mr. loverman

20 • Kay • genderfluid • he/she/they • pansexual • kny and jjk writer minors do not interact ao3 linked in intro post

[mitsuristoleme]

𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓂𝓎?

❁Kay ❁20 ❁writer ❁Jujutsu Kaisen ❁Kimetsu No Yaiba ❁sfw and nsfw ❁minors do not interact ❁requests open

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 (𝖆𝖔3) 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙

[huffylemon]

[feargrin]

"I can fix him" "i can make him worse" I can pet him on the head like a dogy

[messsssmer]

"Whimsy" is truly a wretched term. What maketh thee so carefree?

[fireknightqueelign]

thy mother

[messsssmer]

Art thou for fucking real

[sanniesfavoriteprincess]

if you want [2] - toji

[ sum ]: neighbor!toji showing up after your drunken phone call

[ tags ]: alcohol usage mentioned, suggestive

[ wc ]: 2.6k

part one

toji was at the door of the apartment in less than 15 minutes. as much as he’d liked to have pretended that he didn’t care, the thought of you being impossibly intoxicated at god-knows-where (you were only at your friends’, but still) both worried and intrigued him. 

he’d seen you stumble home drunk before. it was a curse, he thought, watching you fumble with your keys as he left for the gym at ungodly hours of the night. but the sight had been enough for him to be aware of how…gone you could be, and it would be a lie to say he hadn’t adopted a sense of protectiveness for you— amongst his other feelings. 

the door opened on his third ring. toji had texted you to no response, and when the door opened, he blinked at the sight of you clutching the doorknob, wine glass in hand and a sparkle in your eyes. 

“oh my god, you’re actually here.” 

the corner of his scarred lips twisted up. “you sound surprised. don’t trust me that much?” 

“the opposite, actually,” you said, stumbling back in your strappy heels as he stepped inside. it was like the apartment shrunk in size as he crowded your space, large shoulders moving as he chuckled at your clumsiness. 

“you’re fucking gone, doll,” he teased. “thought you were done for the night?” 

you hiccuped as you took another step back. “i am— wine is just…dessert.” 

“right.” pulling his hand out of his pocket, he grabbed your wrist and carefully pried the glass from your hand. “let’s get you some water first, and then we’ll think about more ‘dessert’, m’kay?” 

“bossy,” you murmured. 

the living room had emptied out save for two, and as you both made your way through towards the kitchen, the girls gasped. 

“is that-“ 

“oh my god, it is.” 

“i kind of forgot that was happening.” 

your cheeks heated. “um. guys, this is toji,” you said, hands fidgeting as you awkwardly gesture at the giant behind you. “toji, this- this is shoko and hime.” 

“the hot neighbor,” shoko said with a nod, cigarette dangling off her lips. “i approve.” 

beside her, utahime smacked her shoulder and muttered a curse before smiling wonky at toji. “welcome— hiccup —to girls night!” 

toji raised a hand to cover his smile as he nodded. “yup. cool, thanks.” 

“we’ll be right back.” grabbing toji’s hand without a second thought, you began to drag him out of the living room. 

“everyone knows they’re a thing, except for them,” you said as soon as they were out of earshot. toji trailed behind you, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, his eyes kept dropping to your skirt, gaze grazing the back of your thighs. 

“uh huh,” he replied absentmindedly. “you think they’re fuckin?” 

“jesus, toji,” you gasped, eyes wide. “that is not what i said!” 

then, turning to him outside of the kitchen, you dropped his wrist and moved your hands to his hair, a mission clearly on your mind. 

“you have to fix your hair. you’re meeting, like, most of my friends.”a pause as you continued to do whatever you were doing, toji bending down ever so slightly for you.

“they’re very important to me. the blonde girl you’re going to see, her name is Indi, and it’s— hiccup— her birthday today. be nice to her. not that you’re my boyfriend or anything, but they can’t know i’m friends with a mannerless moron-“ 

your words died in your throat as toji squished your cheeks, pulling your face inches from his. 

“friends?” he said, eyes dark. 

your hands dropped from his hair as your eyebrows dipped. “that’s the part you’re worried about?” 

“i’ve been called a lot fuckin worse than a moron, sweetheart,” toji said, breath fanning across your nose and cheeks. “but, and if you don’t remember this tomorrow morning, i’ll remind you again; i am not your fuckin’ friend.” 

you blinked. toji pulled away then, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, other still clutching the glass of wine. “now. let’s go say ‘hi’ to your friends, and then get you the fuck home, yeah?”

there was no room for anytning other than an ok. you were truthfully tired, too, something you hated toji for picking up. the straps of your heels had been digging into your ankles for hours now, your brain was threatening to fall out like sludge from how much you’d drank, and you could feel your makeup like a mask on your skin. 

“m’kay,” you said dejectedly. “that’s fine.” 

smirking, toji patted your head as he passed by you into the kitchen. you followed behind him, ears burning and cheeks flushed.

the kitchen was chaos as you guys stepped in. the oven light was on while the birthday girl sat on top of the island countertop, her own wine glass nearly overflowing as she shook with laughter. two brunette girls stood in front of her, engaged in some sort of conversation as their hands flew up and down. behind them, someone (you couldn’t even recognize who) was deep inside the pantry on her knees like a raccoon. 

“jesus fuckin christ,” toji muttered under his breath. “this what y’all get up to?” 

“it’s really not that bad,” you said. “most of the others left hours ago.” 

the sound of your voices had Indi turning her head comically slow towards the entryway. she took a moment to register her vision, but once she did, a squeal escaped her as she jumped off and rushed to your side, eyes wide. 

“oh my god, is this,” she attempted to whisper, “toji?” 

toji lifted a brow. “only name i’ve got.” 

Indi’s gaze flicked between you and the man beside you. “wow. good job. i mean, really good job, girl.” her hands formed an awkward thumbs up as she nodded. “i’m proud of you.” 

“t-thanks? i guess?” 

“happy birthday,” toji interrupted. “though it’s way past midnight.“ 

a bright smile lit up her face as the other two girls finally turned towards the three of you. thankfully they had the decency to gawk cautiously, and you smiled at them, cheeks burning brighter by the second. 

“thanks. you want a drink? barely any left but i could mix something up, though i can’t promise it’ll be any good.” 

toji shook his head at Indi’s offer. “driving her home,” he said, motioning to you. “someone’s got to.” 

“you’ve driven drunk many times,” you pointed out. 

“‘s different. i’ve got precious cargo.” 

you blinked before turning to Indi. “this guy just called me cargo. how am i supposed to feel?” 

placing a heavy hand on your shoulder, she leaned in and looked at you solemnly. “you’re going to be ecstatic tomorrow, babe.” 

then, staring at you for approximately another few seconds, you watched as Indi turned around, ran towards the bathroom, leaving only

the sounds of her heaving into the toilet echoing throughout the apartment. 

the two girls followed after her immediately, waving at the two of you before tracking her footsteps. on a normal day you’d join them, but the thought of witnessing someone empty their bowels had you nearly gagging yourself; there wasn’t a point in risking it. 

“she’ll be fine,” you said after a moment. “i think.”

“seems like she can handle herself,” toji pointed out. 

and then there were two. it was an interesting feeling, really, being in a dimly lit kitchen at god knows what hour with the guy you’ve had the fattest crush on in your conscious memory, all while impossibly drunk. 

“terrific job,” you told yourself, a thought you hadn’t realized had slipped past your lips. toji raised a brow beside you before chuckling. 

“you alright, doll?” 

“yes,” you answered too quickly. “perfectly fine, sorry.” 

“nervous?” 

“what for?” lifting your shoulders, you shrugged and attempted a casual laugh, turning towards toji with squinted eyes. “nothing i need to be nervous about. at all.” 

