hustle hustle hustle

|| mdni || constantly changes themes btw ||

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[livelaughlovesubs]

So… Neglect play. Heavy on the hear me out, guys pls (WAIT WHY IS THIS GIVING PATHETIC YANDERE HUH)

Thinking about a huge brat who loves to run his mouth and fights you on everything you do. No matter how often you’d punish him, he just doesn’t stop. It’s part of his charm, that he’s so stubborn, which led to you getting a little creative with ways to punish him.

“Don’t you think you need some discipline?” You asked, glaring down at him. It took almost half an hour just to get him on his knees, your patience was running thin. “No, I don’t.” He answered flatly, sitting there cross legged with a smug smirk. Can one even call this kneeling? He seems to be very comfortable.

Without noticing, you raised your voice a little, “that’s it, bend over, you definitely deserve punishment.” You patted your lap, feeling your brows twitch when he didn’t move a single inch. “What if I refuse?” The man replied, not even looking up at you. That’s it, you couldn’t deal with his bullshit today.

At first you weren’t even going to be this mean to him, but he really outdid himself this time with getting on your nerves. Which is why you simply sighed, picked up the nearest entertainment object within your reach, and began focusing on it. Ignoring him completely. No eye contact, no touching, and definitely no speaking. The shook that flashed his expression must have been priceless, what a shame that you couldn’t take a look at him.

For the next few minutes, he just waited, sneaking not-so-secretive peeks at you, wondering what was so interesting that you refused to acknowledge his presence. Then, the following minutes were spend sulking like an abandoned puppy. Lips pressed together into a pout, before he squeezed out through gritted teeth, “as if that thing’s more entertaining than me, what a joke.” Despite the comment, you didn’t even flinch, seemingly determined to see this to the end.

Another moment of awkward silence emerged, and he sighed, “this is a waste of time, do something already.” If you wait a little more from now on, that’s when he gets all desperate, all docile, if you may. Hands a breath too shy to truly touch you, lingering around your shin as he cursed under this breath. This was beneath him, to beg for scraps of your attention, but he was starting to feel all flustered!

Suddenly he shifted into a more fitting position, kneeling properly as he averted his gaze. “There, are you satisfied now? Tsk, such a tyrant.” Yet still no reaction, not even the slightest hint of interest. It took almost five minutes until he gave in, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes due to the humiliation. Cheeks flushing as he tried to shallow his shame, but to no avail. In the end, he couldn’t take this anymore and broke down piece by piece.

Starting by wrapping his arms around your leg, mumbling softly, “I’m sorry… okay? I’ll—” his Adam’s apple bobbed, showing his hesitation before he continued, “I’ll be good from now on… so look at me.” No response, nothing. “You are insufferable, urgh, why do I even bother?!” Look at that, another burst of anger, he must feel really pathetic right now, on the verge of begging for something that was never a problem until now.

Then, he began seeking your attention in earnest. Placing his head in your lap as he stared up at you with the most pitiful gaze ever, eyes glassy as they swelled with tears, cheeks an embarrassed red that deepened every time he realised how he was debasing himself for your amusement. All because you were neglecting him a little? He must have been more desperate than he realised. Now the tears he’s been holding back were dripping down his face in earnest, painting him in an even more pitiful light.

“Please.. I’m sorry, just- look at me. Don’t you- don’t you dare to ignore me when I’m already like this.” A silent sob as he tried to press himself closer to you, “I-I’ll be good.. really, I promise, don’t look away again, please…”

[renrecs]

monsters/hybrids recs

this lists contains humanoid creatures, supernatural and down right monsters, if you don't like em please don't read, each fic will have warnings attached mwah cutie

selkie cutie (fluff!!, Trans character, drabble)

bunny hybrid (fluff!!, drabble)

racoon neighbor (fluff!!, drabble)

fox spirit (smutty, drabble)

merman (steamy, drabble)

peacock male (fluffy with some awkwardness)

fog monster

shapeshifter bf all of these top 7 works were written by @bumpen-underbeds

orc boyfriend by @n1ght0f-nyx (fluff with yandere undertones)

"well i don't want y/n" jake sully by @lilacnavi (smut!! small taste of angst)

ancient eldritch god by @monstersholygrail (18+! smut, yandere undertones)

monster coworker drabble n art and naga bf AND krampus by @ozzgin (smutty for all)

what wolves fear. by @bucksfucks (Frankenstein's monster, smut but loving)

working at a mer sanctuary and unintentional threeway by @specsthesecond (meant to be a lil scary but the writing is just tew good/ stern director and ditsy alien yum!)

silent hill fox by @ayzhen (eerie but cute fox spirit meeting)

mistletoes by @monster-disaster (veeeery steamy kissies, look at the other works they have on the post too!!)

rescue by @vals-lente (rescue mission fluff)

where the current runs deep by @yandere-daydreams (pls pls read warning above fic guys you were warned)

being used by a ghost by @frankiethedarkangel (being used in public by unseen guest :3)

careful what you wish for by @ghouljams (you ask and you may receive with a yandere man )

familiarity of a stranger and a gentle kind of ruin by @lokis-army-77 (so so beautifully written, nothing crazy besides vamp activities/ second fic has smut)

creature o' mine by @bookshelf-dust (vampire powers, David from tlb movie ugh yum, makin out :3)

coney island baby by @doeyeddaydream (poly vamp bfs, soul mating yes pls)

madness by @cvntycryptid (eldritch deity needs a taste)

[kill3ill]

a lack of boundaries — 18+

⤿ read pt ii here ᛌ read pt iii here

⤿ synopsis. best friends puppy and bunny have been getting very close since mating. the scournful looks bring your deeper doubts and insecurities to light. puppy does not appreciate you backing out now.

the two of you are the biggest scandal around. many, if not most of the male hybrids on campus think it'd be fruitless to court you, and the females to court him, since the two of you seem to be a mated pair.

you have the scent of puppy all over your skin, while he has faint bunny teeth marks dotting his collarbones and throat, dangerously close to his mating gland. you have matching ones on the soft parts of your body; your hips, thighs... breasts... ass. in a platonic way of course.

the tall, floppy eared puppy hybrid trails after you like he's on a leash you're holding. he's so obsessed with his sweet bunny best friend, all warm skin and soft thighs covered in skimpy things like sheer tights or mini skirts with your bunny tail twitching right above your pert ass.

the only reason he can get away with touching you as much as he does is because you're so clueless and needy. instead of wondering why your little panties get damp spots in them when he licks and bites you, all you can think about is straddling his lap and bouncing on him.

you're always in his lap.

Sometimes you're just buzzing with excitement about a quiz you think you aced, and you throws yourself onto him without noticing the way his arms lock around your waist territorially. beyond being possessive, pup also has to hold you and himself still because otherwise, he might rut up into you like an animal, or sniff behind your floppy ears and hump you right there in the quad.

he thinks about it, a lot. what it would be like to frot with his pretty bunny, but he doesn’t do it because you're best friends. you just think he's sweet and affectionate in the puppies usually are, not realizing how his tail wags uncontrollably only for you and that when you're tangled up with him too long he runs to the bathroom for fifteen minutes not for a pee break but because his cock's gotten so wet and swollen that he can't last much longer without creaming all over you.

but then again, you're just as bad. you make a wet, gooey mess all over yourself whenever he grabs you by the hips when you're cuddling, and you get sooo warm and flushed all over when he pins you down in mock fights, tail wagging, tongue out, teeth grazing your skin to hold himself back from biting and breeding.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

your dorm seems to be way hotter than it needs to be. puppy's shirt is off, thrown somewhere under your desk, and his tail flicks back and forth behind him while you lay on top of him in bed, boobs squished to his face while you read your new book. your skirt's all bunched up and your thighs are bare and squishy where they press against him.

“you're so warm,” he mumbles, nose scrunching, glossy eyes blinking up at you.

“you’re the one who wanted me to sit here,” you pout in return, cheeks flushed. his hands are splayed on the outside of your thighs, rubbing over your skin back and forth. it's a tickly feeling that makes you wriggle on him a little to escape the sensation.

whenever you move on top of him, your scent spikes and it punches right into his senses. he groans and tugs you down on top of him to bury his face into your neck. “no squirming,” he pants, tongue peeking past his canines.

“why?" you tilt your head, bunny ears flopping to the side. "y'acting weird,” you say, petting his hair absently.

he mumbles something into your skin, licking once. “you smell like you’re gonna go into heat and it's making me react weird.” he growls, finally lifting his head, eyes wet and wide. he's panting. “you reek, bun. can smell y'pussy."

your thighs squeeze around his hips automatically, your whole body suddenly trembling. “don’t say that,” you whisper shyly, your voice high and scandalized, bunny tail twitching in little jerks behind you. your little nose wrinkles. “…you smell worse. i can’t even think when you smell like that.”

"stop," he yips, tail flicking frantically. “can't control it, been trying so hard not to jump you, i swear,”

“...you have..?” you ask curiously, looking down at him. he looks so genuinely desperate it’s embarrassing. he whines and gets warm in the cheeks, squeezing you against him tighter. he nods weakly.

"i have to hold back too," you mumble into his neck after a beat. you’re embarrassed to admit it because your thighs are sticky and your hips are grinding down into his lap in tiny, unconscious movements.

“you do?” he breathes. his ears twitch and flop down heavy against his head. “you hold back?”

you nod against his skin, cheeks burning. “when you pin me down or grab me like that, it makes my head go all fuzzy. i-i don’t know, mmm... just wanna… wanna rub on you or something."

the minute you admit the truth, he begins frantically nosing at your throat, nipping it, sucking, with a low, excited moans. you squeal, hips twitching up against him instinctively. “what’re you doing?”

“you said you wanted it!” he cries out, humping up into you once and nearly sobbing when the friction makes his ears twitch. “can’t help it. y'smell so, fuck, you smell so sweet, bun, wanna eat you.” his nose twitches and he’s panting again. his hands cup under your thighs, squeezing. his cock is throbbing.

