in-and-out missionânothing they hadnât dealt with before.
The sun dipped low on the horizon by the time they arrived, splashing the sky with dramatic strokes of orange and pink that belonged more in an ornately framed and hung painting rather than on the front lines of the job.
As Ijichi brought the car to a crunchy halt on the gravel drive, the sound felt louder than it should haveâlike the world itself held its breath the same as the three men wrapped in the security of their vehicle. Three heads cranked towards windows and their cheeks squished against fogged glass as they took in their lodgings with the sort of veneration of stumbling upon the carcass of a dead god.
This place felt lost.
Old and rotted wood, planks speared from the sides like splintering teeth, green with creeping lichen and constricting vines that curled around every corner and nook and cranny like veins; pumping life into that which is lifeless, keeping alive that which shouldâve long been dead.
Nanami was the first out after a brief moment's hesitation, smoothing his hands down his front and looking prepared to walk into a boardroom rather than the mouth of potential doom. It served to swipe away the sudden sweat on his palms.
The cabin that stood before them looked deceptively quaint, even in its disrepair, like something heâd find on a postcard if he ignored the way it crouched amidst the trees like it was prepared to pounce on them. He also ignored the way it made him want to twist his neck in submission, the instinct to drop to his knees in dogeza and scrape his forehead against the gravel before the steps.
Silence blanketed thick, the kind that makes you strain your ears for somethingâanythingâto break it. But there was nothing. No birdsong, no chirping crickets, no croaking frogs or snapping branches of unseen wildlife. Too quiet, even for somewhere this remote. Like this space existed in its own bubble.
His face remained neutral as he swept the area, taking in the unsettling stillness with a mild frown. He couldnât sense anythingâno curse, no cursed energy, none of the obvious residuals Gojo mentioned.
Quirky little cabin, quirky little missionâNanami wouldâve preferred to be at home with a quirky glass of whiskey instead⊠not here swallowing nerves like a knock-kneed boy.
Higuruma stepped up beside Nanami, tracing the lines of the cabinâs exterior. It was a shithole. He didnât see the dissonant charm in it that Nanami did, however faint. It was falling apart, the roof looked a good wind away from caving, and somehow it looked designed that way, because surely it wouldâve fallen by now if it was ruined by time.
Something about it felt too perfect, too staged, like it was posing for a picture it knew would be takenâjust waiting for someone to notice the way the door seemed to yawn like a hungry mouth, welcoming them to step inside its belly.
He allowed himself a moment of frankly healthy mortal terror before he shook it off.
They were professionals, after all. There was no room for jitters before theyâd even crossed the threshold. Especially not because of a house.
Ijichi, meanwhile, looked like he might bolt if given half a chance. His hand shook a little as he passed over their overnight carry ons, eyes darting around like he expected the trees to start whispering or something equally unnerving. Not somewhere he wanted to be at night.
âIâll be back tomorrow to pick you up. Call if you need anything sooner,â he said, trying to sound official, though there was an unmistakable thread of relief that unraveled his voice that he at least gets to leave. He was already halfway back into the car as the last words left his mouth, and Higuruma had to check an eyeroll.
They all felt it, which made him feel marginally better⊠but that couldnât be a good sign.
With a final nod, Ijichi took off, the crunch of gravel beneath his tires fading into the distance all too quickly as the sun dipped behind the trees.
Nanami took point after a few seconds more of silent calculation, leading the way up the short, gravelly path toward the door. The wooden door creaked as he nudged it open, a slow, ominous drone that echoed the wrapped hilt of his blade in his closing palm, the sound hung in the air as a sword of damoclesâthe whole scene balanced on the edge of a razor, expectant and waiting for something to tip it over.
The floors beneath their feet groaned, clearly unimpressed with the sudden intrusion. Nanami was certain the whole place would feel just as unsettling as the outside had, but when they stepped fully into the cabin, they both paused. It was⊠beautiful.
The room basked in golden light, courtesy of old-fashioned lamps that dotted the space with a gentle, inviting glow. Each piece of furniture advertised rustic charm, worn edges and sturdy frames that practically begged to be sat on. The walls, too, adorned with an array of knickknacks and decorationsâeach item meticulously arranged.
It was the kind of obviously lived-in space that could lull you into a sense of comfort if you werenât careful, the kind of place where you could almost forget about the string of suspicious mariticides that had brought them here in the first place.
It was strange, but it was also nice. And in their line of work, nice was a luxury.
Higuruma twisted around Nanamiâs back, breathing out a small surprised huh! as he took in the unexpectedly charming interior.
âNot bad,â he remarked, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he set his bag down on the worn wooden floor. His fingers slowly uncurled from his gavel, knuckles no longer white. âLooks like someone put some thought into the inside, at least.â
âSeems that way,â Nanami agreed, and he was already moving toward the heavy wooden table at the center of the room. He rummaged through his bagâthough there wasnât much to unpack, given the brevity of their planned stay.
Meanwhile, Higuruma allowed himself a moment to wander, not quite settled and seeking to stake out each and every corner of their accommodations, taking in the small details that made the place feel oddly inviting, idly picking up decorations from shelves with an appraising eyeâ
âand behind them, the door slowly hushed shut, the lock slipping into place with a soft click. Neither man noticed.
Higuruma plucked a ceramic owl from the mantle, his nose wrinkling; not at the decor, which really he found rather charming, but at the streaky, off-yellow trail of dust left in the wake of its removal. He huffed, mentally filing the complaint away.
It wouldnât do to bring it up to Nanami, not when he was already less than thrilled about being out here at all.
He swiped a finger through the dust, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger, eyes narrowing in distaste. Filthy.
His nose twitched, and before he could stop it, a great inhale heralded the inevitable. Higuruma sneezed, the force of it sending up a poof of air that stirred the greater nest of dust bunnies, erupting the mantle into a cloud of yellow powder.
Coughing and cursing, Higuruma hastily set the owl back down and waved a hand in front of his face, stumbling back in a desperate attempt to escape the dusty assault.
Nanami only snorted, amused, offering a polite albeit unconcerned âbless youâ over his shoulder. He only looked up when Higuruma continued to cough, bent at the waist and hands planted firmly on cocked knees.
âAre you alright?â He asked, already side-stepping the table to get to him.
âNo,â Higuruma spat, straightening with watery eyes and a yellow dusted face. Nanami tried not to laugh at his misfortune.
âGojo is a filthy, good for nothing liar,â he continued, and at that Nanami could only hum in sympathetic agreement.
âGot a place set up for us my ass, itâs not even cleanâwhat if I had a dust allergy, huh? I couldâve died, right then and there!â
Nanami turned to the sink, wetting a sheet of paper towel and returning to Higuruma with a frown, handing it over. âWell itâs a good thing you donât, then.â
âBut if I didââ
âYou donât.â
Higuruma growled, mulish, but accepted the towel and scrubbed it over his face. Nanami, in an effort to be helpful, patted down Higurumaâs shoulders. But the dust was stubborn, it clung to his hands like childrens chalk, and it was already coating his own suit from how the dust was roused into the air, catching sunbeams as it swirled and resettled.
Beige was a forgiving color, and he found himself grateful for his preference of the shade over Higurumaâs black suits. Too easy to ruin. Impractical, really.
The more he cleaned, the more Higurumaâs initial anger waned, though a faint prickle remainedâa persistent itch beneath his skin, in his nose, his hair, and even his mouth. It made him feel twitchy, uncomfortable, but nothing a hot shower couldnât fix. He sighed, shaking off the lingering disgust with a few quick flaps of his hands.
âWhat do you think the odds are that we could get takeout delivered all the way out here? Iâm starving.â
Nanami paused in his idle, and admittedly futile, attempts to brush the dust from Higurumaâs suit and sighed. âI wouldnât count on it. No delivery driver would venture this deep into the woods for us. And if they did, by the time the food arrived, it would be cold and hardly worth the effort.â
âHm.â Higurumaâs responding grunt was vaguely agreeable. Eyes slipped a longing look at the cabinâs surprisingly well-equipped kitchen. âGuess weâre on our own. I can whip up something decent.â
Nanami raised an eyebrow. â... Since when do you cook?â
âHey,â Higuruma retorted, hands on his hips with offense and leaving yellow smudgy prints in the fabric. âIâm more than capable in the kitchen, thank you.â
Nanami couldnât suppress a small smile at that. âI enjoy cooking, but if you insist.â
âOh, I do,â Higuruma declared with exaggerated seriousness, though the competitively playful glint in his eyes betrayed him. âJust sit back and relax. Or sweep up some dust if you really need to be helpful. Now, shooâout of my kitchenââ
Nanami laughed, allowing himself to be fluttered and pushed out of the room, shuffling along and casting a quietly fond look over his shoulder.
âPlease refrain from setting off smoke alarms.â
Higuruma rolled his eyes, already moving back towards the kitchen. âJust watch. Youâll be begging me to cook more often after this.â
Higuruma started by rifling through the fridge, the pantry, and the cabinets above the sink; rattling glass jars and shuffling cardboard boxes. Gojo wasn't lying about this part at least: the kitchen was set up for them. Fully stocked, and Higuruma reckoned he might actually be able to make something of it. He grinned, feeling pretty confident about his odds. âBeef curry?â
The cabin was all warm, sappy hues as the sun sank fully behind the trees, painting shadows that reminded Nanami of hot cocoa and knitted blankets, the kind of coziness that comes with soft lamps and fairy lights strung along high beamed ceilings. Outside, the dark now released from the creeping treeline pressed inky hands against the windows.
Nanami leaned back in his chair, eyeing the remnants of his meal on the plate with a neutral stare.
There was something off about it.
His desire not to discourage Hiromiâs good intentions naively outweighed his logic though, because he still ate it all, and maybe he would regret that decision later. It wasnât bad, not even closeâthere was no taste of rot or spoil, but something that made his mouth tingle and heart thud unlike any curry seasoning heâd ever had.
âNot bad,â he said, setting his fork down with a measured nod. âYour choice in spices was a bit odd⊠but not bad at all.â
Higuruma felt awful.
Heâd stomached it well, with pinched temples he quietly nursed the headache that crept up during the meal like a bad aftertaste, but stiffened ramrod straight at Nanamiâs comment.
His brain thudded, thudded, thudded, each beat a jagged staccato as the words sank in, scraping like sandpaper against his nerves. âNot bad?â he echoed, biting through the cozy atmosphere with a bare-tooth grimace. âWhat do you mean not bad? It was delicious.â
Nanami blinked, surprised by the sudden sharpness and delicately ran a napkin over his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. âI was just offering feedback. It really wasnât bad.â
The room suddenly felt warmerâtoo warm. Nanami dismissed it as the lingering heat from the stove, or maybe the spices from the curry, now irritatingly intense as he felt sweat gathering under his collar like humid, panting breaths against his nape.
Higuruma dug his fingers into his temples again, trying to rub away the tension that settled there like a thick fog. It made him woozy, he felt off balance. âWell, I didnât ask for feedback,â he snapped, the words tumbling out with more venom than heâd intended. He wasnât usually one to snap so quickly, but something about Nanamiâs mild criticism was needling him tonight like a splinter under his skin.
Nanamiâs frown deepened. âThereâs no need to get so worked up; I apologize for my commentââ
âWorked up?â Higurumaâs dark eyes sparked like lit kindling with a sudden flash of anger. He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor. âYouâre the one who started nitpicking. If your standards are so damn high, maybe you shouldâve cooked!â
The air between them was heavy with ozone, tension slithered in, curling around the edges of their fraying tempers like blotting vines feasting on their discomfort. The silence that followed was heavy, anticipatory, and those vines grew roots and then fingers, curling into Nanamiâs limbs and tightening the muscles on his face into a silent glare.
Nanami gathered up the dishes with a little too much force, the plates clattering together in a way that made the small space shrink smaller, the echoes bouncing off the walls and settling in the corners like something dark and brooding. The darkness that licked at the windows oozed its way inside.
Higuruma crossed his arms, feeling his irritation spike when Nanami turned his shoulder, hot and irrational, a screeching tea kettle in very real danger of boiling over completely. Donât you dare ignore me.
âHonestly, if your standards are so high, Iâm surprised you tolerated it at all. My apologies for displeasing your precious palate.â
Nanamiâs hands tightened around the sink basin, his knuckles paling as the metal dug into his skin. Slowlyâdeliberatelyâhe turned to face Higuruma, meeting his glare head-on. Their eyes snapped together like flint striking steel, cold, unyielding, sparks flying. âFine. Next time, Iâll cook. That way, we wonât have to worry about your thin skin getting in the way.â
Higurumaâs lips pressed into a thin line, but he didnât answer. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he held his ground, the air between them thickening, charged, shimmering with a tension that hovered like static in the room.
If either of them had been of their right mind, they might have noticed the air almost gleamingâan iridescent shimmer, like the heat rising off the hood of a car on a scorching day, or the sheer coat of yellow that coated nearly every surface, the cutlery, the plates.
Every small movementâan impatient twitch of Nanamiâs finger, the brief flare of Higurumaâs nostrilsâcrackled with a heat that wasnât entirely their own. Something crept between them, feeding off their frustration, stoking and bolstering the growing fire with every passing second.
Nanamiâs glare shifted to the dishes in the sink, smeared plates and bits of rice clinging to the edges. The food had been goodâdamn good, reallyâand he hadnât planned on nitpicking. Heâd all but decided not to, but the words grew legs and clawed out of his mouth of their own volition.
Cleaning the dishes was out of the questionâhis mood was too foul to even consider it.
Higuruma scoffed and turned on his heel, retreating to the living room, his footsteps heavy and banging against the old wooden floorboards. Each footfall landed like the gavel he wields and felt every bit as damning.
As the night dragged on, the cabinâs cozy charm unraveled at its rotted edges. The soft lights, once warm and inviting, were both too dim to read by and too bright to relax under, casting shadows that twisted nauseatingly on the walls. The couch, which looked so inviting before, might as well have been carved from stone for all the comfort it offered.
And though the house was deceptively spacious, the walls inched closer, closer, closer; tightening the noose around Nanami and Higuruma and forcing them into needless confrontationsâover the lights, over which room to claim, over the correct way to handle the fire poker by the chimney.
Higuruma, by this point, had a few creative ideas for its use that had nothing to do with stoking a fire.
Nanami needed distance. A breath. Something to stop the heat crawling up his spine like a fever. He planted himself back at the sink, hands plunging into the soapy water with the kind of force that turned a gentle rinse into an act of war. The clatter of utensils against the porcelain screeched through the small kitchen, each metallic scrape a little too loud, a little too sharp. Water splashed up and soaked into his rolled-up sleeves, each drop that seeped into the fabric felt like a personal insult. He felt positively unmoored.
Every squeak of wet porcelain seemed to mock him, irritation climbing with each stubborn stain he scrubbed that just wouldnât come outâhis sanity hung by gossamer threads.
From the living room, Higurumaâs voice cut through the noise, sharp and loaded with an eye-roll Nanami could picture without even turning. âYou donât have to murder the plates, you know,â Higuruma jeered. âI can hear you all the way in hereâthatâs how you ruin them.â
Nanamiâs grip tightened on the dish, his knuckles blanching white. It was stupidâpetty. They never bickered like this, never fell into the brand of mundane sniping reserved for divorcing couples or other miserable types.
He prided himself on keeping calm. Unshakeable. Especially around Higuruma, whose dry wit and effortless ability to slip under his skin kept things lively and interesting. Fun, even.
But tonight? Tonight, everything grated on him. Every word, every soundâthe scratch of ceramic, the way Higuruma's voice seemed to curl around the walls and echo back, each bounce sharper than the last. It shredded through the quiet, gnawing at his nerves, leaving them raw and exposed to the stifling air that compressed from every direction like a vacuum.
Nanami thinks he must be sick and Higuruma must be too, because he has just enough clarity to recognize that he doesnât recognize them at all.
Nanamiâs fingers skimmed beneath the sudsy water, brushing against something solid. The unexpected chill of metal met his skin, and his hand stilled as he recognized the shape of the knife buried there. For a moment, it grounded himâquenched the fire licking at his palms, made him feel in control again. He let his fingers curl around the handle, the coolness radiating through his hand and sending a shiver up his spine that felt blessedly soothing.
The blade could make it all stop. Take it. Walk into the living room where Higuruma stands andâ
Nanami blinked. The thought dissolved, evaporating as fast as it came back to the void it came from and leaving a sick churn in its wake. He gritted his teeth and dropped the knife back into the sink with a harsh clatter, the sound sharp and final. He wanted to throw it out the window.
Absurd. He was absurd. Heâs sick. Surely he must be sick, because he would never think that. Not over something so⊠nothing.
His thoughts felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. He wasnât a beast. He wasnât a murderer. Heâd seen enough bloodshed to know betterâhe knew better.
The fact that it entered his mind at all almost made him retch.
He wiped his hands on the hanging towel, the rough fabric scraping against his skin and pulling him back from the irrecoverable edge heâd almost stumbled over. Without a word, he turned on his heel, leaving the dishes half-done and the knife abandoned in the sink, as if he could walk away from the sick impulse the kitchen inspired.
The hallway felt longer than it shouldâve as he stalked back into the living room, each step heavy, ball-and-chained to his fracturing mind. And there was Higurumaâstanding in the small living area, arms crossed, his expression unreadable, half-lit by both lamp and fire and waiting for him.
The shadows carved deep lines into his face, the hooked curve of his nose sharpened by the light, casting him as something almost predatory.
When Nanami stepped into the room, the tension between them snapped taut, a thread wound too tight and ready to break, pulling them closer, reeling them into each other's orbit. It was like standing on the edge of a flame, the heat unbearable and the burn inevitable. They were drawn to each otherâs fury, like moths with no choice but to dance in the fire until they turned to ash.
âSo rather than be gentler with the dishes, youâre just going to leave them? I suppose you expect me to clean as well as cook?â Higurumaâs voice carved through the room like shattered glass skittering across stone. He didnât move, didnât uncross his arms, but his entire stance was a challenge, daring Nanami to step closer, to meet his gaze head-on.
The way his eyes narrowed, locking onto Nanami with stripping intensity sent a fresh wave of anger surging through him, hotter, more vicious.
Nanami froze.
Just keep walking. Ignore him. Keep moving. Bathe and go to bed.
âIâm taking a break,â he said instead, each low word a bullet added to the smoking gun, the calm before a storm that could level mountains. It was a voice that shouldâve sent alarms blaring in Higurumaâs mind and made his instincts urge him to back off. It promised reckoning.
If Higuruma werenât so festered in the pit of his own irrational anger, he mightâve retreatedâmightâve backed away from the brewing tempest in Nanamiâs eyes.
If he knew that moments ago, Nanami had gripped a knife and entertained thoughts of plunging it deep between his ribs, he mightâve put distance between them.
But if Nanami was sick, Higuruma was sicker. His skin twitched beneath the tight fabric of his dress shirt, shoulders rolling and shuddering in a futile bid to relieve the tension that knotted between them. Sweat slicked his body, glistening in the firelight that painted him in violent hues of orange and red, setting him ablaze from the outside in. He was burning.
His vision dimmed, draining of color until the world was a muted blurâall except for Nanami. Nanami snapped into focus, vivid and pulsing with life, a beacon through the haze of Higurumaâs dilated eyes. He panted, breaths heavy and ragged like a slathering dog, muscles twitching with the need to lunge, to close the distance between them. Restraint frayed at the edges, but all he could think about, all that consumed him, was Nanami. Going to him. Tearing into him.