“right. of course, ma. sorry for doubtin’ ya,” toji said slowly. a smile played on his lips, and a hazy part of your mind wondered if you should start a toji-smile-counter, just for curiosity’s sake. would it be because he didn’t do it often, or because you thought he didn’t do it often enough? 

“so…” 

“so.”

his eyes didn’t leave yours as you looked at everything except him. 

“um. time to go, probably, right?” 

“yes, sweetheart,” he replied. “think we’ve been here long enough.” 

“you were here for, like, fifteen minutes,” you said. 

“well, between us,” toji started, beginning to guide you out of the kitchen, his palm hot on your back, “i think we’ve been here longer that necessary.” 

“that’s not how it works. plus, i like my friends.”

“i see that,” he said. as you make your way through the living room again, shoko and hime were nowhere to be found. you assumed they had either gone home themselves or passed out somewhere else in the apartment. a part of you wanted to check, but you also wanted nothing more than to get home. 

“you can text them once you’re in the car.” 

had you imagined that? or had toji just read your mind? 

his hand left your back as he went in front of you to open the door, and you paused. “that was creepy, toji.” 

“what was?” he said as he held the door open. 

“you,” you point. “you read my mind.” 

“i made an educated guess,” he countered. “you were staring at where they were sitting.” 

“i didn’t know you knew the words ‘educated guess’.” 

he sighed. “i’m optionally stupid.” 

“you learnt it from gojo, didn’t you?” you accused as he ushered you through the door. “because you don’t say that sort of stuff.” 

“you make me say a lotta new things, doll,” he said. you waited by the railing as he shut the door behind you, and when you felt his warmth beside you again, you instinctively reached for him. the wine had settled in your blood now, buzzing under your skin deliciously and making your steps lazier than they’d already been. 

“jesus,” toji said when you wrapped yourself around his arm. “you ok?” 

“mhm,” you responded, staring down at your toes. “i’m great.” 

“you’re drunk,” toji pointed out again. “extremely.” 

“you’ve been saying that all night.” 

“‘cuz you’ve been drunk all night, baby.” 

the pet name had you looking up at him, eyes wide. “that one’s new.”

“which one?” he said as you approached the elevator.

“baby. that one.” 

“don’t like it?” 

snaking your hand down to his, you shook your head and put it back against his bicep. “i do.” 

toji bit back a smile. she’s drunk, he reminded himself as he stared at the little elevator screen. don’t let it get to your head.

except the warm weight of you, your body pressed into his arm, your eyes glazed and guard down as you stepped into the elevator with him…it was hard to not let it get up there. 

the ride down to the first floor was silent. your eyes were set on the floor, your thoughts somehow both too slow to comprehend and too fast to catch. your right hand was still in toji’s, who was holding it carefully, his own gaze staying straight ahead at the floors flying past them. 

“let’s go,” he said once the door opened. “car's a bit of a walk away.” 

the words hadn’t processed until you were midway through the parking lot and your heel gave out beneath you. a strangled yelp escaped you, and toji paused his stride, noticing the sudden cold on his side. 

“my heels,” you said softly as you glanced between him and your feet. “they hurt.” 

“yeah?” his gaze skirted down your bare legs, trying to ignore the way your dress had ridden up your thighs. “they’re cute,” he commented as he stared at the straps crisscrossing up your calves. 

“i know, but they hurt.” your pout dug deeper as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. “really bad.” 

sighing, he made his way back to you, cracking his knuckles as you frowned. what was he planning on doing? 

your question was answered when he bent, scooped you up in his arms, and resumed his march towards his car. 

“what the fuck,” you whispered under your breath. you were honestly still unsure if you were dreaming this entire night or not. 

“better?” toji asked, and you nodded, staring at him from your new vantage point. your arms had found their way to his neck already, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this whole thing. 

this was insane. this was stupid. this was really fucking hot. he’d picked you up with ease, not a single part of his body showing signs of tension as he fixed his grip beneath your thighs. your legs dangled off of his forearm, and you didn’t bother resisting the urge to swing them a couple times, giggling again at the sensation. 

“someone’s having fun,” toji teased. you were truly a sight to see; your skin flushed, eyes bright and glowing as you cracked yourself up. he’d imagined himself hundreds of times in this scenario, holding you close and easing your pain, but the realness of it was exhilarating. 

you were exhilarating. 

“not many times a handsome man carries me through a parking lot,” you replied without much thought. “i’m just enjoying the moment.”

“drunk and can’t hold her tongue,” toji mused as he unlocked the approaching car. “you’re dangerous.” 

“thanks.” you watched as toji leaned down with you still in his arms, pulling the passenger door of his black sedan open before carefully tucking you into the seat sideways.

before you could move your legs into the car, though, toji dropped to his knees between your thighs and began undoing the straps of your heels. 

“can’t have you complainin’ the entire way back,” he muttered, voice low. “you’ll feel better.” 

the warmth that had been in your blood moved fo sit low in you. his fingers worked quickly, unlooping and untying as he tugged one shoe off and placed it on the ground, moving for the other. 

they were rough against your skin; calloused from whatever mysterious job it is he did. 

you knew he could feel you staring at him, but his eyes stayed down, the mop of black hair on his head the only thing in your sight. you don’t know what it was that had you doing what you did next: call it lust, call it a tease, call it whatever. you boiled it down to pure instinct. 

moving your hand from your thigh, you carefully carded your fingers through his hair, pausing for just a moment to see if there was an adverse reaction before sliding into the thickness. 

toji froze. 

his own hand laid still and heavy against your ankle. it was like he was waiting for something, or maybe he wasn’t sure of what to do. the silence around you became all too loud but you couldn’t be bothered to care over your heart thumping in your ears. you knew you were crossing a line that you might (definitely) could not come back from, but that was the thing. 

you didn’t care. 

biting the inside of your cheek, you tugged on a few strands experimentally. toji’s jaw ticked, and you waited for him to stop you. 

he didn’t. 

you gathered the clumps between your fingers and tugged harder this time, lifting his gaze to you almost forcefully. 

you’d admired toji on many occasions; when he was taking out his trash, when he’d carry in your groceries because ‘you shouldn’t be doin’ all that’, when he’d come back from the gym sweaty and holding his bag, smirk thrown over his shoulder before he ducked into his place. 

but this? this was all new. this was all for you. the sight of him at your feet, eyes nothing but dark slits— so fucking pretty. that’s all you could think. 

“careful, doll,” he said, voice low. “don’t start a game you won’t finish.” 

“who says i don’t want to?”

a/n: between traveling the past few weeks, getting ready for school, and intense writers block, it was so hard finishing this bit but im so glad you guys liked the last one <3 ill try to get part 3 out quicker and hopefully the writing will be better :D but again thank yall for the love! and as always requests are open

comment for taglist (for this series)

tags: @mitsuristoleme

[fightingbymoonlight]

Seeing people I know and like using AI is making me understand the protagonists of those old time sci fi dystopia's.

"Oh I don't normally use AI, I just wanted it to plan my trip"

You lived on this planet for decades, you know what you like, there are hundreds of websites where you can type into any search engine " things to do in [area]" and have at least a hundred different options.

"Oh I only use it so I can figure out what to make during the week with what I have"

The most popular website as you type in "recipes" into google have sections where you click dinner- quick and easy and those usually rely on staples + 1 or 2 items. I found 30 recipes on chicken alone.

"I had a writing idea, so I typed a few sentences into Chat GPT and I was able to write 20 pages with it."

Youdidn'twriteit.Youdidn'twriteit.youdidn'twriteit.youdidn'twriteit.YOUDIDN'TWRITEIT.YOUDIDN'TWRITEIT.YOUDIDN'TWRITEIT.