"oh god," he moans, rutting into. his lips are sticky and swollen from biting them so hard. "ngh fuuuck i do this to m'pillow, bun. i think about you and i hump it,"

“pup!” you squeak, scandalized, but you don’t pull away. your hips match the slow, desperate rut of his under you, and despite there being barely any friction through your underwear, your cunt is soaked, and you can feel the outline of him right beneath your core. his cock is hot and throbbing with every grind.

“i hump it and pretend it’s you,” he gasps, squeezing your thighs tighter. his ears are flattened down, floppy against his flushed cheeks, and his whole body is shuddering beneath you. “i wrap your hoodie around it and press my face to your scent- nghh, i get it wet, just like this,” he sits up suddenly, arms wrapping tight around your waist and caging you in his lap. his forehead presses to yours. "bun... need, need, mmf-"

-is the last thing he mumbles out before he leans forward to capture his lips with yours. it's so messy and nasty. pup's tongue is huge and drooly and because he's so eager to finally finally have his lips on yours, he just ends up slobbering you because he's so excited. he bites on your lower lip, and you gasp into his in response, tugging on his hair sharp enough to make him yowl with pleasure.

he grabs yours hips and drags you down hard into his lap, mouth still locked with yours. his tongue rolls over yours when you moan again and grind back. he's panting into your mouth at the way your plump pussy grinds into his cock through your clothes. both of you are soaked, slick and pre leaking between the two of you to make squelching noises every time you rock down and he pushes up.

your mouth is glossy and swollen, coated in spit that clings in strings whenever he pulls back to breathe before diving right back in, tongue first, like a dog.

“stop,” he groans against your lips, licking into your mouth. “stop moving like that, i'm gonna- fuck! i’m gonna cum bun,"

“i know, want it s'bad,” you moan loudly, rolling your hips sloooow over his clothed cock, rubbing your folds over every single inch. his head lolls back stupidly.

“oh f-fuck,” he moans, thrusting against you again, the head of his cock sliding under the slick cotton of your panties with a disgusting wet sound. the bed creaks underneath you as he rocks, rocks, rocks into you.

pup sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, almost on your mating gland but barely holding back just before he permanently bonds you with him. both your glands have been seeping oil since he's started, opening up eagerly and hoping to be claimed. it's taking all of him not to do it. his cock presses tight and hot against the swell of your cunt through your soaked panties, and you keen, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer overload.

“gonna -shit- cum,” he pants, tongue hanging out to kiss the reddening bite mark he just left. “bun, i’m gonna come, gonna make a mess,”

you whimper and rub harder against him, cunt soaking through your thin panties and onto his boxers, until there’s a huge dark patch under your pussy. "y-you can!" you cry, face buried in his neck. “i want it, nnghhh fuck! want you, pup!”

he lets out this helpless, whimpering moan and then he grabs you by the hips, pulling you down hard just as he jerks up. his whole body locks up as his cock pulses hot and hard under you. your thighs become so sticky with slick as you start to cum with him, little cotton tail getting wet and sticky as your mixed juices start to drip down your skin, pooling in the dips where your thighs meet your ass.

he holds you there, panting through his teeth as his cock twitches repeatedly with more of his cream splurting out each time, staining both your underwear with thick, warm loads that don’t stop.

see more in my multifandom masterlist

see more in my main masterlist

reblog + comment if you enjoyed!

[tays-writing]

!nerdjo x reader | part 1

Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar

part 2 here!

Fic Tags: NSFW. LOTS of masturbation. LOTS of DIRTY TALK. Watching porn. Teasing. Rough kissing. Cumming in pants. Light Sub/Dom dynamics. Size kink. Gojo cries. Satoru fucks you with a dildo. Extreme explicit grinding. Edging. Orgasm denial. Possessive Behavior. Praise kink. Power play. Pussy drunk gojo. Making it fit. Vaginal sex, cowgirl position, belly bulge, creampie, oral sex (f&m rec), gagging, shower sex, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cum play/cum eating, biting/marking. Handjob. Spit kink.

cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X

You were sprawled on your bed, laptop glowing in the dark dorm room, fingers lazily scrolling through video after video.

It was one of those nights—stress from exams, and a long day of pretending not to stare at that tall, white-haired nerd from your chemistry class who always claimed the front row. The one with the quiet voice who answered questions with effortless precision while wearing the same white oversized hoodie every class. 

The hoodie that somehow made his broad shoulders look even wider, the fabric hanging loose on his lean frame. You had spent far too many lectures tracing the strange structural formula printed across its back with your eyes, wondering what molecule it represented and why it suited him so perfectly.

The memory of him leaning over to borrow your notes earlier that day, offering that soft, shy smile, had lingered. Combined with the crushing stress of exams, it naturally led you to a late-night horniness that had you deep in the tags until one thumbnail catched your eye. A lean, pale torso filled the frame, a large hand wrapped around an absolutely obscene cock. The title was simple: “Needy boy whimpering.”

Below it, the description read: If you want more content, please consider subscribing. I’m a broke uni student 🙏🏻 Thank you!

You smiled faintly. It sounded so polite, almost shy, despite the filthy image attached to it. Without thinking twice, you clicked.

The video opened in a dimly lit room. The guy was already flushed, sitting on the edge of a messy bed with his long legs spread wide. His face remained carefully out of frame, but the camera angle gave a perfect, shameless view of his toned body. His abs were faintly defined, his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. One large hand was slowly stroking his thick, veiny length, the head flushed dark and already leaking precum that caught the low light with every lazy pass of his fingers.

A soft, breathy whimper floated through your headphones as his thumb circled the tip.

“F-fuck… ahh—”

Your breath hitched. That voice. Sweet, boyish, and trembling with need. It sounded painfully familiar, the same voice you had heard muttering answers under his breath during lectures.

No. You were imagining it. You had to be. You were just that desperately horny.

Pushing the thought aside, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers gliding over your already soaked folds. On screen, his long fingers tightened around his cock, stroking a little faster. Another broken whimper escaped him, higher this time, sending a sharp throb straight to your clit. You circled the sensitive bud in time with his rhythm, thighs trembling as heat pooled low in your belly.

You pushed two fingers inside yourself, curling them just right, eyes never leaving the screen. His breathing grew ragged. The wet, obscene sounds of his hand moving along his slick cock filled your ears, filthy and addictive.

The camera shifted slightly as he adjusted his position. Your gaze drifted for a moment over the background, taking in the cluttered desk, the scattered notebooks. And then—

Your fingers stilled.

Draped casually over the back of his chair, right in the corner of the frame, was a white oversized hoodie. And there, clearly visible even in the low lighting, was the distinctive structural formula printed across the back — the strange, intricate molecule you had stared at countless times during morning lectures.

It was him.

Satoru Gojo. 

The quiet, annoyingly hot chemistry nerd who always borrowed your notes with that shy boyish smile, and thanked you in that soft voice that now whimpered so prettily for the camera.

The realization crashed over you like lightning. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your fingers resumed their frantic pace, pumping harder, your thumb pressing desperately against your swollen clit. On screen, a high-pitched, needy whimper spilled from his lips as his hips bucked into his fist.

“Mmnh—gonna cum… fuck, I’m so close—”

His voice cracked on the last word, just like it always did when he laughed nervously in class. You imagined him sitting there, stroking himself stupid, his pretty glasses perhaps fogged up from the heat of his own pleasure. The thought made your head spin.

Your thumb pressed hard on your clit, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.

On screen, Satoru’s abs flexed, his thighs shaking. Thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach and chest as he kept pumping through his orgasm, whimpering softly with each spurt.

You came hard at the same time, back arching off the bed, a broken cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenched around your fingers. The orgasm dragged on, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over you while you watched him pant, breathless and flushed, lazily smearing the mess over his skin.

When the video finally ended, you lay there in the dark, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs. The image of that white, oversized hoodie with the weird structural formula lingered behind your closed eyelids.

Tomorrow in class, when Satoru slid into his usual seat you weren’t sure you’d be able to look at him without getting wet all over again.

Or without wondering how much prettier those whimpers would sound in real life.

Reblogs are sooo appreciated ✨

part 2 here! masterlist

[laukern]

GUYS WHERE IS THIS FROM PLEASE

[thoseofthatilk]

A little slice of cake for Pierrot’s birthday.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Near Escape

Dark!Michael Kaiser x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Kaiser always liked messing with you, but you didn't think he’d take things so far.

(Warnings: noncon kissing, noncon touching, threats, power imbalances, yandere)

Working for Bastard München was a dream come true. 

You’d been a soccer fan all throughout your life. You even played a bit in high school, though your talent never got you far. Nevertheless, your passion for the game lasted all throughout middle school, high school, and college. It was how you got to work for one of the greatest teams across the globe. 

Seeing Noel Noa in person nearly made you faint, but your fellow managers kindly assured you it was a pretty common feeling. That was another thing you enjoyed about the league: everyone was so nice and friendly. 

Except for one person. 

The coach blew out the final whistle just as the ball flew into the net. The practice game was over, and there was one clear winner. Kaiser’s grin was feral as his team crowded around him, celebrating his amazing shot. It was an incredible play; you could hardly believe he pulled it off. Despite your reservations about the guy, he was incredible on the field. 

You wish he could just stay on it forever. 

The team gathers on the sidelines to take their much-deserved breaks. You’re quick to get to work, trailing behind the other managers as they begin to pass out towels and water bottles to the players. You make a beeline to Ali. He’s the biggest talker on the team; everyone hates being near him once he gets going. Maybe if you can get Ali to ramble about birds or something, he might not be too keen on bothering you. 

He steps in front of you. You nearly collide with his chest. He’s so tall, you have to crane your neck up just to look him in the eyes. You think that he especially enjoys that. His blue eyes sharpen with delight. 

Kaiser tilts his head. “Got anything for me?” 

You look down at the water bottle and towel in your hands. Accepting defeat, you hand them over. His fingers brush over yours deliberately. As always, Kaiser makes a show of it. He languidly wipes at his neck and face. He downs the water like it’s liquid gold. Just when you’re about to attend to the next player, he snaps his fingers. 