"Canât everâ" Higurumaâs voice cracked, struggling to force the words out between teeth clenched so tight he felt a pop in his jaw. "Ask for help, can you?"
A bitter scoff slipped, choked off as his throat seized, the dry walls of his airway sticking together and making his vision swim that much more as he missed another heaving breath. "Always have to beâ"
He turned away sharply, a shudder running through him, the effort to keep speaking almost painful; and with it, he hoped to hide his shame at the grossly obvious erection snaking down the seam of his thigh, just as it had been for the past fifteen minutes. "âthe lone wolf, thinking youâre so⊠so independent and fucking coolâ"
His breath hissed, a harsh sound that scraped the back of his throat raw down to the bitter copper tang beneath. "So fucking coolâ"
Nanami resisted with everything he had, every muscle tensed against the invisible binds that drew him in, demanding he act on impulses that should never see light; should never have been conceived at all.
His fingers twitched at his sides with the urge to act. To do something heâd regret. Wrap them around Higurumaâs throat, maybe, and squeeze until the hate drained out of them both.
He watched as Higuruma began to unravel, each tremor, recognizing the succumbing happening before his eyes as what he felt incubating within himself. It was like staring into a mirror, seeing his own fate playing out in front of him, knowing that it was only a matter of minutesâif he was luckyâbefore he would break too.
His pulse pounded in his temples, each beat syncing with that silent, relentless pull, dragging him recklessly toward oblivion.
Nanami stalked forward.
Higuruma whirled back around, a sharp animal snap of his neck with teeth bared like a cornered beast. His body jolted upright, spine straightening and meeting Nanamiâs advance with a challenge that was all raw instinctâno hesitation, no retreat, only the need to assert dominance.
âWhat the hell are we really fighting about here? Dishes? Dinner?â Higurumaâs laugh was cold, a bitter thing that didnât suit him at all. âOr are we dodging the real issue, Nanami? Because Iâm begging for an excuse. Give me one, and I swearââ he leaned in as close as he dared, eyelids fluttering at the smell of him even at this distance. âIâll fight you.â
Nanami didnât know why they were fighting. Only that they were. And that the scorching compulsion inside him demanded it, devoured him and any dissent whole, certain he would be reduced to ash and hollowed to a bitter husk if he so much as raised a finger against it.
He couldnât stop. He wouldnât. The need to push this until something snapped was compulsive. The only end was cremation in this hellfire, one or both, and his desperation for it ripped him apart from the inside out.
âThis isnât about dinner,â Nanami growled, his voice thick with hot coals. His chest felt tight, air scorched by the words he could barely spit out. âOr losing my weekend to be here.â His fists clenched, nails biting so deeply into his palms that blood welled in the half moons, but the sting was nothing compared to the flames ravaging his veins. Heâs in hellâhe must be.
âThis is about you.â Nanami spat the fever in his mouth, callous and cruel. His shoulders quivered and betrayed him, frenetic pulse having him swooping down towards Higurumaâs face a little too fast, a little too close, nearly eye to eye now before he could reel himself back upright; drunk on the heat of it all.
âAbout how you are a burden. A constant, incessant, mind-numbing waste that Iâd be better off without.â He wanted this. The confrontation and the catharsis that vitriol promised, even if it meant sinking deeper into the hell he was creating.
The space between them nearly evaporated, the air growing so thick they were both choking on it. Nanami could feel Higurumaâs breath ghosting over his skin, gulping for air, his throat bobbing, warm, uneven, aliveâa siren call, seductive and dangerous and ruinous.
Break him. Rip, tear, flayâspill blood into the floorboards, let the cellar drink from him.
The thought scorched through Nanami's mind, twisted and raw, and for a moment, neither dared moved, both possessing an instinctive knowing it might provoke the other to pounce. The only sound was their breath, ragged, and the ratcheting pound of the other's heart, both animalistically attuned and tracing bulging arteries up their throats.
Hurt him. The insidious whispers slithered through Higurumaâs mind like smoke, curling around his thoughts, sick with rabid infection. Hit him. Youâve done it before. He despises you. Use the gavel. End it.
Sweat gleamed on Higurumaâs forehead, mirroring the dampness on Nanamiâs neck. The air was suffocating, clinging like napalm, thick and oppressive. It was rageâpure, unadulterated rageâbut something else too. Something that begged for pain, for release, for an end.
And then Nanami hit the wall.
The impact was savage, brutal. No time to brace. Higuruma slammed him back, the force sending picture frames clattering to the floor. The walls groaned, the very bones of the cabin trembling under the weight of their collision.
Higuruma didnât hesitate. He was on Nanami in an instant, hands lashing out, cold fingers like steel vices around Nanamiâs throat. The pressure was immediate and crushingâbut Nanami didnât flinch. His eyes gored Higuruma with deadly resolve, steel against steel, waiting for the other to break.
Nanamiâs eyes narrowed, excitement seeping through his gaze as heat furnaced low in his belly, his breath coming out ragged. Higurumaâs fingers were still wrapped tight around his neck, but Nanami could feel something elseâa thrum, a pulse. His cock strained painfully against his slacks, pre-cum already staining the fabric; the matting feel of his hair both enraged and delighted him.
He wasnât sure when that happened.
He wasnât sure he cared.
His hand slid up to Higurumaâs wrist, and with the deliberate force of bending iron, began to pry those vice-like fingers from his throat. Higuruma clawed for him, fist shaking with resistance, and every inch of fight only fueled the arousal that snapped sudden through them both like rubber bands.
A cold, metallic chuckle thundered in Nanamiâs red throat, mocking with threat. "... Idiot."
He didn't waste another breathâthere was no time. With a sharp twist and a powerful surge of his shoulder, Nanami shoved Higuruma back with enough force to send them both crashing into the floorboards.
They thrashed, clawing and bodying into furniture and light fixtures. Higurumaâs knee shot up, slamming into Nanamiâs stomach, sending a shockwave of force that knocked the air from his lungs and his cock twitched, pre-cum seeping in thick rivulets down his thigh. Nanami grunted, but the ache only sharpened the edge of his need. Higuruma, too, felt the burn.
In one fluid, desperate motion, Higuruma rolled them over, breaking free from the hold, chest heaving with exertion, straining and throbbing in his pants with every ragged breath. His eyes blazed with fury, but beneath the rage there was something raw and ruinous. His gaze raked over Nanami, lips curled into a snarl, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to rip him apartâand fuck him into the floor. How much he needed to do one or the other or both.
Yellow clouds shaken from surfaces whirlpooled in the humid air. With each breath, Higuruma felt it more acutelyâhis clothes clung to his skin, and heat laid siege to his body, unbearable, searing. The pollen, the fucking pollenâhe could feel it now, twisting his thoughts, his body, and all he wanted was Nanami beneath him, writhing and begging.
Nanami roared and lunged at Higuruma again, throwing him back into the wall with enough force to crack the old oak paneling. The cabin rumbled, books toppled from shelves, and somewhere in another room something glass shattered.
But all Nanami could see was the way Higurumaâs body shuddered at the impact, the way his pupils dilated, his lips parting in a wet gaspâso fucking pretty.
Higuruma choked, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he didnât stop. He couldnât. His vision blurred, but the moment it cleared, he saw Nanami standing over himâpanting, chest heaving, cock straining visibly against his pants, fabric stained dark and dripping. The visual sent a shiver through him, his stomach clenching hungrily and own body desperately reciprocating.
Each thrash and bit of fight only compelled the other to fight back harder. A cyclical prey-drive, hammering and hammering in the forge until someone broke into the coals.
In the charged, suffocating space between them, the air thickened, pulsing with a desperate craving that bordered on madness. Nanamiâs grip tightened, punishing hands clasped around Higurumaâs shoulder and the fine bones of his neck. His fingers curled with creaking slowness against the soft skin and fabric, teasing the promise of bruises and ripped clothes.
Higuruma scrabbled for purchase against Nanamiâs arm, spitting and clawing, nails raking down skin and leaving red lines that did nothing to deter the iron-grip on his neck; like the bite of a flea for all the attention Nanami paid it.
Their faces were inches apart, close enough that Nanami could see the fine particles of dust chalking Higurumaâs flushed skin, could feel the heat radiating off him in molten waves. Everywhere they touched the yellow mist was spread to him too, and where it was spread Nanami burned.
His breath juddered in his throat, billowing against Higurumaâs cheek his nostrils flared bullishly. Cologne, sweat, and dust that smelt oddly floral⊠pollen. Not dust at all.
It was the pollen. It had to be. But there was no time to think about that, not when every nerve in his body was on fire, every muscle twitching with the need to lay claim and consume, because Nanami is certain, so certain, of only one thing: the hellfire raging in his bones was going to kill him if he doesnât whet it.
The muscles in Nanamiâs back convulsed, rippling beneath his shirt as he bent lower, his breath ghosting over Higurumaâs throat. âYou smell so good,â he groaned, voice rough and fractured and barely coherent. Had Higuruma always smelled like this? It was intoxicating and overwhelming and Nanami needed him.
He smelled too good. Too irresistible. Too much.
Nanami groaned and pushed Higuruma harder against the wall, the force of it rattling the entire cabin as if trying to shake loose whatever wild thing had taken hold of them both. But it was lodged too deep, its hooks set and curved too permanently.
His knee shoved between Higurumaâs legs, pressing upâhardâright against the throbbing bulge in Higurumaâs pants. Nanami felt the way it pulsed, wet and leaking, pre-cum staining the crotch of Higurumaâs pants so thickly that he felt it through the layers on his knee. And with the way his hips jerked forward, rutting against Nanamiâs legâhe liked it.
Higuruma writhed, his body twisting and turning, but it wasnât rage anymore. The way Nanamiâs breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed and twitchedâHiguruma felt it all, and it was driving him insane, breaking him down until all he could think about was the way Nanami had him pinned to the wall, how Nanamiâs knee ground into his weeping cock, Nanami, Nanami, Nanami.
The clawing desperation to peel himself away was tossed in favor of frantic tugging, nails catching on rolled sleeves to yank Nanami closer.
Nanamiâs world narrowed, everything outside the two of them fading into a tunnel of pulsing, seething hunger. Irreversibly dialed to the slick heat of Higurumaâs body pressed against his, the frantic beat of his pulse beneath Nanamiâs hand, the sweat that trickled down Higurumaâs temple. He wanted to taste it, drag his tongue across that feverish skin, feel Higurumaâs pulse in his mouth and swallow it down gluttonously.
He leaned in closer, breath scalding against Higurumaâs ear as he gritted out the words, each one clawing its way from the depths of his chest and leaving the cavity bloody. He was goneâtoo far gone to reel himself back, yet somehow, impossibly, not quite lost. There was just enough of him left, clinging by a thread, enough to askâbeg, reallyâand pray that if the answer was no, he could resist just long enough for Higuruma to hit him and knock him blissfully unconscious.
Even if it killed him. Even if he were to self-immolate. It would be better.
âTell me you feel it too⊠shit, Iââ His voice broke, shivering, âI need youââ
The words barely left his mouth before Higuruma lunged, crashing his mouth against Nanamiâs in a collision of lips and teeth. It wasnât a kissâit was raw, violent, a clash of urgency and rage. Their teeth clacked, tongues desperate and frantic, and Nanami groaned, low and deep, as he shoved Higuruma harder against the wall, hips grinding forward in a furious effort to fuse them together.
There was no room for dignity or restraintâjust the unbearable need to fuck, to tear each other apart until they were satisfied.
Nanamiâs breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he gripped Higuruma tighter, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his shirt. The fabric tore beneath his grasp, threads snapping, and Nanami relished in the sound of buttons skittering somewhere across the room and lost to corners, the sensation of skin bared to him.
Higurumaâs hands clawed at Nanamiâs back, fingers digging into tense and quivering muscles. Every nerve in his body was on fire, skin too sensitive, cock hardened to the point of pain with every desperate twitch of his hips. âNanamiââ The sound that came from his throat was jagged, agonized and barely comprehensible.
âI knowâfuckâI know,â Nanami rasped, shushing and pacifying in a way suddenly tender in his understanding, each word dragging as if ground over sandpaper. He leaned closer, lips brushing Higurumaâs ear, his breath billowing and hot.
âYouâre going to take it. Every inch, every bit of me until you canât think straightââ nevermind that they already canât think at all. Nanami hardly recognized himself. ââcan you do that for me?â
Higurumaâs nails raked down Nanamiâs back, whining and blinkered by lust to the point of muteness. Nanami couldâve asked him to peel his nails off and he wouldâve if he thought it would feel good.
It spurred Nanami on, feeling his heart drop to his diaphragm to instead beat between his thighs. He didnât waste another second, his hand shooting down between them, fingers trembling as he fumbled with the waistband of Higurumaâs pants. The button snapped free with a sharp pop, and Nanami tore the fabric apart, shoving his hand into Higurumaâs boxers without finesse.
His hand wrapped around the base of Higurumaâs cock, and the slick, hot pulse of it was almost enough to send Nanami over the edge right there. It was drenched, pre-cum spilling in obscene amounts, leaking down his hand, coating his palm in slippery warmth that dripped between his fingers. Fuck, heâs soaked. Higuruma was trembling, hips jerking into Nanamiâs grip, chasing the friction with desperate, needy little thrusts.
âFuckâNanami, it hurtsââ Higuruma gasped, voice cracking and jumping in Nanamiâs fist, dripping onto the floor in the beginnings of a milky puddle.
âI know, I know,â Nanami groaned, voice low and wrecked, half-mad. He released Higurumaâs cock only long enough to yank his own pants down, fingers catching on the waistband in his rush to bare himself. He sprang free, and the sight of himselfâhard as steel, already oozing to mat the honey blonde curls of hair on his bellyâmade him groan, muscles twitching with the need to bury himself inside Higuruma now. âIâve⊠Iâve got you. Gonna helpââ
There was no time for slow, no time for careful. None of the things he wouldâve liked to do. No courtship, no gentle touches, no wining and dining, no chance to savor the feeling of peeling Higuruma away from the realm of friendship.
Nanamiâs thoughts scattered like fractals, catching briefly on things like sunflowersâwould Higuruma like if he bought them?âbut the descending fog swallowed them whole.
Nanami groaned, he spun Higuruma around, slamming him chest-first into the wall with a force that rattled the entire cabin. The sharp sound of breath leaving Higurumaâs lungs was like gasoline on an open flame, and Nanami felt his erection twitch painfully, expanding more, oozing in a steady drip from the swollen tip. So much it felt like he mightâve cum already, but the ache in his balls told him otherwiseâhe hadnât even begun.
Higuruma braced his hands against the wall, panting, his whole body trembling under Nanamiâs weight. âDo it,â Higuruma snarled, thick with desperation and edged with defiance⊠or maybe just bravery in the face of what he knew was coming; both were equally admirable. âPlease fuck meâI need it⊠it hurtsââ
Nanami whimpered low in his throat, his hands gripping Higurumaâs hips, yanking him back roughly, aligning his pelvis with Higurumaâs ass. The head of his cock was so swollen it raged purple, slit weeping a thick coat that dripped down his length, soaking the base of Higurumaâs spine. It wasnât normalânone of this was normalâbut Nanami couldnât bring himself to care.
He pressed the tip of his cock against Higurumaâs rim, smearing pre-cum over the tight ring of muscle and creating a slick runway as he dragged the head up and down, coating Higuruma in it. A small mercy, all things considered.
Higurumaâs body tensed, muscles bunching up beneath his skin as Nanami pushed against him, testing the resistance and hissed at the stars that blew across his eyes. The pressure built, intense, unrelenting, until Nanami thrust forward in one hard, savage motion, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke.
Higuruma howled, fingers gouging into the wall, tearing the lacquer as his body arched violently, breath coming in jagged, broken rasps. It was too muchâtoo intense, too fastâbut exactly what he needed and Nanami knew it.
Pain blurred into pleasure, the overwhelming fullness inside him, the brutal stretchâuntil there was no distinction left between agony and ecstasy. It all melted, streaming him into a state beyond either. He was euphoric, and the way he immediately shoved back into Nanami made it abundantly obvious.
Nanami froze, eyes rolling to their whites in a way that obliterated any semblance of dignity, the scalding heat inside Hiromi nearly buckling his legs. The way Hiromi squeezed, quivered, and trembled around him had Nanami teetering, hand lashing out to the wall for support and crushing over Higurumaâs knuckles instead.
âFuu-haahââ The curse fizzled and died on his tongue, useless and defunct. And then Nanami moved, a brutal, unrelenting force, each thrust shaking them both to their very foundations. Flesh pounded against sticky flesh, echoing in the space in a way so pornographic that it mightâve made Nanami blush under regular circumstances.
But this wasnât regular. His fingers slipped between Higurumaâs pinning them both to the wall.
Dinner and sunflowers.
Nanamiâs mind flickered with a different fantasy altogetherâfar sweeter than the damnable pollen on his tongue, the softness he had wanted to offer Hiromi. That calm domesticity, the gentleness Nanami thought he shouldâve given. But here they were, drowning and clawing at each other to stay afloat.
Higurumaâs body rocked with every thrust, his own cock dripping against the wall, smearing in gooey, messy trails. He was completely lost, undone by the feeling of Nanami inside himâstretching him, molding him. Every stroke sent a wave of pleasure-pain through his body, chipping moans from his throat, making him claw at the wall, desperate for more, desperate for anything and everything, and he took it greedily.
Nanamiâs free hand slid around, wrapping firmly around Higurumaâs length. He squeezed, stroking in time with the thrusts that had Higuruma corseted to the wall. âYouâre mine,â Nanami murmured, voice thick and tongue useless in his mouth, far better suited for lapping at Higurumaâs neck than talking, and so he does.
If Higuruma was his, Nanami would spend the rest of his life making it up to him. Heâd worship him. Take him out for dinners, make sure he laughed, filled his life with comfort, and thisâthis would be a secret theyâd share. A private thing to laugh about and remember rather than the source of shame Nanami feared. Heâdâfuck, heâd get him sunflowers everyday. During the winter heâd grow them himself if he had toâ
âPlease say it,â he crackled, desperate, impeaching. Suddenly this mattered to him.
Higurumaâs breath caught, quivering with each brutal batter into his body, already cracking like pressured glass. âYours,â he gasped, his voice staticky with gravel, shredded from the moans that never once stopped dripping helplessly from spit-slick lips.
âFuck, Nanami, Iâm yoursââ
That was all Nanami needed.
Higurumaâs submission wasnât just some indulgence of lust. It was deeper than that, something in his very bones. Nanami saw it clearly nowâthe dormant part of Higuruma that craved being tethered, the wolf who wanted to be collared, domesticated into a dog. And Nanami was more than willing to bear the leash, to hold it firm and tender in his grip, to guide Higuruma through his surrender.
Nanami possessed Higuruma so beautifully, so thoroughly responsible for him, that it inspired nothing but heart-stopping adoration in the delirious mess of a man beneath him.
The thought shot through Nanami like a bullet, inspiring furious determination to do away with the awful edges where Higuruma ended and he began. His hips snapped forward, thrusting with brutal purpose, hammering into Higuruma with a force that sought to unmake them both, return them to stardust or whatever primordial pool they crawled out of. And Higuruma, with every ragged moan, took it. No, more than that, he welcomed it.
Drool slid unashamedly down Higurumaâs chin, cheek squished to the wall, his throat convulsing with every slam of Nanamiâs cock inside him so deep he swears he feels him in his ribs. His voice was nothing but a mess of broken syllables nowâ âNa-na-miâ!ââbarely managing his loverâs name in the mess of spit and pathetic mewling.
