"I would wait a thousand years for you"

[madewithangst]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ⟡ ݁ 𝙉𝘼𝙑𝙄𝙂𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ݁⊹ ݁. ₍^. .^₎⟆

el .✦ ݁˖ she/her .✦ ݁˖ 27 .✦ ݁˖ writing for svt & jjk atm

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. seventeen || jujutsu

🌶️ This is an 18+ blog - MINORS DNI. Blank blogs or blogs with no age displayed will be blocked.

Started: Apr. 19, 2024 | Last Update: May 4, 2026

I will be updating this nav along the way but now that i'm writing for jjk, i thought I had to update

PSA: minors, please don't interact with any nsfw posts

© madewithangst 2026; please do not repost or modify or else i will cry

[feyrinnn]

꒰impatient꒱ husband!nanami almost missed his son's birth ꩜ angst to fluff; comfort. art by @/mamitasoa7x0312

Nanami's heart beat louder than it ever had as he drove to you. 

Ignoring every traffic light and speed limit. This wasn't like him, but he could feel bad about it later. Right now, there was only thing he had to do – get to you.

As fast as he fucking could.

Were you scared? Were you in pain?

Of course you were in pain.

And he wasn't there.

His foot slammed the accelerator again, the hospital building finally coming into view up ahead.

It wasn't meant to happen this early, he was caught off guard at work – but as soon as your anxious voice reached him from the phone and tried to explain that your water had broke, he left the office without a word. Later he'd notice the missed calls from his boss, but again – he didn't care. 

Everything was out the window the minute you needed him.

You were in pain. You were having his baby.

What was supposed to be a joyous moment shared by the two of you, now meant nothing but fear from both sides.

Another traffic light ignored, but it was finally the last one.

The nurse must have thought he was losing his mind when he reached the front desk, giving her your name through ragged breaths. "Mr. Nanami?" she tried to confirm, and he only managed an exhausted nod.

His hair was a mess, tie undone, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. But when the nurse finally showed him the way, Nanami followed close, almost overtaking her as if this was a race.

And finally, the sterile hospital corridor led to a door, and the door led to you.

Looking as sweaty as he was, holding your swollen belly with two hands, face twisting in pain.

But when you saw him, something visibly changed – your breathing hitched, your shoulders dropped, and the pain gave way to a smile. One the two of you desperately needed.

"Ken?" you whispered, tears already slipping through your beautiful cheeks. 

"I'm here" he rushed to your side, sitting next to your bed and placing both hands on top of yours. On your stomach, near your son. "I am so sorry, my love" he took one to kiss your knuckles, the other gently rubbing your skin, small circles he hoped might settle the two of you.

"I'm so happy you're here" you cried, interlocking your fingers with his, the golden wedding band glistening in the cold overhead light. 

"What did the doctors say? Do you need anything? Water? How bad is the pain? Is he ok?" Nanami wasn't even sure what he was saying, just going through the practicals first. As if you knew it was the only way to help him relax, you let out a soft giggle. 

"Everything is fine" you reassured, looking down at your stomach and the person you had been waiting months to meet. 

Nanami followed your gaze, taking his eyes from you for the first time. He brought his body forwards a little, leaning over to press a kiss just above your belly button. "Already impatient, just like your mother" he shook his head, finally allowing himself to relax.

"I'm not sure about that" you smiled. "Looks like he was ready and didn't want to do overtime, like someone I know" 

Nanami looked up at you then, letting out a small chuckle himself. He pushed up, cupping your cheek gently. "He's perfect" he said, with a kiss to your forehead. "So I'm sure he takes after you"

In your husband's embrace, you finally began to breathe a little easier. The pain was coming and going, getting more intense with every contraction, but Nanami was right there holding your hand, rubbing your back, instructing you through breathing exercises. 

His brows furrowed when you groaned, wishing he could take all the pain from you and give to himself. But he didn't let you see him so worried – Nanami was completely focused on you. 

"You're doing so well" he kissed your shoulder when it hurt too much. "I love you" he whispered, as you almost broke his hand with how hard you squeezed it. 

Nanami didn't care about anything else in the world right now, just his two favourite people. The one in his arms, and the one he was about to meet. 

devoted husband nanami my love

taglist @fireflyschiikawa @vampyric-puppy @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22 @bornafairy @sukunahs @hatchus2 @sukubusss @pawwwginaaa @b-bitter

dividers by @angeliicide

[madewithangst]

perfect yummy fic for my birthday 🤤

[paxyfica]

the day Sukuna realized he needs to marry you.

sequel here: proposal | pregnancy

Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.

Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.

He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.

“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.

He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.

Instead, there was silence.

Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.

But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?

You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.

You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.

Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.

You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.

But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.

Snap.

The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.

You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”

Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.

You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.

“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”

Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.

It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.

“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”

Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.

You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.

And just like that, it happened.

The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.

He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.

He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.

I need to marry this girl.

Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.

“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.

Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.

He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”

“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”

Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”

“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.

It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.

Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”

“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”

“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”

“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.

You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.

“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”

“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”

“I told you to take your work pants off first!”

“Just kiss me again and shut up.”

[kkunai]

[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna finds out his favorite pregnant concubine is injured :: tags. fluff, angst, reader gets called ‘woman’ :: ac. @/greybookman on x

you want that damn scroll.

one of the old texts on yokai lore sukuna left half-unrolled on a high shelf days ago. boredom and the restless energy of pregnancy drives you to it. standing on the tips of your toes, with one hand braced against the lacquered cabinet, you stretch up.

your belly, round and full at nearly eight months, shifts heavily. the baby kicks hard as if protesting.

“just... a little more—“

the wood creaks. your foot slips on the woven tatami mat and then the world tilts.

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

[psyduckz]

snow

[madewithangst]

STOPPPP all these Higuruma fics already got me down bad for him and I haven’t even met him in the show yet 😭 I just know I’m gonna be all flustered the second he shows up

[madewithangst]

your honor i just met him and it was love at first sight 😞 i fear my brain's cooking scenes already

[capytala]

Come Back, Suguru.

Summary: Suguru returns from his most difficult mission yet and falls into a depressive episode. You and Satoru are worried trying to figure out ways to get him through this.

*This is all fluff and angst, no smut.*

CW: poly marriage/ established relationship, mentions of violence/ death, night terrors, depression, smoking.

WC: 5.2k

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“There is clearly something wrong, he’s been like this for almost a week now…” your pace increases as your thoughts cause more anxiety to course through your body.

“I know, but you know how he is, he doesn’t talk about when things get hard.” Satoru quickened his steps to keep up with you.

“We need to talk to him. He’s been walking around the house like a ghost since he got home. I was nervous to even leave him alone in this state.”

Satoru lays a comforting hand to your lower back and rubs back and forth. You let the conversation cease for a moment and all you can hear are your clipped foot steps.

“Satoru, what happened on his mission? How bad was it?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t got a chance to read the report yet. I’ll read it tomorrow when I get to school.”

“Please do. Maybe if we know, that can help us help him?” You look at Satoru with worried eyes, hoping he will agree with you.

“I think that’s a good place to start.” Satoru moves his hand from your back to your waist and pulls you in. He matches your footsteps so that you are walking in sync.

Suguru was left in a dark place after his most recent mission. You felt it the moment he walked through the door. His shoulders were rolled forward as if literally carrying extra weight on them. His hair was unkempt and his eyes were void of life. When he came over to give you a kiss, there was no movement or passion behind his lips. He simply put his lips to yours and you saw him do the same to Satoru later.

It wasn’t uncommon for either of your husbands to be removed when immediately coming home from missions. But this time was different, you just didn’t know why.

Suguru had been the first to go to bed every night since he got home. He was laying in bed hours before you or Satoru even got ready. He laid in the silence and darkness for hours - without falling asleep. When you slept in their bed that first night, his eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

As his worrisome behavior resurfaced for the millionth time, you snapped your head over to Satoru. You needed something to ground you right now before you spiraled.

“I’m really worried about him, Satoru…” Tears sting in the corner of your eyes, you stop suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. You blink furiously and they begin to stream down your face. Satoru embraces you and lets your tears flow into his shirt as he comforts you.

“I know baby, I am too. I’ll read the report tomorrow and see how that can help us.” He kisses the top of your head and hugs you tighter.

✦ ✦ ✦

When you two arrive home, you’re doing everything to cool your features and soothe your eyes. It’s eerily quiet inside, Suguru is nowhere to be found. Satoru starts unpacking the take out ramen on the counter as you search the house for Suguru. You make your way to the back of the house and catch the faint smell of cigarettes - he’s on the porch. You approach the back porch and make your footsteps loud enough that he can hear them. When you open the sliding door, you find Suguru sitting with his back to the door. He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees. You glance down at the ash tray and it’s overflowing with cigarette butts. You take a deep breath in and approach.

“Hey Sugu…” You say in a calm voice and place your hand on his shoulder. He blows the cigarette smoke out of the left corner of his mouth, trying to avoid blowing it on you. He tilts his head up toward you and gives you a forced smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. He goes back to staring straight ahead and brings the cigarette back up to his lips.

“We got dinner, it’s ready for you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” He takes a long drag and holds in the smoke for a beat.

“Are you sure? You didn’t eat this morning either.” You drop down into a squat and lean into him.

He goes rigid at the contact, “I’m sure,” and you can hear a hint or irritation in his voice.

“You can’t smoke cigarettes all day and not eat. I know you haven’t been sleeping much either.” You turn to fully look at him, trying to convey you want to have a conversation.

“I’m fine.” He says with a clear bite in his voice and shifts his weight away from you.

You’re stunned into silence. Suguru is never this cold with you. You can feel the distance growing between you, even though he’s within arms reach. You’re reeling at what to say next.

“Please Sugu… talk to us. I know something is wrong.” You are pleading with him now, your voice is starting to crack.

He drops his head and lets out a forced puff of smoke. He mumbles to himself, “As if either of you would be able to understand.”

You recoil at his statement and remove your hand from his shoulder. You inhale a sharp breath as you try to fight back the tears, but they are already forming in your eyes and blurring your vision. You stand up and make your way back to the door. As you close the sliding door, you let out a choked exhale that you couldn’t keep in. Once the door is shut, you hurry back to the kitchen. You find Satoru hunched over his bowl of ramen with his mouth full. As soon as you make eye contact, the tears start falling down your face and you let out a pitiful cry. Satoru stands up straight and cocks a questioning brow in your direction. You drop your head in defeat and begin sobbing. He hurries over to you and lifts up your chin to look at you, “What happened? Did he say something?” He asks with urgency.

“No- he didn’t say anything. He won’t t-talk.” You plant your face into Satoru’s chest. He rubs soothing circles on your back and lets you cry into him.

“I’ll text Shoko and see if she’s still at the school to look at the report. I don’t think this can wait until tomorrow.”

You don’t respond, you continue crying and using Satoru’s chest to muffle your sobs and sniffles.

✦ ✦ ✦

All three of you keep your distance that night. Mainly because Suguru was keeping his distance and you didn’t want to make it feel like you and Satoru were excluding him by staying by each other. He stayed on the porch, chainsmoking cigarettes for another hour. When he finally came inside, he didn’t acknowledge either of you. He went into their room and closed the door. Satoru stayed on the couch, respecting Suguru’s boundary he clearly set and you went to get ready for bed. You start your nighttime routine, but you know there was no way you’d be sleeping tonight. Not after how Suguru was acting, he was getting worse everyday.

As you start washing your face, Satoru appears in your peripheral instantaneously. You jump at him appearing out of thin air, “Shit!” You drop your hands to the sink, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Normally Satoru found it amusing to scare you, but he didn’t smile in response. He kept a solemn face while he said, “I heard back from Shoko, she looked at the report for me.”