[longnuts]

Does anyone know what to do

[princecarlton]

[homunculus-argument]

Not book smart or street smart but a secret third thing.

[luckyletd0wn]

supid

[homunculus-argument]

supid.

[iftye]

actually very very grateful for the online slash long distance friendships and connections ive made on this hellsite and i don’t think i say that enough but!!!!!!!! i love you all so so much besties in my phone

[jjkblrthoughts]

AN AO3 AI DETECTOR CAME OUT!!! it is based on the source code of ai generated text that has been copied and pasted please check it out and add the code to ur ao3 skin

i will be tagging x reader because this is something we should be using

[sanniesfavoriteprincess]

if you want - toji

[ sum ]: dared to call neighbor!toji while you're drunk at a party

[ tags ]: alcohol usage mentioned

[ wc ]: 0.8k

you hadn’t meant to call him. it was a stupid dare, really, and like all the other dares that had been thrown your way, you could’ve simply taken a shot and moved on. 

but maybe it was the fact that you kept hitting pass on them (at least, that’s what you wanted to blame it on). you didn’t want to be the buzzkill of the party. besides, one more drink and you were almost certain you would’ve ended up passed out in the bathroom anyway. this was the smarter, easier decision. 

“…hello?” came toji’s voice through the speaker, rough and mumbled as if he’d just woken up. a part of you felt bad; you hadn’t even checked the time before you called. 

“hi, toji,” you said carefully. the circle of people in front of you giggled and you shushed them with a wave of your hand. “did i- did i wake you?” 

“what do you need, doll?” he asked, deflecting the question. “you alright?” 

a wave of excited gasps and murmurs spread across the group as your cheeks burned. your crush on your neighbor was no secret from your friends, but they’d only ever heard about the way he’d treated you; now, they were witnessing it for themselves. 

“mhm. ‘m sorry, it’s just a dare.” 

a moment of silence as your cheeks grew hotter. this was both simultaneously embarrassing and entertaining, but you wished you had more to go off of than telling the truth, scared this was where the conversation would end. you liked hearing toji’s voice. you liked showing him off (even if he wasn’t yours) (yet). “jesus, ma. you can’t go ‘round calling me at 2 in the mornin’ and expect me not to get worried.” 

dropping the phone into your lap, you buried your face in your palms. “i’m sorry,” you said again, your words muffled and slurred. you could hear toji shuffling out of bed on the other side, a chuckle in his voice as he spoke. 

“’s alright. so, a dare. you’re at a party, then?” 

“yes, at- at a friends,” you respond. “nothing crazy.” 

“you’re drunk, i’m assuming.” 

“not really…” 

“how much is ‘not really?’” 

you bit your lip before answering. 

“um..six shots?” 

“of?” 

“…tequila.” 

beside you, your friend snorted before slapping a hand over her mouth. it was audible enough, unfortunately, and toji paused on the other end before speaking.

“i’m on speaker, ain’t i?” 

“i’m sorry,” you said again. your voice barely above a whisper, there were no other words in your head, a drunken difference compared to your normal barrage of thoughts. “i can hang up now.” 

“hey, ‘friends’,” toji said instead. 

“hi, toji,” came the unanimous response, and if you could have self combusted, you would’ve. 

“y’all seem to be havin’ fun.” 

“you should come!” someone called in front of you, and you whipped your head up. “what?! are you- no! toji, i’m sorry-“ 

“yeah? should i?” you could hear the smile on his voice, the lilt so teasing your annoyance melted away instantly. 

“i- i mean-“ 

“it’s my birthday, and i think toji should come,” the birthday girl piped up. “actually, i mandate it. and i want to see the guy you’ve been talking abo-“ 

you threw a stray couch cushion at her (nicely, of course, courtesy of being the host). 

the sudden silence ripped another laugh out of toji, one which went south too quickly before you could think. something else to blame on the alcohol, you thought. 

“‘m not gonna crash a girls night, ladies. don’t think my doll would like it.” 

beside you, your friends began to murmur again, shoving your shoulder and motioning at the phone. 

“invite him!” they whispered, most definitely loud enough for toji to hear, and you cringed. it’s not that you didn’t want him there— of course you did, you always did. that was the issue. 

you just weren’t sure if he’d want to be there, too. 

“i- uh…” 

“somethin’ you wanna say, princess? cause i’m up now.” 

did that mean he wanted to come? or did that mean he was annoyed you woke him up, and he wanted to get this call over with? it would’ve been a puzzle sober, and it was almost impossible to solve drunk. 

but peer pressure was a real and true thing. as your friends pointed and motioned at your phone again, quietly yelling profanities at you to invite the man, you caved. what else were you supposed to do?

“you…can come if you want.” 

your friends smacked their heads. a few of them groaned, and your shoulders sagged. who the fuck invites someone like that?

chance lost, you thought to yourself. he’s staying forever neighbor-toji. 

“do you want me to come, ma?”

it was like the room had revived again. you hoped this was toji talking to you and not putting on a show for your friends, but you didn’t care much in that moment. 

were you supposed to be honest? 

i can blame this on the alcohol, you told yourself for the millionth time. tomorrow morning, i’ll blame this on the alcohol. 

“yes.” 

“send me the address. i’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

a/n : sorry for the slop shit but should i do a part two? and as always requests are open!

[forest-hashira]

✨tag game! tag ten people you'd like to get to know✨

thank you for the tag @zekeyeagervevo !!

last song: caribbean blue by enya

current obsession: witch hat atelier

currently reading: witch hat atelier (lol. on vol. 10 rn!)

currently working on: multiple secret projects :)

currently wearing: sleep clothes bay bee

last search: dear zachary documentary (haven't seen it, couldn't remember what it was about, ruined my own day)

favorite flower: wisteria flowers 🥰 though i do also like cherry blossoms, plum blossoms, and honeysuckle a lot

tagging: @cruel-hiraeth @mitsuristoleme @kentocalls @pastelle-rabbit @fushigurro @ass-mosphere @threadbare-sweater & anyone else who wants to hop in!! 💜

[mitsuristoleme]

thank you for the tag fallon💗💗

last song: those eyes by new west

current obsession: cookie run kingdom

currently reading: nothing i fear

currently working on: uni projects😔😔

currently wearing: pajamas

last search: uniqlo.com (i need pants)

favourite flower: i love me some lillies

um i havent been active on here so idk how many of my friends still remember me, so. open tag🫪

[nanamineedstherapy]

I'll wait for you

F1 Driver Soft! Ex-Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader (Satoru's sister)

+ Brojo being the absolute best brother around.

Summary: You got stood up at a local fair by a man from Hinge, then got trapped beside your ex, and remembered that Ryomen Sukuna could drive a Ferrari for a living but still get scared by carnival rides. Then you relearn that Sukuna still knew your usual order, your cat hates him on sight, and your brother had once told you to stop throwing your life away for him. (Ft. Gojo Satoru, Catoru, Takako Uro & mentioned Geto Suguru Slander).

Or, Satoru got sick a few years ago & you haven't been the same since. Will the F1 driver be able to get you back?

Based on this poll. WC: 6.5K.

Warnings: Contains Fic Spoilers, Crack treated seriously, fluff, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, mentions of illness (metastatic uveal melanoma (ocular cancer with secondary poliosis)), brief panic attack/sensory overwhelm in public but don't worry Sukuna’s there, nothing graphic & good ending.

A/N: I have never cried this much while writing a fic (at Satoru's parts.) Not beta read; I'll reread it once I'm not smelling colors. Playlist

You arrived at the fair in an outfit that made men stupider, which meant Suguru from Hinge had chosen a historic day to become legally dead to you.

The skirt and the boots were new. The lipstick was so expensive that it made you eat fries with caution and drink water through a straw held at an angle. You had spent twenty minutes deciding between earrings, then another ten pretending that decision said anything meaningful about you on a first date.