Reluctantly, you look back at him. 

“Thanks.” He tosses you the towel. You barely manage to catch it. 

He pats your shoulder just before he passes you. “What would I do without our sweet little manager.” 

His tone is so condescending that you feel yourself heat up from embarrassment. Out of all the team managers, you’re the only one he calls that. 

Players aren’t supposed to return towels to managers; they’re supposed to put them in the bin. Kaiser, however, treats you more like his servant than as your actual job title suggests. You have to ball up your anger as you trek to the rag bin. 

One of your fellow managers gives you a sympathetic smile. You toss the dirty rag and grab another water bottle. 

“That bad, hm?” She asks. 

“No, just the usual amount of shitty.” You mutter. 

“He’ll get better,” she tries to assure. “He just needs a bit more time, since you’re new and all.” 

Yeah, more time. 

They’ve been saying that for the past year and a half.

You’re not sure why Kaiser has a hyperfixation on you. You’re pretty average, all things considered. Despite your normalcy, Kaiser has made it his personal mission to whittle you down. 

Everyone has acknowledged his behavior as abnormal. He’s never picked on any of the non-players of the team. He used to pretend they never existed until you came along. 

He’d make jabs at your clothes, ghost touches that lingered on inappropriate if he was any slower, and that dreaded title: ‘sweet, little manager’. 

“Ignore it.” Another fellow manager comes up to tell you. “He’ll stop eventually.” 

You shrug. You glance out the corner of your eye. 

Kaiser’s already staring at you. His grin is infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you say, “eventually.” 

~

You’ve talked to Noel Noa twice in your life. 

First: the day you got hired.

Second: the day you turned in your resignation. 

He’s still staring long after you stopped rambling. His stare is so heavy, practically crushing you, and yet you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Even as he studies you from his chair, he still feels bigger than you. 

He’d stepped down from playing a couple years ago, but even as head coach of the team, he’s yet to lose his intimidating stature. 

“Are you sure about this?” He finally asks, 

Noa has yet to glance at the slip you dropped on his desk. You drafted your resignation letter with a bold black pen and the neatest handwriting you could. He barely acknowledged it.

“I am.” You tell him. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll forever be grateful for all the experience I learned from this team.” 

It sounds rehearsed because it is rehearsed. You practiced in the mirror, mouthing the words over and over so you wouldn’t flail in front of Noel Noa. 

He only tilts his head, scanning you up and down. You wonder what he’s searching for. 

“Did anything particular happen that made you want to resign?” He prompts. 

You think of blonde hair with bright blue tips. A blue rose. 

“No.” You smile with tight lips. “Nothing at all.” 

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell. 

“It’s a shame to see you go.” He says anyway, standing up and reaching out his hand. “You were a wonderful asset for this team.” 

“Thank you so much, Sir.” 

You shake his hand with all the confidence you can muster. You loved this team. You really did. 

But it wasn’t worth it. 

He wasn’t worth it. 

~ 

When you leave the office, you aren’t surprised to find Kaiser waiting for you. 

He’s leaned against the wall, watching with sharp eyes as you continue to stare at the ground. Stupidly, you hope that if you continue to ignore him, he might not try to start anything. 

If anything, that makes him more eager. 

“Hey hey.” He grabs your arm, forcing you to stop. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

Your lips curl into a sneer, but you’re forcing it back down. 

“Kaiser, I have work.” Your voice is quiet even to your own ears. It prompts Kaiser to lean down closer to your face. 

“Hm? What’d you say?” His grin is even wider. 

You try to pull away, but he’s crowding you against the wall, lightly pushing at you. You're forced to take a step back, then another, then another until your back hits the tile. 

“I don’t have time for this.” You say, just as quiet. The bite in your words is mute. He relishes this. Kaiser grins, showing white teeth that glint. 

“Aw, C’mon.” He mockingly pouts and you bite your lip. “You were in the coach's office for a while. I was getting worried.” He cocks his head, assessing you. 

“You didn’t get in trouble or anything, did you?” 

“No,” you say firmly, “Stop it. I need to go–” 

“Go where?” He prods, and you feel his hand rest on your upper thigh, daring to creep up. 

You freeze. 

He’s saying something else, but all you can think of is his fingers drifting over your thigh. He gives a firm squeeze. 

“Get the fuck off me.” 

You push him away. He stumbles back. It’s not strength that gets him off of you. Your burst of anger just surprised him. He’s used to your meekness, willingness to be pushed around. You use it to your advantage, immediately turning away before he can say anything else. 

He doesn’t follow. You don’t hear the second echo of footsteps as you walk off. Relief singes at your fingers. 

Just for a moment, just for a peek, you glance back. 

He’s still standing right where you left him. 

His smile is gone. 

~

For the next few days, things are strangely peaceful. 

There’s no more beratement from Kaiser. You never suffered any more unwanted touches or annoying quips. It was like you were completely erased from his world. 

You weren’t complaining. For the first time in a while, you actually looked forward to working with the entire soccer team, rather than just huddling with the other non-players. It was a nice change of pace. 

It’s a shame the change only happened right when you were leaving. 

A few days before you officially left, your little team of managers promised you a farewell party. You were looking forward to it. One last hurrah with your co-workers before you move into a new section of your life. 

Things were finally looking up. 

After hours, the club is pretty quiet. Most players just want to shower and go right home. You know, some like to stay behind to do a little more practice, but this is mostly when staff use the time to reorganize locker rooms and such. 

You like working alone. Someone else was with you earlier, but you’d kindly waved her off, insisting you could handle it. It was less than an official storage room and more of a closet. You stood in front of the equipment, your trusty clipboard in hand. Someone mentioned that the team was running low on some items. You might have to edit some orders if they were true. 

Loud footsteps echo behind you. You pay them no mind. Probably a coach. A player who’d forgotten their bag. 

They stop right behind you. You don’t even bother to look. 

“I’ll be just a second.” You tell them, assuming they wanted to set up some cones for last-minute drills. 

“You’re leaving?” 

Your fingers tighten on the clipboard. 

Slowly, you turn to look at Kaiser. He’s still in his uniform. The smell of sweat and rubber is faint in the air. His breaths are slow as he glares down at you. Your eyes trail to his hand. 

Your resignation letter is crumpled in his hand. 

Something keeps strumming through your arms and legs. You want to fidget: shake your leg, flex your fingers. You feel nervous, though you aren’t sure why. 

“Yes.” You respond as curtly as you can. “But that’s none of your business–” 

“The fuck it is.” He crowds you, forcing you to back up into the storage room. 

You’ve seen Kaiser angry before. On the field, or with his teammates. Never at you. There’s no reason to be angry at you. In his world, you barely exist. 

Kaiser wasn’t angry. 

That’d be too tame a word to describe him. 

His blue eyes almost glow with the way he looks at you. Kaiser has always forced you to feel many things: embarrassment, discomfort, anger, and frustration. 

Not fear. Never fear. 

Until now, at least. 

“You think you can just run from me?” He asks, but you don’t think he’s talking to you. His voice sounds rampant, unfocused. “You think there’s somewhere you can escape to? That I’d just let you walk away from me?” 

The way he speaks makes something awful grow into the pit of your stomach. His tone is vile, possessive, and something else you’d rather not name. You feel small, like you’re a toy a child is no longer allowed to play with anymore. 

You open your mouth, and then his lips are on yours. 

There’s no softness, no gentleness. Kaiser is nothing but harsh and full of teeth. By the time you’re able to pull away, your lips are sore and bitten. 

He lets you stumble back, reaching up to wipe your blood off his lips. 

You should’ve taken that time to run, but you can’t. Your feet feel like they’re cemented into the ground as you continue to stare at him. Your lips sting. Something burns across your face as he advances forward. 

You should’ve run. Even as he shut the door behind you two with a final thud, you knew that. 

The tiny sliver of light barely gives you a glimpse of his figure before you feel him against your chest, shoving you against the wall. 

“What are you doing?” It’s all you can say, all you can think. “Kaiser–what–what are you doing–” 

“It’s my fault,” he says, but it sounds more like he’s talking to himself than talking to you, listening to the words form in his mouth. “I was too lenient on you. Everyone else saw it, and I thought that was enough.” 

There’s a click of his tongue. “It’s clear you need to have some things spelled out for you.” 

Fingers crudely snap in your face. You flinch, trying to back up against the wall, but there’s nowhere to run. Maybe that was the case from the first moment he saw you. 

“Here’s how things are gonna go: You aren’t leaving. You are never leaving me. The minute you try, I’m dragging you right back kicking and screaming.” 

You wordlessly stare back at him. Kaiser isn’t finished. 

“If you want to try, I’ll make you understand just how hard things will get for you.” 

The threat is clear and laced with venom that stings. You stop breathing, but your timid fear isn’t enough for Kaiser. 

He leans into your space, lips right at your ear. 

“Do you understand?” 

Something about his tone makes your body snap up at attention. You close your eyes and nod, pressing yourself further up against the wall. 

“Okay.” You find yourself saying. “I–I won’t….okay.” 

You keep your eyes closed until you no longer feel him breathing down your neck. Even then, he doesn’t let up on his closeness. Strangely, his presence feels smaller, like he’s slowly calming down. You can still feel the rage emanating from his body, but the heat is a bit more bearable. 

“Better.” He tells you. You flinch as he lightly pats your cheek, like you were some rowdy mutt. 

“There’s this new restaurant that just opened up. It's too Americanized for me, but the food’s pretty good. Wanna go?” 

You blink at him. He’s back to how he acted just hours ago, slightly leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, casual with the slightest hint of a playful tease. 

How was he so casual about this? Why was he so unafraid? The minute you got out of here you planned on reporting him until he got arrested. You should have done that weeks ago, but why was he so confident you wouldn’t. 

You glance down at his shoes. Yours were cheap, but you took care of them as much as you could. You wanted them to last. His were rugged and muddy and barely held together, but the brand was expensive. It probably cost an entire month of your salary. He’d easily buy another pair. 

Ah, that was why. 