You look at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue.

He looks down at his phone and stares at it for a moment while he collects his thoughts. The fact that he still hasn’t spoken yet makes your stomach drop. If it’s leaving Satoru speechless, you are dreading to hear his next words.

He clears his throat and continues with a hushed voice, “Suguru was dispatched to a village where cursed spirits were specifically targeting children…” He slowly blinks at his phone and continues, “Right before he got there, one of the stronger curses killed 12 kids- all under the age of 5…”

Your mouth fell open in horror as Satoru continued describing the nightmare.

“The spirit did not just kill the children, it mutilated their bodies as well. Suguru had to absorb that spirit and 14 others.” He dropped his phone to his side and looked at you with despair on his face.

You choked at the realization - Suguru had to absorb 15 curses after seeing children massacred…

“He normally only absorbs a few at a time…” You whisper as you look down at the floor.

Satoru replies, “I know.” He closes the bathroom door behind him and leans against it.

“Apparently, the Higher Ups delayed dispatching a sorcerer. They didn’t take the reports seriously since only children were reporting the sightings.” He lets out a disapproving sigh and brings his hand to his face, rubbing it forcefully.

“That’s… so much worse than I expected.” That’s the only thing you can manage to say. What is there to say after knowing what Suguru witnessed. You immediately regret pushing him earlier to talk, of course he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I don’t even know what we do now. I’ve seen some fucked up shit, but nothing quite like that.”

You nod in agreement as you try to collect your thoughts.

“I think we just leave him be for the night and talk more tomorrow. This isn’t something we should try to bring up at this time of night.”

“Yeah, let’s sleep on it - or try to. I don’t know if I’ll be able to after reading that report. Do you mind if I sleep in here with you? I think he wants to be alone tonight.”

“That’s fine, but can you go check on him one more time?”

Satoru nods and makes his way out of your bathroom with soft footsteps.

You cut your nighttime routine short and finish getting changed into your pajamas. As you pull back the blankets to get into bed, Suguru walks back into your room.

“That was fast,” You remark as you slide under the covers.

“He’s already in bed and actually asleep this time.”

“Good, at least he’s sleeping. I know he hasn’t been sleeping much at all.”

As you and Satoru get settled into bed, you lay side by side in the dark silence. You have so much you want to say, but can’t formulate a cohesive thought. Instead of over-thinking, you move your hard under the covers until it finds Satoru’s. You lace your fingers together and he gives a comforting squeeze. Satoru’s warmth radiates through the linens and makes its way to you. Knowing it is his warmth soothing your tense body puts you at ease. You manage to relax and quiet your thoughts enough until you finally fall asleep.

✦ ✦ ✦

You know before you open your eyes that Satoru is not in bed. When you flutter your eyes open, you can tell by the shy sunlight peaking into your room that it is still early. You’re surprised because Satoru is never up this early. You roll over to your phone and your only notification is a text from Satoru: [I forgot I had to supervise training this morning. I’ll be back before noon. I’ll keep thinking of ideas for Suguru. I love you.]

It’s not even 6am yet and you groan at the realization it will just be you and Suguru alone for the next six hrs. It’s going to take all your strength to not pepper him with questions as soon as you see him. You don’t think you can stomach more of his cold shoulder.

Should I ignore him? No, I don’t want him to think I’m mad. How do I talk to him though? Do I tell him we read the report? That might upset him even more. I should just wait for Satoru to get home. But, how am I going to last all day while acting like nothing's wrong?

Your thoughts fall into a positive feedback look- or more like a nose dive you can’t pull yourself out of. You’re rehearsing several scenarios in your mind over and over on how to approach Suguru. You always knew Suguru had the capability of falling into a dark place. You had seen glimpses of it before and dreaded the day it may get to this level. Satoru mentioned he had only seen him like this one other time when they were in high school; after they lost a fellow student who was sent on a mission that proved to be too difficult.

Your body took action before your thoughts could get in the way. You haul yourself out of bed and charge out of your bedroom, making a bee line for Satoru and Suguru’s bedroom. As you approach the door, you soften your steps and realize you should not barge in there. You don’t know what your plan is once you walk through the door, all you know is you need to see Suguru.

You carefully open up the door in case he’s still asleep. Suguru is lying on his side with his back facing the door. You can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, but there’s no acknowledgement from him on your entrance. You approach the bed - still no acknowledgement. Your eyes focus on his respirations, they’re shallow and slow, so you know he is asleep.

Your instincts are directing you more than your thoughts. You crave to be close to him, touch his skin, and feel his warmth. If you were letting your brain take control, you would’ve walked out of the room. This feels right though. There hasn’t been any intimacy between you since he got home and you were famished.

You slid under the covers, making sure to not move the mattress too much and disturb him. Once you were under the same layer as him, you closed the distance between you. You match his position to fit against him like a puzzle piece; your knees bent at the same place, your chest flush against his back. You bring your right arm over his waist and nuzzle into him. He stirs at the contact, but doesn’t wake.

You rest your forehead at the top of his spine and take a deep breath in. His natural scent fills your senses and you want to cry. You’re not even sure why, the familiar scent of him overwhelms you emotionally. You fight back tears and leave a few kisses on his spine. You whisper to yourself, but directed at him, “I love you, Sugu.”

You continue lying there, pressed against him, and take comfort in knowing that at least Suguru is safe and can’t be too distressed if he is asleep. You probably lay there for another hour. You have no desire to go to sleep, you just want to hold Suguru against you. One of the strongest sorcerers acting as a little spoon pulls on your heart string.

They have so many burdens to carry. Everyone depends on them. Everyone expects so much from them. They’re weapons to be wielded, not people to be cared for in Jujutsu society.

You squeeze Suguru tight, as if trying to communicate to him in his sleep, “I’ve got you. You can lean on me, on us.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Just as you start to doze off, you feel Suguru’s arm muscles twitch. You open your eyes to see if he is stirring awake. He’s still fast asleep and you continue to observe him. His respirations have increased, you can tell because your arm is moving in tandem with the rise and fall of his chest. His legs begin moving as if he’s trying to walk out of bed. You realize he’s dreaming and put your hand to his back to rub soothing stripes up and down.

In an instant, his body shudders so violently it pulls him out of your grasp. You prop up on your elbow to see his face and you realize he’s not just dreaming, he’s having a nightmare. His face is contorted in fear, his mouth is open like he’s trying to speak, his eyes are shut tight. You can see his eyeballs frantically darting back and forth beneath his eyelids.

“Suguru, wake up-” You move your hand to his cheek and your touch makes him tense up, his arm smacks your hand away. You quickly sit up and move back, afraid of what he might do in this unconscious and fearful state.

His entire body is reacting to whatever nightmare he is experiencing. His limbs twitch sporadically and his facial expressions keep changing to different shades of horror. And then the screaming starts… a primal, guttural cry that sounds like the embodiment of pain. His scream crescendos until it’s reverberating off the walls.

Your arms fly to his shoulders and you are shaking him, “Wake up! You’re dreaming, c’mon, wake up!” Your stomach is twisting with fear, the realization of how bad Suguru’s mental state punches you in the stomach.

No wonder he’s barely been sleeping… He can’t even find an escape in his dreams.

His body is overtaken by the tension and fear controlling him, so you put your whole weight behind your arms as you shake him violently. “Suguru! Come back! It’s just a dream. Wake up.”

Your eyes are stinging with the tears that are starting to form. To see your sweet husband in this state was destroying you. You had to hold it together for Suguru. He was lost somewhere and you were the only tether to pull him back.

You bring your fist to his sternum and start grinding your knuckles into the bone. His body reacts to the pain, but you’re desperate to get him out of this. You keep one hand on his shoulder and the other continues to rub his sternum. His eyes are still shut as his hand flies up and grips your forearm. You tense at the contact, afraid he might smack your hand away again. His grip is tight at first and then loosens. His erratic breaths persist as his eyes flutter open. He takes a few blinks to come back to reality and realize you are hovering over top of him.

Once he’s fully back in his body, you collapse onto his chest and hold him. You’re silently crying, tears are streaming down your face, but you’re not choking or sobbing. You hold him tight and his arms slowly come up around your waist.

You pull back and look at him, “Baby…” you whisper while the tears continue to fall. Suguru looks like he just came back from hell. His forehead is covered in sweat, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are dilated. You wipe the back of your hand against his forehead and push his baby hairs back, “You scared me, Sugu.”

He still hasn’t said anything and you’re starting to panic - is he really not awake? Is he still asleep somehow? Your eyes show your fear and his arms swallow your waist and crush you back to his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs into your ear. Now you’re sobbing - choked, pathetic cries fall out of you as you hold each other. After a moment of this, you push yourself up and look down at him. A wave of embarrassment washes over his face and he looks away from you, out the window. “I didn’t want you to see that. I’m sorry…”

You use your hand to push his face back toward you, “Don’t apologize.” You lovingly stroke your thumb against his cheek and you notice how sweaty he is. The neckline of his shirt is soaked, there’s a thin sheen of sweat covering his exposed skin. And he’s burning to the touch.

Time stands still as you both stay in place, looking at each other. There’s so much you want to say, but you know right now is not the time. You just being here is telling Suguru everything he needs to know.

You finally break the silence by asking, “When was the last time you showered?”

“I don’t know, two days ago.”

You had the idea worked out in your head before he could fully answer you. You get up from the bed without saying a word and make your way to the bathroom. You close the door behind you as you start preparing a bath for Suguru. A small gesture to hopefully help make him feel better. Let him know that you’ll take care of him when he needs you most. You pull toiletries and linens for him to use as you run the bath water; checking the temperature several times to make sure it’s just right.

You enter the bedroom and find Suguru sitting at the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of him. You go over to him and pull on his arm, “Come on, your bath is ready.” You take his hand and pull him behind you into the bathroom. You add a few more finishing touches as he starts to undress.

You’re adding more soap and stirring the water to froth it as he steps into the water. “Are you joining me?” He asks as he settles himself into the water. You can immediately see his body relax into it.

“No, this is just for you.” You grab a wash cloth and lather it with soap. You press yourself against the edge of the tub and start rubbing the wash cloth against his back. He shudders and lets out a low groan at the contact. He slouches forward and you watch as the lingering tension fizzles out from beneath his skin.

You leisurely pass over his back over and over. Even after the skin is free of sweat, you’re still going because you can see how much he needs this. You eventually switch to his chest and do the same there. You tap your fingers between his arm and ribs, beckoning him to lift up his arms and you wash under his arms as well. No words are being spoken and it’s not necessary. Your actions are doing the talking and his body language is all the response you need. This is the most relaxed you’ve seen him since he got home.

Once his upper half is clean, you grab a cup from the sink to start washing his hair. His normally silky, thick hair was tangled and dry, in need of some desperate attention. Before you start moving to his hair, you pause, “I’ll be right back,” and leave the bathroom. You go out to the porch and grab a cigarette and his lighter he left out there. You and Satoru did not let Suguru smoke inside, but you were willing to make an exception for today. You wanted to add any extra pleasure to this brief respite.

You walked back into the bathroom and Suguru was now hugging his knees to his chest, with his chin resting atop his knees. He looked like a scared child and your heart broke for the man you loved so deeply.

He perked up at your entrance and cocked his eyebrow at the present you brought back, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house?”

“I’m making an exception.” You say as you hand him the lighter and cigarette. You fall back into position behind him, leaning against the claw foot tub. You fill a cup with the warm water and pour it down his hair, starting at the crown of his head. He keeps his head still as he lights the cigarette and brings it to his lips. The strong smell fills the bathroom and burns your nostrils, but you don’t care. You embrace the smoke as long as it’s adding some joy for Suguru.