Suguru had sent you a voice note that morning.

Can’t wait to finally see you.

He had a calm voice and a nice laugh. One month and a half of decent conversation, book recommendations, a very confident opinion about soup dumplings, and enough green flags that you had lowered your guard by four percent to show up here without thinking of ending up on Dateline.

You checked your phone again.

7:16 PM.

The meeting time had been 6:30.

You called once more, and it went straight to ringing, then voicemail.

You stared opened your chat with Uro.

You: i hope all his hair falls out.

Uro: Did he arrive?

You: if he did he is doing a stealth mission.

Uro: Men from dating apps need ankle monitors.

You: i wore the boots.

Uro: The black ones?

You: yes.

Uro: Jail.

you: he hasn’t picked up once.

Uro: Jail with soap drops.

You stood near a booth where a man in a foam hot-dog hat shouted about ring toss prizes. A toddler screamed at a plush duck. Couples passed with paper trays of fries and stupidly linked hands. Then you got startled by a generator coughing behind the cotton candy stand.

Your phone buzzed again.

Uro: I have to pick up my niece from my sister’s. She tried to feed a Lego to the dog.

you: that’s advanced.

Uro: I’d have brought her, but she's three, so fairs are still beyond her. Go enjoy the place. You already paid for parking and the outfit.

you: I got stood up.

Uro: But your boots are innocent, babes. Just eat overpriced food, and have fun. God knows you need it.

You looked down at your boots.

They really were.

you: fine. if i die on a carnival ride-

Uro: I’ll sue the park.

You put your phone away and bought cotton candy from a teenager. Pink sugar melted against your tongue. It was too sweet, coating your teeth, but the outrageousness helped.

The fair had a local committee feel—half the lights flickered, the prizes looked as if they had been won in divorce court, a banner near the main stage promised LIVE MUSIC AT 8 but the band currently tuning looked prepubescent.

You wandered because you were good at taking yourself out. That skill had come from practice. Movies, cafes, bookstores, and whole birthdays turned into errands because if you waited for people to show up on time, you spent half your life facing an empty chair.

So you did the stalls.

You threw darts at balloons and missed every single one, which the booth guy treated as a genuine tragedy.

You watched a little boy win a plastic sword bigger than his arm and immediately whack his father in the shin.

You texted Uro a photo of a plush frog with one eye sewn higher than the other.

you: this is suguru.

Uro: Too handsome.

you: true. suguru had better hair.

Uro: Frog has better commitment.

You laughed and got powdered sugar on your lips.

By the time you reached the rides, the sun had dropped behind the school building beside the fairground. The Tilt-A-Whirl sat near the back, painted red and yellow, its bulbs blinking in frantic loops. The cars spun in drunken circles while a group of teenagers shrieked.

Your stomach did a happy little flip with them.

You loved rides that ruined balance—Ferris wheels were pretty, carousels felt decorative, and the Tilt-A-Whirl was nonsense with bolts. It made your insides lift and swoop, and for three minutes your head cleared out.

You bought a ticket and climbed into an empty two-person car with your cotton candy tucked against your side. You hoped the operator would forget about you or place a woman beside you.

You continued to eat through your leftover cotton candy while looking at what other rides you could go on after this one.

The car dipped as someone sat right next to you.

You half turned.

Tattoos.

Black Line Tattoos.

Your hand clenched around the paper cone.

He was looking away, one elbow braced on the edge of the car, his phone in his hand. His hair was shorter than when you had last seen him. He wore a black jacket over a plain t-shirt, and the side of his neck still had that faint tan line from racing gear. He looked rich in the way drivers did after sponsors got involved—expensive, mildly sleep-deprived, capable of getting photographed beside a model and smirking through the headline.

You looked away so fast your neck nearly clicked.

Fine. Fine. He hadn’t seen you.

Maybe.

The fair was crowded. The ride was loud. The universe had placed him next to you as a practical joke, but you had survived worse jokes.

You reached for the lap bar to lift it.

It locked.

The operator gave the car a bored shove.

The ride started.

Your soul left your outfit.

Sukuna still hadn’t turned. He was watching someone by the fence. You followed his line of sight without moving your head much and caught sight of Yuji waving both arms while Choso held a paper plate piled with funnel cake. Some younger cousin or family friend bounced beside them with a flashing wand—so they were out on family night.

Aww cute.

No.

Horrible.

Your exit routes had been sealed by machinery and his entire goddamn bloodline.

The first spin was mild—your car rolled around the platform, gaining momentum. Wind pulled at your hair, and the cotton candy trembled in your grip.

Sukuna’s knee hit the side.

You tried to look at him from the corner of your eye without turning fully toward him.

His jaw had tightened.

Oh.

You remembered now.

He could take corners at speeds that made sports commentators develop religion. He could slide a car through rain, through smoke, through the hideous math of another driver trying to cut him off.

Yet put him on a county fair ride operated by a boy named Mason with an energy drink, and Ryomen Sukuna became a trapped alien.

The car swung harder.

His hand landed on the seat between you, palm pressed flat.

You turned your face away and bit the inside of your cheek.

Another spin, faster. The platform tilted. Your stomach tingled in the way you loved, a bright swoop that rushed up your ribs. You almost laughed.

Sukuna made a sound that could have been a cough—if coughs carried primal fear.

You stared at the painted horse on the booth across the ride and, without looking at him, placed your hand over his.

He seemed too busy fighting for his life to notice.

But the car spun again, and his hand gripped yours on instinct, hard enough to make your rings press into your skin. He still didn’t turn. Maybe he thought you were a stranger. Maybe he was far gone in battle with the Tilt-A-Whirl deity. Maybe he had recognized you from the first second and decided mutual delusion was better than conversation.

You kept your face angled away.

The ride grew faster and meaner, so your laughter broke out, helpless and breathy. Sukuna’s shoulder bumped yours, his body almost lurching forward.

When the ride slowed, you pulled your hand back before he could catch it properly. The lap bar lifted, and you stood while everyone around you stumbled out.

Sukuna finally turned.

His eyes caught on your waist, right where his hand used to land before dawn when his alarm went off and he reached across the bed half-asleep, finding you before he found his phone.

Recognition moved through his face with vulgar speed.

You were already moving through the crowd.

You didn’t run because that would imply guilt. You were simply a dignified woman fleeing a carnival ride because your ex had discovered your waist by sight.

He called out your name, but it was so loud he couldn't hear his own voice.

A child with a glow stick cut across your path. You dodged. Someone spilled lemonade near the duck pond game. You stepped around it. Your heart was making a ridiculous amount of effort for a body that had only eaten sugar.

You almost reached the row of food trucks when a hand closed around your arm.

You turned.

Sukuna let go at once.

For a second he looked exactly as stupid as you remembered him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought that was you.”

You stared at him.

His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes flicked over your face, the boots, and the cone of cotton candy crushed in your hand.

“You changed your hair,” he said.

“You still scared of rides at a carnival.” Adreline made you blurt it out before you could stop yourself.

His face loosened, his crimson eyes relaxed into his features, and it reminded you too much of the day you’d last seen him.

You cleared your throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How have you been?”

“Driving in circles for money.”

“Healthy career path.”

“You?”

You nodded toward the fair in general. “Being abandoned beside a corn dog booth. Thriving.”

His brow moved. “Abandoned?”

Your phone buzzed in your bag. Probably Uro asking if she could pay an Etsy witch to get Suguru stalked by goats.

“Long story.”

Sukuna studied you, then glanced toward the ride. “You stayed on.”

“I was trapped.”

“You held my hand.”

“You were dying.”

“I was assessing structural failure.”

“Mason looked very qualified.”

“The operator?”

“He had a whistle.”