That’s why the other managers brushed off his harsh words even though they edged on harassment. That’s why you still hesitate to say anything even though you desperately want to. You’re just a Pawn on the chessboard. 

Kaiser is the King. 

When you give a wordless nod, Kaiser preens, satisfied. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, jostling you to his side as he drags you out of the suffocating closet. You shrink under his hold, reluctantly following along as his head dips into the crook of your neck. 

“Should’ve done this sooner. Everything's so much easier now that you understand,” he says, his voice muffled by your neck.

“After all, what would I do without my sweet, little manager.” 

[alleyway221]

"Chocolate Kisses the Second" - PART 1 (originally posted on Tiktok)

Fan Art comic/animatic of "The Freak Circus" by @nekoboydreams

Please go support the game creator and game!

Game -> "The Freak Circus"

[laukern]

Is it only me or do you also feel an ick when a satoruxreader fic implies that mc is satoru's bestfriend to the core and not suguru. LIKE LISTEN, YES MC CAN BE HIS BESTFRIEND BUT MFR CANT JUST TAKE SUGURU'S PLACE 😭😭 mc can be like shoko BUT NEVER SUGURU PLEASE

It's just me though

[eirasera]

satoru gojo is quite literally the worst person on earth to try and have a silent treatment with.

of course, he knows you’re mad, he knows he fucked up - but he also knows that if he can make your life "unbelievably" inconvenient, you’ll eventually have to break the silence just to tell him to stop.

here's the thing; you haven’t spoken to him in twelve hours.

you are a fortress of solitude, him?

he is a persistent, white-haired fly that cannot be swatted away because of his infinity or maybe a mosquito; sucking your energy out instead of blood.

he realised (unfortunately he is capable of realising things) that as long as you are self-sufficient, you can keep ignoring him. therefore, he must delete your ability to function.

it's 9am, you wake up and try to get out of bed - you can't.

no, not because he’s holding you, but because he has lowered the friction of the floor around your bed to exactly zero; you try to step down and your foot just slides back like you’re on the world’s most invisible ice rink.

satoru is sitting in the corner, casually reading a magazine upside down, doesn't say a word. he just watches you glide helplessly back onto the mattress. 0-1.

10:30am, you manage to "crawl-surf" to the bathroom.

naturally, you reach for the faucet - it’s not there.

you blink, and the faucet is on the ceiling. water flowing upward into the pipes - you look in the mirror;

he’s standing behind you in the reflection, holding a toothbrush and looking incredibly "helpful," "innocent," waiting for you to snap - you don't.

you use bottled water instead, winning the second battle of this "silent treatment war". 1-1.

by midday, he realizes you’re more stubborn than a cursed spirit, so he goes full on nuisance mode. (special grade sorcerer edition).

you open your closet to get dressed; every single item of clothing, every shirt, every sock - is vibrating. if you touch a sleeve, it teleports to the other side of the room.

you are effectively locked out of your own wardrobe by a space-time anomaly.

you go to make tea to calm your nerves, thinking 'if you can't fight it, then adapt to it.'

the kettle is suddenly encased in a "red" orb that repels your hand every time you get within six inches.

the final straw for you was when you tried to leave the apartment to get some space;

you open the front door and walk out, only to find yourself stepping right back into your own living room.

confused, you try again. door → living room. door -> living room, an infinite loop. he’s turned your hallway into a localized version of the prison realm.

you stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, fuming.

satoru is now sitting on the couch comfortably, dramatically sighing and checking his watch as if he's the one being inconvenienced with this whole thing.

you take a deep breath. you tried - you really did.

"satoru," you growl, finally looking at him.

"oh! someone spoke!" he teleports directly into your personal space, his blindfold pushed up so his blue eyes are practically glowing with "i won" energy.

"was that the wind? or was that my favorite person finally realizing that they need a certain handsome sorcerer to fix the literal glitch in their reality?"

"fix the door," you snap, trying to hide the twitch of a smile. "the tea, and the floor. you’re such a fucking brat."

"i'm your brat," he chirps, snapping his fingers.

suddenly, the world stops vibrating and gravity returns to normal.

he leans down with no shame resting his chin on your head. "apology accepted! let’s go get lunch. i’m paying - mostly because you can't reach your wallet since i put it on the moon."

"you did.. what?"

"kidding! it’s in my pocket - come on."

it's on the moon. 1-100.

not proofread @hanaegoaway @justiceforkira @cassiee444 @pegginggojo @satoruslvut @starzbrii @mspinkpanties @swirlybunni @honeybunny4808

[fireflyschiikawa]

heian!sukuna writing letters to his upset wife

the first letter, arrives short and abrupt.

return. do not make me come for you.

lord, R.S.

the second letter, arrives soon after.

to the one who dares deny me her presence, you left without permission. return at once.

your lord, ryomen sukuna.

the third letter, arrives in a much longer scroll.

how troublesome. you forget yourself, woman. there is no place you may go that is beyond my reach. had i wished it, you would have been returned to my side before nightfall. consider it generosity that you were not. do not ignore my scrolls.

your lord, ryomen.

the fourth letter,

since i cannot imagine there is much in those lands to interest you, i can only suppose your continued absence is due to your ever prolonging distaste with me.

i urge you: come be angry at a nearer distance.

your husband, R.S.

the fifth letter,

you are in no mood for games. very well. i am in no mood for them, either.

let me say it outright: there are moments brief, and increasingly frequent in which i reach for you without thought. this displeases me, i am not accustomed to such absence from you, nor restraint.

you have forced both upon me.

come home and shout at me. come home and fight with me. come home and break my heart, if you must. it has become yours only to break. just come home.

your husband, sukuna.

the next letter,

not even responding to my missives is ridiculous and beneath you and i hate it.

atleast inform me of your health.

ryomen sukuna

and then finally, your reply,

stop writing to me, at once. my wedded lord you have trespassed much and caused me such nuisance, it is quite enough now.

i am well. but do not pretend as if you may not already know that. you think i am not aware of my new lady’s maid keeping an eye on me, certainly appointed to report back to you?

consider it my generosity that i let her stay, and consider it my ignorance towards your repetitive letters for my lack of response.

if i receive any such scroll from you, i shall burn it.

signed, yours.

and his response,

surely if your lovely eyes may not grace my lowly epistles, then i shall speak freely.

to my most willful wife, you command me to cease, and yet you write at length. i had not realized i occupied you so thoroughly. as for your lady’s maid, you give me too much credit. if she watches you, it is because you are worth watching. i would hardly entrust such a task to another. although i cannot speak for what ways uraume employs to inform me on your health..

i have been told it is unbecoming to repeat oneself so, i will not ask you to return again. you may remain where you are, in whatever peace you have convinced yourself you prefer. i will not contest it.

and yet, i find myself wondering: why you will not come back of your own accord. have you no consideration, for your neglected husband?

the hand you force, your husband.

to my most theatric husband, you mistake response for preoccupation. do not flatter yourself, i write only to correct what you insist on misunderstanding.

as for being “worth watching,” you dress surveillance in pretty language, you always had a knack for that. for such sweet talk will not work on me, do not expect gratitude for it.

if your husband is neglected, perhaps he should consider why.

signed, your wife, unfortunately.

to my most contrary wife, “unfortunately,” and yet you take such care to sign it. i wonder if your hand hesitated at all.

as for your refusal of gratitude, keep it, i did not ask for it. you suggest your husband reflect on his neglect. i have. thoroughly. i apologize for everything, end this torment for me wife, for i can bear it no longer.

you insist my words hold no effect on you now. how curious, has distance made you bold, or merely forgetful? i recall a time not long past, when your resolve was far less reliable. how easily it would slip from you, how quickly your protests would soften when i would indulge you, a little more closely. 𓀐𓂸

have you truly forgotten? or are you simply daring me to remind you?

very well. do not worry, i will remind you, not behind these papers this time. consider that a courtesy, one last chance to brace yourself or do you prefer to test me?

i would find it entertaining, either way.

your lord and husband, R.S.

my lord, you are most unfair!

do not be naughty, ryomen. i warn you, what you speak of this “reminder” it is highly improper. and what if someone else were to see it? consider your poor wife’s reputation!

your teasing is relentless, and i am most vexed. you threaten of your arrival, yet remain absent, perhaps one day, your threats will find action..though i dare not hope it too loudly.

if you intend to test my resolve, i suggest you waste no more time. come, then, and take me with you, lest i change my mind.

apology accepted, your wife.

a shorter note, in refined handwriting,

lord ryomen sukuna will be arriving soon.

his subject, uraume.

firefly; this is probably my first fic where i have worked SO hard on formatting it, i hope you guys enjoy ❀ུ͏  

inspo: by cardan’s letters to jude from the folk of the air series.

more kuna

[kora-kiroshi]

Something broke inside boyfriend!Sukuna when he saw you crying because of him.

✦. cws : emotional neglect :: cheating / implied infidelity :: heavy angst :: emotional breakdown :: blurred consent :: hurt no comfort :: selfish partner portrayal ✦. wc : 3,5k

You first saw him in the fall, when the leaves hadn’t rotted yet but had already stopped being bright...

Sukuna was standing on the university steps, the sun catching on the black lines of the tattoos on his face, and you stared at them for way too long. Thin patterns along his cheekbones, dark stripes across his forehead and chin. He had more ink disappearing beneath the collar of his T-shirt.

He caught your gaze and smirked. You flushed, but you didn’t look away.

It felt like he looked at you differently than the others. Back then, you didn’t know that look yet. You saw something else in him — confidence, that wild kind of freedom you never had enough of yourself.

You fell in love.

Stupidly. Desperately. Headfirst.

Sukuna noticed. He always noticed when someone liked him.

It flattered him. Why wouldn’t it?

Later that same evening at the frat party, he got into a fight. Someone shoved him by accident. He swung first. You watched him knock the guy to the floor and keep him by the collar even when he’d already stopped fighting back. People were yelling, trying to pull them apart.

You stood there thinking he must’ve been provoked.

He wouldn’t just hurt someone. Right?