You lather shampoo in both hands and start massaging his scalp as he takes a deep inhale. He lets out a shaky breath as your fingers work against his scalp. He closes his eyes and basks in the moment. You lean forward and kiss his cheek before you start rinsing out the shampoo. His beautiful locks are already coming back to life and you smile at the realization. You put a generous amount of conditioner in your hands and soak his hair in it, knowing this is really what his beautiful locks need to be fully rejuvenated. You take small sections and make sure the product is fully worked in before letting it sit. Once his hair is saturated, you put it in a loose braid and rinse your hands off in his bath water. You scoot back to the side of the tub and rest your chin on the lip, gazing at him. He looks at you and there’s tears welling up in his eyes. He brings his head down until your foreheads are touching, he whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” and now tears are also forming in your eyes. You have no idea how you still have enough water left in your body to produce tears, the past 24 hrs have been an emotional rollercoaster.

“I’m sorry for treating you how I did. That wasn’t right… I just- I don’t know.”

“We read the report, Sugu…” a beat of silence fell as you chose your next words carefully. “And I’m sorry. Sorry that you had to witness that, sorry you were put in that position.”

Suguru froze at your admission, it was clear he did not expect you to know the details of his mission.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just know, when you’re ready, I’m here, okay?”

He pauses for a long moment. He opens his mouth to start speaking and then stops. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in, forces it out, and begins talking.

“I’m starting to wonder what the point of all this is… Does what we do even matter? What’s the point if I can’t even save innocent children? I feel like I’m stuck in an endless cycle: exorcise, absorb, over and over.”

You have a feeling there’s more he’s going to say, so you don’t interrupt.

“I absorb all these cursed spirits that are capable of horrific things. So, what does that say about me? It’s only a matter of time until it consumes me and I become one of them too.” He drops his head in defeat and you watch his tears roll down his cheeks.

“You carry a lot, being one of the strongest… I can’t imagine what pressure you’re put under and how your technique affects you.” You twirl the end of his braid in your fingers as you speak.

“No one knows what cursed spirits taste like. It’s like swallowing a rag that’s been used to clean up shit and vomit. And when I absorbed that spirit, it felt like I lost a part of myself with it.”

“Take a break, Suguru. You need a break after that last mission.”

He scoffs at your recommendation, “Like they would allow that…”

“Suguru, you and Satoru are the strongest sorcerers. You can say no. If they try to push it, you and Satoru can force them to agree.”

“But what about all the others? That just means more missions for them and if I’m not around, that means more lives lost.”

“You can’t always put others first. Look where that’s gotten you. You’ve earned some time for yourself, please honey - take some time off. You’re going to break if you don't."

He takes another puff and sits there, contemplating your words. He seems to be lost in his thoughts, so you busy yourself with rinsing out the conditioner. You pull your fingers through his hair to work out the tangles and get it back to its shiny, smooth state. After his hair is rinsed and detangled, you ring out the excess water and pull all the hair over his right shoulder.

“You don’t need to make a decision yet, but what about this: let Satoru deal with the Higher Ups, he’ll tell them you’re taking a break. I’ll take time off work and we can have a staycation here at home. Just you and me. I’ll bathe you, wash your hair, and you can have one cigarette inside a day.” Your last sentence comes out with a sing-songy tune to lighten the mood.

He smiles to himself and shakes his head, “I’ll think about it.” And you don’t push any further. You sit back and allow Suguru to wash the rest of his body as you watch him. Slowly watching life return to his eyes, this is the most lively you’ve seen him in a week.

You hear the front door unlock and you know it’s Satoru.

Is it noon already? You truly didn’t know. Time has stopped since you got into bed behind Suguru.

Once you hear him fully enter, you call out to him, “We’re in the bathroom!”

You listen as he drops his bags at the front door and he makes his way to the bathroom. He looks timid as he approaches and then relaxes once he sees the scene set before him.

He lets out a quiet, but cheerful, “Hi,” directed toward Suguru. Satoru comes and joins you on the floor next to the tub. He doesn’t remark about the cigarette, surprisingly.

“How’s it going?” Satoru asks hesitantly.

You smile at Suguru as you respond to Satoru, “Good.”

“Yeah?” Satoru looks relieved as he leans forward. “I was able to leave early. I was supposed to supervise training for the first years, but most of them were hungover from a party last night. So, there wasn’t much training going on.”

Suguru chuckles to himself, “I can’t say I’m surprised.” He takes a quick drag and then he turns to face both of you, but directs his words to Satoru, “I think I’m going to take a break from sorcery.”

Satoru looks at you from the corner of his eyes, “Okay…” and he’s waiting for Suguru to further explain.

You jump in, “He needs a break. I said you can handle the Higher Ups and tell them Suguru’s taking a break, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.”

Satoru understands immediately, he replies with confidence, “Got it. I’ll handle them.”

A comforting and knowing silence fills the room.

Things are going to be okay. Suguru is going to be okay.

You push yourself up off the lip of the bathtub and lean down to kiss Suguru on the forehead, “I’m going to make you a snack. Take your time, I’ll bring it in here if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll meet you out there.”

As you leave the bathroom, Satoru’s eyes find yours and you share a knowing look. The relief on his face is palpable and you smile at him. You close the door shut to allow Satoru and Suguru to have a moment together.

You decide to make edamame for Suguru. You probably should’ve asked what he wanted, but something salty was a safe choice. As you fill a pot with water, your thoughts start back up, but they’re not as panicked this time:

This isn’t the end of it. Suguru is going to need a lot of help to get through this. We need to make it clear to him he can lean on us, no matter how difficult it is. A staycation isn’t going to cure his depression, but it’s a step in the right direction. We have to start somewhere to pull him out of this. We reached out our hand and he accepted it. That’s a start…

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Guys I didn’t know I had it in me. I managed to write something that wasn’t like 100% filthy smut *gasp*

Master List

[madewithangst]

*diving into the jujutsu world to do my best to fix him*

[sweethearticism]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇. ( ♡ 𝚃𝙸𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝚈𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙳!𝚂𝚄𝙺𝚄𝙽𝙰 𝚇 𝙵.𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 )

sukuna's convinced he'll never find a mate. he's tried it all, mate pairing programs, rehabilitation. no one wants him. who needs a bond anyway? he prefers the solitude. you're his last hope. an optimistic volunteer thrown at him by that pesky support program in hopes that he'll finally find a mate. will you be the one to show him that he doesn't really wanna be lonely? or will you throw him to the curb like everyone else? well, his rough exterior and unexpected rut truly puts you to the test.

♡ ﹕ 8.6k words

♡ ﹕ this was commissioned by @lycanqueen

꒰ 🍓 ⸰   ✦ 𝓒ws. hybrid au :: human!reader :: smut :: hurt/comfort :: mean!sukuna :: sweet!reader :: possessiveness :: pining :: hybrid ruts :: scenting :: marking :: oral ( f.receiving ) :: face-sitting :: p in v :: rough sex :: mating press :: multiple orgasms :: emotional sex :: overstimulation :: choking  :: breeding :: talks of cubs :: creampie ꒱

"Maybe they were right about you. You are a lost cause."

So this rehabilitation agent had guts? Sukuna would give him that much.

The sun pierced his eyes and slitted his pupils as he stared at the man before him, unshaken. Bold, for someone with noting but a flimsy clipboard for a weapon if Sukuna let his temper get the better of him.

He never had an issue with it before. So where were his claws?

"That mean I can finally do my own damn thing now?" He gruffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he propped against his doorway. He ignored his tail that hung low.

The man furrowed his brows. Sucked in a breath. Looked like he was searching for patience in the late afternoon air. His hand with the clipboard dropped as he stood straight.

"You don't get it, do you Ryomen?"

"What's there to get? That I can't play housecat for your domesticity programs?"

"Behavioural programs."

"That've made shit progress."

"It's not as if you make it any easier."

"Your potential mates bore me."

"You scared them off. Every one of them."

The man didn't need to match Sukuna's tone to scathe him. His face never broke clinical aloofness, even with each word loaded. Baggage of the ugly truth: that Ryomen Sukuna was a lost cause.

Countless mates. Five? Six? He lost track. He pretended to forget their names but he remembered every one.

The first left quietly. Said he was too loud.

The second left loudly. Said he was too quiet.

The third claimed she was frightened. The fourth didn't even give him a reason. Fifth and sixth were some ugly variation of all of the above.

Sukuna stopped caring.

He did care, at one point. That's why he let his coworker convince him to join this stupid 'hybrid nature rehabilitation program' in the first place, right? Because maybe tigers were too bold. Too frightening. Too much.

Too much. That's what the last one said.

Well, if he was too much for anyone, maybe they weren't enough for him.

The agent sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose and probably contemplating why he chose to work for a facility that boasted a 100% rehabilitation record. Guess Sukuna was about to ruin that too. As he did most things.

"Look," the man said. His shoulders slumped. "We do not typically give up on our patients, but surely you understand that we've tried everything in the book for you, right?"

Sukuna didn't reply.

"Behavioural therapy. Group counselling. Mate pairings and courses. You've chased away every volunteer and potential mate. Somehow even frightened off your therapist last month."

"She was weak."

"She was doing her job. You act like. . ."

Sukuna grunted. His claws threatening to lash out and tear up his own shirt. "What?" He knew the answer. Knew that sickening word that they all used for him. "An animal?"

The man didn't answer. Didn't have to. He sighed again and checked his clipboard. "This is your last shot for clearance."

"And if I don't pass?"

"You'll be escorted to a private facility."

Hybrids were monitored under lock and key by the state. Sukuna guessed he couldn't really blame them. They were different. Unpredictable.

Animals.

Sukuna regretted ever approaching the program in the first place. If he knew what he knew now— that he was simply built to be on his own, he would have swallowed the furball and bit his own tail. Lived out the rest of his life without the feeling of being watched.

Now, they knew he was unstable. Now, they considered him a threat. Guess his claws really were clipped.

"Thanks to your last stunt, none of the volunteers stepped up for this," the man said, flipping through his clipboard.

Sukuna huffed. "What's the point then? Just ship me off already." At least he'd get to be alone, then.

"Because miraculously, one of our assistants offered to help." The man looked up. "She's new. And your last shot." He handed over the clipboard with a small picture clipped at the top right.

That's the first time Sukuna saw you.

The second time he saw you, you smiled at him. Stupid move, really. For someone so small, so frail— so breakable.

"It's nice to meet you," he's sure you lied as you stuck out your hand. Chirpier than a bird hybrid. Bright eyed as a squirrel. Were they sure that you were human?

"Yeah. Hi." He gruffed, not reaching for your hand. It looked too gentle for him.

You dropped your arm to your side, still smiling, but softer. Before you trotted off to lug the rest of your belongings into his home.

He helped you, of course. Tiny thing like you probably would sprain her spine if she did it all by herself. Pathetic.

This was his last hope? They might as well cage him and ship him off already.

Within a week, he was sharing his space again. The few days of blissful solitude had come to an end. Now, there was a canvas in his living room. Pink body wash and products littered across his bathroom counter. Books from authors he couldn't even pronounce occupying his empty shelves.

You were sweeter than the three spoons of sugar you dumped in your strawberry tea every morning. Softer than the dinner rolls you insisted on making every Wednesday and Friday. Shy. Gentle.

Too gentle for someone like him.

In the beginning, Sukuna had watched you. Like a tiger stalked its prey. Scouring for the first sign of discomfort. A hint of fear. Even those who started off strong couldn't keep up the act for long. Not with him.

Which was what made it so odd.

You were timid, sure. But not afraid of him. Guess he'd give it some time.