âHarder,â Higuruma gasped, voice shredded beyond recognition, hips rutting desperately into Nanamiâs hand, chasing that final bit of friction, that last agonizing piece just at the tip of his tongue. âFuâuuâuu-ck, pleaseâmâgonnaââ
Ever his servant Nanamiâs fist tightened around Higurumaâs cock, knuckles white with the force of his grip as he stroked him, rougher than he liked it himself, but exactly how he thought Higuruma needed it because he thought he might appreciate a firm hand. So salaciously determined is he to milk every drop of pleasure from him, to exorcize this feralness from their bodies.
Thatâs all it took. Higurumaâs entire body went rigid before shattering gloriouslyâ
He convulsed, spine arching violently off the wall as his orgasm tore through him, ripping a raw, choked cry from his throat. Hot, thick ropes spilled over Nanamiâs fingers, and the rest splattered messily against the wall. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp as the overwhelming mix of pain and relief threatened to drown him. His legs buckled, but Nanami held him upright, speared by Nanamiâs cock and the firm grip that kept him from crumbling entirely.
Nanami slowed just for a moment, enraptured by the ruin beneath him, feeling the others' orgasm with ferocious synchronicity like a punch to the gut.
Higuruma was still trembling, breath uneven, each gasp shaky and erratic. âPlease, justââ Nanami gripped his hips, dragging him back into place, and with a breathless choke, ââplease donât stop meâI canât⊠I still needââ
Nanami bent him, his forearms flexing in a restraining pin around his chest and waist; Higuruma curled and arched back, and back, and back into him like some lewd figurehead of a ship.
âFuck, Nanami⊠pleaseâmore.â Higurumaâs voice was impoverished, hands clawing at the walls until wood splintered beneath the blunt bite of his nails, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as Nanami drove into him, the force of it pushing him further up the wall with each sloppy thrust as his cock continued to sputter against frayed and scratched woodâimpossibly unspent.
The tension in Nanamiâs gut coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point before finallyâ
It snapped with a final, brutal thrust, and he met his first orgasm with an embarrassing cryâraw, desperate, echoing through each fierce contraction that tore through him. His grip on Higurumaâs hand tightened as he whined against the damp skin of his neck, shuddering with every hot, thick pulse that spilled deep inside his lover. He gasped raggedly, gulping for air over flushed, bitten skin as he rode out the last shivers of release, clinging to Higuruma as if the world would fall away without him.
Their bodies slumped together, breaths mingling. Higurumaâs forehead pressed against the wall, and for a moment, everything was still except for the lingering tremors that juddered them both. Nanamiâs breath was hot against his neck; his lips dragged over the skin, pressing kisses of apology, gratitude, pleading.
But it wasnât enough. The insistent burn beneath their skin, the gnawing ache, still simmered. They could both feel itâthis madness that refused to release its grip, no matter how hard they tried to bury it.
âNanami,â Higuruma panted. His hands, now trembling, scraped roughly against the splintered wood. He forced himself to turn, just enough to catch a glimpse of Nanamiâs faceâflushed, tense, eyes squeezed shut in agony. âAre you⊠are you okay?â
Nanamiâs answer was a slow shake of his head, breath bitten between clenched teeth.
âI⊠still feel it,â he confessed, voice rough, strained, composure stripped and leaving him shamelessly wanton. He swallowed, trying to regain some control of only his voice, but it was useless. A frustrated groan slipped out, his hips twitching forward unconsciously, still buried deep inside Higuruma, hard as iron and showing no sign of letting up. âItâs not enough⊠fuck, itâs not enough.â
Higurumaâs heart pounded, the reality of their situation sinking in. He should be sated, exhausted even, but his body was already responding to Nanamiâs words, the fire rekindling with a vengeanceâthe refractory period of some debauched god, not the exhausted thirty six year old man he knows himself to be. Heâs never been so hard in his life.
Without another word, Nanami tightened his hold on Higuruma, stumbling back on shaky legs until they sank to the floor. There was a brief, fleeting moment of tenderness as Nanami held Higuruma close, twisting him around so they could face each other.
Higuruma was ruined. Spit wet his chin and cheek, his hair spiked in all directions beyond repair, and eyes dilated so eclipsing of their pupils that Nanami can barely see the whites either.
Supple, pliant, and so beautiful.
âHigurumaâŠâ Nanamiâs voice was breathless and heavy, but there was a new softness to itâa plea woven through the desperation like wicker baskets, only hoping theyâd hold the weight of emotions he was too addled to carry.
His hands found Higurumaâs, guiding them to his broad shoulders with a gentle insistence. He yearned for him with a presence of mind he lacked before. Heâd needed a body, that was all, and that hadnât changed⊠but Nanami wanted him.
âPleaseââ
The word broke from him, cracked and vulnerable, as his fingers tightened around Higurumaâs hip, trembling with the effort to stay anchored. He slid his hand down, cupping the curve of Higurumaâs ass and giving a firm, urging push, his wide, desperate eyes locking onto Higurumaâs, beseeching and pained.
Higuruma cupped Nanamiâs face in his hands, the same hands that ruined a wooden wall possessed with something more gentle now, he cradled him like something fragile.
He looked at Nanami like heâd never seen him before, and in a way, he hadnât. Not like thisânot so ruined.
He leaned in, capturing Nanamiâs lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, pouring every ounce of weight and nebulous bit of emotion into it. His thighs tightened around Nanamiâs hips as he lifted himself up and then dropped back down onto Nanamiâs cock. Fire met with the gasoline in his blood, reigniting anew.
He was always meant to be burned by Nanami.
He would give and take until there was nothing left.
Like it too was afraid of what it might find inside the unassuming little cottage. Its eye rose hesitant over the trees, golden spears shot through windows and sheer curtains, illuminating the carnage strewn about the floors.
Anything not nailed down was toppled, the knick-knacks so meticulously arranged knocked to the floor or shattered, books indecently fluttered their pages in dead air, and the floors, the walls, and the upholstered leather of the couch were thoroughly destroyed.
Claw marks and stuffing, the odd bite taken out of the arm of a chair and left punctured with teethâbut no blood, no murder, no bodiesâexcept for two, very much alive and tangled in a mess of limbs and sticky flesh on what remained of the couch.
Nanamiâs leg dangled off the edge, one arm limp against the floor, while the other curled a cradle around Higurumaâs back where he slumped on his shoulderâdrooling, snoring, and finally sated.
The man was peacefulâvulnerable in a way that tugged something deep in Nanamiâs chest.
Nanami didnât sleep.
Not much, at least.
He stayed vigilant, his thoughts churning like a storm at sea. Once they were both⊠âwellâ ⊠heâd agonized, heâd thought, heâd theorized. Heâd seethed and spat in his head like a rabid animal, every part of him on edge, because he knew this wasnât right. This wasnât simply an explosive culmination of little repressed desiresâthough he did take some time to consider the implications of what this would mean for his relationship with Higuruma tomorrow. No, this was something done to them.
He remembered reading the report about a curse Gojo exorcized onceâone that could induce euphoria, passivity, bending the mind to its will through flower fields. If a curse could do that, then why not something more sinister? Something that could twist emotions, heighten them to the point of madness. Rage, hate, lust⊠such a curse wouldnât need to act violently itself; it could simply turn its victims into weapons, feeding off the very emotions it created. The implications set a chill in his gut, heavy and unsettling.
Couple murders. One survivor. Confusion. The details were sparse in the file, but Nanami recalled those morbid little highlights, and with a new day dawning he knew he had to settle the theory that stewed in his head all night.
With a careful touch Nanamiâs arm tightened around Higurumaâs shoulders, supporting his back as he rolled them over as gently as he could manage.
Higuruma grumbled inarticulately, Nanami inhaled and froze, hovering⊠the snoring resumed, and so too did Nanami exhale. He arranged Higurumaâs limbs so heâd be more comfortable, making sure long legs and bruised arms were tucked properly onto the fluff-bleeding cushions. His hand lingered a moment longer as he lifted Higurumaâs head to place on a pillow, fingers dipped in inky hair with soft consideration.
His palm brushed once, easing the tufted cowlicks on his head before he withdrew.
Nanami stood, his chiseled jaw clenched, determination hardening his features as he turned away from the couch. Without a backward glance, he marched to the front door, each step measured and purposeful.
Nanami didnât bother with clothes as his feet pounded the floor, the cool wood unforgiving against his bare skin. He gripped the door knob like it was the throat of an enemy, twisting and flinging it with a force that shouldâve sent the door flyingâyet it didnât budge. âHahâŠâ he chuckled, darkly amused. He tried again, muscles flexing, veins bulging with effortâ how embarrassing, he mused, only if he hadnât expected exactly this.
He moved to the kitchen. The window above the sink brightly lit with cheerful morning gold, dripping jewels from dewy grass on the gravel drive. He reached for the small metal latch, hope flickering in his chest like a dying emberâsealed.
âI fucking knew it,â he laughed despite himself, near hysterical at his idiocy. His hand found its way to his hip, the other raking through irreversibly tousled wheat hair.
âKnew what?â
Nanamiâs flinched to hear Higuruma speak. He whirled around, finding him propped up on the couch, one arm slung over the torn and fuzzy backrest, his expression groggy but attentive.
âThe door wonât open,â Nanami said with a derisive snort.
ââand you wanted to go outside naked becauseâ?â
âThe windows too. I canât open them.â
Higurumaâs brow furrowed, sleep slowly ebbing away as he propped one knee up, hooking an elbow around it while resting his head atop the makeshift pillow. âAndâŠ?â
âTheyâre not real, Higuruma.â
Oh, so heâs lost it, Higuruma thought.
Higuruma blinked, a moment of confusion flashing in his eyes before he smothered it beneath a well-practiced mask of calm. His lips curled into a placating smile, the kind one gives to a person on the verge of breaking. âI seeâŠâ he didnât.
â... are you feeling alright?â His voice was steady, honed by decades of smothering nerves beneath layers of practiced indifference. But he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his edges, the dregs of whatever had been in his system finally clearing. If Nanami wasnât good, if he had truly lost it, thenâŠ
Nanami groaned, shaking his head as he strode back to the couch. âWeâre in a domain, Higuruma. We probably have been since we walked through the door.â
That pulled Higuruma out of his spiraling thoughts. He scoffed, disbelieving that that was the conclusion Nanami arrived at. âNoâno, we wouldâve noticed.â
Nanami grunted in response, his focus on the rubble scattered across the floor. He crouched down, rifling through the mess with a single-minded determination until he found his boxers. He stepped into them with the kind of force that spoke volumes about the rage simmering beneath his skin. âMess with my fucking headâmy fucking body âŠI donât fucking think so.â
âWouldnât we have noticed?â Higuruma insisted. He scrambled off the couch, the cool air biting at his skin as he tried the door, then the windowsâno dice. He blinked owlishly. How hadnât they noticed?
âWait, where are you going?â
Higuruma watched, a mix of awe and concern tightening his chest, as Nanami, clad only in his boxers and wielding his signature black-and-white blade, stormed across the living room. The destruction underfoot crunched with each step, like the ground itself was trembling beneath his ire. He moved with the purpose of an angry deity, his eyes narrowed in determination. âIâm going to find it, of course.â The rest of his ensemble seemed irrelevant, the sheer force of his anger making everything else redundant. At the very least, Nanami refused to face his quarry with his dick out.
Higuruma scrambled for his clothes, now little more than torn scraps, but managed to yank on a pair of boxers, matching Nanamiâs hurried attire. âTry going up,â he suggested, breathless, hopping in place to work an uncooperative leg through the leg hole.
âIs there an attic?â Nanamiâs voice was sharp, all business as they moved in unison down the hallway, weapons gripped with white-knuckled determination, intent on receiving their pound of flesh in return for their dignity.
Higuruma nodded, still catching his breath. âI believe so. The house looked taller from the outside.â
Heat rises. The thought flashed between them, unspoken yet understood. The sweltering flames that burned them from the night before would have naturally ascended, carrying with it the intoxicating miasma that fueled whatever twisted curse that ensnared them, up to the highest point. Simple physics.
Nanami for all of his composure (last night notwithstanding) was always careful on the job. You would not know this by how he kicked down the door at the top of the stairs, blowing it clear of its hinges and obliterating it with a violent explosion of splintered wood.
âWhere are youâŠâ
The thing skittered down from the rafters, a grotesque, spider-like abomination with far too many limbs that clicked and chittered as it descended. Its body was an obscene, fleshy mass, swollen and pulsing as if ready to burst, its skin stretched thin over the bloated form beneath. It laughed in that eerie, tinny way curses do, mandibles clicking and many eyes rolling to devour the two men in the doorway.
It was slow, fat and sluggish, engorged on the feast theyâd unwittingly provided, dragging itself across the floor with an unnatural, bone-crunching crawl. Its limbs twitched sporadically, like it couldnât quite control them, its movements erratic and nauseating to watch.
Nanami liked to take his time, usually. Liked to assess his enemy and make sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for him once he engaged. Because Nanami was a careful man, even moreso when he isnât alone. But not this time. There was no patience left in him.
Nanamiâs eyes blazed with the cold, righteous fury of a vengeful god. Ratios lined his vision, spinning and locking into place with terrifying clarity. He swung his blade in a wide, brutal arc.
The strike was perfect.
Wooden boards shattered beneath the force of his blade as it sliced through bloated curse flesh, spewing rotten blood across Nanamiâs bare skin. The creature shrieked and twitched violently, its many legs flailing in a grotesque, desperate dance before it seized up and fell still. The curse evaporated into dust⊠but not the usual gray ash heâd come to expect.
Yellow spores billowed into the air, and Nanami immediately hurled himself backward, instinctively bodying Higuruma aside and away from the cloud. The panic was swift and visceral, propelling him out of harmâs way as he crowded Higuruma into a safer corner.
Higuruma staggered slightly from the force but quickly steadied himself, feeling the air around them clear, becoming lighter, easier to breathe. The light filtering through the dusty old window seemed a little brighter now, cutting through the gloom with a newfound sharpness.
Nanamiâs shoulders were tense, muscles flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bladeâs fabric-bound handle. Higuruma couldnât see Nanamiâs ratio lines, but he could see the red welts and scratches marring his back, the way the skin stretched taut over them and surely must stingâbut Nanami didnât flinch.
Higuruma is silent for a moment, neither of them speak, letting the feeling of closure dawn well and truly over them before finally Higuruma sighed and relaxed his grip on his own weapon, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. âWell⊠I suppose thatâs taken care of.â
Nanami straightened, his exhale feeling every bit the exorcism heâd just performed. His hand reflexively reached for his throat, adjusting a tie that wasnât there, on a suit he wasnât wearing. He grimaced, prickling.
Scalding shower water and floral-scented soap that made Nanamiâs stomach churn and skin shiver with thoughts of flowers, and petals, and pollen, and Higurumaâthey took turns cleaning themselves one after the other. Nanami first, scrubbing his skin with a fervor that bordered on obsession, as if the force of his hands could erase not just the icy streaks of purple curse blood, but the memory of how it got there and every other substance that clung to his weary body.
After him, Higuruma took his place in the steamy room, letting water pound against his bruised and aching back, head bowed under the spray and washing away far more than dust and grime. It was a baptism, a cleansing, until the water that swirled down the drain ran clear and took with it the last bit of curse-induced grit and fucked dumb-ness from his brain.
The house invented its own gravity well, warping all sounds and emotions, all feelings except for what it wanted them to feel. But now that pull was gone. Their feet were no longer nailed down by that otherworldly weight; they were grounded once again by the earth's natural pull, back in the same plane as everyone else, free from the almost-world of the domain.
Nanami had already called Ijichi, arranging their extraction with the kind of professional detachment that belied everything that transpired within these walls. âWeâre both fine,â and âitâs been dealt with,â and âyes, at your earliest convenience, thank you.â
Now, with nothing left to do but wait, Higuruma and Nanami moved around each other with dancing steps, choreographed avoidance and refusal to so much as bump into each otherâbecause what if one thing led to another, and what if they werenât quite right yet and it started again, and what if they said something stupidâ
Higuruma ran a hand through his still damp hair, grimacing at his inability to bridge the gap. There was no precedent for what theyâd done, no documentation for him to point at and say âhey, hereâs what we do nowâ.
Things had never been tense with Nanami. Their connection had always been easy, naturalâcolleagues by circumstance, friends by choice. They shared the same burden, the same grim determination to do what needed to be done and the understanding that someone had to do it. Misery loves company, and theirs had always been more than just a shared duty.
But that was before theyâd fucked like their lives depended on it.
Funny how that changes things.
There was a carefulness in the way they moved now, an awareness that hadnât been there before. Nanami was stiff and brittle, seeming almost afraid to get too close, like he couldnât quite reconcile what heâd done with who he thought he was.
Higuruma, perceptive as always, kept his distance; not wanting to push too hard and break whatever fragile equilibrium theyâd managed to find; because this wretched silence was still preferable to the breakup of their friendship.
It was almost comical, really, how they could teeter so close to the precipice of something meaningful and yet Higuruma found himself holding back. Like a cat eyeing a fishbowl, the temptation there, the desire to reach out and take the leap, but deciding against the jump because he was afraid he wouldnât stick the landing.
But Higuruma had never been one to shy away from the truth. Heâd made a career out of cutting through bullshit, and he wasnât about to stop now even with potentially catastrophic consequences. So, with a resolve that brooked no argument, he weed-wacked the silence and leveled Nanamiâs turned back with a look that wouldâve dismantled a lesser man.
âWe donât have to talk about it.â He began abruptly. âBut youâre a good friend of mine, Nanamiâand if itâs up to me, that wonât change. So if weâre going to forget that this happened, just tell me so I can do the same. We need to be on the same page at the very least.â
Nanami surveyed the world outside the wide open living room window as if it were his kingdom. Quietly and greedily inhaling the fresh air that swept in, and with it went out the sordid smog that clung like film wrap to his brain. Heâd been eager to confirm the windows would indeed open now with the curse exorcizedâthey did. He also wanted an excuse to silently gather himselfâthe window provided.
Nanami didnât turn to face him, but the way his head lifted just so made it clear he was listening intently.
His gaze stayed riveted on the horizon outside, where the morning sun bled gold into the sky. Wishing that same light would illuminate the jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings heâd agonized over while Higuruma slept and highlight the way forward.
He thought he could handle itâboth the mission and the man with himâbut the pollen stripped him raw, naked to the soul. It was ugly and far from what Higuruma deserved; both physically and the cold words traded before it.
If Higuruma was hisâŠ
The thought alone made his stomach knot, a quiet yearning twisting inside him like hemlock. Nanami wanted so much more than what theyâd been forced intoâwanted to take his time, to show Higuruma the care and consideration he was worth. There should have been dinners, quiet conversations over wine, the slow unfolding of something deeper than friendship. It shouldâve been a courtship, not a violent collision of hunger and curse-driven madness.
But what was done was done. No amount of wishing could undo it, and now, standing on the other side of the night, Nanami knew he had to make it right. He wanted to with a sincerity that bordered on desperation.
Because if Higuruma was hisâŠ
Nanami felt the longing bloom again, a poison that seeps closer and closer to his heart. He would give him everything. Anything he wantedâdays filled with small comforts and nights spent wrapped in the quiet intimacy of just being together. He would repair Higurumaâs suit, take him out for the best meals, buy him flowers, and pour his drinks. He would worship him in every way a man could be worshiped, not just in moments of passion but in all the mundane, unspoken ways that truly mattered.