You went up to him afterward. Told him he had blood on his lip. Sukuna looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were even talking to him. He let you press a napkin to his skin.

You felt special.

At the party a week later, he already knew your name and was drinking more than anyone else. You laughed at his jokes even when they were kind of mean, even when you were nervous. He looked at you a little longer than he looked at everyone else.

Sukuna touched you more than necessary. His hand on your waist felt like a brand. When he leaned in and told you you were pretty, something inside you tightened with happiness.

You ended up in his bedroom.

The door shut.

The music behind the wall turned muffled.

He kissed you like he wasn’t used to asking permission. You were shaking. You didn’t want to look naive. When he pushed inside you and understood you’d never done this before, he froze for a second.

His fingers tightened on your thigh.

You wished you hadn’t let him realize.

You wanted to seem grown, brave.

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Maybe even a little confusion. But he exhaled and kept going, like he’d decided it was just a detail.

Sukuna didn’t stop.

You clenched your teeth, buried your face in his forearm, pressed into the tattooed skin so he wouldn’t notice how much it hurt. He wasn’t cruel. He just didn’t think about the fact that you might be scared. He was too focused on himself.

Later you lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, convincing yourself it had been right. That it had meant something important to him. And in the morning Sukuna lazily said he liked you while you were cleaning up his room.

That you could try being together. He said it like he was talking about a new playlist, not your heart.

You agreed.

You said “yes” so fast he even smirked. Easy. Way too easy.

You remember your friends trying to talk you out of it. “He’s insane, can’t you see that? He’ll dump you in a week.” You didn’t listen. You looked at them and thought: You just don’t know him like I do. Stupid.

The stupidest girl alive.

Sukuna knew they were warning you. You told him. Complained that they didn’t get him, that he was good, just complicated. He half-listened, nodded, thought about something else.

Good? He wasn’t good.

But if that’s what you needed to believe — fine.

What did he care?

Sukuna knew you were foolish. Not dumb — you did great in school. Foolish in the way you looked at him. The way you waited. The way you forgave. He saw it and found it amusing. Sometimes even cute. Sometimes annoying. But overall — convenient.

At first, everything felt almost normal.

Sometimes he was almost gentle.

Sukuna could pull you into his chest out of nowhere and rest his chin on the top of your head. He could text you at night, a short “You asleep?” and when you answered, tell you to come over.

He could lace his fingers through yours like it was natural.

You lived for those moments.

They were rare.

That’s why they felt precious.

But most of the time, he was different.

He knew you loved flowers.

You’d send him pictures of bouquets, text “They’re so pretty,” sigh when you passed flower shops. He saw. Sometimes he even thought, Maybe I should get her some. Then brushed it off. Flowers die. Waste of money. And if he bought them once, you’d start expecting it again. He didn’t want you expecting things.

He didn’t want to owe you.

You wanted to be understanding for him.

He knew you were hurt when he forgot important dates. Your birthday. Valentine’s. Your anniversary. He didn’t remember numbers. Didn’t try to. What was the point? Days pass, everything repeats. Why celebrate?

The truth was he remembered your birthday. He just didn’t think it mattered enough to show up. A friend’s party, lots of booze, girls looking at him with interest. Why go home where you’d be waiting with that look in your eyes? He didn’t want to see it.

The candles had already burned halfway down by midnight.

You had bought a cake he never saw.

He came back three days later. You were sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, not looking at him. Your eyes were red. You only asked, “Are you hungry?” He was. You cooked. Everything was “fine.”

You tried to smile. Asked if he’d had fun. You didn’t ask why he hadn’t come. And Sukuna pretended not to notice.

Easier that way.

He didn’t get why your friends hissed at him. They looked at him like he’d done something unforgivable.

What had he done?

He was with you.

What more did they want?

He knew you wanted real dates.

The kind you chose. Rom-com movies. Parks. Stupid little fairs. He refused. “Boring.” “Not going.” “Just come over.” You agreed. You always agreed. He didn’t think about how you felt. If you really wanted it, you’d drag him there, right?

So it must not matter that much.

He took advantage of the fact you wanted to be a good girlfriend.

He knew you hated horror movies. You’d say, “They scare me, I can’t sleep after.” But when he turned one on, you sat beside him, pressed close, and stayed quiet. He didn’t turn it off. He liked them. And if you were scared, you’d just cling tighter.

Not so bad.

He knew you were exhausted. Classes. A job. Four hours of sleep...

But when he wanted sex, he just came up to you and started. If you said “I’m not in the mood,” he’d insist. Not harshly. Just, “Come on.” Kissing your neck. Tugging at your clothes. You gave in, because it always felt good with him. Always.

Sukuna didn’t see a problem.

You weren’t really resisting.

So you must’ve wanted it too.

He knew you picked out thoughtful gifts. Hid them. Gave them to him with that hopeful look like you’d brought him a stray cat. He’d say “Thanks” and shove them in a drawer. Not because he didn’t care — he just didn’t know what to do with it. Books he wouldn’t read. Sweaters he wouldn’t wear...

Why? He didn’t ask.

You give, he takes. Fair.

He didn’t need anything.

Sukuna remembered how you hugged him after fights.

He yelled — he knows he yelled.

Sometimes for a reason, sometimes just because he was in a shitty mood. And you’d come up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, press your cheek to his back. Quiet. He felt your breathing through his shirt. It was strange. Warm.

He didn’t get why you did it, but he let you.

Sometimes even waited for it.

Never asked.

He knew you were hurt when he disappeared for days without answering.

You’d text. Call. Then stop. When he vanished, you barely ate. You checked your phone again and again. Replayed everything you’d said. Convinced yourself you’d ruined it. And when he came back, you’d throw your arms around his neck like he’d returned from war.

Something in his chest tightened.

A weird feeling.

He brushed it off.

You’re just emotional.

You just missed him. Nothing special.

But there was something special about being waited for.

You thought if you loved him hard enough, he’d become better. You saw him as wounded. Broken. You believed you could be a quiet place where he didn’t have to be hard.

You believed that if you were patient enough, understanding enough, one day he’d want to be softer too. You didn’t try to change him. You just hoped he’d notice how much you did.

He never asked you to.

Sukuna knew what you felt when he came to bed smelling like someone else’s perfume.

You never said anything. Just turned to the wall and breathed quietly. He thought, If you’re not asking, good. He was too lazy to explain, too lazy to lie, too lazy to handle your feelings.

They were yours. Not his.

Sometimes he noticed something off.

The way you looked when he joked about you in front of friends. How you dropped your gaze when they said he didn’t deserve you. How you flinched when he yelled. And in those moments something unpleasant stirred deep inside him.

Guilt? No. Just discomfort.

Like he’d done something wrong but couldn’t figure out what.

He’d brush it off.

Drink. Leave. It would pass.

The worst part — he genuinely didn’t understand.

To him, you were just you.

Always there. Always available. Always forgiving.

He didn’t see boundaries because you never set them. He didn’t feel pain because you never showed it. He thought everything was fine. Because if it wasn’t, you’d leave. Or cry. Or scream.

But you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just stayed.

You never cried in front of him.

That matters. You never cried.

He got used to thinking you were strong. That you could handle everything. That you’d always be there, always ready, always forgiving. He thought that’s just how you were. That tears weren’t your thing.

He was wrong.

That night at Gojo’s.

Sukuna was drunk. Really drunk.

He remembers you walking up to him — in that black dress he once called “decent.” You took his hand carefully, timidly. Your fingers were cold. They were shaking.

He thought you were freezing outside.

He didn’t think you were scared.

Didn’t think you were hurting.

“We need to talk,” you said.

He looked at you and noticed your eyes were shining. Something was off, but he couldn’t place it. He was drunk. He was having fun. He didn’t want to talk.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “Go home.”

Music. Noise. Laughter. He was always busy when you showed up serious. He knew what that meant. Complaints. Questions. Those eyes he never understood.

He pulled his hand away.

Your fingers slipped off. You stood there watching. He had already turned back to the crowd when something made him glance over his shoulder. Your lips were trembling. Just a little.

He decided it wasn’t his problem.

And walked away.

The rest is blurry. Booze. Laughter. Music. The brunette from another class who’d been eyeing him for months. She sat on his lap. He let her. She was warm, smelled sweet, said something playful.

He half-listened.

Then she kissed him.

He remembers the taste of her lipstick — sickly sweet, chemical. Not like yours. Actually, he barely remembered what you tasted like. Did you even wear lipstick? Maybe if he’d once said he liked it.

Did he kiss her back? Maybe. He didn’t push her away. What difference did it make?

Then Sukuna opened his eyes.

And saw you.

You were standing at the other end of the room. In the middle of the crowd. Of the laughter. Of all that shit.

You were standing there, looking at him.

And tears were running down your cheeks.

He didn’t know you could cry like that. No sound. No sobbing. Just tears — big, fast, endless. You were holding your hand to your chest like something hurt there.

And you were looking right at him.

For the first time, his indifference made him sick.

Something in his chest jolted. Hard enough to make him want to grab his ribs. He moved — wanted to stand, shove the girl off, go to you. He even opened his mouth to call you...

But the brunette tugged his hair. Turned him back to her.

And when he looked again, you were gone.

Sukuna doesn’t remember how he pushed through the crowd. The brunette shouted something after him, but he didn’t hear it. He shoved people out of the way and didn’t understand why his heart was pounding so hard.

You just left.

You always left when he told you to.

But you didn’t leave with that face before.

You didn’t cry.

He searched the whole house. He almost slipped on something spilled near the kitchen and didn’t even notice. Checked every room, the kitchen, the bathroom, even the damn storage closet. You were gone.

Someone said, “The girl in black? She left like a minute ago.”

He ran outside.

Cold. Night. Empty street. No one.

He headed toward the bus stop. Didn’t know why. Just instinct. He knew you wouldn’t have enough for a cab.

He remembered that one time after a fight when you’d stormed off, and he’d found you at that same stop. You were sitting there, staring at your phone. When you saw him, you smiled.

God, you smiled, even though he’d been yelling at you thirty minutes earlier.