Because that's simply his fate now, right? Watch a new volunteer skip into his lair and run off with their tail between their legs once he got too much. No one stayed. Not like they did with everyone else.

Others made hybrid bonding look easy. They'd join circles and find mates in the same week. Same night, even. Claiming it all as 'the right timing'. The right person.

Sukuna was a wrong person. Therefore, no right person would fit. Like an unwanted puzzle piece.

Not that he cared. He didn't need to fit in with anyone. If he was too much for any twisted jigsaw of companionship then he'd simply be the missing piece. A corner piece no one looked for. The one that made no difference to the puzzle. The one that no one needed.

He preferred being alone, anyway.

If this last ditch effort blew up in smoke, he guessed he'd have his wish. Whatever facility they'd stuff him into— at least he would be alone. It was better that way.

By himself, he didn't have to soften his tongue. By himself, he didn't have to pretend that he did not have stripes, claws and canines. Didn't have to soften himself for someone who wouldn't soften for him.

Didn't have to watch anyone leave when he became too much.

You didn't leave.

A week went by. Then two. Three, before he knew it. You rooted yourself into his floorboards like a flourishing flower and offered him the same sunny smile every morning.

"How'd you sleep, Sukuna?" You'd ask, as if you cared.

"Fine." He'd grumble from the coffee machine. The bitter stain on his tongue refused to ever let him return the question.

Why should he bother with someone who was going to sign him off anyway? Might as well show her what she was getting herself into. His poor behaviour and slacking social skills, as his therapist put it.

You never flinched. Humans sure were resilient.

But he was hybrid. And everyone knew that tigers were ruthless.

He wouldn't shroud his nature to make himself more palatable for you. For anyone, ever again.

It's odd. You actually tried.

You adapted your body clock to him. Sukuna woke up drearily early. To catch the dawn on his ears during his morning run. He supposed you started waking up shortly after him. Giving you enough time to ready breakfast for him when he stepped back through the door.

Eggs. Bacon. Any raw protein you could think of. You were unfortunately, a good cook.

"This isn't necessary," he said from the counter, but still wolfed down your perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs.

"Waking up early has its perks." You mused, sipping your tea. Probably strawberry. Or rose. He hated that he now knew your favourites.

You made his bed whenever he wasn't looking. He scolded you for it, the first few times. You insisted it was fine. That you liked cleaning up.

You tried to watch movies with him. Plopped beside him on the sofa and struck him your signature smile.

"Wanna watch something?" You asked, soft. Already dangling the remote. Sukuna couldn't help but compare the size of your hand to his.

He scoffed. "What? Some romcom?"

"Or horror." You bashed.

His instincts told him that a gentle soul like you wouldn't last ten seconds with a horror movie. Still, he indulged you. The last thing he wanted was to endure some stupid hybrid hallmark film.

A slasher flick. He didn't pay attention to the name. All he knew was that you quivered halfway through it and that stirred an urge in his gut.

Urge to what? Now that, he once again had no answers to.

It was warm. Low. The same way he felt when kids dropped their ice creams and mothers tripped in grocery stores. He couldn't name it. But he did drape his arm over the back of the couch. Not grazing your shoulders but, there.

You'd probably have nightmares tonight. Silly girl. Now he would be obligated to return the favour.

Because you did, a few nights ago. When he tossed and turned. Creased his sheets and slashed his blankets. Sukuna wasn't one to dream— but he did have nightmares.

About the darkness. About the cold. About a void that for some, unfathomable reason, unsettled him.

"It's okay, shh." Your voice reached out to him through the shadow. Light against the darkness.

"It's okay. I'm here. Wake up, please."

You were luck he hadn't broken your arm.

His grip was too tight. Claws too wretched. Not lucid enough to realise that he snatched your wrist when he had woken up.

"Get out." His voice rumbled. Eyes bloodshot and pupils tight. Sweat burned his forehead.

It must have not sounded like a threat, or maybe it was your stupid human resilience. You leaned over him. One knee on his bed and your hand ghosting his shoulder.

"You're freezing," you whispered.

He jerked from you. Rolled over onto his side and refused to allow himself to be vulnerable under your gentle gaze.

"I'm fine." He said.

You insisted. Are you sure? — Can I get you anything? — All the things that people said to catch you off guard and then left anyway.

"I said I'm fine."

His voice boomed, final. It was the first time he'd seen you flinch. He did not bother calling out for you as you shuffled out of the room. Assumed your bags would be packed by the morning. Your pink body wash nowhere to be seen on his counters and your books vanished from his shelves.

You didn't leave. Here you were, a few days later, with shaky knees and a horror movie. But insisting that you were enjoying it for his sake.

You never turned tail. Never backed down. Maybe it was more than human resilience. Maybe it was stubbornness.

That's the only thing that made sense to him. Why else hadn't you disappeared regardless of how much steam he'd blown at you? Especially when he was too much.

"Let's get one thing straight."

You had said something stupid one day in the kitchen. Something about being there for him. Some empty promise he had heard mixed and minced several different ways until it lost all meaning.

As if his mood was not sour enough.

Your back pressed into the fridge. His strong forearm shoved above your head. Sukuna's hulking body shadowed yours. Perhaps this was it. Where you finally became apart of that void that haunted his dreams.

"You and I. Are not. Compatible." His ears pinned back to his head. Tail coiled tight. Like his jaw and teeth that clenched.

Still, you held his stare. Even when it burned.

"Not a thing. Not. Possible." He spat. "So stop acting like you aren't just gonna sign me off so I can be caged up."

"I'm not—"

"I want you to."

He cut you off. Sharp as his heave as he craned closer. Close enough to smell your cherry shampoo— but not a hint of fear.

What was wrong with you?

"I want you to sign me off. So that we can stop pretending like any of this is gonna work and that I'm anything but better off alone."

The fridge rattled as he shoved himself off. He expected your knees to shake. Expected you to clamber out of the kitchen and stuff whatever you could into a suitcase for the night.

Instead, you watched him storm off. With those same, achingly gentle eyes.

Why were you so gentle?

Why did you stay?

Why did he find himself being gentler, too?

Of course, Sukuna didn't want to snap at you. You were simply the closest thing. The softest thing. His hands weren't built to cherish the tender.

Yet, tender were his hands, as they cooked for you. If you handled breakfast, it was only fair that dinner was his responsibility. Even if all he exchanged with you were grunts and gruffs, as long as you went to bed full, he was content.

Content? Odd. That wasn't a word in his vocabulary anymore.

His voice dangered tender's territory on nights you'd be out. Work, friends, whatever he never bothered listening to but for some reason found himself worrying over when the street lights switched on.

"Do you need a lift back?" He asked into the phone. Taking note to look uninterested, even if you couldn't see him.

"I should be fine, Sukuna." You chirped.

"You sure? It's almost midnight."

"I'm sure! What's the worst that could happen?"

To a sweet thing like you? A lot. More than he'd like to imagine.

Morals, he told himself. He pulled up in the middle of the morning to pick you up because of his pesky morals.

"Sorry you had to come all this way," you said as you shut the passenger door.

Sukuna considered your dress. Hated himself for it.

"What?" His tongue clicked. "Were you expecting to walk all the way back?"

"What's the worst that could—"

"A lot."

It wasn't like the other times. His voice raised, but didn't roar. His brows narrowed, but didn't glare.

The car ride was silent.

Your smile was sickening.

Cute.

He watched you closer. Not as a tiger stalked prey. Not anymore. He couldn't name this.

He refused to call it gentle.

Even when he carefully observed the way you fixed your hair every morning. How he noted which of your curves that the sun bounced odd of. The soft plush of your body and how your thighs moulded into the couch cushions, or rounded perfectly in your shorts.

Never had he been one to appreciate art— though he stood in front of your canvases and stared at your paint patterns. Swirls of green and blotches of warmth. Illustrations of nature: jungles and wild flowers.

It called to something within him. He assumed his hybrid traits. A tiger yearned for jungle, that was his home.

Home.

Sukuna didn't have a home.

He had a house. He had you. Had pink body wash on his counters and books he'd learnt the names of on his shelves. Had a warm meal every morning and a warmer bed you still insisted on making.

He had movie nights. A running partner. Someone who finally rooted her heels to the floorboards and blossomed in his walls. Stubborn as she was shy.

But not a home.

It was only a matter of time. Until he said something that finally was the thing. Until he'd wake up to your paintings missing, and your shampoo gone. He'd come home to no protein, but a sheet of paper:

I've signed you off. Good riddance.

You told him that you wouldn't, after he insisted it that night in the kitchen.

You padded to doorway of his room, picking at your sleeves with a petal-soft voice.

"All we have to do is clear you for rehabilitation," you said.

Not once did your eyes meet his.

"Then what? I can finally be alone?" He asked, incredulous.

You nodded.

It's what he wanted. What he claimed to want. So why was your agreement a sharp pang between his ribs?

That was then. He assumed your plans hadn't changed much. A silent agreement that if he behaved, you'd leave him be by the end of it all.

That's why he was gentler, he told himself.

Just trying to ensure his goals, he insisted.

For now, he would take care of you as you did him. Whether conscious or not. If it meant that when it was through, he'd get what was best for him.

Solitude.

But if solitude was what he wanted, why did he hate seeing you in others' company?

It was late. Emergency work call. He missed his afternoon cat nap and only scuffed down half of his breakfast.

The sun peeped at him from its sprawl across the horizon. Glaring into the back of his head as he stalked home. Burning him hotter. Hot.

He felt so. Fucking. Hot.

It wasn't even summer yet. Spring had only perked its preppy head. The blossoms bloomed. Their nectar tickled his nose. Couples gifted their flowers.

Sukuna hated spring.

He hoped you hadn't cooked dinner yet. That was his job. His responsibility.

But no, you were outside. Prattling to a neighbour.

All smiles and soft. Cupping your hands in front of you as you listened to the man's stories. The irritable snow leopard that lived next door. With his baby blue eyes and boyish grin.

What were you even doing outside in the first place? Didn't he tell you it was dangerous once the street lights started switching on?

Sukuna did what he did best. He watched. Looming by the telephone wire. Feeling the sun stab into his head. His spine. Feeling the heat gurgle from his gut. Splutter up his lungs. Against the back of his teeth.

That spotted fucker touched your arm.

Sukuna scathed.

Blurred colours. A muffled yelp. His claw caught on your woolly sweater as he snatched your arm.

"Sukuna—!"

Your gasp drowned in the rumble of his growl. Grated from the back of his throat. The leopard backed off. Your muscles tensed under his calloused fingers.

"Inside. Now."

He didn't wait for you to agree nor disagree. Dragging you inside and rattling the walls as the door clattered! shut.

"Su—" he lodged your voice in your throat once more. Shoved your back into the nearest thing— the same splintering door.

Was it hotter inside? Or was that the anger?

A sweat drop sweltered between his brows.

"What the hell were you doing?" As if he had any right to ask. You weren't his mate.

Mate? Of course you weren't his mate.

Then why did his teeth crave to sink into your flesh? Mark you?

His stare hazed. Blinking rapidly. Heaving. The heat blistered into his nerves. Clenched his muscles. Suffocating. It was suffocating.

"Why were you. With him. Why—" he zeroed in. Mistake. Big mistake.

Your scent.

You weren't his mate. Why the hell did you smell like it, then?

Did you always smell this good?

Your gaped at him. Hands stiff on your sides and pressed flat into the wood. Your neck craned to account for the height difference. Were you watching him this time? Was he too much?

His eyes squeezed shut.

"Sukuna," you spoke. His name didn't deserve that gentleness. It ached him deeper today.

"I think you're. . ."