He indulged those thoughts while Higuruma slept, when the yearning of the body surrendered to the yearning of the heart. Nanami allowed his brutally thick arms to hold him just a little tighter, relishing those small hours of peace before he knew everything would change. It was as inevitable as watching the sun slowly rise through the windows, shedding light on the destruction theyâd wrought; change would come, and he didnât know from which direction he should protect himself when the path diverged.
But those hours of clandestine coveting seemed a lifetime ago, more a fantasy than a possibility. Higurumaâs voice was firm, almost clinical, as he tried to set the parameters of their future interactions. We need to be on the same page, he said, and Nanami felt a stab of regret that they werenât already.
We donât have to talk about it.
Nanami knew that was true, but it was the very thing that gnawed at him. They could sweep it under the rug, pretend it hadnât happened, and go back to the way things wereâbut Nanami wasnât sure he could. Not when he thought he felt something, saw something, in Higuruma. The path split before him nowâsafety and risk, retreating back or shouldering forward. Maybe heâd lost his mind a mile or so back.
âI will not just brush this aside, Higuruma. You⊠mean a great deal to me.â What a pisspoor excuse of a confession, he thought bitterly.
He cleared his throat, met Higurumaâs shrewd eyes and fought against every impulse to look away. He forged ahead.
âLast night⊠wasnât us. And I know that that is not how I wouldâve wanted things to go if ever we were toâŠâ he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely. But Higuruma nodded, understanding the words in the silence and encouraged him on.
âBut it felt likeâto me, at least, like maybe there was something there. Something worth doing differently, if you feel the same way.â
âI want to make it right. In fact, I insist on making it right, if youâll let me.â
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken truths, the kind that couldnât be easily unpacked in the span of a few seconds or weakly uttered confessions and pleas. Nanamiâs heart pounded in his chest, each beat a tolling bell with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Higuruma would understandâthat heâd see through the mess of it all to the sincerity underneath.
Because for all his equanimity, Nanami couldnât shake the truth heâd arrived at while Higuruma slept that seeded itself in his chest: If Higuruma was his, heâd never stop trying to make him happy. Heâd never stop wanting this.
âAnd Iâd like to start with that drink⊠if youâre still amenable to that.â
The first tentative days turned to months, and then years.
Work-related dinners with the occasional bar visit to unwind effortlessly transitioned into intimate date nights. A strange bond formed in the crucible of something neither of them could ever explain, tempered with time and the endless patience of two men lucky enough to know what they have. Higuruma and Nanami repaired their relationship with gold, filigree filling the cracks and turning it far more beautiful than it began.
Now, when the two found themselves on the sun-drowned beaches of Malaysia, toes buried in hot sand with matching skin-warmed gold bands clasped in woven hands, they might mention that one time and laugh.
A humorous anecdote from a lifetime ago where Higuruma insists that that one time is the cause of his persisting back pains, and Nanami asserts that the scars that litter his back and arms are not from a curse at all but from that one time.
And when Nanami glanced at Higuruma, face turned toward the sun with a blissful smile on his face, Nanami allowed himself to smile too. Heâd made up for it in every way that mattered so long as he could see Higuruma smile like that, and he would keep doing so for the rest of their lives.
God really stay coming through for me, regardless of what gets thrown my way đđ Iâve eaten 3 meals today, for the low price of Eternal Faithfulness to Him AND $1.09. Why?? Cause God IS THAT 10! HE IS THE 1 and THE 0!
nanami + higuruma being roommates who fuck because it's just easier that way, mdni 18+ only please
my mind is plagued with thoughts of nanami and higuruma (though when is not? lord forsake me, I beg). they are workaholic roommates who've been doing this same routine for long enough that it's so comfortable now. work, eat, sleep, rinse, and repeat. relationships are too messy, sex isn't that good with the women who climb them like trees, nothing feels more rewarding than finally finishing the spreadsheet for next quarter's projected income rates or finally filing the motion to have a new prosecutor put on the case for a conflict of interest. they're married to their work and that'll never change. women meet them and think they can change them, fix them, domesticate them. but they eventually realize they can't and they give up. it's just the two of them coming home to each other every night, and honestly? they like it that way. so...sure...it starts out as a loneliness thing. they just need to get off, it's only healthy, right? and friends help each other out! it's not weird when higuruma unbuckles nanami's slacks after a long day and wraps his mouth around nanami's cock until he's gripping black hair and throwing his head back, vein in his neck straining, murmuring a soft "f-fuck," as he comes down higuruma's throat. totally not weird, very normal. and it's so ordinary when hiromi wakes up at 3am to nanami sliding his cock in his ass because it's just been such a long day and poor nanami's dick is red and leaky and his helpful roommate's just right there to help...rutting against his ass, laying all his thick body weight on top of him. hiromi's not quite awake, but not sleeping either, can't control the deep groans that keep escaping him as nanami abuses that poor little spot inside him over and over and over til there's some tears in his eyes that are rolling back against his skull and he's falling right back to sleep as he cums. nanami continuing to use him til his balls are practically empty ://// and don't worry, nanami'll repay the favor when he wakes up a couple mornings later and steps inside the shower where hiromi's jerking his dick but it's just not working for him. nanami pushes his hand out of the way and does the job for him, he always comes so fast when nanami does it, just easier that way, helpless hips pressing and humping into nanami's hand, til he's shooting ropes on his chest and panting all heavy.
they've tried the girlfriend thing, but it just doesn't work out for them. why fuck some chick who wants you to put a ring on it when they could just fuck each other for much less hassle? these guys are all about efficiency, anyways, so it just makes sense.
Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play
Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you?
CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao.
WC: 6.5k of 15.4k
Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.
A/N: This is my first kinktober fic! I'm sorry this took so long y'all but last week been low key hell and I was sick for a lot of it. Also I did struggle with this a bit since this one I decided to do as an whole fic instead of PWP and now its gotten to be so long its definitely going to be in two parts. Sorry there's no smut in the first part, but there is some fluff and some juicy build up. I've never written for Choso before but he's so baby girl omg I'm obsessed with him now but still I'm a bit nervous posting this. sorry if its dog.
Enjoy!
âEver felt a knife rip through human flesh and scrape the bone beneath?â
Those were the last words a nameless student heard before Ghostface's hunting knife shined menacingly in the air and came down to claim its newest victim.
Shluk! Shluk! Shluk!
Metal slashed through flesh with razor precision.
Gurgled death cries are silenced as the lifeless body collapses to the ground.Â
A thick pool of blood began gathering around them to fan out and travel around their body down the slanted titled floor to drain.Â
Choso breathed in deeply.Â
A wave of calm washed over him.Â
Peace.Â
Almost in an enlightened state, he felt the most serene after a kill.Â
It was beautiful.Â
Blood was beautiful.
The surging stream of blood that would eventually slow to a trickle, the abstract designs of its splatter and the way it swirled around the body splayed across the ground like paint on a canvas.
Like a painting.Â
A death painting⊠and the knife, his paintbrush.Â
This was his art.
Choso can recall the first time he actually saw blood beyond a minor scrape.Â
He couldnât have been more than 6 years old. No doubt trying to impress his younger brother Yuji by balancing on top of the monkey bars. After all this time Choso isnât certain as to how, but he lost his footing and fell flat on his face onto the unforgiving concrete below.
Screams of children filled the area once Choso pushed himself up onto his feet. He immediately felt wetness rush down his face. However, rather than cry or panic a young Choso cocked his head curiously when he noticed his reflection on the metal jungle gym. A warped view of his face mirrored back at him but he could still make out the bright red fluid cascading down his features staining him in red.Â
Choso didnât know how long he stood transfixed, mesmerized by the sight of rouge river that flowed from him until Yuji ran back crying with their parents in tow.Â
It was how he had the scar across the bridge of his nose till this day, which became unsightly enough he had decided to get a black bar tattooed over it as soon as he turned 18.Â
From then on he couldnât deny his growing obsession with blood and seeing it leave the human body. All of which had led him here to this university to attain a PHD in Forensics.Â
He picked this university, not only for their program but it was the perfect small town playground for Ghostface, a local urban legend from years ago he decided to revive once he felt as he had attained enough knowledge not to get caught. Â
Choso was meticulous in his process.Â
Ironclad alibis, no distinctive patterns and no victims with any connections to each other, nor him. Additionally, he had memorized all the angles of the universityâs security system (thanks to a security guard he had bribed then promptly killed).Â
His victims' lives were just his means to an end for his art and most students on this campus wouldnât amount to much anyway outside of that was how he justified it. Choso did like toying with them on occasion though, fear made the blood pump faster and spray harder once he finally did catch them.Â
Sadly, he could never admire his creations for too long though before needing to make his own exit.Â
Almost midnight.Â
Ten more minutes before campus security makes another round.
He took one last glance at the scene of carnage he had created before disappearing into the night.Â
â
In just a mere 2 hours, the news of another Ghostface murder spread across campus.Â
The universityâs students were either scared, scattering back to barricade themselves in their dorms. Or curious, lingering around the crime scene near the safety of the news crews and reporters who had gathered to see who the unlucky victim was this time.
No one however, is likely more curious than you: A third year forensics undergrad, who was just itching to get a real glimpse of your first real crime scene, a Ghostface copycat killer crime scene at that!Â
You had even left a huge frat party (to be fair it was about to get broken up soon anyway) to trek across campus in the bitter cold of late fall.Â
âY/N, letâs go backâ,â one of your pledges whined, ââitâs cold and my feet hurt in these heels!â
âShh, Stassi, shut up! What if this is an initiation test?â another pledge whispered.Â
Your sorority pledges chatter on behind you and you almost forgot you brought them along. Itâs not like you wanted to but, like it or not, they were attached to you at the hip like little ducklings until rush was over.
With a clap you turn on your heel to address them.
âLadiesââÂ
However you abruptly stop once you see your Forensics TA, Choso Kamo, taking what appeared to be a night jog across the campus quad.Â
Was he going to the crime scene too? Your face instantly lights up and your pledges look around confused.
âWait here girlies! Iâll be 5 minutes maxâŠ. No, I mean it. Wait right here!â   Â
Your pledges huff quietly, but agree.Â
They had no choice really as you were already skipping as fast as your not-so-sober legs would carry you in 5-inch pumps over the quad lawn. Truthfully, that was not something they were trying to do too, especially not to chase down what looked like some creepy emo nerd.
âChoso!â
You call out to him and wave, but he doesnât look like he sees you as you hurry towards him.
âHey Choooo! Wait up!â You puffed out, trying to maneuver over the grass in your heels.Â
Choso sighed recognizing your voice, reluctantly slowing his pace. He would have kept on jogging but he knew you would keep calling out to him and draw even more attention that he really didnât need right now.
Finally catching up to him, you grab Chosoâs arm and loop yours through. He flinched slightly at your touch but you knew he always seemed a bit jumpy when it came to physical contact, so this didnât phase you.Â
If anything you thought his reactions were kinda cute.
âWhere are you going weirdo? All the action is back that way!â You teased with a big grin and pointed in the direction of the crime scene.
Choso tries to ignore how his adrenaline was pumping even faster from you holding on to him than when he was running, especially dressed as you were.Â
You looked sexy as hell utterly ridiculous.
You were decked out in a sailor costume, which was pretty much just a poor excuse for lingerie at this point. Your white sailor flap collar attached to nothing more than a sparkly navy bra with shiney white and red trims, leaving your midsection exposed showing your cute little belly ring in the shape of an anchor.Â
This was complemented by a dangerously short yet matching sparkling navy pleated skirt which sat low on your thick hips. Your shapely legs were the most covered part of your body yet still looked overwhelmingly tempting in red glittery garters, attached to white opaque stockings in glittery red heels.
âIâm the weirdo⊠but youâre dressed like that in 40 degree weather.â Choso retorted, brow raised.
âDuh ChosoââÂ
You released his arm to give him a twirl in your outfit, not noticing the way he nervously wet his lips watching your skirt rise with your little spin.
ââThe âGet Nautiâ party was tonight silly, where have you been!?â
Oh you know, just casually killing someone. Choso resisted the urge to roll his eyes.Â
Of course he knew about the party.Â
The campus had been littered with fliers for âGet Nautiâ for the past two weeks. Nothing Choso would ever be interested in as he would rather stab himself in the face than attend a mind-numbing party with a bunch of bro-for-brain frat guys.Â
However, he did take advantage of the opportunity to create another death painting as Ghostface with the rest of campus preoccupied.Â
He couldnât tell you that though obviously.
âGym,â Choso said flatly and shrugged, âHeading back to the dorms n-â
ââYou mean you aren't going to the Social Sciences building!? Donât you remember?!â You cut him off in your excitement.Â
âThe police said they would let us forensic students look at the next crime scene!â
Your face had a warm glow and your movements slightly swayed. You were clearly drunk.
âNo Y/N, they said they might let the PhD students, like me, look at the crime scene⊠and that was only a slim âmaybeâ. Youâre still just an undergradâ, he reminded you, much to your dismay as you puffed your cheeks.
But seriously, Choso thought, even the incompetent local police would have enough sense not to let you on the crime scene dressed as you are now, even if you were a PhD student.Â
âAwe no fair,â you whine dejectedly. âBut you should go, Cho! Then you can tell me all about it! Pleaseeee, Iâm dying to know what a Ghostface crime scene looks like. I hear itâs kinda gruesome!â
You gazed up at Choso through fluttering long lashes as you poked out your cherry glossed lips. It was a pout that could famously leave any frat boy at your mercy, but it never seemed to stir Choso much (that you could tell at least).
Choso swallowed.Â
On the contrary, your charms worked rather well on him. His mouth was dry and he unconsciously clenched and unclenched a sweat ridden palm behind his back.Â
The hell were you doing being this excited over a crime scene? One of his crime scenes for that matter?Â
Choso really didnât know what to make of that.
âY/N itâs late. I still have papers to grade. Iâm going back to my dorm now and you should get home too,â Choso said flatly, trying to keep his cool although fatigue was etched into his voice.
He was in peak physical form but still feeling the strain given he just chased his last victim all over the Social Sciences building. Not to mention still having assignments to grade. All which would be fine if he also wasnât on edge from you right now as well.
âBoooooâŠChoso yoâ ahchoo!â You sneezed from the cold.Â
The effects of alcohol could only do so much to keep you warm in these low temperatures while you were standing still.Â
With another sigh Choso unzipped his black track jacket, taking it off and putting it around your shoulders.Â
He was doing so as much for your sake as his own. Choso couldnât help but notice your boobs looking like they were going to pop out of your flimsy sailor bra at any moment when you folded your arms underneath them for warmth.
He was really doing his best to maintain eye contact with you.
âAwe thanks Cho, youâre so chivalrous!â You giggled, blushing as you snuggled into his jacket.Â
You could still feel his body heat lingering on the material but the heady scent of oak and sandwood from his cologne warmed you even more.
You also couldnât help but stare as the black compression turtleneck he wore underneath clung to his body like a second skin. You had suspicions he was fit but you never saw him wear anything beyond his dark colored button ups and shaggy sweaters when in class.Â
âNow go home, Y/N. You shouldnât even be out here alone this late.âÂ
Chosoâs stern voice snapped you out of your ogling.
âBut Iâm not alone silly!âÂ
You pointed to the group of scared and shivering freshmen girls also in various states of sparkly undress all for the sake of âgetting nautiâ standing on a paved path not too far off.Â
They looked absolutely miserable.Â
âI have my pledges!âÂ
Choso gave you an incredulous look. You were too clueless.Â
âSo let me get this straight⊠You are drunk. You have drunk freshmen with you, who shouldnât even be drinking in the first placeâŠand you plan on taking them to a murder scene? Where the cops are?â
You made an âOHâ face and absentmindedly laughed as you came to the realization it probably wasnât the best look for Chapter VP of the AKAs to take a bunch of drunk and terrified freshmen pledges straight into a recent crime scene. Even if you could put an academic spin on it as it was relevant to your major classes.
Yikes, and on second thought, your house mom would flip her entire shit if she found out.
âGo home Y/N,â Choso said again, shaking his head.
âBesides, you should be more focused on the Chemistry lab midterm on Monday. You know you canât afford to fail.â
You sulked but relented, he was right. On both accounts.
As your T.A. for that class Choso knew better than anyone just how much your grade depended on passing that lab and you hadnât even so much as glanced at your notes yet this week.
âAye Aye, Capitan Choso, sir!â you teased giving him a salute with a wink and lifted knee, your sailor skirt lifting a bit higher.
It was a cute move, or it would have been at least if it hadn't caused your weight to shift all on to one foot. The heel of the sparkly red glitter pump baring your weight sunk into the patch of soft soil beneath you causing your foot to pop out of the shoe as you tumble forward.Â
You would have definitely ate shit and embarrassed yourself in front of Choso, your pledges and whoever else was walking across the quad at this time of night if Chosoâs quick reflexes didnât catch you.Â
You let out a squeak and waved your arms as you fell tits first onto Chosoâs hard chest.Â
Shit.Â
Choso could feel your hardened nipples pressing against him through the flimsyass costume you wore. He tried hard to focus on how cold it was outside. Anything rather than how warm your body felt up against him or how his biceps tensed from the tight grip of your delicate fingers that sought stability from him.
You grinned sheepishly. You thanked him for catching you not realizing the position you were in nor the torment you were putting this man through.
Setting you upright quickly, Choso crouched down to retrieve your shoe.Â
His plan was to simply place it near your foot but he felt your hand land on his shoulder and you raised your dainty foot up expectantly.
Any attempts to avert his gaze proved futile as Choso couldnât stop his eyes from traveling up the length of your leg.Â
Your opaque white stockings practically glowed in the darkness illuminating the shapely calves it covered and thick thighs the tight material cut into. Your hips strained against your garters up until your âhe caught himself and his eyes snapped up immediately.
He was a killer, not a perv at least he was trying not to be.
Gingerly making sure to only touch your ankle, you were giggling again as he put your shoe on your foot and placed it on the grass again.
âThanks Choso! You really are a lifesaver, ya know! I canât bend down in this skirt.â
âDonât mention it.â Choso quickly replied, pushing his bangs out of his face in exasperation.Â
Really donât.Â
Choso was trying to forget the flash of red lace he saw that barely covered your plump puâ No he had to stop, you were technically his student even if he was just a T.A.
He would surely have to kill you if he popped a boner right now. He was trying to keep a low profile already and did not need to add âsexual deviant' to his name from a student harassment claim.
âFor real now, go home Y/N.â Choso silently pleaded you would just listen this time.Â
He always felt more compulsive right after a kill and didnât know what he would do if you stayed around him like this much longer.
You finally relented to his relief, nodding and mumbling a sad little goodnight pulling his jacket around your shoulders tighter as you turned to leave back to your pledges.Â
Choso started to leave as well but your voice stopped him as you looked at him over your shoulder.
âYou know ChosoâŠâ You smoothed your skirt down behind you and flashed him a pageant winning smile, âI donât mind that you saw them.â
Before Chosoâs short-circuiting brain could even process what you said you were bouncing off back to your pledges.