Like he was the solution, not the problem.

He walked and thought, What am I even going to say? Why am I going?

He didn’t know.

His legs just kept moving.

Maybe it was the right thing to do.

He saw you from a distance.

A small figure on the bench, curled into yourself. You were staring ahead. Not crying. Just sitting there. He came closer. Stopped a couple of meters away. Didn’t know what to do. Shoved his hands into his pockets — he’d come out without a jacket, was freezing, but didn’t feel it.

“Hey,” he called.

You looked up.

And he saw your face. Swollen. Red. Wet. You looked at him like you were seeing a ghost. Like he was the last person you ever wanted to see. And for the first time, he was actually scared.

“What’s wrong…” he started. “You were crying?”

The words sounded wrong the second they left his mouth.

Stupid question. Idiotic. You were covered in tears. But he genuinely didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen you like this. And you just kept staring. And in your eyes there was something that made his insides twist.

“What…”

And then you sobbed.

You broke down.

Loud, shaking, like a child, like something wounded, like someone being killed from the inside out. You covered your face with your hands, your shoulders trembling uncontrollably. The sounds you made were awful.

They cut through the air.

Cut through him.

Dug under his skin and stayed there.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

Sukuna froze. He had never — never — seen anyone cry like that. Especially not you.

You, who waited and tolerated all his bullshit.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna didn’t know what to do.

His mind went blank. His mind was blank.

Not a single thought.

Just panic — sticky, cold, unfamiliar.

He stepped closer. Crouched down in front of you. Reached out, hand hovering over your shoulder.

“Hey…” he tried again. “Come on… stop…”

You jerked away. Hard.

Like he’d hit you.

And something twisted violently inside him.

You shrank back against the bench, pressing yourself into the backrest, curling in tighter. And cried louder.

“Don’t touch me,” you breathed out. “Don’t touch me!”

Sukuna went still. His hand hung in the air.

He stared at you, confused.

You always wanted him to touch you.

You reached for him, clung to him, asked for affection even when he was rough.

And now — don’t touch me.

“I just—” he began.

“Just leave,” you cut him off. Your voice kept breaking, choking on tears. “Please. Just go.”

He didn’t go. Something held him there, pinned him to that asphalt, to that bench, to you. He watched you cry and felt something inside his own chest start to hurt.

Not like before. Worse. Deeper.

“I didn’t mean to,” he tried. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“You never think!” you suddenly shouted.

And that scream, wet and shattered, hit him like a slap.

“Have you ever thought about me? Even once? Do you know how many nights I couldn’t sleep? Do you know how I waited for you? Do you know how much it hurts when you do this?”

Sukuna stayed silent.

He didn’t know. He genuinely didn’t.

“You forgot my birthday. You left and didn’t come back. You slept with other girls and didn’t even hide it!”

“I didn’t fuck anyone!” he snapped back, frowning slightly, but you cut him off immediately—

“And I still loved you!” you cried. “I still waited! I thought if I was good enough, patient enough, you would—”

Your breath hitched.

You covered your face again.

Your shoulders shook harder.

And Sukuna felt something tear slowly inside his chest.

With a crack. With pain.

He didn’t understand what it was. He’d never felt it before.

“I…” he started again. Stopped. Swallowed. “I didn’t know it mattered that much to you. You never said it straight.”

You looked up at him.

So full of pain he almost flinched.

“I did,” you hissed quietly. “A hundred times. You just…” another sob, “…you just never listened.”

He wanted to argue.

To say he did listen.

That he remembered. That—

But he didn’t. He truly didn’t.

Your words had always slid past him because they felt small. Petty. Unimportant.

He reached out again. Slowly. Carefully.

Like you were a wild animal he might scare away.

His fingers touched your shoulder. Gently squeezed.

“Come here,” he said quietly. “Just… come here.”

He wanted to hug you.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to hold you not for sex, not out of habit, but because you were crying and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He tried to pull you toward him — careful, almost soft.

You tore yourself away.

You shoved him.

Hard. Both hands. So hard he nearly fell back. You jumped to your feet, stepping away. One step. Two. You stood there, soaked in tears, shaking, broken, screaming:

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare! Not after you— not after her—”

Your voice cracked.

You couldn’t finish.

You covered your face and froze.

Sukuna stood up slowly. Took a step toward you — then stopped. His hands dropped. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

It hurt. It should.

He turned his head away.

Not because he didn’t want to look. But because seeing you like that — crying, hating him, distant — was unbearable. And because for the first time, he felt ashamed. He stared at the empty road, at the lonely streetlamp. Anywhere but at you.

His throat tightened.

He ruined it.

He didn’t even know when it started going wrong.

He just lived the way he knew how. Took what was given. Didn’t think about consequences. And now you were standing there crying, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Only knew he had to do something.

But what?

“I’m sorry,” he said into the dark. “I… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at you. He didn’t have the guts.

The night stayed silent. You stayed silent.

And something inside him was dying.

Slowly. Painfully.

For the first time in his life.

How many times had you smiled when you were breaking?

He’d never said thank you.

Never said you were beautiful.

Never chose you — just let you stay.

He thought about how if you walked away right now, he’d have nothing left. Just an empty apartment. A cold bed. And the memory of how you smelled. Something warm. Familiar. His.

He clenched his jaw and, for one second, hoped you’d say, “It’s okay. I’m just tired.”

Let him hold you.

But you said:

“Get lost, Sukuna. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

You didn’t say you didn’t love him anymore.

But he understood anyway.

Maybe the only right thing he could do now was leave.

Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) English is not my first language, so yes, my writing might not be perfect.(

Maybe this could work as a prequel to drunk Sukuna?

[kora-kiroshi]

Sukuna shows up at your place so drunk that it’s like he genuinely doesn’t remember you broke up two months ago. He keeps calling you “his girlfriend” and can’t understand why he can’t fuck his girlfriend.

You’re lying on your side, staring holes into the ceiling, and you can feel the night’s silence pressing against your eardrums like a thick, sticky hum. The insomnia of the past few days wraps around your thoughts, and the exhaustion from university classes and night shifts at the café sits heavy on your shoulders.

Cool air drifts in through the cracked-open window, smelling like distant rain and asphalt, and against the deep navy sky, a few rare stars flicker. You’re pissed. At yourself. At this never-ending loop of thoughts. At the way your body refuses to let you fall asleep...

When a sharp, slicing doorbell suddenly cuts through the silence.

You flinch.

Your heart stops for a second, then starts hammering again in an uneven, anxious rhythm. You reach for your phone on the nightstand, and your chest tightens with a dull, familiar ache when your eyes catch the time: past two in the morning.

Then your gaze slides to the phone wallpaper, dark and blank.

It used to be a photo of you and Sukuna. You were laughing, and he was squinting slightly, looking somewhere past the camera with that eternal, almost arrogant calm on his face.

But you broke up.

Two months ago...

The knocking comes again, harsh and insistent, and then someone kicks the door hard. A dull, terrifying thud that makes the walls shudder. If Sukuna were here… if you were still together… you wouldn’t be this scared. But he’s not. And you’re alone.

Anger, sharp and instant, cuts right through the exhaustion.

You get up. Bare feet slap against the cold floor. You walk to the door, press your temple against it, listening.

Another kick. And then you hear a man’s voice. Low, rough, drunk and messy, but so familiar it makes your skin crawl.

“Hey… open up… shit… did you fall asleep?”

And your name, yelled like he hates it and wants it at the same time. Something inside you goes ice-cold. Your first instinct is to scream through the door and tell Sukuna to go to hell.

Another kick. Then a muffled laugh.

“Open the fucking door…”

He’s drunk?

Your second thought is the neighbors. The old lady upstairs. Her calling the cops. You exhale hard, fingers tightening around the handle, and you yank the door open, ready to slam it shut again immediately.

Sukuna is standing there, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He can barely stay upright, and his nearly two-meter height doesn’t look intimidating right now. It looks unstable. His peach-colored hair, usually spiked up in sharp strands, is a mess, sticking out everywhere, clumped and dirty like he’s dragged his hands through it a hundred times. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt stretched over his chest, broad shoulders and torso, stained with dark, unclear spots. Dirt. Spilled beer. Maybe blood… if he smashed someone’s face in again.

You always hated his aggression.

Sukuna stares down at his scuffed boots for a couple seconds, then slowly, with effort, lifts his head when he realizes the door is open. His gaze is blurred, drowned in alcohol, drifting for a long moment before it finally focuses on you. And on his slightly parted lips, a wide, drunk, painfully familiar triumphant grin spreads.

Found you.

It scares you so badly your knees tremble.

Why is he here? To talk?

Sukuna never knew how to do that.

“Well, finally,” he rasps, and his breath, heavy and sweet-bitter with booze, makes you recoil.

You grimace, trying to shut the door, but he already collapses forward with all the weight of his heavy body and you, like an idiot, catch him. You’ve never seen him like this. This drunk. Alcohol rarely hit him like this. Sukuna always kept control, even when his eyes went glassy.

Now he’s disheveled, heavy, and stupid.

He stumbles into the hallway, and you instinctively brace your shoulder so he doesn’t crash onto the floor. You regret it immediately when your joints pop. His weight is muscular, solid, unexpectedly warm. And Sukuna instantly presses you against the wall, making you gasp from the force.

Something inside you turns cold from the sudden closeness, from the smell of sweat mixed with alcohol and that expensive cologne you once picked out and gave him for your anniversary. Something twists painfully inside your chest. And somewhere deep down, traitorous and quiet, something warm and familiar stirs…

“M… so tired,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck. A hot, damp breath burns your skin. His lips drag along your jawline. “Came to my girl…”

You press your palms against his chest, trying to push him away, and your voice comes out strained.

“Sukuna, you… what are you doing here?”

You try to wriggle out from under him. Sukuna pulls back just slightly, staring down at you with a frown, because you always used to call him just “Kuna.” You cautiously lift your gaze to his face…

You don’t know what to expect from him. Not now. His height always overwhelmed you, but in a good way. You used to feel protected. Hidden. Safe.