Sukuna’s mouth twitched. “Powerful credential.”

You hated how fast your face warmed. You hated the stupid, familiar muscle memory. You hated that the air between you could still find the old groove with one push.

“I saw your last race,” you said, because your mouth had chosen arson.

Genuine surprise crossed his face. “You watch them?”

You scrunched your nose mildly, accidentally. The way you did when you’d been caught.

Sukuna stared at that tiny movement. He’d never told you about that one tell.

His expression did a weird thing—softened at the edges, then caught itself.

You swallowed. “Some highlights came on. At a gay bar with friends.”

His brows rose. “I have gay bar fans?”

“You have fans with questionable betting habits everywhere.”

“Which bar?”

You refused to explain that you had begged the bartender to put the race on while you sat alone PMSing, a gin and tonic beside your hand, pretending you wanted sports because sports had become a pathetic substitute for his absence. You had watched his car move through the screen while drunk men argued behind you about karaoke. You had missed him so badly you had ordered fries you didn’t want just to stay until the podium interview.

“Some place downtown,” you said. “The bartender said you were probably annoying.”

He leaned a little closer. “You care about other people’s opinions of me?”

“I was doing community outreach.”

“So you follow me.”

“You have gotten hard to miss.”

He smiled then, infuriatingly flustered beneath the smirk. “Are you seeing someone?”

Your grip tightened on the cotton candy cone again.

You could have said you had been stood up by a man whose most impressive quality was voice-note confidence. You could have said everyone after Sukuna had felt as if they never really saw you. You could have said you had wanted him to be there so many times that no one would ever compare.

Instead, you said, “How’s the model?”

“The model?”

“The one from the news at the rooftop dinner. Tall one.”

He huffed. “You follow me pretty closely for somebody asking casual questions.”

It should have made you laugh.

That was the script. He teased, you deflected, he leaned closer, you rolled your eyes and pretended your heartbeat didn’t sing for him.

Instead, something inside you slipped.

Satoru would have loved this. He would have demanded screenshots, then called Sukuna a pink-haired lizard, then told you to stop acting as if a breakup suddenly made you mature. 

Your smile thinned before you could poker-face it.

Sukuna saw.

He stopped teasing so fast it hurt more than anything.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He looked at your face as if he could pull the answer out, then seemed to think better of it. His hand flexed at his side.

“I fly back the day after tomorrow,” he said, instead. “Before that, can we get coffee tomorrow night?”

You watched a father lift his daughter onto his shoulders near the balloon stall. The little girl had blue face paint smeared across one cheek.

You said zilch.

Sukuna’s mouth tightened. “I need an answer. I can’t call you.” He paused. “Same number?”

You had blocked him so thoroughly your phone treated his existence as malware.

“Same number,” you mumbled.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“I can drive.”

He ignored you. “You live at the same place?”

“Next to the old one.”

“Six then.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“I did for both of us.”

You should have hated that.

But your lips twitched before you could stop them.

He saw that and looked pathetically relieved for a man paid to risk death.

At home, you called Uro from the couch.

She answered with, “Tell me Suguru got shingles.”

“I saw Sukuna.”

There was some scrambling on the other side.

“Ryomen Sukuna?”

“How many Sukuna exes do you think I have?”

“With your taste? I fear categories.”

You told her everything—the Tilt-A-Whirl, the hand, the gay bar lie, the coffee.

Uro went silent.

Then she sighed. “You should go.”

You sat up. “Why?”

“Sukuna didn’t cause this.”

You looked toward the TV, where a cooking show contestant was crying over burned fish.

Uro lowered her voice. “You ended it because of Satoru.”

Your throat tightened.

“You told Sukuna he was boring,” she continued. “Which was insane, by the way. That man has a lethal jawline and a deadly career.”

“He did become boring.”

"No, honey, you panicked because your brother relapsed, and the illness came back worse, and Sukuna was training for the season that could make his career. You thought he’d throw everything away and come sit in oncology waiting rooms.”

You pressed your thumb under your ring, twisting it.

Uro added, “You also kept telling everyone you were fine, which was your least convincing era.”

“I couldn’t make him choose.”

“You chose for him.”

You closed your eyes.

“Go for coffee,” she said, smiling. “You can still leave if he’s gotten stupid. I’ll key his car.”

That made you laugh, but it hurt coming out.

After the call, you fell asleep with your boots still beside the couch.

Satoru woke you by poking your ankle under the blanket. “Breakfast.”

You opened your eyes in the old house, in his room, on the giant bed you had practically moved into during the bad months. The emergency bell sat on the nightstand beside many bottles of prescription eye drops, a strip of tablets, and the ugly plastic water bottle he hated because it made him “feel eighty in a hospital commercial.”

He stood at the doorway in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, hair white around his face and paler at the lashes. Before the cancer, he had black hair and caramel eyes. He used to say the universe stole his color and made him ethereal.

You sat up too fast. “Why are you moving around?”

He waved a hand. “I made pancakes, nurse warden.”

“You’re meant to rest.”

“I am resting.”

“Satoru.”

“I feel better, let me have this.” His smile spread, bright and crooked, a little thinner than it used to be. “Breakfast for my baby sister.”

You followed him to the kitchen because arguing with him had once been a full-time job and you missed him having the stamina for it.

The pancakes were your favorite—he'd made them with extra fruit and too much syrup. He had even warmed the plate.

You took a bite.

The taste was wrong.

It was floury, flat, and a little bitter.

Satoru’s smile faltered. “Meds messed with my taste buds again, huh?”

“It’s good.”

“Liar. Give me the bowl. I’ll remake it.”

You pulled the plate closer. “It’s perfect.”

“Add more syrup.”

He sank into the chair across from you, breathing a little heavier than he wanted you to hear.

“Will Kento or Shoko come by today?” you asked.

“Don’t feel like socializing.” He sighed, stretching his shoulders with a wince he couldn't hide well. “I was thinking we watch a movie.”

You fully looked up.

He shrugged. “Unless you have better plans. Like maybe calling your bubblegum-haired ego a problem."

“Sukuna has a name.”

“Sukuna has anger issues.”

You laughed.

Satoru leaned back, pleased. “Call him back.”

“I broke up with him.”

“Why?”

“He should focus on his career.”

“If he’s going to be worth anything, he should learn to multitask." He speared a piece of fruit from your plate. “If he has a girl, she’s high maintenance. He’ll have training.”

“You barely know him.”

“I know he looks at you as if you’re a pit stop he wants to marry.”

You choked on syrup.

Satoru waited until you stopped coughing. He passed you water, then kept his hand around the glass for a second, as if he knew you might use it to hide your face.

“I’m serious,” he said.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “That’s new.”

“Don’t get cute. That’s my job.”

“You’re bad at it.”

“I’m excellent at everything. Keep up.” His smile faded before it could become a joke. “You shouldn’t have broken up with him because of me.”

You looked down at your plate. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You make every decision like every part of your life has to consider me first.”

“That’s not—"

“It’s true.”

You pressed your fork into the pancake. “You’re sick, Satoru. You need me.”

“I know that.” His voice stayed steady, but his fingers tightened around his mug. “I need my sister. I don’t need you to turn into a nurse with no life after me.”

Your throat burned. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“It’s a horrible thing to watch.”

You looked at him then.

He held your eyes, tired and pale and still your brother under all of it. The same brother who had signed your school forms when your parents forgot, who had shown up to parent-teacher meetings in his uniform because he had practice right after, who had made your lunch badly for a month before he learned how to pack fruit without smashing it. He had been loud about everything except the things that mattered most.

“You think I don’t see it?” he asked. “You don’t sleep unless I sleep. You don’t eat unless I complain first. You keep your phone face down because you’re scared he’ll call and you’ll want to answer. None of this is good for you.”

You swallowed.