Snapping open his stare, he sucked in breath. Considered your words. The phrase your lips wrapped around.

Rut.

Shit.

He shoved himself away from the door. Away from you. The fire crawled up his throat. Thunked his heart. Thrummed a deep, dark chord in his gut.

The sweat slipping down his spine in the middle of spring confirmed it. He was in rut. With a poor, persistent, pretty human in claw's reach.

"Hey— hey it's okay," you attempted, stepping forward where he stumbled back.

"Don't."

He hissed.

You preserved.

Stubborn. Stubborn, sweet thing.

"Let me help." You offered.

"No."

He tried. Tried to stumble off. Lock himself in his room. He could hump the mattress for all he cared but he wasn't so much as touching—

You took him by the wrist. Might as well have taken his soul while you were at it.

Splintered his restraint.

The door rattled again. Creaked awfully with the weight of him. On you. The thickness of the air. The heat. Your wrists fit well in his big hands. Looked like they belonged there.

You looked like you belonged here. Pinned under him.

His chest heaved. Voice jagged, throaty.

"You don't know what you're getting into." He said.

You gulped. He paid too much attention to your throat. "I did when I signed up for this."

"Do you even know what a rut is?"

"I know you can't be alone right now."

Sukuna's breath hitched.

You relaxed your hips. Let them mould into his. Their plush softness drove him wild.

Lashes hung over deep maroons. The quiet thrummed with your heart beats. His, thundering and wanting. Yours, tender yet eager.

He craned closer. Tuffs of his pink hair tickled your forehead.

"I can do awful things to you." He whispered.

Still no flinches. You never did.

Your eyes batted at him.

"Is that so bad?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Even the kiss, burned.

Your lips really were petal-soft. Softer than he had imagined. He hated himself for imagining this in the first place.

The knot in his gut wound tight. Urging him to flush you further into the wood. Flush further into you. Patience slipped into the simmer between your mouths. Sukuna kissed you with violence. Nothing contained. Nothing hidden.

He told you that he wouldn't placate himself for you.

Abandoning your wrists, his grip sought your plush. Squeezing your thighs between his fingers gaps. Lifting you into his arms so that your heels pressed into his back. So that he could consume you. Tongues tangling and teeth tackling.

Your hands smacked at his shoulder. Breaths huffed through your nose. A desperate sound that plunged him deeper into heat.

He let you breathe. Barely.

"I can be good for you." Was what you used the privilege to gasp.

His chest rumbled. "Yeah?"

The slope of your throat was so pretty when you gulped.

Sukuna slipped a hand to your cheek. Rough. He couldn't be gentle. Not with you. Not now.

"Gonna be good for me, pretty girl?"

Eyes blown out. Jaw tight. If you said anything other than your whined little yes as his hips ground into yours, he might have lost his mind entirely.

His mouth attacked yours again. Sucking on whatever was left of your lychee lipgloss. Surely bruising your lips in the process. He didn't care. Let him mark you. Everywhere. So that stupid snow leopards didn't get the wrong idea. So that everyone knew what you were.

His.

The home blurred into vertigo colours. The floors creaked under the weight of his footsteps. Sukuna hoisted you with him. Haphazardly avoiding furniture in the stagger to his bedroom. Hands palming at whatever part of your flesh he could reach.

He almost stumbled in the hallway. Caught you against the doorway, one of your hands gripped at it while the other clutched the back of his neck. Fisted his hair between your fingers.

"Sukuna, careful." You whined.

He didn't listen. Too busy humping on your thighs that squished perfectly between his hard body and the cold door. Nurturing his bulge. Tucking its hot curve into the smooth crux of your skin.

"Said you'd be good for me." His growl rumbled on your pulse. Teeth mapping out his new territory: your velvet flesh. "So shut up and take it. Like a good girl, yeah?"

The door swung open. You must have palmed the handle. Feet fumbled in a clumsy waltz. Hands clinging for dear life. He caught you. Kept you pressed against his blazing body as he mouthed down your throat. Latched onto a tender spot. Marked you.

Sukuna handled his ruts the way he handled everything else: alone. His hand, a pillow, and a grotesque amount of tissue boxes. When last had he felt the soft touch of a partner? Held their warmth beneath him while his mind drove him wild with fire?

He was always too much. Too much to handle. Too aggressive. Too big.

But you.

You seemed to want everything.

In the way your nails curled on his shirt. In the pitiful way your neck arched to give him more access. Offering yourself up to him. A pretty deer who craved a tiger's claws in her. His maw latched to your throat.

"You're so eager," he groaned.

You whimpered, "I'm yours."

Fuck.

The mattress sunk. Creaking in retort to the callousness of his shove. Your body moulded into his sheets. Into him, as he staggered over you. Knees digging into the bed. Teeth clamped on the base of your throat.

You jerked. A gasped cry vibrating against his teeth. Palms knocking into his shoulders. To push him off?

No— to grip. Cling. To him. To your mate.

After all, you were his now, weren't you?

Bites bloomed across your neck. Over your collarbone. Down your shoulders. Your clothes threading like ribbons under Sukuna's claws. The sound of fabric tearing accentuated the rough pants and pitched whines in the humid air.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you what a good girl you were being for him. Wanted to grunt into your skin about how perfect you were. Tell you that you were everything he'd been waiting for.

The words lodged in his throat. Sticky on the back of his tongue that could only muster out wet pants and deep growls as he feasted on your flesh.

Every inch of your skin revealed to him was another blessing. Your curves. The dips. The soft slopes of your body. Salivated him all the more.

Your bra never stood a chance. Clawed away. Probably ruined at the wire. He didn't care. He'd buy you a new one. Buy you whatever you wanted if you were gonna carry his cubs.

Cubs.

The word slipped into his mind with ease, and ruined it.

Pupils blown out. Lungs clenching. He made the mistake of eyeing your tummy.

Perfect, round, soft. You'd be the perfect mate. The perfect mother for his young.

The thought spurred his hands rougher. Tearing away offensive fabrics until you were laid completely bare before him. With big, doe eyes batting up at him. So pretty. So his.

From the corner of his eye he spotted your hands slipping. To cover up. Cover what was his. Your wrists were snatched in his hard grip.

"Don't," he warned. Lips assaulting yours. Stealing your breath and tonguing on your whimpers.

"Don't hide what's mine."

Your tits were softer under his tastebuds. Delicate to the harsh swirls of his tongue. So small when compared to his mouth that sought to consume, to claim.

Sweet sounds sighed from your kiss-bitten lips. Your spine curved so that you pressed back into him. Squishing your plush breasts into his face. His groan rumbled into the flesh.

So tender it was maddening. So perfect it was addicting.

Kisses, sucks, bites. He littered your tits in more claims. Feasting on your silk flesh. Fantasising about the image of them larger. Fat and swollen with milk— just as you were round with his cubs.

His cock strained thick in his pants. Flushed hot on your inner thigh. He ground into your warmth. Rutting wildly. Like the animal he always was.

Your hands delving into his hair almost broke him. Almost. He withdrew from your chest. Eyes glowing through the dark as he found your face.

"Taste so good. So sweet." A hand roughed down your side. Cupped your thigh and strung it round his waist.

"Up."

Raw strength scooped you into his palms. Flesh spilling between the gaps of his fingers as he squeezed for good measure.

Your little squeaks were so cute.

Teeth dragged on your flesh. Callous over bites sunk into your gentle flesh. He lapped on the indents of his own canines as he wrest you over him. Shoved your thighs higher. Urging you. Demanding.

"Face. Now. Fucking sit on my face."

Senseless. Each word was a growl. It's a miracle you understood him at all. Maybe you always would. That's how mates were, right?

The cotton of your panties dragged on his collarbone. Frantic eyes darted to your face as your hips locked. Unmoving.

Stubborn little human.

"What?" He husked. Scuffling to shove you over his awaiting face. "I said sit."

Your lips pressed together. Hands scrambling for the headboard. "Wait are you— are you sure? I'm—"

"—driving me mad." He hissed through clenched teeth. The throbbing in his groin pulsed the sickening heat hotter. Seared into the back of his skull. To his hands that groped your ass. To his eyes that narrowed.

"Said I wanna taste you. So get. On."

Was that too much?

Was he too much for you?

No, course not. You wanted to be his good girl. He saw it in your doe eyes batting at him. In the quiver of your lip and the tremors of your thighs. You shuffled over him. Pressing the cusp of your panties against his chin.

"Like this?" You meeked.

"Like this."

Sukuna tugged you over him. Knocking your thighs. You stumbled. Caught yourself with shaky fingers in his hair and an adorable yelp.

The musked cotton scrunched into his nose, his mouth, the rest of his hard face. Stuffing his nostrils with the sweet, intoxicating aroma. His eyes threatened to roll back.

A muffled curse rumbled into your heat. First came his tongue. Abrasive like everything else about him. Lapping on your folds. Drenching the fabric. Trying to suck in your taste through it.

Then came his teeth. Impatient. Tearing into your panties. His head wrest, violent. Claws ripping away the cloth in a feral affair.

Your sweet heat was his reward. Slicking up his face with your clit pressed into his nose.

"Fuck," his groan thrummed. Straight into your velvet. Leaking your pussy into his agitated mouth. "Knew you'd taste s'fucking sweet."

Hands slipped up your thighs. Cupped your ass. Sukuna sought to press kisses to your quivering slit— but you dangled above him. Not pressed, not sat. Hovered.

"Said. Fucking sit."

He hauled you into him. Cramped your thighs into his head. Smothered your pussy into his face. Even with his ears muffled by your plush, he heard your stunned gasp.

The weight was perfect on his head. Your hands were perfect in his hair. Pussy pretty, pulsing, perfect, on his tongue that stroked over your slit. Lathered you in saliva. All the way to your clit.

He darted the muscle. Circled on your bud. Trying to commit to a rhythm. A pattern. It scathed into the heat of his rut. The heat to take, to claim. To make you his. Finally.

Even if you hated him after this.

Even if you signed him off and he finally got what he wanted. Solitude.

Right now, all he wanted was your pussy.

Filthy squirts and sloshes squelched through the room. Brimming the hazed air together with your whines. Moans. Gasps of his name.

He always hated how gently you said it. Like it meant something. Like it ever could mean something. Hearing it broken sounded better. Shaky and whimpered as he fucked you on his tongue.

"S-Suk— kuna, ah."

Sweet. So sweet. Sweeter than he ever deserved. But Sukuna was a greedy man. So he gripped on your thighs, bit his nails into your flesh, and feasted to his heart's content.

"There ya go. C'mon, pretty girl, ride my face."

Spank! went his hand. Clamouring your ass and fisting the jiggles. Pulling you down, harder, closer— till he was suffocating. Suckling on your clit. Guiding your hips into a sinful sway.

Your hips fell into rhythm. Atta girl. Always so sweet for him. Always so obedient. Yeah, if you stayed, you'd make the perfect mate.

He hoped you stayed.

He could make you stay.

Keep you in his bed. Make a den for you. Hold you down and fuck you into his sheets day-in-and-day-out. Fill you up until your tummy grew even rounder. Softer. Until you were swollen. Until you were his.

No. Fuck. That's the rut talking.

The rut talking.

It's the rut that had him palming your ass and squeezing you into his face. The rut that had his mouth kissing, sucking, licking and laving through your creamy mess. The rut that had him fucking you on his tongue and bucking his hip into the air just as yours ground down into his face. Smearing mess all over him.

Yeah. That's the rut. But fuck, if he wasn't drunk on your pathetic moans. Your messy pussy.

Your clit spasmed under the flat of his harassing tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head. Fingers dug into his skull. Even your pain was sweet.