Now it’s just a threatening physical difference. But Sukuna’s expression is pure, genuine confusion.

“I came home. Dumbass. To you.” He says it like it’s obvious, like there’s no argument to be had. His hand drops heavy on the back of your head, his thumb brushing along your jaw. That familiar possessive gesture.

You freeze. Did he… forget? Did his drunk haze erase the last two months? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish you could forget too. You swallow the lump in your throat. Anger and something aching, pathetic, like the butterflies that used to flutter in your stomach when he looked at you…

Sukuna was always like this.

“Leave,” you say, firmer than you feel. “Right now.”

But Sukuna doesn’t seem to hear you. Or maybe he decides you’re just mad because he came home late. His gaze slides lower, catching on your shorts, and that lazy, pleased look spreads across his face.

“Dressed up for me, huh?” he rasps, voice thick with drunken purring.

“Asshole,” flashes through your mind.

But your hands move on their own. You shove him toward the hallway, toward your bedroom. Toward his bedroom. Toward your bedroom. One thought only: get your dead drunk ex onto the bed, call Toji, make him come pick up this wasted idiot.

And Sukuna follows obediently, clumsy, leaning on you with his arm thrown over your shoulder. His fingers dig into your muscles, and just the thought of him grabbing your chest like he used to makes your stomach twist.

The room smells like you. Books and dust. His scent faded from here two weeks after the breakup. And maybe that’s why Sukuna’s lips twitch in confusion as he looks around, trying to figure out what’s wrong, what’s changed. He doesn’t remember he hasn’t been here in two months.

You guide him to the edge of the bed, and he drops down heavily onto the mattress, making the springs squeal. He flops onto his side, and your eyes slide along the line of his back beneath his damp shirt, the familiar shape of his shoulders you used to kiss.

You hate yourself for it.

You climb onto the bed with one knee and reach for your phone lying in the middle of the blanket. But Sukuna moves faster. Long fingers, veins standing out, black tattoo markings wrapping his wrists. He snatches your phone first, his grip crushing the black case like it might crack. Sukuna manages to pull you in by the shoulders with his other arm, and you feel his body tense instantly, like he’s about to fight…

“What…” he mutters, jabbing at the screen. His brows knit. “Why… where am I?.. No… where are we?..”

You try to grab the phone back, but he shoves you forward with drunk, misjudged strength. Not cruel, more impatient and annoyed, but it’s too much for you. You lose your balance and fall onto the bed. The mattress catches you with a dull thump. Air punches out of your lungs.

You gasp, pushing your hair off your forehead, lying there, and in your chest something familiar sparks, bright and furious. A mix of rage and old attraction you thought you’d buried. You remind yourself fast who Sukuna Ryomen is and why you’re not together anymore.

He was always stronger. Always able to pin you down, ignore your protests. And before, in that haze of passion, you liked it. You liked feeling conquered when he pushed you into the pillows, covering you completely, driving his cock into your pussy, thrusting and growling into your ear until the world narrowed down to his breath and your own voice breaking into moans. Now that memory sends chills across your skin, from shame and something else.

Sukuna was always stronger.

The memory makes your skin prickle. You shake your head, forcing yourself back into reality, and search for him with your eyes. Sukuna stands frozen at the foot of the bed, your phone still in his hand. The screen lights his face from below, carving harsh, dangerous shadows under his cheekbones, in the corners of his mouth, along his neck.

“You… why’d you change the wallpaper?” His voice is low, annoyed, almost whiny. He keeps tapping the screen with his thumb, trying to unlock it. “What the hell… You changed the password? Our password… the day we…”

He cuts off, unable to remember the date. And you’re lying there, not knowing what to say. How do you explain that it’s over?

Sukuna was always such a bastard.

“Why?”

Sukuna lifts his gaze to you, confused. In his blurred pupils, disbelief flickers. He’s waiting for an explanation. And you’re lying there in shock, not knowing what to tell him.

Sukuna was always a bastard.

Mean, sharp, jealous to the point of obsession, and rough in a way he called “honesty.” He could pick a fight with your friend just because the guy hugged you when you met. “You’re my girlfriend,” he’d growl later, pulling you into him so hard it left bruises, and you, stupid, used to think that was love. He never told you he loved you. And at the same time, he let other girls hang off him in clubs, not encouraging it, but not pushing them away either.

Because he didn’t care.

He always said: they did it themselves.

They were the ones leaving hickeys and lipstick on his neck.

They were the ones crawling into his pants...

His indifference always hurt more than active flirting. And that, that blind, egocentric irresponsibility, is why you broke up. And you thought you’d almost erased that bitter aftertaste from your memory, that itch at the roof of your mouth. The intoxicating shadow of his superiority.

Before you can gather yourself and scream the truth at him, Sukuna suddenly, irritated, throws your phone into the corner. The sound of plastic smacking against the wall cracks through the silence, dry and painful.

You tense up in fear, staring at it.

Is he mad? Like, actually mad?

You look back and freeze, watching Sukuna yank his black t-shirt over his head with force, fabric tearing with an angry rustle. His movements are clumsy, drunk. In the dim light, the ink-black patterns of his tattoos stand out on his skin: rings around his shoulders, stripes low on his stomach, the intricate design on his ribs you once could’ve traced with your lips with your eyes closed.

Your chest tightens so hard you can’t breathe. Treacherous heat pools low in your stomach. Your body still hasn’t forgotten him.

But the sound of his jeans zipper sliding down snaps you back into reality.

“Stop! Sukuna, don’t!” it tears out of you, almost like a plea.

You jerk backward, trying to crawl toward the headboard, but the sheet tangles around your legs. Sukuna laughs, low and hoarse.

“C’mere, my girl.”

The sound is deep and vibrating, sending chills down your spine. His voice used to drive you insane. Now it just scares you.

A swarm of butterflies in your stomach, hateful and unwanted.

Sukuna climbs onto the bed on one knee, deciding not to pull his jeans off yet, moves closer, and grabs your ankle. Easily, like it takes no effort at all, he drags you back toward him, back to the center of the bed, to his legs. You slide across the blanket, letting out a helpless squeak.

He always did this.

Always.

“Let go!” you panic, shoving his chest with your palm. Your fingers press into the familiar hardness of his shoulder. “What the fuck?! Get off me! Don’t touch me! Get out, I’m serious!”

Sukuna frowns harder, annoyed. His brows are pulled together, jaw tense, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He doesn’t let go of your leg. His thumb starts rubbing the bone of your ankle. An unconscious, familiar soothing gesture he used to do when you were stressed before exams.

“What the fuck is your problem? What happened?!” he snaps.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” you almost scream. Tears sting your eyes.

“…I came to my girlfriend,” Sukuna says, baffled, and keeps mumbling incoherently. “Missed fucking. Missed you, huh? Why you… why are you yelling at me? What’s wrong?.. Don’t get it…”

Sukuna leans closer, and his shadow covers you completely, and you can barely breathe.

“I’M NOT your girlfriend!” you scream. “We broke up! Two months ago! What, did you get hit in the head and forget?! We’re not together anymore!”

Sukuna stares at you, and it’s like your words only reach him minutes later. He blinks slowly, processing. And he ignores the point, latching onto something else, something he thinks must be the reason for your “hysterics.”

“I… didn’t fuck anyone today,” he mumbles. His tone sounds hurt. Defensive. He shifts higher, his knee pressing into the mattress between your legs, and you inhale sharply, fingers clenching the sheets. “Didn’t cheat on you, baby. Didn’t even look at them. Why you jealous, idiot…”

“I’m not jealous! You don’t get it, dumbass! You’re drunk and stupid! Get off me!”

“No one…”

Sukuna ignores your protests, dropping his gaze to his hands braced on the mattress on either side of your waist. He looks like he’s talking to himself, trying to piece his thoughts together. His voice grows quieter, more lost, and suddenly there’s insecurity in it, something you’ve never heard from him before.

“Haven’t fucked anyone for… for two months… since my… girlfriend… left me?”

The last part sounds like an unsure question, like he’s not even certain he understood it right. Your breath catches. He said he… hasn’t fucked anyone for two months? For Sukuna, the eternal “womanizer” he used to call himself, two months of complete abstinence is basically eternity. And you don’t believe it.

The first couple weeks after the breakup, you had nightmares about him fucking other girls. And this quiet, drunk confession that slips out against his will knocks the ground out from under you.

Why would he?..

Sukuna frowns harder, bares his teeth slightly, and now his gaze, still blurry but sharper, locks onto you. There’s real, almost childish confusion in it, and a kind of vulnerability he’d never show sober. His body hovering over you suddenly feels less threatening and more… scared?

“We’re not… together anymore?” he mutters.

His hand finally lets go of your ankle, but now Sukuna touches your thigh carefully, like he doesn’t fully believe it yet and doesn’t know if you’re about to shove him away.

And you nod slowly, hoping it finally sinks in where he is and who he’s with.

“No, Sukuna. We’re not together. And that’s why we can’t have sex. Do you understand?”

But Sukuna unexpectedly moves even closer instead of backing off. His face is inches from yours. You see tiny golden flecks in his irises, red veins in the whites of his eyes, and your own reflection in his pupils.

His breath mixes with yours.

“Why?” he sounds offended. Almost hurt. His brows lift, lips pressing together slightly. “Why can’t we fuck? If I want you. If you’re… here. You’re my girlfriend.”

“Mine,” said with drunken but unshakable certainty. That’s his selfishness. His inability to let go. His hand on your thigh squeezes a little tighter. And you’re lying beneath him, just as lost and unsure of what happens next, because this drunk, confused bastard, your ex, is looking at you like you just took the most precious thing away from him.

And he doesn’t understand why.

His question, “why can’t we fuck?” is absurd.

If he wants it, then you can.

You always belonged to him.

You always loved his cock.

So why not now?

His breath, still reeking of whiskey and mixed beer, hits your face. You watch his dilated pupils narrow on your features, trying to read the answer in your clenched lips. His thumb starts moving slowly along your leg, tracing a line from your knee upward, toward your inner thigh. His touch is rough from his healed knuckles, but endlessly familiar.