âOkay ladies, now make like Bey and get in formation! Back to the Soro house!âÂ
Your pledges erupted with various replies fromâÂ
âThank God!ââÂ
âDid you just go over there to steal that nerdâs jacket? Boss!ââ
âWas that your boyfriend, Y/N?â
âY/Nâs bf is a starter on the football team, she doesnât want that weird emo dork.â
âNo, sis did you see his musclesâ That emo look is still kinda hot right now, huh Y/N?âÂ
âAwe, but I want to go back to the frat!âÂ
âall fluttered from the group of chattering girls as you cheerily led them back to the Sorority house.Â
You laughed at their comments hoping Choso couldnât hear them though, as they were a bit embarrassing.Â
Unfortunately for the both of you, there was no way for Choso not to hear your rowdy group of drunk giggling girls, heâs sure the whole quad did.Â
Choso rolled his eyes as a chill took over him as he started the jog back to his dorms.Â
He was glad he had given you his jacket though. The way his body had started to respond to you just now the frigid jog back to the dorms would do him good.Â
He just wanted to shower, grade a few papers then go to bed, he didnât want to end up fisting his cock to you again tonight.Â
You had plagued his peace for too long. It wouldnât do him any good to think of you, itâs not like he could ever have you.Â
Sure you went to the same university but you might as well have been from two different worlds.Â
You were a popular sorority undergrad with the attention of virtually the entire male population on campus.Â
Choso was a PhD student who was used to fading in the background, most avoided him due his looks and academic focus anyway.Â
He only had an affiliation with you because his scholarships were tied to being a T.A. for undergrad forensics classes.Â
Also you did have a boyfriend.Â
An asshole neanderthal football-wide-receiver boyfriend who he would have been tempted to kill already had he not served his own purpose as a reality check and barrier for Choso.
Oh and had an eccentric obsession with blood going for him and was also the Ghostface copycat killer, that too.Â
He was sure that would go over well with you, Choso mused sarcastically.
â
Upon returning to his dorm Choso took a shower, graded papers and tried to fall asleep but inevitably jerked his cock off to you.
Twice.Â
The sounds and images of your ditzy little laugh and skippy little panties consumed him as soon as he closed his eyes. The phantom feeling of the way your nipples felt pressed against his chest and how you clung to him desperately had him feeling near insatiable.Â
Choso admittedly thinks of killing you often. Just to get some peace of mind.
It wouldnât be difficult at all to pull off. Itâs not like you could put up much of a fight against him.
He didnât want to break his rule of killing anyone with a connection to him but Choso had also never had anyone stir him the way you did.Â
You were a distraction and liability to him. If he killed you he could finally stop thinking about youâŠright?
You would make a beautiful death painting too.
Choso imagines thick red blood splattered across your curves.Â
The fatal gash from the femoral artery in your thigh oozing out a continuous stream of blood. The cut would have to be considerably deep too considering how meaty your thighs were.Â
Would the blood streak down your long leg as you desperately tried to hobble away from him in your slutty red heels?
Or would you collapse in fear and surrender to him fully? Landing in such a way that allowed the blood to redirect backwards and soil the flimsy red panties poorly concealing the fat of your cunt as you cried out in fear.
Fuck.Â
He was hard again.Â
He reached over to his night stand for his lotion bottleâ practically empty thanks to his nonstop fantasies of you.
God, he was pathetic.
â
The school week that followed was relatively uneventful.Â
You passed your lab midterms much to Chosoâs surprise. Although you always seemed to pass with a relatively decent grade despite how you struggled to get there. Holding firm to your B average in the class and 3.3 GPA in your major overall.
He had to admit you were a better student than he originally gave you credit for. It makes him recall when he first saw you last spring.Â
You were a late enroll to Forensic Biology 101. Not only that, you burst into the third class of the semester nearly 15 minutes late.
Oblivious to all the eyes your disruption earned, you leaned on your knees as your chest heaved from exertion giving the entire class an amazing view of your tits spilling from your pink crop top adorned with the prestigious âAKAâ sorority.Â
You definitely would have given the class an additional show from bending over in your tight green jean skirt had your ass not been facing the door. Choso eyes couldn't help but travel down the length of your legs, your glossy white painted toes peeking out strappy pink pumps.Â
You smiled brightly once you caught your breath and apologized for your late entrance but you were newly voted chapter vice president and had just come from your first meeting.Â
Surely you had the wrong classroom.
âErâ this class is Forensic Biology 101 young lady.â The older male professor had given you a once over also thinking you must be lost.
âMhm, yup! Iâm Y/N! I just changed my major!â you beamed and handed the professor your schedule.
He looked at it and back at you twice.
âHm, well so it isâŠbut you are already behind, little lady. Go and take a seat next to the T.A. in the back, Choso Kamo, he will catch you up.â
Just his luck. Choso didnât want to babysit some sorority bimbo who would probably drop this class in two weeks once the labs started.Â
Your university was famous for the forensics program. If you graduated you were all but guaranteed a job at a prominent lab in a major city but more than two thirds of undergrad students dropped it once the rigorous labs began.Â
You didnât look like you would last.
Especially when you told him your interest in forensics came from watching Dexter. You told him how you thought the actor was hott and how his kill rooms were âso cool.â Choso definitely rolled his eyes at that and wrote you off as a soon-to-be drop out.
You proved him wrong though.Â
You were a bit of a ditz and a huge clutz but Choso came to understand t's more because you had about a billion different things going on in your head at once rather than you just being dumb or careless.Â
You were also a hard worker.Â
It was admirable how many activities you were involved in yet still tried as hard as you did in your classes. You always came to his T.A. review sessions and even sought him out at times while he was in the research library to ask him questions.Â
You were a good student and he was a horrible T.A. for even thinking of you in this way.Â
The campus bell tower struck noon in the distance and Choso looked down to see that he had only read a single paragraph since he sat down to study thirty minutes ago.
Fuck, he had lost himself in thinking about you again.Â
Choso put a hand over his face.Â
He was sitting alone at a picnic table on the outer, less populated edges of the quad trying to read a textbook but every time he heard a high pitched giggle he snapped his head up thinking it was you.
Class schedules were a bit different due to midterms and he hadnât seen you the entire week other than to administer the lab but that didnât mean you didnât still plague his thoughts more increasingly as of late.
It was making Choso a bit reckless.Â
Needing to relieve stress he had created 2 more death paintings. A mistake as it was rumored the local police would soon reach out to bigger towns for more help and perhaps even the FBI would send an agent soon to campus if this kept up.Â
He had to move more carefully.Â
Maybe make it look like there were multiple Ghostface killers for starters.
â3 Victims, One Week: The Copycat Ghostface Reign of Terror Continues!âÂ
You read aloud adding a bit of dramatic flair to your voice as you recite the front headline of the campus paper and jar Choso from his thoughts of you.Â
Speak of the devil.
You approached Choso at his table and he immediately noticed you were wearing his jacket again, well more like swimming in it as it was clearly too big for you.
This time though you were bundled up in a scarf, leggings and heeled booties. He was glad his face was already a bit red from sitting out in the cold because he couldnât stop the intrusive thoughts from forming that you looked even sexier cozied up and comfortable in his jacket than in the slutty sailor costume.
âI donât know why you even bother reading that shit Y/N. They never have any interesting details anyway.â Choso tried to feign disinterest in your arrival but his leg was already slightly bouncing under the table, nervous energy returning.
âWell I have to! You wouldnât go to the crime scene for me last Saturday, remember?â
How could he forget? Â
However a part of him did want you to view it though, his masterpieces, his kills.Â
See how glorious their blood looked sprayed on the walls, the ground, and the general surroundings of his victims.Â
But he knew youâd never appreciate them the way he did even if you were a forensics student.
âOh and sorry!âÂ
You interrupted his thoughts once again.
âI meant to give you back your jacket, Iâve been carrying it with me hoping Iâd run into you but I ran out today and forgot mineâŠwhoops! I hope you donât mind me wearing yours a bit longer?â
Your saccharine smile has Choso sucking in a hard breath.Â
At this point he would prefer you to just keep it, he couldnât trust himself if he had it back with your scent all over it knowing you had been carrying it around all week.
He would never know any peace.
âKeep it as long as you need.â
âKay!â
You smile at him as you haphazardly plop your overstuffed tote bag down next to him, which of course spilled all its colorful contents all over the table.Â
âOh Crap!âÂ
You lean over to reach for your bag but almost spill the tray of hot coffees in your hand.
âY/N, Watch out!âÂ
Choso grabbed the tray before it could spill all over his and your belongings and sat it down on the table with a small exhale.
âOh! Thank you!â You flash him a big grin. âI got this one for you!âÂ
You handed him a grande cup with âpumpkin spice dirty chaiâ scribbled on it.
Choso preferred his coffee black and he has definitely told you that before but you always just brought him whatever sugary drink you ordered saying he needed to âtry new thingsâ.Â
He wasnât about to turn you down though, caffeine was caffeine and as a PhD student he needed all he could get. Choso also knew it was your way of thanking him for helping you so much in forensics. Â
âThanks...â Choso mumbled taking a sip. Shit this is actually good.
You sat down next to him, a little too close for comfort with your spandex clad thigh brushing up against his leg.
âWhatcha reading? Is it for your thesis?â You were perilously close leaning on him as you looked over his broad shoulder onto his textbook.
âYeah, some forensics texts I need to review for citations. This section focuses on serology and bloodstain pattern analysis,â Choso stated knowledgably.Â
âOh! Like in Dexter!âÂ
âYeah, Y/N, like in Dexter.âÂ
Maybe Choso is growing a bit soft as he canât resist but to crack a small smile at your kid-like-enthusiasm for the subject, you were incorrigible.Â
Choso also doesnât miss the way your eyes sparkle when you ask him to tell you more about his research.Â
And so he does.
Sometimes Choso forgets how easy you are to talk on the subject. To be frank no one outside his own PHD program ever asks him about his thesis so before he realizes it heâs letting his guard down to indulge you.
You both get so lost in the conversation to the point it hasnât even phased Choso yet that you are now actually leaning on him.Â
Your soft cheek rests near his shoulder and your body angles deeper into his as you point to ask him about a passage on the page which he begins to break down. Â
You try to focus on his words but in the midst of Chosoâs explanation your eyes stray from the text up to his face.Â
You feel your body start to warm.You always thought he was attractive. His dark looks never deterred you if anything they were refreshing from the crew cut preppy jocks around you. Even more so with his piercings in.
Choso never wore any of his piercings during classes or while in the research library. You counted six facial piercings in total from the three on his brows to the septum, labret and finally the black bar piercing through his tongue that darted out exposed with the movements of his mouth.Â
Studying him further you discover for the first time his tattoo across the bridge of his nose was actually covering a scar. It looked old but like it had been deep.Â
You couldnât help but wonder if it had hurt him and why he chose to cover it.Â
You didnât even realize you had reached out to touch it until you felt his gaze snap to you.Â
Stunned and a bit embarrassed, you withdraw your hand.
âAh, sorry I just noticed your tattoo was covering a scarâŠâ you trailed off hoping he wouldnât be annoyed with you.
Annoyance was the last thing on Chosoâs mind as finally registered how you had melded yourself into his side body.Â
Although his usual reaction would be to withdraw back, you might as well have him chained down to the table now as he was practically immobilized by you not even being able to look away.Â
âUh, yeah it happened years ago when I was a kid...I fell off the monkey bars, there was a lot of blood.âÂ
No one had even recognized it since Choso had it covered years ago. You were the first.
âOh no! I loved the monkey bars, we used to climb up on them all the time when I was little. I guess those things are kinda dangerous huh? Actually, Iâm kinda shocked I never fell, a miracle right?âÂ
You laughed and Choso found himself smiling at you again.Â
You were too accident prone so it really was a miracle.Â
âYeah, good thing you never fell Y/N⊠It would be a shame to have to get a big ugly tattoo on that cute face.âÂ
Choso swore on his life those last words only were said in his head but from the way your eyes widened he knew he fucked up.
âI- that is.. I meant-â
Choso smacked a hand over his face. He canât believe he just said that out loud to you. He was really losing it.Â
âSo you think Iâm cute?â you teased giggling. You angled your head so you could look up at him from underneath his hand.
âYeah, about as cute as the blood splatter diagram on this page.â he teased you back. A small smirk on his features as he peeked at you through his fingers.
âHey!âÂ
Choso chuckled. Little did you know he actually paid you a huge compliment comparing you to something he thought so alluring as blood.
You grab the hand covering his face as your smile widens and you playfully struggle with Choso.Â
You donât become aware of your close proximity until you almost bump noses.
Choso locks eyes with you and you feel your tummy tighten as you bite your lip.Â
Youâre still holding his hand and after a while you work up the courage as your other hand comes up to touch his face.Â
âYour tattoo isnât ugly Choso,â you breathe out softly.
Choso closes his eyes as you trace the scar beneath his tattoo.Â
You werenât sure what you were doing but your hand involuntarily begins to travel across his face and his piercings until they graze over his lips and he opens his eyes again. Â
Startled by the sudden hungry look in his eyes you pull back your hand but he captures it in his own, him being the one to trap you this time.
If either one of you just moved even an inch forward your lips would touch. You see Chosoâs lips part whenâ
âYo! Hands off my girl, freakshow!âÂ
âDean!?â You pulled back out of Chosoâs embrace, floored to see your boyfriend and some more of his football buddies heading towards you as you knew they still should have been at practice around this time.
âOooh heâs in for it now messinâ with Deanâs girl.â Deanâs football friends snickered.
Choso audibly breathes out in exasperation. The moment was ruined and he really didnât have the patience to deal with your neanderthal boyfriend and his football lackeys who all shared a singular brain cell.Â
Didnât they have a ball or something to chase?
âUh hey, Dean I..âÂ
You stop yourself when itâs clear Dean is ignoring you entirely as he approaches the table. Not even looking your way to greet you.Â
His aura oozes faux tough guy bully and walks straight up to Choso to size him up leaning on the table to tower over him.
âIâm talking to you, freak. You think you can put your hands on what belongs to me?â
Choso doesnât look up at him but his grip instinctively tightens on the pen in his hand under the table as if it was Ghostfaceâs hunting knife.Â
Deanâs show of bravado going ignored by Choso pisses him off even more that his teammates are with him and the tough guy act is failing to have any real effect.Â
Tch.Â
With a swift movement Dean knocks Chosoâs coffee over on the table, its half drunken contents falling on both you, Choso and his books.Â
This has Choso rising out of his seat as he thinks your boyfriend must have an unknown death wish.
Chosoâs pen is still in his grasp but by his side now. It would be too easy to drive it into Deanâs neck before the dolt even knew what hit him. A bit extreme, but it could be considered an unfortunate accident of self defense if Dean struck first.
Fortunately, you stepped in between the two in order to diffuse the situation without picking up on Chosoâs murderous intent.Â
You chewed your lip. This was low key, your fault. You technically were dating Dean. Although Dean was always the furthest thing from your mind when you were around Choso.Â
You didnât even feel guilty for being caught as youâve had your own suspicions for a while Dean had been cheating on you anyway, you just couldnât prove it. You were still dating him more out of convenience than anything else, other jocks and frat boys left you alone knowing you were with him.
The only guilt you actually did feel was for Choso. This wasnât his problem or relationship but of course Dean was a big enough asshole to make this into an actual issue with Choso since it was becoming clearer how little respect he had for you.
âDean, what the hell is your problem!? You got coffee everywhere, this isnât even my jacket.âÂ
âDonât what the hell me Y/N, you're so fucking dumb youâre going to let this freak get in your pants whenâ wait youâre wearing fucking his jacket!?âÂ
Dean was yelling now and a small crowd was forming and starting to take out their phones to record.Â
You could not let this turn into an incident.
âDean chill the entire fuck out, would you?! It was cold, so he let me borrow itâ Heâs just my T.A.â
A wave of harsh realization washed over Choso.Â
Just her T.A.
Right.
Choso is no one important to you, especially with your football boyfriend and social standing on the line.
Heâd let whatever the fuck almost happened between the two you just now make him forget that.Â
Not anymore.
âThatâs right. Iâm just her T.A. So if youâll excuse me.âÂ
Choso turned from you both to salvage what he could of his books and leave.
You couldnât place the emotions in Chosoâs words and it made your chest tighten up. But you werenât trying to write him or your almost-kiss off.Â
You didnât mean for it to come out that way but you really lacked the proper words in these kinds of situations.
âWhere do you think youâre going, loser?â
Dean grabbed Chosoâs shoulder but the intense murderous look in his eyes made Dean release him just as quickly as if he had been burned.Â
Even his football goon friends unconsciously took a few steps back feeling the very real threat in Chosoâs eyes.Â
Choso smirked as he left. Thought so.Â
âW-wait Choââ Â
You want to stop him but feel Deanâs rough grip on your wrists.
âWhatever, letâs fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.âÂ
Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag.Â
Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off.Â
However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.
The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.
A/N: I promise it won't take as long for the second part to come out. I'm half way done with it already! I was just going to wait and post it all together but a like 12k+ word post all at once would be insane lmfao. After I am finished with this prompt the next 3 stories I will do will be from Thrilling Ghouls as they are all much shorter PWPs in the 3-5k range and I won't have to stress so much since I'm realizing all my Smooth Criminal prompts are longer fics and it takes me like a week or more to write them.
After the gunshot then subsequent surgeries and healing, soap isn't able to drive anymore, right?
It's stupid, and he feels like a teen asking his older friends for rides whenever he has to text someone because he needs to be someplace farther than a thirty minute walk. No one says it, but soap can tell they get tired of driving him to the shops.
Well...everyone except you that is.
You love to have soap in your car, or at least soap thinks you do. He doesn't understand why until he brings up his worries about being a burden and you scoff with a glance to his side "what? You're like my passenger princess, johnny. I'm not letting a pretty thing drive himself."
Which...that comment definitely shouldn't make soaps face burn tomato red. He used to be so good at maintaining a straight face.
You glance at him again, then bark out a laugh at his flush. "Oh? You like that, johnny?" A hand leaves the steering wheel, lands heavy on his knee "you like being my eye candy? Hm?"
Soap can only squeak in embarrassment. His dick, which he thought lost function after the gunshot with all the good it did him, jerked to life. "Jesus, dove." He scrubs a palm over his face "don't play like that."
You raise your brows and let your hand creep up to his inner thigh. Soaps lost some of the muscle definition you remember seeing in the gym last year, and a delicious layer of fat has taken it's place. You knead it just to feel soap jerk in his seat, "not playin' johnny. You look damn nice sat in my car, relying on me for a ride. so cute when you thank me, too."
"...really?" Soap asks, voice high and tight with tension as your pinky grazes over his crotch. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from humping your palm.
"Yeah. Really." This time, soap can't stop the moan he lets out when you fully cup him, rubbing the heel of your palm against his clothed erection. "Why don't you give me a show, princess? Entertain me, hm?"
Soaps never shoved his pants down so fast.
The fact that you pull over to make him lick up the cum on your dashboard really cements the fact. Soap is your passenger princess, and he's delighted at the fact.
Your family sets you up with potential husbandsâŠ.. rich, influential JJK men⊠for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires⊠and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings : Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna,Toji, Nanami
A/n: MDNI, 18+, I've decided not to include Geto Suguruđ. I'm sorry cuties
Part 1 - part 2 part 3
Your mother has this particular way of smiling when she's about to ruin your life. It's not malicious per se. She loves you, in her own way. She also happens to see you as an asset that's been sitting on the shelf too long, depreciating while your cousins pop out heirs after heirs
âWeâve found some potential matches for you,â your mother said over breakfast on a random fucking Tuesday âYour father and I think itâs time you settled down.â
The coffee you were drinking nearly comes out your nose, which wouldâve been unfortunate because you were wearing white and also because aspirating liquids hurts like a bitch.
âAbsolutely the fuck not.â
Your mother didn't even blink. Sheâd perfected selective hearing around the same time youâd discovered the word âfuckâ could be used as a noun, verb, adjective, and general life philosophy.