"Shit— kuna." Your voice croaked. Called to him as a mate should. "I'm gonna, fuck. Think 'm gonna. . . gonna—"

His eyes fluttered. Throat rasped.

"Gonna cum? Yeah? Gonna cum, hah, all over my face?"

From between the small gap of your thigh, Sukuna witnessed your face. Eyes rolled back. Jaw slack. Tits bouncing as you rode his face as if he was yours.

He was.

In this moment. In these blurred lines of his rut. Where he pictured you as his mate. Entertained the thought of wanting. Of being wanted. Of not being alone.

He was yours. Even if for a moment.

You sung his name through the haze. Tender even when he ripped you apart at the seams. Delicate even in his claws that threatened to tear into you. Mark you with scars and blood.

Your hips clumsily rocked. Once—twice—locked up in feverish tremors. Your hands bunching his hair. Clinging. Your body hunched over his. Shattering.

Sukuna rode you through an orgasm with his lips latched around your clit. Sucking harsh on its throbs. Teething on its twitches.

You splattered his face in warmth. Sweet, sickening warmth that doused him deeper into his rut's clutches.

"That's it. There you go. Fuck. Prettiest fucking pussy," he slurred into your wetness. Tongue delving between your puffy folds. Lapping up your cum. Greedy.

You toppled over him. Breaths ragged. One hand clutched in his hair and the other on the headboard.

"Wanna— wanna help. Wanna." To his surprise you pulled on his hair. Interrupting his creamy kisses on your slit.

Stares met. His hot. Yours warm. Wanting.

"Wanna make you feel good too."

How pretty you were when you quivered. Lips glossed by drool and lashes soaked with tears. It ached a deep chamber in his heart.

"Wanna be good for me?" He panted.

Your nod was doeish. As everything else about you was. His delicate girl. So fragile in his hands.

He couldn't wait to break you.

The bed creaked again. You squeaked as he hauled you down into the wrinkled sheets. On your back with his hulking weight pressing down on you. His mouth fixed to yours. Magnetic. Addicted. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"That mean you gonna let me breed you too, baby?" Catching your lip between his teeth, he grunted. Pressing the swell of his cock between your legs. Staining his crotch in your slick. "Gonna let me breed this sweet pussy?"

Your response was sweet, shy, but oh so eager. A tepid nod, as your fingers slipped to his shoulders. So small. Smaller than him in every way. He took the moment to appreciate it.

You, spread and waiting for him. Your pussy, swollen and twitching. His bulge pressed on your glistening folds dwarfed you entirely.

Oh, how you'd squirm on his cock.

At last he shrugged his shirt off. Shivered when your touch feathered over his chest. He made the mistake of watching your eyes. How they mapped out scars that your fingers traced.

You didn't have to say anything. Your gaze spelt affection he wasn't ready to receive.

"Don't stare at me like that." He gruffed, kicking off his pants.

"Why not?" You asked.

"Makes me think you want me."

"I do want you, kuna."

Damn you.

Damn you and your tenderness. Damn you and that sweet nickname your sugar lips latched onto. Damn you and the way you made his cock throb hard in the strained fabric of his boxers.

He palmed your throat. Focused on your pulse. The control he held over you in the moment.

"Shut up." His hiss muffled with a kiss. Hot and open-mouthed on yours. As if he could suck the words from your tongue and swallow them into his gut that knew better.

Knew that he was better off alone. That this was only for the sake of his rut.

Bulging and angry, his tip nudged between your thighs. Soaking up your arousal. The slippery sensation of your pussy sent shivers down his spine. So wet. For him. Only him.

He let you pull away. Watching as your gaze lowered to his thick cock sandwiched between your folds. Sliding against your slit and dragging on your clit. Your wide eyes eased a chuckle from him.

"What?" He drawled. "Too big?"

"Well. . . yes."

"And every inch's gonna fucking breed you."

He pinned you back into the mattress. Flat on your back with your knees scooped into his big hands. Dwarfed you there too. He pressed them back into you so that they kissed your tits. Folding you in half and completely exposing you entirely to his hungry eyes.

Salivating. He was salivating. Your eyes were too kind for how lewd your pussy spread out for him. Leaking a string of mess. Calling for him. Wanting him.

"Keep your eyes on me, you got that?" Maroon burned into yours. Searching for hesitance. For fear. For something that could cut into this feverish rut and remind him that he didn't deserve you. But no.

You obeyed him.

You wanted him.

His cockhead slotted against your slit. Dipping in to feel the silky sin of your pussy. A deep groan rumbled from the depths of his chest. His brows furrowed. Fuck. When last had he had this?

Blunt nails dug into the backs of your thighs as he sunk in. One inch. Two inch. Three inch. Four— popping through the first tight ring of resistance. Eyes devouring yours the entire time.

He watched your face. How it scrunched up and your mouth parted. How tears clouded your eyes as he pushed past the halfway point.

He stopped.

"You good?" He huffed. Barely gentle.

Very. Gentle.

"Yeah it's— just. . . just a lot." You croaked.

"Too much?"

His face didn't falter, but his heart sure did. His grip loosening on your limbs. Ready to let you go. Free you from him.

But you shook your head. Teary eyed. Twitching smile.

"Not enough."

Hips possessed. Mind a mess. He slammed forward at those two, pretty little words. Till his tip smooched your cervix and his balls squished into your folds. Bottomed out. Filling you to the brim.

The sound you made was sin itself. A blessing. Heaven, hell, and everything in between.

"Oh fuck." You cried, head tossed back. Unable to see him gasping out the same exclaim.

Your syrupy cunt hugged around him. Tight, snug. Nursing on an underside vein and milking him around the tip. Every pulse was your heartbeat, and it devastated him.

Cussing, he pushed down onto you. His heart tugging itself towards yours. To press into your skin as his hips started rutting. Slow, eager.

"Fuck. Look at you take this cock. Like you were born for it," his words husked above you.

Your lashes fluttered. Brows knitting at the centre. He watched your tears threaten to slip as he humped on the sensitive ring that was your cervix.

His tongue clicked. Swapping out a hand on your thigh, he snatched you beneath the jaw instead. Wrenching your face to his hot one.

"Didn't I say keep your eyes on me?"

"M sorry."

"Don't apologise, just take it."

He withdrew. Halfway at first— then shoved back in. The second time was further. And further. Until his thrusts pulled to the tip and plunged back to your womb. Languid, but hard. Sure to make you feel every inch of him pressing into your pussy nerves.

You soaked up his thighs. Splashing his balls and leaking a puddle into the sheets already. The scent was intoxicating. Flared his nostrils and dizzied his head.

The mattress shook beneath the power of his thrusts. Your body bounced with it. He made sure to coil his tail tight around your waist. Held you down like a predator did prey as he fucked you open on his cock.

Pleasure built a knot in his gut. Hot, heavy. Urging his hips to snap harder and chase bruises on your jiggling ass.

Every sound was sin. Sweet. Cries, moans, a whimper than surged into a whine of his name when he removed his other hand from your thigh to instead hold them back with a steeled forearm. So that his palm could press on the bulge swelling up the base of your tummy.

"Fuuckkk," he growled. Ears pinned back to his hair. Jaw hung and canines glinting. "Look at that. See that, pretty girl? What's here?"

You hiccuped, "your— ah. Your cock!"

"Yeah? What's it doing?"

"It's—"

You couldn't answer. Slurred by moans and the delicious drive of his dick stretching you out. He watched your eyes go static.

Spank! his palm landed hot on your clit. Bulging your eyes and jerking your hips up into his frantic thrusts. He laid another. Two. Three— encouraging your pitiful whimpers.

"Asked you a fucking question. What's it doing?"

"It's— hah. B. . . Breeed—"

"Breeding you? Yeah?"

"Uhuh! Breeding. Breeding me s-so . . . s'goood."

Drool bubbled on your lips. Your hands that had tried to scramble on his shoulders and dig your mark into his flesh now fell flat on the pillow. Beside your head. Limp like the rest of your body that surrendered itself to him.

Heat surged down his spine as you clamped around him. Sucking the air from his scathing lungs. Staining his base in a thick, filthy ring of cream.

His hips rammed all the more faster. Harder. Imprinting you into his bed. Your slick. Your sweat. Your scent.

One of your weak hands slipped down. Meeking over to his larger one fixed on your stomach. Wrapping around two of his massive fingers. Or at least trying to.

It strung a deep chord in him. Thin and vulnerable. One he has thought he cut out long ago.

His half slipped over yours. Fingers laced. Pressing you against the bulge he plunged into your tummy. Holding your hand. Holding it tight.

"Sweet pussy's milking me," his grunt fanned your pulse as he swooped down. Mouthing on your neck. Searching for your pulse to feel it race beneath his lips. "Fuck. Wants my cum so bad. Wants my cubs."

"Please!" You slurred.

He swore he could do this for life.

Shoving all the way, Sukuna paused on your cervix. Sweat dripping from his hair. Cock drumming heavy. He clamped you down through your protesting whines.

"Yeah, yeah, shut it." It didn't sound harsh. Especially not with his firm squeeze on your hand.

Slipping out just enough, he watched your juices spray all over him. Mesmerising him. He worked on autopilot. Bundling you into his arms and manhandling you into a different position.

Tossing you to your side, Sukuna slotted behind you. Hips spooning your ass. One strong arm hooked around your neck, choking you on his bicep. While the other strung around your thigh. Wrenching you open for him and his massive cock, that bullied back into your cunt. Squelching your cum and sick in messy streams.

Your angelic cries resonated into his bicep. Making him squeeze it harder against your throat. Headlocking you into his greedy mouth that sucked hickies across your neck.

The angle was deeper. Filthier. Letting him feel so much more of you.

How much smaller you were than him. How you squeezed him just right. How perfect you were in his arms.

Like you belonged.

Shit. Don't go there.

Sukuna tried to drown it out. The returning thought of you. A permanent fixture in his life. Your pink body wash on his counter, that was now his. Your books on his shelves that he could read to you. You, in his living room, painting.

Painting the jungle. Painting home. Being his home.

His cock pulsed hard at the base and sweltered at the tip. The knot in his stomach wound tight. But that thought— that thought gutted him.

That you were here. That you had been here. Warm, and sweet, and soft and for the last few weeks. His.

You could be his.

"No," he wanted it to sound like a grunt. But he whimpered. Panting, heaving, mind dizzy and thrusts frantic—

Sukuna was whimpering.

Your face was pressed into his bicep. Head limp and hand still trying to hold his that clutched your thigh. Still calling his name so sweetly.

"N-No?" You breathed.

Still attuned to him even when he was fucking your brains out.

"Don't want you to leave."

Oh.

Oh.

He hadn't realised that it slipped from his lips. Hadn't realised that through his brutal thrusts— he was breaking. Lost in the burning bliss, the heat, and the warmth of what could be.

Sukuna lost his fucking mind.

"Don't wanna— fuck. Don't wanna be alone." His face fell into your neck. Arms squeezing your body into his. Trying to melt your skin into his. Tuck himself into your warm flesh and the selfish wish you gave him.

Hazed, and hot, and so heavenly yours.

Slick hair pressed into your cheek. His body collapsed onto yours. Pounding his cock up into your creamy cunt. Chasing his blazing nerves as his mouth rambled.

"Don't want you to leave. Don't. Shit. Don't leave me, please, please don't fucking leave me."

His thrusts lost rhythm. As frantic as his rushed whispers. Plunging into your cervix. Bruising your thighs. Clutching you closer. As close as he could muster. As close as it would take to keep you here forever.

"Say you won't— say you," he slurred. Eyes squeezed shut. Words melting into a clumsy splutter of curses. "Say. Say you won't. Say—"

"Won't. Won't. 'kuna I won't— hngahh. Promise!"