Sukuna shifts closer with his whole body.

“Why?” he repeats. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not ‘yours,’” you whisper, losing your edge.

He’s too close, and he still refuses to accept that you’re not together, like he’s just putting that reality off for later. Like he always did.

“Sukuna, you’re drunk.”

“I wanna sleep…” he mutters. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

Sukuna leans even lower, his forehead almost touching yours. His eyes are hazy, but sparks dance in them. He takes an uncertain breath, presses into your neck, and you shiver with goosebumps.

“I wanna sleep on my pillow…”

Your heart is pounding.

He’s talking about your pillow. You still sleep on your side of the bed, and his side stays empty, but you never changed the pillows. It’s stupid, something you never let yourself think about…

“That’s not your pillow,” you try to sound harsh, but the words come out quiet.

“It’s so comfy,” he ignores you.

He always does.

His hand leaves your thigh and rises to your face. You freeze, expecting something rough, but his fingers barely brush your temple, sweeping a strand of hair away.

Surprisingly gentle.

“You’re so pretty, like…”

He furrows his brow, trying to find the words, and he looks so unlike his usual arrogant, rough self that a sharp wave of pity hits you again. He doesn’t find the right words. And it pisses him off. His brows knit, and that familiar aggression flashes in his eyes, then fades again into the alcohol haze.

“Can’t fuck,” he mumbles, repeating your words. “But… can I hug you?”

You open your mouth to say no, but you don’t get the chance. Sukuna doesn’t wait for an answer, or maybe he’s just too tired to wait, because he slowly collapses onto you with a low groan, dumping his full weight on you. His head drops heavy against your chest and higher, his nose pressing into the curve of your neck. Peach hair tickles your chin.

His arms wrap tight around your waist.

Sukuna presses into you. Big, hot… shaking?

“Kuna…” you try to protest, but he only hums, burying his face into your shirt.

“Quiet. Just… lay here. Like before. I… I feel so fucking bad without you,” his whisper is muffled.

His heart is beating somewhere under your chest, fast and uneven. You feel how tense the muscles in his back are beneath your hands, hands you don’t even realize you placed on his shoulders. You stroke him slowly, over the familiar curve of his shoulder blades, down his spine. And he lets out a quiet sound, half-growl, half-satisfied purr.

“Like that…” Sukuna mumbles. “Better. Don’t leave me.”

“I already did,” you want to say, but… you can’t.

The smell of his cologne and shampoo, alcohol and tobacco, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his body… it all forms a dangerous, deceptive picture of “like before.” You close your eyes, bright spots blooming behind your eyelids. Sukuna starts babbling, mumbling incoherently into you, pressed against you, his hips against yours, clinging to you from every side as he rubs his head against your chest.

“…those dumb bitches keep crawling all over me… like flies… sick of it… told them to fuck off… I have…” he suddenly goes quiet. His fingers spasm around the fabric of your shirt at your waist, under your ribs, tugging. “But you’re not here. I called, but you… phone… won’t pick up. You changed your number, yeah? And your phone password…”

He shifts again, restless.

“Why’d you leave? I… I didn’t do anything. I didn’t have sex with anyone after you. I swear. I need… only you, baby…”

You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling. His words, those drunk, broken confessions… Sukuna doesn’t understand the point. To him, “didn’t do anything” means he didn’t flirt, didn’t kiss, didn’t sleep with anyone else. But his indifference, his disregard for your feelings, his blindness, don’t count to him. That’s not “something.” That just doesn’t exist in his world.

“You didn’t look. You didn’t see me,” you sound exhausted.

Sukuna lifts his head slightly, looking up at you. His eyes seem wide now with confusion. Reflections shimmer in them. And you.

“I saw you. You’re the prettiest… the prettiest. Everyone knows…”

It’s not it. Not even close. But in his drunk, sincere admiration, there’s a drop of the warmth you always starved for.

“Just sleep.”

“Why did you leave me, baby?” he asks vulnerably, tearing you apart.

You don’t answer. You just keep stroking his back slowly, over the familiar tattoos, feeling the tension under your fingers gradually start to melt away.

His breathing deepens, evens out. Your eyelids grow heavy. You bury your fingers into his peach hair, and tears gather in your eyes. You stare into the dark, feeling his body slowly go slack as he drifts into sleep.

Sukuna is here. Drunk, lost, not remembering, not accepting that you broke up. He’s sleeping on top of you and for some reason, you can’t push him off. Not now. Not when he’s… like this. Drunk, needy like you used to be, clinging to you like you’re something he still, in his drunken head, thinks belongs to him.

You close your eyes and realize your insomnia is finally starting to fade… Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) English is not my first language, so yes, my writing might not be perfect.( This is my first JJK work here, so please....

[laukern]

OML I NEED MORE WHAT

[envy-of-the-apple]

Do you have any Yan suguru fic recs? I've read all of yours thrice over and I'm desperate for more 😩🥲

theres not that many sole suguru fics...let alone sole YAN suguru fics TT

Third justification absolute bangerrrr

Snap Judgments  i havent read this yet but it looks rlly good!!!!

The Animal Kingdom: Drunk On Toxicity so this is pretty much everything i wanted out of a hybrid au SO SO GOOD (isekaid mc!!!)

Alone in this moving scenery: I stand still and think of you  language barriers!!!! ahhh!!!!

Foreign exchange student THIS ENTIRE SERIESS AHHHH

Righteous Indignation ngl the smut is wilddd but like..im oddly here for it-

im sure theres more ;-; i just suck at finding fics

ngl whenever im in a geto/reader mood i have to specifically exclude gojo/reader cuz HALF of the geto/reader fics are satosugu/reader (gojo centric) fics TT

....if we rlly think about it...thats such good symbolism on satoru's and suguru's relationship within the story itself-

[laukern]

tw: suicide, major character death, dark romancish? idk ______________________________________________________________ The beauty of her face

Their song rang in his head, the same song they sang when the skies tasted too blue, when the rain stabbed a little too hard, when heads were too heavy to hold. He remembered a sweet moment, nothing too special.. just her, smiling at him like he gave her the moon and the stars along with it. Her hair flowing to the rhythm of her laugh, the world around her blending to make room for her eyes that told him stories before the mouth could. was beyond my

he looks up again, trying to look for her somewhere; somewhere he could find her again because to him there was another story that her eyes wanted to tell, another he wanted to lock somewhere in his heart where she stayed. She stood tall at the edge of the god forsaken building that had kept her inside for years, ready to leave. Even then he couldn't see the girl that was about to give her life up, the girl that was about to waste away millions her parents put in to 'fix' her, about to break the promises she made. no, none of that. Instead he saw a prisoner about to be free, a bird ready to open her tied wings and taste the sky one last time. wildest-

a little shift forward and before he could understand it all, her body plunged in front of him. A rush of people around him, sound of an ambulance that he was all too familiar with, people crying and shouting but he couldn't shed a single tear.

He should be crying too, should be on the ground begging for her to come back but why would he? when he knew her the best after all, he knew everything.. there was no space for a why because her eyes whispered to him when nights felt too cold, they spoke of her wails and sorrow; a wound he knew he couldn't heal even with the moon at hand. though.. he did wanted to ask.. how did the sky tasted this time?

dreams..

"like a dream" .. and he smiled, for her eyes still spoke to him, he knew they would. "I'd never let you leave, you are the dearest to me don't you know?" he spoke to the shining hues in his jar.

______________________________________________________________

[canis-aureus-offline]

Cool concept, Yandere x Nonchalant reader.

I should probably clarify, reader is nonchalant because you one: actually love the Yandere against all common sense, and two: can easily hold your own.

I get that sometimes we enjoy reading about someone who loves us enough to do just about anything to be with us and has the means to accomplish it, but sometimes I want reader to be on even footing with the Yandere. Not exactly in an, "it's a good ending because I am in love with the Yandere and am totally chill with their concerning behavior," or, "the Yandere has covered their tracks so well I am completely unaware of their tendencies," or even in the, "the Yandere is actually so pathetic that they never really register as a threat," kind of way.

The kind of scenario I'm dreaming up is where the Yandere is actually the normal, scary kind of Yandere, but the reader is both clever and powerful enough not to bend to the Yandere's whims. Why does reader stick around? Reader... Somehow fell in love the Yandere (probably by the third abduction attempt that fell flat on its face).

Of course, reader still has morals. Killing people who just happen to glance in your direction is wrong (and a hassle to clean up/cover up afterwards) so you kind of try training the Yandere out of that behavior. Sort of like the human equivalent of hitting the Yandere with a rolled up newspaper or spraying the Yandere with water when the Yandere starts displaying aggressive behaviors. "Ms. Roberts, our neighbor, is a nice old lady who lives by herself. The polite thing to do is to chat with her about the daily goings on because goodness knows her good for nothing grandkids don't. If you insist on trying to antagonize her I shall have no choice but to take you to see that therapist."

Your vigilance has the added benefit of letting you keep a social life. Any friends and family members you want to keep in contact with won't need to watch their backs thanks to the tight leash you keep your unstable lover on.

The Yandere is always trying to finally get the upper hand and have you at their mercy, but you're able to counter them without breaking a sweat. Any plans they've made you see through. Yes, this leads to instances where the two of you unintentionally reenact the "I knew that you knew that I knew that you knew that I knew" gag.

Typically, after another bid for control gone awry, you settle into "down time" where the two of you actually act like a "normal couple." The Yandere may say a couple unsettling things and may be extremely clingy, but hey, you knew what you were signing up for. If you were being perfectly honest, some things that the Yandere threatened were pretty romantic (as long as those threats were never followed through).

It's probably about as healthy of a relationship as you could get with a Yandere: you love each other dearly and are willing to indulge each other in most circumstances. Yes, there is the constant mental chess battle between the two of you with people's very lives at stake, but that is par for course when it comes to dating most Yandere's. The key detail is that you're curb stomping your opponent, unlike most people in your shoes.