“Sukuna makes you happy,” he said. “He also annoys you, which is good. You get unbearable when nobody argues with you.”

A weak laugh left you, then quickly turned into tears you blinked away.

“I’m scared too.” Satoru leaned back, breathing through the small cost of sitting upright for more than his body was able to bear right now. “I don’t want to say that because then you look at me like your whole chest got kicked in. But I’m scared. And I still don’t want your life to shrink down to this house.”

“Satoru—”

“No. Listen to me.” His voice cut through yours, low and clear. “Love me. Take care of me. Fight with doctors. Make ugly pancakes taste worse with extra syrup. Fine. But don’t throw away someone you love because you think suffering alone is what you deserve.”

You wiped away the tears that came treacherously anyway.

“I raised you better than that,” he said, softer now.

You tried to smile anyway. “You raised me to be dramatic and suspicious.”

“I raised you to have standards, and somehow you picked a race car demon, but I’m choosing peace.”

“He’s not a demon."

“He has face tattoos.”

You laughed again, a little bit bigger this time.

Satoru opened his arm to let you tuck in. “Promise me you’ll call him. If he’s useless, I’ll hate him with you. If he shows up, let him.”

“You make that sound easy.”

“It won’t be.” His hand rubbed against your temple, careful and warm. “Do it anyway.”

He grinned, and for a second he looked sixteen again—school jacket half-zipped, practice bag slung over one shoulder, his mock-test rank posted near the top of the board. Boys copied his notes despite hating him. Girls found reasons to borrow erasers. Teachers used his name in warnings and compliments in the same breath. He played whichever sport had a vacancy that week, won enough to make coaches greedy, then came home with convenience-store candy for you because you had texted him a sad face during math.

You spent the afternoon watching a dumb action movie. It had three explosions in the first twenty minutes and a villain with an accent from nowhere. He kept making comments under his breath, weaker than his usual running commentary but smug enough.

Halfway through, his head tipped against the back of the couch, heavy medication dragging him under.

“You’re missing the part where the car jumps through a hospital.”

“Mmph.” He made a lazy sound, eyes closed.

You let him sleep.

The medicine did that to him lately—took his words first, then made his limbs sluggish, then the rest of him slower to react. You checked the time on your phone, compared it with the notebook on the table, and saw his next dose still had some time. Fine. He could sleep. You could give him that.

The movie kept playing—someone on-screen was shouting about a bomb as Satoru breathed beside you, shallow but steady, so your body allowed itself to unwind.

You must have drifted off too, because when you opened your eyes again, the room had shifted into evening. The TV had gone to the streaming menu, and the house had that late-day smell, dust, syrup, old coffee in the mug by his elbow.

Your neck hurt from the couch angle.

You yawned and nudged his knee with your foot. “Toru. Go to bed.”

He stayed slumped against the cushion.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up properly. “Seriously. Your back’s going to hurt more if you sleep here.”

His hand rested palm-up on the couch between you—long fingers, pale knuckles, and a small bruise near the wrist from the last blood draw. You nudged his palm.

“Medication time soon,” you added. “Come on. I’ll help you walk.”

He stayed still.

A small irritation rose in your chest, familiar and domestic. The type of annoyed you got when he acted dramatic during eye drops or complained about water tasting “aggressively round.”

“Satoru.”

You leaned closer and shook his shoulder.

His body moved with the shake, then settled.

Your irritation thinned.

“Toru?”

You touched his cheek.

It was warm but too still under your palm. His lashes were pale against his skin, white from the treatment and the strange pigment loss.

“Hey.” Your voice came out softer. “Wake up. You have to take the evening meds.”

The notebook lay open on the coffee table—pills and drops listed by time. The little boxes you had drawn and checked and checked again because order made you feel useful.

You reached for his wrist.

His pulse was hard to find.

Your own pulse got in the way, slamming through your fingertips.

“Satoru, stop it.”

You pressed harder at his wrist, then shifted to his throat the way the nurse had taught you during one of the discharge briefings.

“Wake up,” you said, even louder. “Go to your bed. You’re too tall for the couch, and I’m sick of hearing you complain about your spine.”

His head stayed angled toward the TV.

You grabbed his shoulder with both hands.

“Satoru!”

The name came out in a cracked scream.

You shook him again, rougher than you had touched him in months.

“Stop. This isn’t funny. Toru, get up.”

You bent close to his mouth.

For one awful second you thought you felt breath, then realized it was yours hitting his skin and coming back.

“No,” you said, and the word came out small, stupid, and useless.

You pressed your ear to his chest.

You waited.

You moved your ear, searching.

You held your own breath so you could hear his.

Nothing came.

Your hands began to shake so hard his shirt wrinkled under your fists.

“Toru,” you whispered.

Then you screamed for him.

The dream broke there, same as it did every time.

You woke on the couch in your apartment, gasping, sweat cooling under the collar of your shirt. The TV had gone to sleep, your phone had slipped between cushions and outside, daylight had already moved across the room and started fading again.

You had slept through most of the day.

Coffee was in an hour.

You got ready in simpler clothes because the idea of another date outfit made you feel stupid. New jeans, clean socks and the oversized white cashmere sweater Satoru had bought you years ago, back when he had money, black hair, caramel eyes, and a talent for buying gifts that made you cry in private.

Downstairs, Sukuna waited beside a car you couldn’t place. New or rental.

He straightened when he saw you.

Then he opened the passenger door and held out flowers.

You stared at them.

They were real flowers—pink and white, wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine.

“For you,” he said when you kept staring at them.

“I gathered.”

“You going to take them?”

“I’m thinking.”

He waited.

You took them.

He looked away, and the edge of his mouth moved, almost smug.

You wanted to beat the smugness off with the said flowers, but instead you got in.

The car ride carried all the comfort of small talk. He asked about traffic near your building. You asked about his flight schedule. He mentioned a sponsor event. You said the fair food was probably giving him diarrhea. Sukuna laughed.

The cafe was small, upscale, and filled with people who seemed able to drink espresso after sunset without ruining their nervous systems.

Sukuna held the door. You hated that too.

At the counter he asked, “Usual?”

You nodded.

He ordered it correctly.

You took a table near the wall.

“So,” he said once he sat, “what are you doing these days?”

“Work sabbatical. Finishing my degree.”

His eyes stayed on you. “That good?”

"Please, I don’t need judgment from a man who believed cigarettes were breakfast.”

His mouth twitched. “I matured.”

“You bought a sports car.”

“It was assigned.”

“What? Corporate custody?”

“Something along those lines.”

The server arrived with drinks plus a small pizza cut into uneven squares. Your usual.

You stared at the tray for a second too long.

He sipped his coffee. “How’s Satoru?”

Your body became hyperaware of your reality.

The hiss of the steamer grew enormous. A chair scraped behind you. Someone laughed near the window, high and sudden. The chili oil on the pizza smelled acidic. The sweater collar touched your throat.

“He died.”

Sukuna froze. “What”

“It’ll be a year soon.”

His hand hovered near the table, then lowered. “How?”

You folded your napkin, then unfolded it. “Peaceful, according to the doctors.”

His jaw worked. “Are you living alone?”

“Yes.”

“Family?”

You almost smiled. “Satoru was the family.”

The words hurt to speak aloud.

Sukuna knew you had family, but having and being reciprocative with affection and meeting a child's needs were two different things. They didn’t like you or satoru much.

“Have you…” Sukuna looked at you for a long moment. "Cried since?”

Your hands felt cold.

“What?”

“Since he passed.”

You pushed back from the table—the legs screeched. The cafe turned its head toward you in a hundred tiny ways. Every cup, every voice, every light on the wall became a separate grating sound.

Sukuna rose with you, fast enough to catch your wrist before you could knock something over.