âFour young men from very good familiesâŠâ
"We're not in the Bridgeton, mother. Arranged marriages aren'tâŠâ
"Business marriages," your mother corrected, sipping her tea "The Kang family did it last year. Their daughter is very happy in Singapore now."
"The Kang daughter cries on Instagram Live every other Tuesday." You stared at her
"She has a Birkin collection. Tears dry, sweetheart. Leather lasts." She stareed back
âMother, I canâtâŠâ
Your father finally lowered his newspaper âThen weâll need to reconsider your position at the company. And your living arrangements.â
Ah. There it was. The threat wrapped up in a neat little bow .
Agree to this circus, or lose your cushy job (where you mostly online shopped). And your apartment (paid for by your parents)
You wanted to tell them to shove their arranged meetings up theirâŠ.
But you also really, really likedhaving money. And not having to eat instant ramen for every meal. And your bathtub. Youâve gotten very attached to that bathtub.
So you smiled âOf course. When do I start?â
Your motherâs face lit up âWonderful! Weâll have the files sent over.â
Files.
They had FILES on these men.
Nothing says true love quite like a background check and a financial statement.
â
Four names: Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento
Four strangers
Fuck that.
If they wanted you to do this, fine. But nobody said you had to make it easy. Theyâd be begging their mothers to call the whole thing off by weekâs end.
And thatâs where your brilliant, genius, absolutely foolproof plan came in.
(It's going to blow up in your face spectacularly, but you don't know that yet.)
The files arrived the next morning. You spread the folders across your kitchen counter like you were planning a heist instead of four dates.
Dates. Meetings. Whatever.
â
Folder 1
FUSHIGURO TOJI, 28
His photo looked like a mugshot.
Okay, it wasnât actually a mugshot, byt he had that vibe.Scar on his lip. Expression that said âIâd rather be literally anywhere else and also fuck you.â
Technically the heir to a massive Zenin equity firm.
Technically. Because apparently Toji was the family disappointment. Estranged from his relatives, only showed up when he needed money. Multiple failed business ventures. A reputation for being a fuck up who lived off his family name while giving them middle fingers in return.
Ah. A broke rich boy.
His social media accounts existed but were barely used. Most photos were him tagged by other people at bars, looking annoyed. One photo of him at what looked like an underground fight club.
Wait.
You zoomed in.
Was that blood on his shirt?
Jesus Christ.
Day 1 - Toji Fushiguro Tuesday, Hotel Bar, Shinjuku
Operation: Bimbo infiltration
Strategy: âThink born yesterdayâ
Toji shows up at the restaurant looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Hes only here because his family threatened to cut off his credit cards.
He doesnt give a shit about marriage or alliances or any of this corporate dynasty bullshit. He likes money. Thatâs it.
He's not even trying to hide it⊠slouched in his chair, jacket thrown carelessly over the back, phone out on the table. He barely looks up when you approach.
Perfect. This should be easy.
âOhmygod, hi!â You chirp âYou must be Tojiâ
And then you trip over absolutely nothing on your way to the table, catching yourself on the edge with a little yelp.
"Oops!!! Iâm such a dum dum,â you giggle, batting your eyelashes.
He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"Fine, fineâ You wave your hand and somehow knock over the water glass in the process. Ice and water spill across the table, dripping onto his lap.
"Fuck⊠"
"Oh my god, I'm SO sorryâ You grab a napkin and start dabbing at his pants, which puts you in very close proximity to his crotch. "I'm such a mess, I can't believe I did thatâŠ.â
He grabs your wrist, stopping you. "It's fine. Just⊠sit down."
You sit, face arranged into earnest distress.
"I'm really sorry. I'm just so nervous. These meetings make me all jittery and I get butterfingers and then I do stupid stuff andâŠâ You take a breath. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. Ramble, I mean. Just talk and talk andâŠ.â
"Got it.â He cuts you off âYou're nervous." He takes a long sigh then and looong sip of his drink.
"Super nervous. You're really intimidating, you know?â You laugh, too loud. "But I'm sure you're really nice underneath, right? Like a, um, a cinnamon roll. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside?"
He stares at you.
âOr not.. That's okay too. Not everyone's a cinnamon roll. Some people are just, um, bread. Regular bread. Which is also good!!! Bread is great."
"Are you done?â He finally snaps
"No. I mean yes. Im sorry." You bury your face in your hands. "I'm so bad at this. I don't know why my parents thought I could do this, I can barely order coffee without messing it up⊠"
The waiter appears. You manage to mispronounce three items on the menu before Toji takes over and orders for both of you.
"Thanks," you smile brightly "I'm not good at fancy words. All those French names, you know?"
"It's Italian."
"Ohh, silly meâ You laugh again.
Toji pinches the bridge of his nose.
The hour continues like this. You rambleâŠ. while Toji's expression shifts gradually from bored to annoyed to something approaching existential despair.
By the time you finally stand to leave (knocking your purse off the bar in the process), he looks like he's genuinely considering faking his own death to avoid a second meeting.
"This was so fun" you smile brightly, gathering your scattered belongings. "We should totally do it again.
He grunts and it might be the sound of his soul leaving his body.
One down
Folder 2
Nanami Kento, 26
Oh.
He looked⊠normal? Everything about him screamed âresponsible adult.â
Investment banker. Impeccable reputation⊠and they really emphasized IMPECCABLE in the file.
No scandals. No messy breakups. No public relationships at all.
Every article described him as âthe perfect gentlemanâ with 3 Pâs ⊠Punctual. Professional. Polite.
He was too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.
Day 2 - Nanami Kento Wednesday, French Restaurant, Roppongi
Operation : Make the Gentleman Squirm
You're five minutes late on purpose.
Nanami is already seated, of course⊠in his perfectly tailored suit, checking his watch with a small furrow between his brows.
"Mr Nanami, I apologize for the delay," you say sweetly, sliding into your seat.
"It's fine." His tone suggests it is very much not fine. "Traffic, I assume."
"Something like that." You lean forward on your elbows, knowing exactly what that does to your cleavage. âYou're even more handsome in person."
Those hazel eyes meet yours, then quickly⊠very quickly⊠drop to the menu. âThank you."
"I mean it." You let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. "That suit fits you really well. Custom, right? Must do wonders for your shoulders."
A faint flush creeps up his neck.
Gotcha.
"I... yes. It's custom."
"I bet you work out." You tilt your head. "You look like you work out. What's your routine? No, wait⊠let me guess. You're a morning gym guy. Up at five type ."
"Five thirty, actually."
"Close enough." You grin "I'm more of a 'stay in bed until the last possible second' type myself. We're practically opposites.â
He clears his throat. "Perhaps we could order?"
You order something light⊠you're not really hungry⊠and spend the entire time making unnecessary eye contact with Nanami.
"I read that you've never had a serious relationship. Is that true?" You ask
He stiffens. "I've been... focused on my career."
"Mmm." You lean closer. "So you're not really experienced then. With women." You trace the rim of your wine glass with one finger.
His eyes follow your finger. Then snap back to your face. âI wouldn't sayâŠ.â
"It's okay." You reach across the table and pat his hand. Let your fingers brush. "I can work with that. I have lots of experience."
His hand jerks back like "That's... very forward of you."
"Is it?" You bat your eyelashes.
The flush has spread to his ears now.
You spend the rest of the date making increasingly suggestive comments.
The food arrives. You eat slowly, making a show of enjoying every bite. At one point you let out a small sound⊠and watch Nanami's knuckles go white around his fork.
He sets his fork down. Picks up his water. Takes a very long sip.
By the time the check arrives⊠he pays, of course, because he's âpoliteâ⊠Nanami Kento looks like he's been through a war.
"Call me." You wink. â I had fun.â
You left him standing there, looking like he needed a cold shower and possibly a priest.
Two down.
Folder 3
Ryomen Sukuna, 29
His photo was⊠intimidating.
Tattoos visible even in what was clearly a professional headshot⊠which, props to whoever convinced him to sit for that. Expression that suggested he was mentally planning your murder.
CEO of a luxury hotel chain with international reach.
Also: multiple arrests.
Three assault charges, all dropped. One arson investigation, dismissed. Suspected ties to organized crime, never proven. The Itadori family's lawyers are apparently worth every yen, because this man should be in prison, not on a dating profile.
You switched to social media. His accounts were private, but fan accounts existed. FAN ACCOUNTS. For a CEO with anger issues??
Rich and dangerous. Probably bored of women throwing themselves at him.
Day 3 - Sukuna Ryomen Thursday, Private Members' Club
Operation: Gold Digger
You walk in wearing every piece of designer clothing you own. Dress with the Dior label clearly visible.
Sukuna makes no move to stand or pull out your chair when you arrive.
âHi!â You slide into the seat across from him, dropping your designer bag on the table with a heavy thunk. â Sorry I'm lateâ
He nods once⊠crimson eyes dragging over your outfit with absolutely zero expression.
Not impressed. Not disgusted. Just⊠nothing.
âThis place is so fancy. Is it expensive? It looks expensive." You lean forward, smiling brightly.
âYes.â his expression doesn't change
Okay. Man of few words. You can work with this.
Silence.
The kind of silence that would make most people uncomfortable.
You push through it.
"So," you continue, "I looked you up. Your family is like, really rich, right? What's that like?"
His eyebrow raises slowly. Like he couldnât believe youâd just asked that. âIs that relevant?"
"Well, yeah." You laugh "I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it? To see if we're a good match? And I think lifestyle compatibility is super important."
Something that might have been disbelief crosses his face.
You flag down a waiter and order the most expensive thing on the menu.
"I love nice things," you explain. "and I can always tell quality when I see it. You can't really put a price on quality, you know? This dress, for exampleâŠâ You point at the dress ââŠ.twenty eight thousand yen. Pre season Dior. I have a personal shopper who gets me things before they hit the regular collections.â
The waiter returns with the champagne. You make him pour you a glass and immediately hold it up to the light, examining it critically.
"This is the '98, right? Not the '02? Because I can tell the difference."
You absolutely cannot tell the difference. You bought your last bottle of wine from a convenience store.
"You're quiteâŠ.. direct," he says finallyâŠ. watching you with an expression that's impossible to read. Disgust? Annoyance? Homicidal intent? All three?
Three words this time! Progress.
"I just believe in honesty." You take a sip of champagne. "I know what I bring to a relationship, and I know what I expect in return. Fair trade, right?"
"And what do you bring?" Sukuna asks, and you can't tell if hes genuinely curious or just morbidly fascinated by your audacity.
You gesture to yourself again, "Isn't it obvious?"
Sukuna picks up his wine glass and drinks half of it in one go. He spoke maybe twenty words total throughout the entire meal.
By the end, he looked ready to flip the table.
"This was fun," you say brightly as you leave. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe somewhere with better champagne?"
He just stares at you like you're an alien species.
âIâll wait for your messageâ You give him a little wave. âCiao!â
Three down
Folder 4
Gojo Satoru, 27
âOh fuck offâ The photo alone made you want to throw your wine at the wall. Gorgeous didnât even cover it. He looked like someone had designed him specifically to make women stupid.
You kept reading, already annoyed.
Heir to Gojo Enterprises. Worth billions with a B.
There were photos. So many photos.
Gojo at charity galas with models. Gojo at clubs with actresses. Gojo at a beach in Monaco with someone who was definitely an Instagram influencer.âŠ. always with beautiful women who looked like theyâd never eaten carbs.
Rich, bored, and fucking everything that moves.
You grabbed your laptop and did what any sane person would do⊠went full stalker mode on social media.
His Instagram was a goldmine of red flags. The comments were even better.
âMarry meâ
âI volunteer as tributeâ
âHe can ruin my lifeâ
Jesus Christ.
This man has probably seen more lingerie than a Victoria's Secret buyer.
A manwhore with a trust fund
Day 4 - Gojo Satoru Friday, the Peninsula Hotel
Youre going to vomit.
Not from nerves⊠well, maybe partly from nerves, but mainly because youâve stress eaten an entire sleeve of crackers in the Uber.
Also, your shapewear was cutting off circulation to your legs.
Why did you wear shapewear under a modest funeral dress? What were you even shaping? The outfit is practically a potato sack.
Too late now.
You're dressed like you're going to a funeral. Or church. Or a funeral at a church. Currently clutching a small cross pendant you borrowed from your grandmother's jewellery box.
You push open the door⊠which is heavier than it looks and you nearly face plant, great start⊠and immediately spot him.
Gojo Satoru is impossible to miss. Jesus fucking Christ, those eyes.
He's scrolling on his phone, completely at ease, probably sexting three different women right now.
He looks up when you walk in and smiles
Oh no.
"You must be my future wife," he says, and his voice is warm honey poured over gravel. "I have to say, the photos didn't do you justice."
Don't react. Don't react. You're a good Christian woman who doesn't react to sinful men.
You arrange your face into something you hope reads as "scandalized."
"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," you say, voice soft and earnest like you're greeting a pastor.
âOf course.â He pulls out your chair⊠gentleman points, you suppose⊠and gestures. âPlease.â
You sit, immediately folding your hands in your lap like you were at a prayer meeting.
He settles back into his chair, still smiling. That smile hasnât faltered once. Is it surgically attached to his face?
âCan I get you anything?â he asks. âCoffee? Tea?â
âJust water, please.â You smile sweetly.
The waiter brings water. You thank him quietly, taking small, delicate sips like you were in a Victorian novel.
Gojo leans back, completely comfortable. âSo, I have to admit⊠I was curious when my parents mentioned this meeting.â
âOh?â
âYeah.â That smile somehow got wider. âThey said you were⊠different from the usual arrangements.â
Different. That could mean anything.
âDifferent how?â you ask, tilting your head innocently.
âJust different.â His eyes are doing that sparkly thing. Is he always this sparkly? Its unsettling. âBut Iâm already intrigued.â
Oh, he was intrigued now.
Just wait.
âThatâs very kind of you,â you say, voice still sweet and soft. âI should probably mention something upfront, though.â
âOh?â
âYes. Mr Gojoâ You fold your hands more carefully, sitting up straighter
"Satoru, please." He sits back down, legs crossed, "Mr Gojo is my father. And he's an asshole, so."
You don't laugh. "I believe in traditional values."
"Oh?" his smile flickers
You pull out your phone and show him your lockscreen⊠a stock photo of a church you found on Google last night. "I actually volunteer with my local congregation here. We do purity workshops for young women."
"Purity... workshops?"
"Mmhm. Teaching them to save themselves for their future husbands." You tilt your head. "Do you go to church, Mr Gojo?"
âNo.â
Just flat out âno.â Not even trying to soften it.
âOh.â You bit your lip, looking concerned. âThatâs⊠we might need to work on that. I could help you.â
âAnd I should mentionâ you add, voice dropping to a more serious tone â We should have a chaperone for our dates until weâre engaged.â
âA chaperone? Why?â
âJust to avoid temptation!!!! Once weâre engaged we can spend more supervised time together.â
Gojo drained his entire coffee in one long gulp.
The server came by to check on you. Gojo looked at them like they were a life raft. âActually, could I get another coffee? Double shot.â
Every time Gojo tries to steer the conversation toward something normalâŠhobbies, work, interestsâŠ. you bring it back to your values.
By the time youre finished, Gojo looks like heâs aged five years.
âIâll be praying about this,â you add brightly. âAbout whether God is calling us together. Iâll let you know what He reveals to me.â
âRight. God. Sure.â
âHave a blessed eveningâ You give him your sweetest smile and leave him standing there, probably questioning every decision that has led to this moment.
All down
â
Now you just had to wait for them to reject you.
The week that follows is blissfully silent. No calls. No texts. Youâve done it. Youâve successfully repelled four of the most eligible bachelors in the country through the sheer power of being a fucking nightmare.
You wake up on the eighth day, the morning sun streaming through your window, a victorious smirk on your face. You stretch, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.
The war is over
You reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time.
And freeze.
Four notifications. Four messages. All received within minutes of each other, night.
Your heart plummets into your stomach. No. No, no, no.
With trembling fingers, you open them.
From: Gojo Satoru⊠Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Donât worry, Iâll be on my best behavior.
From: Ryomen Sukuna Name your terms. Iâm interested.
From: Nanami Kento⊠I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?
From: Fushiguro Toji Hey. Youâre weird. Iâm in.
You drop your phone on your face.
Fuck.
Your reblogs and comments are appreciated đ«¶đ»âš
A/N. Yes, the seventh day of k!nktober had to be Sukuna even tho Iâm a Gojo-gaggerâŠ
âNanami chill.â
Itâs twelve in the dead of Halloween, and Nanami Kento does, in fact, not chill - not when heâs five hours deep into overtime at the most high security prison in all of Japan, running on only three cups of caffeine and the promise of a day off sometime in the next year.Â
âYou know I canât do that.â he rubs his throbbing temples, heaving out a sigh as he often does. Taking one long look around the glaringly empty surveillance office, âEspecially not today of all days.â
Youâre humming in flippant agreement, but that only makes the furrow in your partnerâs brows deepen even more. âI know I know. But donât you think the inmates deserve something a lilâ special today? I mean, he-â Pointing at the grainy CCTV footage on your computer screen - showing one, Ryomen Sukuna, in his padded cell. Watching. Waiting. â-didnât get a single visitor all year.â
And before Nanami can even think to open his mouth, youâre already dusting down your uniform. Grabbing the bowl of candy propped between you two that youâd swiped from the break room.Â
âWait-â
âAfter all, whatâs the worst that could happen?â
Now, youâve always been told that youâre a little softer than most when it comes to your inmates - which perhaps wasnât the best quality to have when your section was filled to the brim with the most infamous of yakuza and serial criminals. But they respected you. Hell, Nanami loved to roll his eyes at this one but - you think they almost liked you.
Especially Ryomen Sukuna.
You shiver at the long, long list of crimes of his that you had to memorize in your early days - distinctly remembering the way your laptop had crashed with just how far you had to scroll.Â
Honestly, you werenât surprised that the most wanted crime boss across the globe wouldnât get anything other than public threats and a few snarling officers that laugh smugly in his face. Though, you have had to sift out a few perfumed fan mail from time to time.Â
And even before youâd started this job, you knew of him - who didnât?Â
The King of Curses, they called him. And what a king he was.
Some say he was just a crook. Others say he was a beast that seemed like he had four arms and twice the power of any normal human being.Â
Right before his arrest, the Curses owned half of Japanâs revenue - he was untouchable. With his deceivingly innocent signature pink hair, those circling tattoos all across his body, and the dark, dark bloodthirst to get whatever he wanted. Whenever. And fast.Â
Itâd made international news when he was finally caught - only after a long, agonizing syndicate war between himself and the Six Eyes. It was your first day working here, and you were there to spy it firsthand when he was brought in. Shackles clanking along the metallic prison floor, towering well above the eight officers by his side, being hauled into that specialized cell like some animal.Â
And, yet, through it all Sukuna was smiling - smiling like he knew something that everyone in this building didnât.Â
It still burns into your memory the way heâd stopped right in his tracks for the first time on his way up here, stalling for just a second. Two. Before looking right into your widened eyes, devilish grin only growing at your trembling figure.
Ryomen Sukuna had his eyes on you from the moment those handcuffs locked him in here.Â
And he still did.