That single word. So raw. So true. Choked in a gasp as you tried to nudge your face closer to him.

It shattered whatever pride he had left.

"You promise?"

He croaked. Dangerously hopeful.

You nodded. Cried.

"Promise. I promise S'kuna. Breed me— please."

He should have known you'd be trouble from the moment you first smiled at him.

Heat trapped him. Seeped into every nerve and spasming muscle. Ears drooped. Tail clinging around your waist, as his arms did every inch of you.

He held your hand.

The ache in his hips nulled to the sound of your sweet voice. Tucking promises away in his heart and sealing them with attempted kisses, even when he was choking you.

He felt your orgasm shake through you. Your body locking up as you babbled his name into the humidity. And with that Sukuna finally— finally let go.

Ramming his cock up one, final time. He stilled. Deep and thrumming within you. Heat bursting from his gut and washing over him in a devastating wave of blissful carnage.

Loud and wrecked, his moan vibrated into your back. Hips rocking in small stutters as spluttering, white ropes creamed your cervix. Pouring his thick cum into every inch of your twitching cunt. Brimming you with him and his promise.

"Fucking. . . fuck. . . hah. Take it. Take all this cum in your pretty pussy." Slurs dragged up your throat, to your ear as you face limped into his arm. His voice husked, a vow.

"Just feel me breeding you full. Filling you with my cubs."

You whined, meekly rocking back into him. But he snatched your hips and pressed it down into the mattress with a soft hush.

The throbbing at his base thrummed into swelling. His knot bloomed until it lodged stiff in your cunt. Pulsing with your pathetic little twitches.

He watched your eyes widen and brows furrow. Your body locked up and a whimper strained from your swollen lips. "Mmm. That's your—"

"Mhhm. Just stay still."

Laving his tongue over one of the bites, Sukuna held you near. Savouring your warmth.

The silence finally didn't feel like a void. Even if it was heavy.

He held onto the moment. Clung to its peace as the warmth simmered into cooling sweat on your flesh.

You broke the quiet first.

"Did you mean that?"

He didn't answer you. But his hand cupped your tummy. Fingers still laced in yours as his face tucked against the back of your shoulder.

". . . Was it too much?"

He never thought his voice could ache.

You tried to shift again, and despite the lump in his throat, he clicked his tongue. Squeezed your thigh in warning. "I said stay still, didn't I?"

"You're never too much. Not for me, Sukuna."

There you went, saying his name like it meant something.

Nudging your face to his, Sukuna licked at the tears on your face. A tender act he never thought himself capable of. "Don't say shit like that."

"That I want you? Or that I love you?"

His breath hitched.

Once the knot settled, he pulled out. Hesitantly— especially with your heat still clinging to him.

"You love me?" He muttered, laying a kiss on your cheek. Then to your jaw. To your shoulder. Down your body until you were on your back.

Calloused thumbs swept your folds back. Eyeing the lewd streak of cum leaking out of you.

His eyes found yours as you spoke, tender.

"Do you want me to say it again?" One of your hands raked into his hair.

His face nudged between your thighs. His hummed approval followed the flat of his tongue. Laving up your slit. Licking away the mess and holding your thighs open amidst their intense shivers.

Even as you whined. With your eyes on the brink of tears. They were still soft for him.

"I love you."

You shouldn't.

He shouldn't.

But he still said it back.

"My mate."

Low, and grumbled, not those three words but something that spelt a deeper bond. One he finally had.

After licking you clean, Sukuna bundled you up into the sheets. Pushing himself from the bed and returning with a warm towel and a water bottle.

He cradled the back of your head as he gave you the water.

Worshipped your flesh as he wiped you down. Tracing over bruises and bites. His mark.

And when you were finally tucked into his arms. Dozing off with your head nestled on his heart that now beat for you. His tail curled around your leg and his claws soft on your curves. Sukuna understood.

That his too much was just enough for you.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/pixopix | art cred: @/cakkezzz ( twt )

꒰ 🍓 ⸰  ✦ enjoyed this piece?   ꒱ consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[madewithangst]

18+ MDNI

[psyduckz]

au where yuuji becomes a vessel early

[justirina]

@psyduckz inspired me with the early vessel au

Here my lil, wordless comic ^^ context: Megumi found a friend!

Extra art :)

[lvrs4nxna]

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ OLD HABITS DIE HARD! ✉️ 伏黑惠 — fluff/crack, clingy!megumi, childhood bsfs to lovers

“Megs, it’s time to go.”

“Just a bit longer..”

Gojo sighed, watching a tiny Megumi cling onto your arm like a koala. Why was he being so stubborn right now? He had always been difficult, but not this difficult.

He had never seen him so fond of another human being before. Megumi stared at strangers like they slaughtered his entire family right before his eyes, so seeing him sticking to you like glue was a rare sight.

Gojo’s one and only dream was for Megumi to interact with other human beings, especially considering how closed off he was for his young age.

He never expected someone like him being so attached to someone like you.

You were a sweet kid. You lost count of the amount of times Gojo retold the story of how you cried after Megumi ‘accidentally’ stepped on a baby worm, squishing it’s wriggly body and reducing it to a tiny pile of it’s guts and flesh.

He says ‘accidentally’ because Megumi actually did it on purpose, but you only lived to see the part where he was already stepping on the poor worm, not the part where he brutally stepped it to death.

He felt so bad that he sat by you for four hours, waiting until you calmed down. It proved to be a challenge because he only got you to stop was by hugging you, and the moment he let go you’d start crying all over again.

it’s not like he minded though. He enjoyed being in your presence, even if his oversized t-shirt was drenched in your tears right after.

He found himself naturally gravitating towards you, like the sun orbiting the earth. Wherever you were, he’d be standing in your shadow, breathing down your neck. It started to get awkward when people would flicker their gaze back and forth between you and him during conversations, cause he’d always stand impossibly close behind with a nasty glare.

Wherever you went, so did he. He’d sit next to you at recess, walk by your side on the pavement after school, Gojo even found him talking to you from the other side of the door while you used the bathroom.

That little habit followed him into his teenage years. You were both older now, he was colder and more serious than before, but his fondness for you stayed the same, even more if possible.

How could he not? You were the sun to his moon. No one would look at you and think you killed for a living. It didn’t help that inumaki would pop in every so often to ask you to make him treats. It was basically a routine for you to walk up and down jujutsu high’s halls, back and forth between classes holding a tiny pink bag, some sort of sugary treat usually sitting inside a box tied with a bow in it.

Yuji and Nobara started tallying the amount of times he’d huff, groan or sigh whenever he was assigned a mission with someone else other than you. He’d beat their asses if he ever found out, but everyone started keeping track of how many hours he’d spend around you.

Refilling your bottle during training? He would be there with his own bottle. Lunch? He’d sit beside you, eating the homemade meal you had prepped for him in the morning. Any other fucking time of the day? You would be hiding in the break room, his head peering over your shoulder to look at whatever you were doing on your phone.

Their calculations came to.. a daily average of 16 hours. On cold stormy days, he’d sleep in your room because you were ‘scared’ of the thunder. Now that would come to around 23 hours, the one hour being times where you’d be forcefully separated.

Maybe the reason he was so attached because you were the first person to show him genuine care and affection. Sure, Gojo would coddle him until the ends of the earth, but Megumi always believed that care came from obligation. He was his father figure, of course he had to care about him.

You were different. You saw him and decided he was the one you’d take care of for the rest of your life.

He came back late from a mission one night, and you grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him back to your room to patch him up.

He was reluctant to let you do so. He didn’t want to be a burden to you, especially since it was late at night, and you should’ve been long asleep by then. He felt bad for making you wait up for him, but the moment you pouted at him he fully gave up.

You pressed the cotton ball to one of his cuts, stinging sensation running up his entire arm from the sudden change of temperature. “Why are you always so reckless, can’t you be more careful?”

You looked up at him, awaiting his answer, only to find him gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. He studied your worried expression and felt his heart go all fuzzy.

You furrowed your brows at him. “Are you gonna sit there and stare at me all night, or do I have to drag you back to your dorm myself?”

“Can I stay for the night?” He asked, voice quieter now. “I need to be near you for a while longer..”

Your gaze softened, wrapping your arms around the boy’s neck. Still sitting on your bed, he pulled you closer by curling his arms tight around your waist.

“Okay.”

Post-shibuya, when the culling games came around, he still didn’t want to split up with you. You were fully capable of handling yourself, but maybe that’s why he didn’t want you to go off on your own.

He fought against splitting up from you and yuji. His excuse was that they would need you if Sukuna ever striked again. You suggested that Yuta stay with them, you being far more willing to fight without holding back in battles.

He didn’t listen. He never did when it came to you. He’d much rather you stay back and recruit more allies with him than run around fighting high-ranked sorcerers for points. You would’ve been their best bet at getting enough points for his sister, if it wasn’t for him.

He knew he was holding you back, but at least it would keep you safe. That’s all he ever wanted to do. Keep you safe.

Now, if only he was born somewhere far from here. Away from the jujutsu world. Away from curses. That reality would never happen. Megumi Fushiguro had never been destined to win in the first place. He was a major loser, and fate never did listen to him. Not even once.

Even when he was most desperate.

Now he sat alone in the clinic. The room of smelled of antiseptic and protective gloves, room white and too quiet for his liking.

He never wanted to throw up more in his life.

He sat by your body with his fists clenched tight in his lap, you unmoving and laid out on the table, bag pulled too high. You never stayed still in your sleep. You’d toss and turn and kick his back as you wrapped your arms around his waist, mumbling something incoherent.

He’d never get that ever again. The scars carved onto both sides of his face were a constant reminder of how you would just be a memory from then on.

A damn good one.

Shoko opened the door slightly, only peeking in from the crack of the door. She had done this a million times before, but this time, when she saw him she froze.

She stared at his back for a second, and suddenly she was a teen again, watching Gojo hunched over his desk, hiding whatever snacks he could sneak into class that day.

“Fushiguro?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing by the tone of her voice, he knew what she was going to say before she could open her mouth.

You were about to be cremated, trapped soul about to be set free through the flames.

You used to tell him that you weren’t afraid of anything, but he say the way you’d flinch whenever anything hot would get too near. He’d usually chuckle under his breath, telling you that everything would be alright.

“Ieiri-San, I.. I need more time.” His voice cracked. The stone cold Megumi Fushiguro was faltering, all because the love of his life now

“Please. Let me stay with her. Just… a little longer.”

divider by @uzmacchiato

©lvrs4nxna - all rights reserved. Do not republish, translate, steal, or feed my work to Al.

permanent tag list: @dreamydaredevil @sugerfilled @lookacat @i-smell-sharpies @valeriestulips @shhhhhhxoxo125 @xombied @i-liketoast @deadmorgue @chosoissohotugh @tringushi @balladofjaynedoe @vivimsical @mysizzlingsteak @chuuyan4kahara @megumiimeow @kittyguumi @megssleepygirl @beninn @mocassora @meowieees @notlikeothernerds @veronicalosr @eilishgf @kentosvntr @belchyra @megurei @thatonepupkai @catboygumi @megumisrighttoe @nonchalantfiend @leviackermanswaifu @bri22222 @satorugojo-is-hot @meowwwsss @kagstobioisthelightofmylife @renrenrenren17 @jennyistrendy @tyrantfe @wxyunni @ch4ulvr @kaemaybae @wiishies @lipstainedgemini @sillystarv @megumiguro @pawwwginaaa @ch4ulvr @tojirin

[madewithangst]

i don't really read megumi but this is chef's kiss TO me

[belimah]

art by いさ

[madewithangst]

my heart will always ache for them >>>>>

[oneofthesevensins]

The quiet clicks of his keyboard are the only sound in the apartment, a rhythmic comfort that tells you he’s home and he’s safe. Nanami doesn’t look up as you drape a blanket over his shoulders, but he catches your wrist, pulling you into his lap with a rare, tired sigh. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, the rigid lines of his posture finally break. "Just five more minutes," he whispers, his grip tightening as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this very second. "I'll come to bed."