You flinched, and he released you.

Then he stepped close enough that his voice could reach your ear and no one else. “Breathe. You can skip the answer. I pushed.”

You shook your head.

“Breathe,” he said again. “Look at me or the door. Pick one.”

You looked at the door because you didn't have the capacity to look at him right now—his crimson eyes were too expressive at the worst of the times.

"Please…" You took a deep breath in. “I want to go home.”

“Okay.”

The drive back was short.

He made zero attempts at conversation, keeping both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. At your building, he parked and walked around to open your door.

“I can get upstairs.”

“I know.”

He followed anyway, carrying the pizza and flowers, as if the evening had become a delivery service with unresolved romantic history.

Inside your apartment, Toru stood in the hallway—white fur and blue eyes. A body shaped by luxury and criminal entitlement.

The cat looked at Sukuna, then at you, then back at Sukuna.

Sukuna stared.

You mildly introduced them, “That’s Toru.”

Toru blinked slowly, withholding citizenship.

Sukuna took off his shoes. “Does he bite?”

“He does and also loudly meowdels every old man complains he has.”

“Fair.”

You went to the couch because your bones had become heavy. Sukuna went into the kitchen without asking, which should have annoyed you, except you were less overwhelmed now. He filled the kettle. Opened cabinets and found the pan.

Toru followed him and sat near the fridge, supervising with contempt.

“You eat?” Sukuna asked the cat.

Toru’s tail moved softly.

“Useful answer.” He paused, then asked. “She eat?”

You pulled a pillow over your face, quite far away to hear any of this.

Sukuna continued, fully serious. “Blink once for very little. Twice, if she survives on coffee.”

Toru blinked once.

“He seems credible," Sukuna calls out to you.

“He licks plastic bags.” You yell back.

Sukuna smirked towards Toru and tapped his nose, making the cat paw at its nose. “It’s okay. Witnesses are allowed to have flaws.”

The cat squared up and hissed, which meant he was flawless.

From the couch, you heard the scrape of a knife, the tap of the cutting board, and the click of the stove. He made coffee first. Then stir-fry, simple and fast, with vegetables cut the way you used to cut them and sauce mixed from memory.

Your recipe.

Stolen.

Also, the only thing he’d eat after a long day.

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep until Sukuna stood over you with a bowl in one hand and the remote in the other. You woke up with the smell of garlic and soy.

“Sit up.”

You sat up because your body, treacherous thing, wanted the food.

He sat beside you with his own bowl and put on a terrible movie. Some action sequel where cars exploded for reasons that offended even him. Toru jumped onto the armchair and watched Sukuna as if waiting for a confession.

The first bite loosened your chest. Warm rice, vegetables, and sauce with slightly too much garlic because he remembered you liked it.

“You still cook it wrong.”

He glanced over. “You’re eating fast for a critic.”

“You stole my recipe.”

“I improved it.”

“You put too much ginger.”

“You need flavor.”

“You need to be humbled.”

“Tried it. Bad fit.”

A huff of a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

Sukuna looked at your face, then back to the TV.

You ate half the bowl before speaking again. “Satoru wanted a cat.”

Sukuna kept his eyes on the screen. His body shifted into less performative ease and more attention.

“Our parents would never let us have one,” you continued. “Which made sense in the practical way. Then it made less sense because they weren’t indulgent with anything, so it became this larger question of why they had children at all.”

Toru groomed one paw, deeply unmoved by human origin stories.

“Satoru used to send me photos of cats. He said once he got better after treatment, he’d buy a bigger house and fill it with cats who were babied and spoiled.”

Sukuna set his bowl down.

“During the last months, his hair went whiter. Lashes too. The doctors explained it, saying it was pigment cells, immune response, and treatment side effects. His eyes were the first problem. He couldn’t see well, but you could work around that while the meds still worked. There were tools, routines, labels on bottles, brighter lamps, audiobooks when reading hurt too much. Then—”

You swallowed because if you’d stopped now, it’d stay stuck in there forever and eat you worse. “Then the liver got worse. He had these drops, and scans, and appointments where everyone used gentle voices at us.” You swallowed. “He made jokes about turning into a designer ghost.”

Sukuna made a small sound, almost a laugh, because Satoru had deserved that much.

The crying began softly—a few tears you could have blamed on the movie.

Then Sukuna moved closer and put his arm around you.

“I kept thinking if I managed the appointments and the meds and the food and the calls, it would make a difference. If I stayed in his room and stayed awake, I’d catch everything. If I heard every breath, if I woke up fast enough...” Your spoon rested against the bowl.

“It didn’t matter.”

Sukuna said your name.

Your face hit his chest, and the sound that came out of you was ugly and torn loose. Years of holding yourself upright broke down into his shirt. He moved the bowl away with one hand and pulled you in properly.

You cried until your nose ran, until Toru abandoned the armchair and jumped onto the couch, until Sukuna’s shirt was damp and his hand had settled at the back of your head, warm and familiar in a way your body accepted before you realized.

“I told you that you were boring,” you choked out because he deserved that.

“I remember.”

“I was lying.”

“I know.”

“I thought you’d ruin everything.”

“You should’ve let me choose.”

“I’m sorry.”

His mouth pressed to your hair. “I know.”

His eyes burned once before he blinked hard and looked away. The wins had come with the money, the cameras, and the noise.

None of it fixed the part of him that still looked for you after every flight, every podium, every room full of people talking too much.

Every success felt a little thinner because every hotel room still ended with him reaching for a phone he couldn’t use to call the only woman he’d ever cared about.

Back then he’d known you were lying, he just hadn’t known how to make you come home.

You cried harder because you probably hadn't since your brother left.

At some point the movie ended and the streaming app tried to play another. Toru fell asleep against your thigh. Sukuna kept holding you until your body gave out.

You woke once when he carried you, mumbled something unintelligible, and fell asleep again.

He carried you to your bedroom.

You hadn’t slept there in weeks. The bed looked almost staged.

Sukuna set you down and left only long enough to bring water, your phone, and Toru, who protested being handled until Sukuna told him, “Your landlord requires supervision.”

Toru bit his arm.

Sukuna winced and let the cat curl up to you.

Sukuna got into bed beside you fully clothed. He didn’t crowd you at first. He lay on his back, one arm open.

You moved into it.

The sweater smelled faintly of your perfume and old cashmere. Sukuna smelled of coffee and the same cologne he used to wear when he had early flights and kissed you in doorways while pretending he had plenty of time.

You slept deeply.

Morning arrived without the usual panic of dreams.

For a few seconds, you knew that before you knew anything else. Your body had rested properly because your jaw didn’t ache and your hands weren’t curled into fists under the blanket.

Then you reached beside you.

The pillow held a dent, but Toru had claimed Sukuna’s side of the bed and looked pleased.

Your chest tightened, then eased in a tired, resigned way.

Of course. He had a flight. He had said so.

Maybe last night had been a mercy visit from an ex with guilt and good arms.

That was fine.

It had helped.

You could survive that much.

You got up to feed Toru.

A note was stuck to his bowl in Sukuna’s handwriting.

I’ll be back next month. Unblock me.

You stared at it.

Toru headbutted your ankle because romance meant little compared to tuna.

You fed him first.

Then you unblocked Sukuna.

A text came through almost at once with a photo.

You were asleep on his chest the night before, your cheek squashed against his shirt, Toru sitting on your hip as if guarding property. Your hair was everywhere and your mouth was slightly open. Sukuna’s jaw was only partly visible, but his hand rested over your back, his thumb blurred mid-stroke.

Below it came a calendar invite, already adjusted to your time zone.

1:30 PM Video Call.

Don’t dodge me.