âHey there, Kuna-â youâre humming after the long, tedious task of unlocking all sixteen padlocks on his heavy metal door. It clamors to a shut behind you with a deafening clang! Locked from the inside. With him. Alone. âHow are we doing today?â
Sukuna was sat on the padded floor of his cell, knees brought up to his broad chest. If you didnât know any better, youâd have said he almost looked like a scolded child - had it not been for the custom-made metal cuffs that restrained him up to his very forearms. A matching leather muzzle drawn tight to cover half of his pretty face.Â
He was the very epitome of all you should stay away from in this prison.Â
And, yet, you find yourself walking towards him, carefully trying not to step on the hefty chains of his shackled ankles.Â
It surrounds you like an iron serpent, clinking lightly when heâs raising his half-lidded eyes to look up at you. âHeh- will it reduce my sentence if I say sâbetter now that youâre here, brat?âÂ
Sukunaâs deep baritone was husky with disuse, hitching sharply at the end of his sweet little nickname for you. From what little you could make out behind the muzzle, you catch the slow, sultry curl of his plump lips. âOr should I say-â His gaze trickles down to your glinting golden badge, narrowing. â-officer.â
Youâre rolling your eyes, âYou and I both know weâre past all that, Sukuna.â
âNot past that enough, dontcha think?â heâs cracking his neck with a slight tilt side by side, as if he hadnât even realized how long heâd been sitting here until youâd wandered your way inside. Cocking his head up slightly at the small glass bowl still clutched in your hands, âSomethinâ sweet from someone sweet fâme?â
âOh-â youâre sputtering out. He knew exactly what buttons to push to tease and toy with you without even lifting a finger. â-yes, trick or treat! Since itâs Halloween I thought I might as well share the spirit.â
Heâs bellowing out a husky laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest, and you have to tear your eyes away from the slight, sinful sliver of tan skin that peeks out at the jostle of his thin cotton t-shirt.Â
You hated to admit it - but you almost understood exactly why Sukuna got so many fan letters that you had to throw out. A secret youâd whispered to Nanami over break and then never again after he fully ignored you for a week afterwards.Â
Sukuna takes his languid time stretching out his limbs, and you get the distinctly hot feeling that heâs doing this on purpose. One eye cracked to watch your every jolt when the hem of his t-shirt raises just a bit too high, when his long, long legs nudging lightly against your feet.Â
You huff, âWell, would ya like some or not? Because I can just give all of it to Mahito in the next cell-â
âAh, youâre so damn hot when youâre mad.â he grins, and now you know heâs having fun with you. âFuckinâ demanding, too.âÂ
Heâs bringing up his two firmly restrained arms up to your line of vision. âAnd, I donât know if youâve noticed, silly girl, but mâa little ah- preoccupied, here.â
Oh, right.Â
Shit.Â
It wouldâve been so easy to just move your fingers over to the keys in your backpocket and unlock his handcuffs for the slightest second. So easy to shut his cocky mouth up by doing the very things he knows he wonât goad you into doing.Â
But you sneak a glimpse up at the camera positioned at the very corner of the room - trained on the hunched over-figures of the two of you - as if to say, âHey, see, Nanami?âÂ
âNice try.â And you swear you hear the great Ryomen Sukuna gasp - gasp - a sharp, tiny inhale when you reach out towards the very back of his muzzle. Your fingers scratching up lightly against his silken tresses as you feel for the clasp, letting it fall to the ground in a sad pile. Soft - itâs the first thing on your mind, and the next was how unfairly attractive Sukuna looked without his muzzle. âBut youâre not going anywhere.â
He just beams up at you, showing off his slightly sharpened canines. Facial tattoos almost as sinful as the darkened glint in his eyes, âHeh- as if Iâd wanna go absolutely anywhere else right now.â
Before you can snap back - or more likely, make a fool out of yourself to his amusement - he cranes his neck desperately upwards. âSo? Jusâ gonna stand there givinâ me a pretty view or what?â
Too soon, youâre realizing what he wants.
And too readily, youâre crouching down till youâre eye-level with his greedy gaze. Hastily unwrapping one of the candies, âOpen wide.â
Sukuna only grins. âGet closer would ya? Mânot a fuckinâ giraffe now, am I?â
Fuck.Â
Wordlessly, you inch closer.
âCloser. These chains arenât as long as they look yâknow.â
And closer.Â
âJust a bit more- I donât bite. Promise.â
And-Â
âGood girl.â
Before you know it - Sukuna has you exactly where he wants you. Losing your fragile balance to topple over into his awaiting lap, manspread, cushioning your fall. His biceps flex against his restraints, as if some second nature of his wanted to wrap those tattooed arms around your waist.
âI-â youâre gasping, palms gliding over his feeble uniform. Feeling every curve and divot along his hard front- fuck, he felt like a wall of bricks. So toned underneath that fabric, your chin rests softly on the valley between his plush pecs. âIâm so sorry- I didnât mean to-â
âSâperfect though, isnât it?â heâs cutting you off, leaning in so close now that you could feel your cheeks heat with each of his feverish puffs of air. The very tip of his nose kissing yours. âNow you can reach me- honestly, why complain when life gives ya lemons, woman.â
Your breath hitches, âIâŠâ
âSo? Gonna gimme some of that sweetness?â
Youâre still unsure of whatâs happening. And all you can do is to wordlessly bring the sweet treat up to his lips, almost flinching when the warm softness of his lips brush up against your fingertips.Â
And shit, you know what it must look like on the outside, you know that Nanamiâs probably halfway through jumping out of his seat at the surveillance office already.Â
But you really canât bring yourself to think about that right now - not when Sukunaâs wrapping his rosy lips around your fingers. Eyes drooping shut slowly. Lazily. Lingering longer than necessary when his tongue swipes at the candy.Â
It all but melts in your hand, and as soon as youâre about to pull back-
âHold right there fâme now.â
Youâre sure if Sukunaâs hands were freed then heâd have claimed a strong grip on your wrist already, because he was just nuzzling his face into your touch. Sighing out, âCanât have my officer all dirty now, can I?â
His long, pink tongue comes up to just drag along your digits, making you keen at the slight scratch of his soft taste buds. One by one. Each of your fingers. Sucking, groaning.Â
Smiling at you slyly, heâs dragging his tongue in between your index and your middle finger, slurping up all the sweetened candy from before. âWhat? Cat got yer tongue?â
âY-you-â
âY-y-y-you-â he mocks, baritone voice a few octaves dramatically higher than usual. Through his smirk, Sukuna bites down on the very tip of your index, making you wince at the sharp sting of his canines. âIf ya got somethinâ to say then spit it out like the big girl you are.â
Heâs so leeringly smug, watching back as you struggle to meet his intense gaze as if it was his favorite show. Oh, how he wants to tease you about that little good girl routine you put whenever you stop by his cell - always smiling, always in that snug uniform that made you look so irresistible, always talking to him so sweetly as if he wasnât the king of curses himself.
Never in his life would he admit it, but it was soâŠcute.
And Sukuna half-expects you to jump back this very second, to throw another one of your pouts his way and scamper off back to the safety of your office. He expects you to-
âKiss me.â
Oh.Â
Fuck.
That was not what Sukuna expected - never in the hundreds of years he was sentenced to rot in this prison.
But, well, looking down at the way you were splayed out so prettily on his lap - your chin jutting forwards, hands steadied on his pecs, glossed-up lips all pursed for him - how could he ever say no?
In a split-second, heâs kissing you.Â
And youâre kissing him back and fuck- is it intoxicating.
Sukuna meshes his lips against yours so slowly, savoring. Angling his head just enough to suckle on your honeyed lips, youâre feeling his hips gently buck upwards, drinking up your light groans.Â
You mewl when he slides his soft tongue between your lips. And thatâs when you learn that Sukuna has a tongue piercing, cold and metallic against your lips. He tastes so sweet - exactly like the artificial strawberry from the sweet earlier and-
âHah-â youâre gasping at the soft clink! of something sweet, something hard being placed all prettily right in the middle of your tongue - the candy. Brows raising, âIsnât that-â
âSo what if it is?â heâs grunting, not letting you part too far away before sitting up even straight to surge his lips against yours. Mellow. Addicted. Sukuna just loved how sweet you were on him - even more so than that godforsaken candy. Heâs craning upwards to nip lightly at your bottom lip, âGot a problem?â
You were so pliant on top of him, swiveling your hips down lazily at his question instead of answering. Over and over. And Sukuna almost finds it in himself to taunt you until you answer- before one manicured hand of yours grips his face, letting his sharp jaw slack open.Â
Only giving the candy a few drippingly wet swirls inside your mouth before spitting - a thick wad of candied spit right onto Ryomen Sukunaâs tongue. Glistening against his piercing.
And he takes it.Â
Surprisingly, hypnotically takes it.Â
He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he mouths in that tiny piece of strawberry candy back. You hear the crunch! of it underneath his teeth, kissing you even deeper to show off how heâd swallowed every tiny shard. Â
Curling his legs around your form, itâs all it takes for his gaze to drop half-lidded, chest panting - heaving - he smiles a dangerous curve of his lips against yours.Â
Sharp teeth glinting against your own, he chuckles. âI think weâre gonna have a lot of fun, dontcha think, brat?â
You can only take it when he rolls his yearning hips up into yours. You feel so dizzy at the massive outline of his half-hardened cock underneath you - solid, thorough inches girthing upwards against your heated cunt.Â
âBut first-â His teeth bite down on your lower lip, and he pulls. â-think mâgonna hafta hah- teach ya to be a good girl fâme.â
Clang!
All of a sudden, the heavy ripping of metal rings across your dazed head - and Sukunaâs just tearing apart his durable metallic handcuffs as if they were made of nothing but paper.
âWhat-â you gasp rubs over where the tough restraints had rubbed his skin redly raw, oh he just basks in all your sputtering disbelief. âYou could remove it- but- but that was special grade?â
âYa really thought a pile of trash like that would keep me put? Of course, I could fuckinâ get out, donât be silly, woman.â He quirks a slitted brow with genuine confusion - almost as if he was offended at the very thought. And before you know it, Sukunaâs throwing away the useless pieces of junk towards a nestled corner of the cell - hitting exactly on the bullseye of that damn CCTV he hated so much. Both of you watch when it topples brokenly to the ground. He hums, low and sultry, âI just hadnât found a good ânough reason until now.â
Almost immediately, his hands are on you. Everywhere. Anywhere.
Coaxing such pretty whines out of you when Sukuna ravages along every inch of your body, large calloused palms kneading down your tits, your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass.Â
âOhh- this sâthe life.â he groans, all ten of his thick digits squeezing and teasing you. Heâs leaning down to nip lightly at your ear lobe, âAlmost makes me forget what a naughty girl ya actually are.â
âIâm not-â you answer immediately, but it comes out much more breathless than you intended and both of you know that.Â
âOh yeah?â Sukuna jostles the two of you so that youâre fully laid out across his hulking body now, and youâre squirming already - desperately trying to wiggle your hips down to where he was throbbing. To glide the sopping wet place between your thighs down his rock-hard erection. For this, youâre gifted with a branding slap! on the curve of your ass, Sukuna holding you firmly in place. âDoesnât explain why youâre already sâfuckinâ wet like a slut, my pretty baby.â
You lick up the tattoo on his chin, âBut- but Kuna-â
Another needy grind - another smack.
âNow what did I jusâ fuckinâ say?â he hisses, and the primal rasp in his tone just makes you drenched.Â
And Sukuna notices - of course, he notices. Drunken red eyes widening, oh, he could almost feel how fucking soaking you were through all those clothes. Too many clothes, in his opinion.
Which is why he has one hand fisting furiously at your smart uniform shirt, not a single word or apology uttered before he just shreds it right off your heaving chest.
âOh my god-â you squeal, your hands coming up to clutch at the tatters of fabric and your badge. And your lips pout out in such a way that makes his cock just twitch, mumbling out stubbornly, âThat was my new uniform-â
âSâwhat happens when ya get too greedy like this.â His knees raise up a bit more to rub your glissading cunt along the very curve of his fat tip. Just dragging your dripping cunt all along his bulging dick, reveling in the sticky schwf! schwf! schwf! of wet fabric. Sukuna gives an impatient tug on the fabric of your pants, âNow get rid of this before I tear that off, too.â
You couldnât shuffle out of your belt and trousers fast enough. And oh, even that wasnât enough for Sukuna - dazedly flinging off what remained of your shirt, your bra, before turning his eyes downwards and-
âOh, good girl.â he whispers at the sight of you in nothing but your flimsy excuse of panties. So soaked -Â translucent, even - your saturated juices making such a glossy mess at your inner thighs. He canât help but flick at the tiny bow on your underwear, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your forehead. âSuch a good girl, arenât ya?â
âK-Kuna-â youâre barely even thinking at this point, panting. âWanâ to feel youââ
Heâs tittering a breathy moan disguised as a laugh at this, bringing up a hand to cup your cheeks. âAwww, my pretty baby wants my cock?â he coos, squeezing in two of his thick fingers between your lips.
But if Sukuna was looking for an answer, then he doesnât wait for it.Â
A spit-glossed pout finds its way to his lips, mocking your own. And fuck, he was such a little tease. One hand giving your ass another slap! just to watch you whine and pretend that it didnât make your pussy even more embarrassingly wet - shit, he was having fun. The other pulling out from inside your mouth, delicate strings of spit snap when heâs gliding his coated digits down, down, down-
âOh-â you tuck your trembly head into the crook of his neck when Sukuna drags his thumb just across your puffed-up pussy lips. Slowly. Tantalizingly.Â
âOh?â he huffs out, licking his lips at just how steamingly wet you were inside. So ready for him. ââOhâ is all?âÂ
Sukuna plants another lingering smack on your ass, and by now youâre sure by now heâs left the bumpy imprint of all five fingers on your flesh. Tracing between your swollen folds gingerly with just the rounded tip of his finger up and down up and down. He gets greedy.Â
âDamn brat-â And itâs all the warning you get before he just forces two of his fat fingers into your messily throbbing pussy. Rubbing all around your tightly quivering entrance, âSâwhat I get for spoiling you too much.â
Thereâs no hiding from the way he stretches you open so obscenely, having your sloppy hole just gaping around his digits. All wet and cozy inside.
âOh- m-more-â you mewl.Â
But he only continues rubbing saturated little circles around your teasing entrance, humming hotly against your lips. âHmm, dunno. Think we hafta teach you some manners, silly girl.â And each of his fingers were so thick, stretching out the channel of your cunt until your mouth watered. Your body was limp, hips stuttering down softly into his hold - trying so uselessly to fuck yourself back down onto him, as if he wasnât easily holding you still with just one beefy arm around your waist. âHow about a âpleaseâ first?â
You scramble to dig your nails into his bulky deltoids, tracing around his circular tattoos peeking out. âP-please!â
âNuh uh-â he snickers. âNo stutterinââ
âPlease!â
Sukuna pretends to think for a few syrupy slow seconds. He nips down softly at the sensitive spots on your neck, having you trembling like a feather in his vice-like grasp. âHow about a âpretty pleaseâ?â
And oh, he grins at the way youâre almost on the verge of tears at this point, your pouty lower lip wobbly with effort. Trying so desperately to comply with the demands of your inmate, you buck your hips so that the soft mountains on his palm graze against your clit. Whimpering, âWh-what if I w-walked away right now, Kuna?â
âMy my, resorting to threats?â heâs whispering filthily in your ear. âNow I know youâre bluffinâ woman. Because I hngh- also know-â So smug when he tugs down the soft cotton of his pants just enough to let his achy cock spring free. âThat youâre gonna stay nâ beg fâme like the good girl you are.â
And you hated that he was right.
You hated that he was so big.Â
Hefty girth slapping up onto his abs with a wet smack! Sukunaâs red, rounded tip was so thick that you could feel your thighs clench, swiping up a glossy glide of precum onto his t-shirt. Drip! Drip! dripping along the crevices of his veins and down to his eager balls, those tufts of pink at his base. All his solid inches winked up at you glisteningly in the harsh cell light. Just waiting. Throbbing.Â
It made your mouth water.Â
So you finally answer, voice strained and breaking at the very end. âI- I wanâ you really badly, Kuna.â He sucks in a breath when you bat your teary lashes up at him, âPretty please?â
âMy good girl.â
At this very moment, the only other response you get is a sensual, slow drag of his fingers out of your cunt. The exact opposite of what you wanted - because, of course, this was Ryomen Sukuna. You whine, clawing desperately at his wrist to try and reel him back.
But he doesnât stop. Canât stop. Almost hypnotized in the way he brings his drenched fingers up into his mouth without a second thought. Sukuna moans at the taste. A glossy trail of your messy slick forms down the corner of his slurping mouth, and he throws his head back with a guttural, âOh fuck- sâsweeter than any of that hah- candy.â
Ah, that did it.Â
Only milliseconds later, youâre being spread all flat on the floor with one swift shove of Sukunaâs big arms, panties sliding easily down your shivering thighs. It really doesnât take much to have your dangling legs splayed out across his sculpted back, his own body shuffling down ravenously to come lips-to-lips with your puffy pussy.
And oh you can feel his smile against your dripping wet cunt, half-lidded eyes boring right up into yours. Long, pinkish tongue lolling out like he was utterly fucked - and if you angled your head just right you could see the way he was deftly spreading both of your swollen folds, the very tip of the hot muscle kissing wetly against your sloppy entrance.
âShiiiit-â your fingers tangle themselves in his rusty pink hair. Hips jittery and bucking up drunkenly against the cool surface to chase his hot mouth. âOh- ngh- Love havinâ your m-mouth on me- ngh-â
âGettinâ all mouthy wâme, huh? Arenât ya embarrassed to be absolutely ruined like this by a criminal like me?â he huffs out a bout of raspy laughter. âSâall because you decided to be a- fuck- a good- girl fâme, thatâs- what.â Struggling to even get out coherent sentences because he didnât want to part from your pretty pussy. Instead kissing all over again and again-
The bulbous metal stud of his tongue piercing thrashes up so filthily against your hot clit, coating the sensitive nub in all of his heady, swelteringly hot saliva.
And the only time youâre registering Sukuna break away just mere inches is to spit. Once. Twice.Â
Thumbing across the stream of see-through spit he just grins up at you in a way you knew to be a pussydrunken expression. Glassy eyes almost drooping shut, tiny dimples cratering at the very ends of his lips, the entire lower half of his face covered in a shiny sheen of slick. Drip! Drip! Drip! right onto the middle of your shamefully spread cunt.Â
âYa got me thinkinâ Iâd wanna live out my entire life sentences jusâ for a taste of this pretty pussy, woman.â
Roughly lapping with his tongue against your clit, each one pulling out crashing waves of white-hot pleasure that make you all but sob when Sukuna unabashedly adds in his fingers past your gummy hole.
âYou can take it-â he hushes out uncharacteristically soothingly into your inner thighs, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along them. âTake âem fâme.â
Sukuna isnât shy about immediately dragging his fingers along your sopping wet folds. Starting up a ruthless, simpering pace thrusting inside and out of your drooling entrance has you whining. Â
âOh.â your mouth slack-jaws open deliriously, and for the second time tonight you feel like youâre being absolutely split-apart on his thick fingers. Splaying out a hand to glide across your tummy, âYou- hngh- you already feel s-so deep, Kuna.â
Your words were cracking with a whimper each time heâs delving into your gushing depths. Building you up, wringing you taut with pleasure whenever he picked up the pace. Alternating between harsh sucks on your cunt and the absolute meanest of swipes against the spongy placeholders of your sweet spots.Â
âAlready?â he has the audacity to cackle - cackle right in front of your teary face. âMâbarely even f-fingering this pussy nâ you wanna talk about deep- lemme show ya-â He spares not even the tiniest ounce of mercy when hauling your boneless body even closer. Brows furrowing at the knocking of his chin at the very base of your cunt, the way his jaw grinded. Sukuna replaces the hand on your stomach with his own free one, guiding it up, up, up until your eyes widened and you could feel your breath tightening in your chest.Â
âHere.â Drawing a burning, imaginary line about halfway through - âHere is where my cock sâgonna be so ya better get- better get ready for that, pretty baby.â Looking right in your eyes, Sukunaâs tone is laced with a vicious sort of snarl when he plows on, âBecause my good girl sâgonna be able to take it.â
And youâd heard of the type or orgasms that leave you speechless, that leave you so blindsided that you donât even realize youâre having them.