But "bed" becomes a subway tunnel in Shibuya, where he isn't even a man anymore—just a standing corpse held together by spite and a suit that’s fused to his charred skin. He can’t feel his hands, the ones that held you this morning, and half his face is a melted ruin that can no longer form your name. As Mahito’s hand settles on his back. The same spot you touched to wake him up. Nanami doesn't see a beach or a future. He just sees the look on your face when Itadori finally knocks on your door to tell you there wasn't enough of him left to bring home.

a/n: i wrote ts half blind

[madewithangst]

I haven't been fed with angst lately and this is a big YUM

[madewithangst]

jjk men + a day with your kid(s)

CHARACTERS: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso and sukuna FORMAT: smau CW: cute shit, fem!reader, jjk men and reader being parents

[a/n] i'm so having the biggest baby fever rn (i fear it's the period) so let me put this into writing 🥺 // photos are from pinterest

[lilithkleia]

trueform!sukuna loves crushing you with his four arms <3 ! (reupload)

sukuna was an absolute menace when he was sleepy—and this absolute sculpted statue of a man, THE king of curses refused to fall asleep without his wife tucked underneath his chin, completely at his mercy and in his embrace.

it didn’t matter if it was the midst of summer, he would absolutely not fall asleep if you weren’t curled up in his arms, doing everything in his power to have the room cold enough so you tuck yourself between his limbs, your face crushed on his chest while his arms hold onto you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

he never outwardly asks you to cuddle or anything, just silently laying down in your shared chambers, sprawled on the bed, staring at you while you go through your nightly rituals of washing your face, changing your robes, eventually seating yourself at the edge of your bed.

he doesn’t give you even a moment’s respite before dragging you closer to him with his four arms, using them to flip you over and lay you down on his chest, one of his arms petting the top of your head while he places the gentlest kiss to it.

and before you know it his arms are circling your waist, pressing you into him—your body melding into his, your soft curves against his hardened muscle, your cheeks adorably squished between his pecs, and he’s all but fighting the urge to bite the fat of your cheeks.

his lower arms comfortably resting below your ass, sometimes squeezing the plush of your thighs between his rough fingers, the nails teasing your soft flesh, and sometimes just barely tracing the stretch marks that adorn it.

his upper arms crushing your chest into his, it’s almost as if he wants to fuse your body into his, to have you tucked underneath him, the smallest smile gracing your lips while his arms coil around you, tightening like a boa constrictor, mumbling something about how you’re too good to him, how he need to hide you away from the world and how no one deserves you.

the warmth of his arms tightening around you, his incoherent mumbling in your ears, one of his hands tracing down your spine, slowly lulls you to sleep, your face on his chest, his heartbeat steady, warm and everything you’ve ever needed.

now, who would’ve thought that the king of curses was such an adoring lover?

i miss my fluff. @yorikae @yoonsucks @6x-x9.

dividers: @/pixopix .

all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.

[madewithangst]

I'm obsessed with this idea 🥺

[madewithangst]

jjk men + supporting you on your marathon

CHARACTERS: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso and sukuna x gn!reader FORMAT: drabble WARNINGS: cute shit, multiple cheesy terms of endearment, mentions of post-run aches

[a/n] Had this idea when I was attempting a sub-1 10km yesterday and I almost got unalive

🩵 Gojo Satoru

Gojo is the loudest person there, unfortunately obviously.

He treats your marathon like it’s the olympics, the superbowl, and your execution all at once. Somehow he has a megaphone, custom banners, foam fingers, “TEAM YN” shirts and streaming the whole thing live.

“NUMBER 7718 IS MINE EVERYBODY MAKE SOME NOISEEEEE.”

“GO BABY GO.”

"I WILL CARRY YOU HOME WHEN YOU CROSS THE FINISH LINE"

Meanwhile strangers who don’t even know you are screaming support because Gojo’s charisma stat is illegally high.

He's been tracking you on the app to teleport where you're at every 3 miles.

“THIS IS PIECE OF CAKE, YOU'VE RACED NAOYA BEFORE"

"Toru stop mentioning cake while I'm literally in the middle of a marathon!!"

"My bad baby," and with an aggressive kiss on your cheek, a click on his camera and a change of your electrolytes he teleports back to his massive tent by the finish line.

The moment you cross the finish line he teleports beside you and puts the medal to you himself.

“YOU DID SO GOOD BABY”

“Couldn't have done it without your support, Toru," and you may be exaggerating, but him running drills early in the morning with you and buying you expensive shoes really contributed with your survival today.

“I only did the bare minimum sweetheart, you were so brave surviving cardio.”

Then he starts crying actual tears while taking 700 blurry photos of your sweaty dying body and your medal on his teeth.

🩶 Geto Suguru

Suguru still fundamentally believes marathons are a scam.

“You people pay to run?”

“Yes.”

“For enjoyment?”

“…Kind of?”

But this man accidentally becomes the BEST running coach alive. He would make you (1) the perfect running playlist with songs with bpm that matches your pace, (2) motivational podcast, (3) your current and favorite books' GRAPHIC AUDIO, (4) his recorded motivational voice memo for the final stretch???

And on marathon day he’s standing quietly near the finish line holding your favorite drink and his arms all warmed up where you can dive right in to rest.

The SECOND he sees you slowing down near the end?

“Eyes here,” he says to himself calmly.

He knows it's his voice playing in your headphones now so he glides his way towards the front of the crowd where he watches your open mouth slowly turn into a wide grin.

He watches as you lean down to take the medal at the end and continued running towards your support system.

His arms all wide open for you to give you the massive hug and recharging you need. It doesn't matter if you're all sweaty and hot. You've hugged him even with blood and grime before.

“You did amazing, darling,” he says softly and when he felt you visibly melt in his chest he picks you up off the floor and doing the walking for the two of you.

💛 Nanami Kento

Nanami prepared for your marathon like it was war 🥹

This man has: electrolytes, bananas, protein bars, massage gun, cooling towels, spare shoes, anti-chafing cream, extra SPF, extra fully charged airpods and an ice bath BOOKED IN ADVANCE 😭

Obviously he's monitoring your race through the app and would video call you every walking breaks you do. It's mostly just him talking so you can save your breath but other than that he would also help time your breaks.

He would be the type to also be in the water stations if possible, so he can give you your own water and own electrolytes and sustenance.

Once you finish the race you expected a hug or a kiss instead,

“Hydrate.”

“Kento I just finished, I need your hug!”

“My hug would compress your lungs and will restrain your breathing even more. Hydrate first, please?”

He wraps you in towels like a traumatized football coach recovering his star player from war. As he made you sit on the camping chair he brought, Nanami’s kneeling in front of you checking your knees and untying your shoes.

“…Any dizziness?”

“I mean I met god around 30km...”

“I see.”

Still on his knees in front of you, this man starts rummaging through his sports bag for the fluffiest slippers he just bought for you and then the massage gun to start massaging your calves right then and there 🥹 Other runners stare in jealousy even I would be.

“Where did she get that man?"

🖤 Fushiguro Toji

Toji absolutely turned your marathon into gambling. No surprise in there and no shame whatsoever.

“I put money on top fifty on your category.”

“You BET on me???”

“Oh, I bet on you alright. Let's put that training of yours to the test.”

This man is lounging near the finish line, beer in his hand with a HAT like a parent watching his son's football game. He looks like he doesn’t care although the phone on his lap with the tracker all displayed says otherwise.

He would cheer when you got on the top 100. All in all, he's restrained the back of his neck from looking down on his phone to track your pace the ENTIRE race.

When you indeed ended up on the top 50 spot he fully stood up on his chair to cheer loudly.

"I WIN!" He meant, you got it!

When you finally appear looking exhausted and half dead.

He stands up immediately, “…c’mere.”

Actually sounding concerned.

He helps you drink water, fixes your medal, takes your victory pictures, pulls you against his chest by the waist—

THEN IMMEDIATELY CHECKS HIS BETTING APP BEHIND YOU

“…YES.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You made us rich, baby. It's like you're built like a damn racehorse.”

You pushed yourself out of his arms but he immediately scooped you up on his arms and brought you to the car. He did not invite you to get his money by the betting counter and let you rest.

♥️ Kamo Choso

Choso takes supporting you VERY seriously... Too seriously.

This man spent weeks researching on ways he can help you optimize your survival on marathon day. He came to a point of researching about oxygen efficiency, muscle fatigue, hydration and ding ding ding blood circulation.

“Would regulating your blood circulation help your stamina?”

You even catch him staring at your veins thoughtfully and got scared.

During the marathon he’s standing near the finish line looking like a worried housewife. He's got Yuji standing beside him of course. Both of them wearing matching tshirts with your face on it.

The second you stumble crossing the line he’s THERE.

“My love 🥹”

“Oh god I can't feel my legs I almost cramped at mile 20.”

“You were magnificent. Here let me help you.”

Now imagine you and him (and yuji somewhere) in the middle of the crowd subtly helping your blood flow so your muscles cramp less with blood manipulation while you stand there smiling at nearby civilians who think they’re witnessing illegal medical procedures.

It’s awkward.

It’s concerning.

But somehow it's incredibly sweet in Choso's way 🥹

Yuji’s recording the entire thing crying laughing.

🩷 Sukuna Ryomen

Sukuna stands at the finish line with crossed arms looking like he's lost and like you personally owe him victory.

Other family members are actively avoiding him. There's even a child who cried when he looked.

He doesn’t care. He just continued crossing his arms and looking at your tracking time.

He sees a lot of runners passing and finishing already but his beau is still not in sight. When he finally catches sight of what you're wearing and then you're image getting clear, the look of disappointment shown on your face, his posture changes.

Suddenly, you being placed at 500th in your category doesn't matter to the King of Curses anymore.

Once you got your medal and you dread walking toward him his arms uncrossing. His expression softening slightly.

“You’re limping.”

He grabs your chin making you look at him properly.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you...”

“You missed two water stations.”

“…How do you know that.”

“I was watching you in this stupid piece of technology, how else do you think.”

Then this terrifying god of curses physically forces you to sit on his lap by the grass while aggressively shoving hydration packets into your hands.

“Foolish. You ran yourself half to death for what? You should’ve slowed your pace earlier.”

He didn't move. Let himself and you linger a little bit to the noisy crowd of cheers and bells. He thought running should be easy but humans are indeed weak. He looks down at your sweaty face.

Your heart leapt because you fully expected this strong man to be disappointed at you being on that ranking but his excessive scolding of you not taking care of yourself, watching your pace and apparently missing drinking water, tells you disappointment was not in his demeanor today.

His one hand stays firmly on your thigh the entire time, squeezing rhythmically in disguise with massaging 🤭 You fell asleep right then and there.

“500th out of thousands of weaklings...”

Which is basically Sukuna saying he’s proud of you.

Don't worry, they all didn't let you walk for the rest of the week ☺️☺️☺️

[madewithangst]

jjk men + checking up on you after you punched your ex

CHARACTERS: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso and sukuna FORMAT: smau CW: pre-relationship, pining, some non-exclusive legal charges mentioned, swearing

[a/n] based on this post // also i didn't change their pictures and contact name for my own convenience but this is pretty much pre-relationship as mentioned