Because it takes only a few more expert tweaks of Sukunaâs lengthy fingers up against every nook and crevice of your. Scissoring, swirling - round and round until he was dredging up your dizzying orgasm.Â
âOh my god- I think Iâm-â your words are garbling together pathetically, wet and as unsteady as each jolt of electricity running down your spine. âIâm-â
âCumming.â heâs cutting through, tugging you by the thighs even closer to make out impossibly deeper with your convulsing pussy. Rolling his eyes, âI know I know, just shut up nâ cum all over my mouth would ya?â
Itâs not like you could do anything else.Â
And - as a little punishment - your grip tightens searingly on his scalp, just dragging your drooling pussy all over his pretty features. Letting yourself gush all down his tongue in a steady trickle while you ride him to your heartâs content.Â
âHeh- getting so fuckinâ- hngh- fucking greedy, arenât ya?â he mutters out over wet slurps. Still hammering in the pads of his fingers to press up harshly into your bulging sensitive spots. âSâalright. Use me then, use me-âÂ
Your back arches almost painfully, vision tinging with slight black at the edges, and itâs as if you were out of control at this point.Â
âNow now, what do you think youâre doinâ huh?â he feeds into each of your stuttering, slick glides down into his palm while you come down from your high. Eyes narrowing down at you, âAnd here I thought you were turninâ into my- hah- g-good girl. Where are those hands going, huh?â
Shit, you didnât even realize it at first.
Your hands are wandering so sluttily down to where his thickened base was just twitching in his lap. Aching to wrap your trembly fingers wrapping around him - struggling to even close.Â
âOh- oh my god.â your eyes widen after a few sloppy drags of your soft palm down his length. Curving it slightly to the side at the sight of another one of his signature ringed tattoos - right around his fat base. âYou have another tattoo here?â
Sukuna clenches his jaw, hips rutting upwards at a sloppy staccato in synchronization with his hands and yours. âYeah- nâ I already know you love it-â he shudders out, chest panting. â-because I can already feel just how much wetter ya got- shit-â
With all of his almost-inhuman strength, itâs almost too easy for Sukuna to drag your body downwards to his like some silly little ragdoll.Â
âKunaââ youâre dragging out in a breathy tone. Your hands shakily tugging on his t-shirt - your mind finally clear enough to realize that he was still fully clothed while you bare and fucked-out already underneath him. âWanâ this off-â
Smack!
âForgettinâ your place, arenât ya, pretty baby?â he growls, but fuck did Sukuna think you looked so utterly gorgeous like this. All pouty and teary, letting out the cutest whines while you waited for him to do exactly what you said.Â
And, well, he might be the notorious king of curses, the most wanted criminal in all of Japan - but that didnât mean that Sukuna was any match for you.Â
âMâonly listeninâ because you were so f-fuckinâ good fâme hngh- earlier, brat.â he spits out. Hastily ridding himself of both that paper-thin t-shirt and pants - not tearing, you note with slight disgruntlement. Kissing your ass with another smack of his palm for good measure. You wince when he flicks your forehead, âSo ya better not let it get to that pretty lilâ head of yours.â
But fuck, was it so difficult not to.Â
Sukuna was so mouth-wateringly gorgeous, all sculpted muscle and what looked to be miles upon miles of tanned skin that you just wanted to bite into. And you realize - with a jolt - that when those other inmates rumored he had tattoos everywhere - they werenât lying. Thick, circular rings that highlight his bulging biceps, those toned thighs as far as your eye could see.Â
Now you really understood the fan mail.
Smack! Smack! Smack!Â
Those drippingly wet smacks this time didnât come from Sukunaâs hands on your ass - instead, it was from calculated, purposeful little slaps of his thick cock onto your clit.
âHeh, as much as I love to have my- ngh! my cute lilâ officer ogling me-â His hand coming up to curl around your throat, forcing you to peer downwards. â-Iâd rather you look where it r-really matters, silly girl.â
He sounded so proud - barely lucid already at the very sight of your tight, glistening hole kissing up against his fat tip.Â
Dragging a thumb down your wet slit to grin at the size difference even further, he purrs, âYeahâŠthis pussy has been givinâ me a real treat tonight. Might as well give her one back, hm?â
And heâs so big, so full that you canât even whine out anything coherent when Sukuna sinks into your sloppy cunt inch by fucking solid inch. Pushing past that ring of feeble resistance, your pussy was greedily swallowing up every bit of his massive girth. Letting out the cutest squelches that make him moan.Â
âOh- would ya look at that?â he bares his teeth in a devilish smile. Head thrown back at how youâre already clamping and trying to milk him with your velvety walls. âTakinâ me so well, ya really are such a good girl, huh?â
Each and every hoarse little praise is panted raggedly against your ear, and your pussy slides up and down his swollen shaft in a sultry back and forth. And Sukuna just canât tear his eyes away from the way your cunt swallows him up so greedily - so frantically like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him.
âKuna- hngh!â your thighs quiver up and down. Hips moving in slow gyrations against how he was rummaging all inside you. âY-youâre stretching me out so good ah-â
Heâs still trying to squeeze inside, still pushing and pushing. Pressing a hand down on your stomach, âTold you Iâd be right-â Bottoming out. Hard. â-here.â
Each and every juttering ram into your gooey depths have you keening, and his eyes growing even wilder. Grin curling upwards at how every kiss of the very tip of his rotund cock has your spongy cervix bouncing into him, your walls pulsing where he swipes inside. Looking for-
âFuck!â
That.Â
âHeheh- hope ya can take it, brat. Because once I start-â he presses hot peck after peck down your jaw. âI canât stop.â
You learn very quickly that that wasnât a threat - it was a promise.Â
Every plunge into your melty pussy has you almost bawling, because Sukuna wasnât gentle - no, he doesnât even ease you into it. The soft curve of his head presses in so harshly against your bulging g-spot, so thoroughly in rough, wet glides. Each single hammer upwards sinking against wherever drove out the prettiest moans from your pouty lips, having you such a shaky mess underneath of him.Â
Exactly how heâs been wanting you this past year in confinement.
âW-what-â you sputter out, dragging your nails across his neck to mash your lips onto his. Tasting the candy and you and the candy- âThis past year?â
Oh. Shit.Â
âHeheh- did I say that out loud?â Sukuna rumbles, struggling to catch his breath while he swallows back each keened-out whimper threatening to break out from his lips. He gives your tongue a slow, tasteful suck. âWhoops- hah fuuuuck- you see what this pussy does tâme?â
He brings one large hand down to your jittery hips, the other drawing a tender stripe across your still-sensitive clit. That heavenly feeling just makes you clench, and Sukuna to throw his head back with a withering groan. âSâfuckinâ dangerous- youâre more fuckinâ dangerous than me- hah-â
You giggle at the way he was running his mouth now, sentences slurring together like he couldnât even find the words.Â
âYou see this-â he pants, so sensitive that Sukuna canât help but tuck his face into the crook of your neck. And you feel the burning flush of his cheeks, the way he brings your hand up to pat his plush pec, thumping thunderously underneath his heated skin. â-got me fuckinâ crazy here- ngh! Mâon my knees for you nâ youâre all here actinâ like such a good girl.â
As he babbles, Sukuna actually falls back onto his knees.Â
Dragging you right along with him to spearhead his cock vertically into your snug channel, his powerful thighs are thrusting up, up, up-
âOh-â Youâre wrapping your arms tightly around his neck when faced with another stinging smack! And this time he takes the opportunity to roll his fat thumb even deeply against your clit. âSâso-â
Sukunaâs eyes were half-lidded now, grumbling out little profanities into your mouth. âWhat? Canât even speak now?â He chuckles - but it sounds higher-pitched, breathless like he was fucking losing it. âDoesnât- ngh- doesnât matter- this cunt is speakinâ ânough for the both of ya. Why dontcha act like my good girl nâ ask what sheâs sayinâ?â
God, your face burned with such mortification - and itâs all you can do to dart a bleary look towards that smashed CCTV camera once more. Gulping out a breathy, âWh-what is she ah- sayinâ, Kuna?â over those deafening squelch! squelch! squelches.Â
He positively beams, âSheâs sayingâŠâ Nipping down on your lower lip, tasting that familiar strawberry on your tongue. â-that right about now sheâs gonna cum.â
And sure enough, a particularly harsh clashing glide across your g-spot has you sobbing, has you twitching - it has you cumming. Over and over all over Sukunaâs relentless cock, and not just that-
âShit, woman.â Sukuna stares, jaw-dropped in awe at the absolute mess your overwhelmed cunt was gushing out. Coating his erratic thighs in a wet gleam of all your juices, it seeps into his skin, dripping down the curve of his legs and onto the padded floors. âFuckinâ squirted all over me, youâre fuckinâ ah- unreal- fuckââ
If he couldnât maintain that gruff tone of it thatâs because he was genuinely in heaven. Mouth watering, achy cock twitching up into the cushiony sides of your walls once.Â
Before heâs shooting such a sloppy load into your already-messed-up pussy, dumping out thick volumes of seed again and again. It sloshes in all over your insides with every quivering wave of your own orgasm, seeping out from the edges of your sopping slit. Slobbering. Overspilling.Â
Sukuna grunts, feeling you shift gingerly up and down to milk each of his stringy ribbons of cum, leaving sinful dredge after dredge that paints a creamy white ring around his base.Â
âFuckinâ wastinâ it-â heâs jeering, plugging in one of his indexes into your already fully-stuffed entrance. âBetter keep that shit all inside- mânot gonna let my good girl waste it, mâkay?â
âMhm.â you nod, your drowsy body leaning heavily into his. And Sukuna wraps both his strong arms around you to just pin you to his body. âMight jusâ be the best Halloween Iâve ever had-â
âIt fuckinâ better be or so help me-â
SLAM!
âYo, King of Curses~â both of you snap your heads over to the sudden intruder thatâd just crashed the bolted cell door open. He was tall, enveloped by the harsh light from behind - but you could make out those features anywhere. Any guard in this prison could. Throwing over a heavy leather jacket Sukunaâs way, âI tried to wait until your pillowtalk was over but Nanamin can only hold off the bastards on morning shift for so long. So ah chop chop, Suguruâs already waiting for us.â
Gojo Satoru.
Leader of Six Eyes, foe of Ryomen Sukuna.Â
Looking at you like he wanted to positively devour you, âOr, well, if your cute lilâ officerâs coming, too, then we could continue this when we get back to the hideout. Donât you think, sweetheart~â
And Sukuna, oh Sukuna was scowling ever so slightly at the otherâs words - but he only had eyes for you. âSo, whaddaya say, brat?â
---
In the hazy haven of the surveillance room, Nanami lets out a deep shudder. Head thrown back against his leather chair, he takes a few bleary moments to collect his breath.Â
âFuckâŠâ he groans, placing that small handheld camera monitor on the table. A secret one. One that no one working in this prison building - and least of all you - knew about. All of that had been an accident, really - an unintentional part of the plan. But the way that Nanami has to drag his boxers upwards, zipping his uniform pants back up wasnât.Â
Taking a steadying gulp, he throws away that soiled tissue. Fingers punching in a few numbers on his phone, all according to his rehearsed script. âYes, hello?â watching the monitor unwavering. Unsurprised. âWe might have a situation.â
Clarifying Damian Wayne And Esther Freeling Becoming-Slash-Being Pen Pals.
OKAYâHaunted Hotel is in upstate New York(??) and Gotham is obviously New Jersey.
If I remember correctly, we, at some point during elementary school wrote handwritten letters to random people sometimes. BUT, this time itâs using computer lab time to write a letter to some rando kids in Gotham for an exchange-of-friendship shit (idk I donât think anything about elementary school should make sense besides lunch, PE, and recess.)
Esther takes the opportunity to ask some obscure ass questions about Gothams villains (letâs say Catwoman because Esther read about a potential artifact in Gotham that sheâs 1000% sure she could bribe Catwoman into stealing for her) and Damian is the wonderful little recipient of said letter.
He dubs her handwriting passable and her topic of choice somewhat interesting, which is good enough for him to look into the artifact for her and respond back (He definitely asks Catwoman about few vague questions regarding her policies on accepting new clients and what she will or wonât look into)
Through his snooping and her passion, they exchange letters and become pen pal friends. A few weeks later, both come to find out that the artifact DOES do what Esther expected of it, as one of Gothamâs magical peanut galleries got the snoop on said item too.
Thankfully, Damian and Esther already talked about the best strategy to neutralize the itemsâ powers and Damian started carrying around enough mountain ash and salt mixture to plug that bitch up.
you're an overachiever and certain you can get anyone you want. so you keep pestering this man who's way out of your league in terms of size. it wouldn't matter how big you are, this man will always be bigger, broader, heavier, stronger.
you know you're probably reaching for the stars by flirting with him everyday, clinging to him and rubbing up on him and telling him you're aching and empty and only he could fix it. you know he likes you too, but he's playing hard to get. he keeps warning you, "back off, kid. you're not getting any dick from me."
and you whine and mope about after him, annoyed by the refusal. "but why?"
he scoffs and returns to his task. "already told you. im gonna break you."
and you keep pushing him, giving him eyes and wrapping your arms around his middle so his attention is back on you. "but i want you to break me, please... i know what i want."
and he just shakes his head and picks you up, setting you away from him again and telling you to go play house with someone your size. oh, and that gets to you. fine, if he keeps turning you down, you'll make him chase you by flirting with one his closest friends in front of his face.
the friend is just way too easy, melting at your attention the way he never does. you're almost instantly bored, but you keep your expression bright and flirtatious so it seems like you're having fun. obviously, the man didn't think you'd actually go run off and try to sleep with someone else, because you always ignore him when he tells you to run along and you keep clinging and pouting up at him with your wide eyes and soft lips. and so when he sees you starting to walk off to somewhere private with none other than his closest friend, he loses his shit.
grabs you by the nape of the neck and scowls at his buddy. "they're done here." he snarls, then steers you away like a misbehaving puppy so he can give you the dick you want so bad. you're not getting it from anyone but him. he doesn't care. he's not nonchalant enough to act like he won't be affected by you fucking someone else, but his friend?? fuck no. he'd probably throw up due to jealousy if he had to hear the details about how his friend fucked you.
he corrals you all the way to his home and into his bed, gets you nice and wet by teasing your predictably tight, small hole for hours until you're squirming and begging for him to just fuck you already. a grave mistake.
he finally lets you see the cock he's been warning you about for ages now, and... he wasn't exaggerating. it's long, hitting his belly with a wet thud, leaking thick rivulets of cream along the flared, swollen tip and down his fat, curved shaft. he's going to fill you to the fucking hilt, without a doubt. "w-wait, we should probably-" you try to backtrack, but he's not having it, shoving your legs open as wide as they'll go and cramming his cock into you inch by inch, watching how your pretty hole stretches around his girth and swallows it up.
he groans the closer he gets to bottoming out, and once he does, balls hitting your puffy folds with a juicy, slick sound, he sees the fucked out look on your face, drool slipping down your chin from your parted lips and your eyes rolled back. just one thrust and you're already fucked dumb. pathetic.
"told you you couldn't handle me, you stupid thing." he tuts, drawing all the way out until nothing but his tip is left in you, then he slams back in, causing you to jolt and cry out, before he begins his punishing pace, pounding into you with no remorse. "but you didn't listen. riled me up and tried to fuck my friend, and now you're getting punished."
you cry out and babble his name, body bouncing on his bed as he fucks into you, your belly protruding just a smidge each time he stuffs you up balls deep. he's big enough to hit your cervix each time, tip kissing your womb roughly and rubbing against your cervix muscles, causing little gusts of slick to squirt out of your poor hole. he's hitting that sweet spot that makes you leak uncontrollably.
he bullies his cock into you, fucking you from above with one hand around your throat and the other on your hip, using you like a toy to drag you down onto his cock to meet his rough thrusts. you're loud, too. having zero care if you get caught or not, because all you care about is how good he's fucking you. how his curved cock fills every inch of space within your velvety walls.
he gropes your chest roguishly, playing with your puffy nipples until they get all firm and swollen, then pinches them when theyre at peak sensitivity, rolling the buds around his rough fingertips. when his other hand releases its grip from your neck to play with your clit, pushing back the hood to bring out your stiff clit and pushing and pinching it in tandem with your nipples, you can't hold back anymore, screaming his name and clamping down around him to cum around his cock. he hisses as you squeeze him tight enough to practically wring the cum out of him, and he hilts himself inside you, pouring his thick load right into your womb.
of course a man his size would also have a huge load, and you watch in disbelief as your stomach curves just slightly from how much cum he's filled you with. you're stuffed and fucked out, having gone weak from so much stimulation and being fucked by such a big dick. but he's not even close to being done with you.
he has to make up for all that time you spent bothering him and insisting you could handle him with no problem.
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Simon never thought his body was anything specialânot really.
He's just keeping fit because it's part of the job, sweetheart, so body worship wasn't on his bingo card when you invited him over for some rest and relaxation.
Well, not his body, yeah?
Your eyes lit up like it was fuckin' Christmas when you saw him. Simon had just gotten out of the shower, hadn't really had time to put his towel on, and what the fuck is it with him losing track of time when he's with you? All Simon remembered was hearing you mutter "Bloody hell..." under your breath (heh, he's rubbin' off on ya) and next thing he knows, Simon's laying on your bed. Naked. Under you. Wait a fuckin' minuteâ
His mind goes blank when he watches you watch him; you look at him like he's a fuckin' masterpiece, like he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, body hair, cuts, bruises, burns, dents and all, drooling without the drool or what the fuck ever, but shit, it's enough to make Simon's face hot. If he wasn't embarrassed then, he's sure as fuck embarrassed now, and he'd bet every pound he had that knobhead Johnny would have a field day with this.
It's the way you kissed, nipped, and sucked everywhere you could (Christ, you even played with his nipples), making him feel so good, making him feel so bloody seen. Rough skin against your softness, and he's never felt so self-conscious before. You were so damn careful with his latest set of bruises, so fuckin' kind and considerate that he felt his heart jump.
It's the way you ran your hand down, all the way fuckin' down, until it wrapped around his cock. His cock that you're lazily stroking, his cock, hot, heavy, leaking, just... what the fuck are you doing to him?
It's the way you kissed Simon's Adam's apple, soft, gently, and he was afraid to swallow because he thought he'd lose something but he sure as hell felt the goosebumps on his skin and shivers run down his spine.
But it's the coup de grĂące, you swopping down to kiss the scar dangerously close to his lips, that shatters Simon completely. Breaks him down so fuckin' much that he's practically holding on to you for dear life. He leans against your touch, wonders what the fuck it would feel like to have your lips against his, and he barely registers the fact that he came, not earth-shattering but a warm blanket over him, and it feels like his very first time.
Fuck, this should've been his very first time.
"Aw, you do turn bronze when you tan, Simon!" He looks down, takes inventory of his tan lines (when has he ever lied to you, sweetheart?), looks up at your beaming smile, snorts, and rolls his eyes. If this were anyone else, he'd probably be pissed that the mood was broken.
It's you, though, and it makes everything feel right.