You clicked on the calendar and saw that he'd squeezed it in after his team debrief. It was surreal to see that your ex had a Ferrari schedule, a flight, and a body people paid millions to keep functional, and still he had blocked out time to annoy you himself.

You accepted it.

Then you went into the kitchen and saw the flowers resting in a mug of water on top of the fridge.

And inside, cold brew waited in a glass bottle, labeled with tape.

Eat something first.

Beside it sat the remaining pizza, wrapped properly, and a container of leftover stir-fry.

You took out the bottle of cold brew, took a photo of it, and sent it.

You: i’m sorry, and i’ll wait for you.

The typing bubbles appeared so fast you almost dropped the phone.

A picture arrived.

Toru sat on the kitchen counter near the same coffee bottle in the gray morning light, tail curled around his paws, blue eyes aimed at Sukuna behind the camera. Beneath it, Sukuna had written:

Your brother might approve.

A/N: I hope you loved this piece as much as I did writing it even if the keyboard was blurry through most of it. I wanted to write only crack and fluff in this; however, Satoru stole my keyboard midway. So hopefully the next story I post isn't going to be as hurt/comforting.

Want to read the same pairings but with Gojo as the endgame?

Masterlist | Rabies | Chuki

Header Images from Anime & Pinterest, dividers are mine.

[forest-hashira]

well. this is not something i expected to be posting - let alone writing - anytime soon, considering everything else i have going on, but @zekeyeagervevo planted this worm in my brain and this was the result that exploded out of me. hopefully some of you guys enjoy lol

read on ao3 | wc: 1.8k | cw: jinshi x f!oc, non-canon setting, fertility goddess oc, kidnapping, jinshi is offered as a sacrifice, first meetings

Jinshi didn't think he'd ever been this terrified in his entire life. One moment he was enjoying the peace of his family's gardens, then next he was being jumped by two men he'd never seen before. They shoved a bag over his head, bound his wrists, and dragged him away before he could even call for help.

Everything that happened after was a blur, unfamiliar voices surrounding him, talking in hushed words about taking him to the local shrine and sacrificing him to their fertility goddess to appease her. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere, panic surging in his chest so strongly he thought he might be sick. For the first time since he'd been snatched from his home, Jinshi fought, pulling at the restraints on his wrists with all his might, thrashing his body around and struggling to get away from his captors.

"Let me go!" he shouted, kicking out blindly when he felt someone grab his shoulder to keep him from running away. "I've never done anything to you, What good will any of this do you?"

"Our goddess is angry!" someone shouted back, shoving him from behind. "Your family must be the cause of her anger, because we certainly haven't done anything against her. We have to appease her somehow, and what better way than to sacrifice the heir to the Lord who angered her?"

"This isn't my fault!" Jinshi insisted, though his blood had run cold at their words. "I haven't done anything, sacrificing me won't help you! Let me go!!"

His struggling only stopped when someone punched him in the chest, all the air forcibly pushed from his lungs quickly rendering him immobile. "You've done more to upset her than any of the rest of us have," a voice spat at him. "Now move, we're almost there."

Though he wanted to fight, continue to argue, Jinshi did as he was told, still catching his breath. He had no idea how many people were with him, but he knew he'd never be able to take all of them on with his hands bound. So he cooperated, walking blindly wherever his captors led him.

Before long, they stopped, and the bag was removed from his head. He winced at the harsh light that suddenly hit him, but once he was no longer blinded, he realized they were standing in front of a shrine. It looked a bit out of place in the landscape, clean and polished and shining in the sun, its paint standing out from brown and green of the surrounding landscape.

"Do not disrespect her," one of the men – clearly a farmer – warned, and Jinshi turned to look at him. "Just because she's going to kill you anyways doesn't mean you can treat her poorly. She deserves your respect and all of our worship."

All he managed was a nod before he was pushed forward once again, the whole group walking into the shrine in complete silence.

"Goddess," one of the farmers called out, voice far gentler and more reverent than it had been when it was directed at his kidnapping victim. "We've brought you an offering. Will you tell us if it's to your liking?" The group of men went silent again afterwards, looking around the shrine almost nervously, though whether their nerves were about being left without an answer or something else was unclear.

Jinshi had never been in the presence of a deity before, so he wasn't sure what to expect; given that he was being presented as a sacrifice, he could only assume this would be a deeply unpleasant experience.

What he definitely hadn't expected was the sudden warmth and scent of peach blossoms that filled the shrine, and the way that the farmers surrounding him instantly dropped to their knees. He looked around, searching for something to indicate the arrival of the goddess he was being sacrificed to, but there was nothing. After a moment, Jinshi realized he could see a soft breeze moving around the shrine, wind chimes and paper prayers fluttering softly in its wake. Though his heart was in his throat, he tracked the movement closely; clearly the goddess was here, but she was choosing not to reveal herself. When the breeze reached him, he startled, caught off guard by the way it brushed his hair from his eyes, as gentle and solid as a hand.

"Your sacrifice is accepted. Leave us."

The voice resonated through the whole shrine, but it was soft, the murmur of wind over rice fields. Wordlessly, the farmers left the temple, their eyes locked on the ground and hats pulled low as they hurried away.

Despite the shuffling around him, Jinshi's gaze never left the spot in front of him, where the breeze that had moved his hair seemed to linger. Once the sound of retreating footsteps completely disappeared, the air shimmered, a human form appeared before him.

She was shorter than he'd expected for a goddess, her body softer, but that did nothing to diminish the gravity of her presence. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders in gentle waves, brown like the rich soil the farmers depended on for their crops, and her eyes glittered like sunrise on the river. The way she stared at him, unblinking and analytical, was unsettling, but Jinshi did his best not to squirm.

"You've never worked in the fields," she said; it was a statement, not a question, but he felt compelled to answer anyways.

"I have not."

"You've never even been to a farm, have you?"

A sudden wave of shame washed over him. "No," he confirmed, face burning. "I haven't."

The only response he received with a hum. She circled him slowly, wordlessly, and he felt her gaze on the back of his neck. He dared not move as she looked him over, though every instinct screamed at him to bolt.

She stopped in front of him again a moment later, her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him. "What is your name?"

"…Huh?"

"Your name," she repeated. "I need to know what to call you."

Why would she need to know my name if she's just going to kill me? he thought, hesitating for a beat as he debated whether he should lie.

"Don't lie to me," the goddess said, a knowing smile tugging the corner of her lips. "I'll know if you're lying. You humans are awful at disguising it."

He dropped his gaze, embarrassed that he had underestimated her, even if it was only for a moment. "Jinshi," he said quietly. "They call me Jinshi."

"Is that what I should call you?" The teasing list to her voice was almost unnerving, though it was outweighed by how soft her tone was.

"You can call me whatever you'd like, Your Holiness."

The goddess laughed suddenly at that, bright and tinkling like the glass wind chimes around the shrine. "Your Holiness," she laughed – giggled, really – and grinned up at him. "That's certainly a new one."

A cold panic rushed down his spine. "I– wh… what do people usually call you?"

"'Goddess', mostly," she said. "Though I do enjoy the few of the farmers' daughters who call me 'Your Loveliness', if I'm being honest." She took a step closer to him then, closer than any woman besides his mother had ever stood. "But you, Jinshi, can call me Dai Lu. Or at least I hope you will one day."

The goddess dropped her gaze to the bindings on his wrists, and with a wave of her hand, the fibers disintegrated, leaving behind nothing more than the red marks from his struggles to escape them when he was being dragged to the shrine.

A moment later, her words finally clicked with him. "Someday…?" Jinshi asked, confused, rubbing lightly at the skin of his wrists. "You told the farmers you accepted their sacrifice, so I thought—" His jaw snapped shut when she looked up at him again, worried that if he argued or pushed for an answer things would not go well for him.

"I heard the way you begged them to let you live," she replied. "I've never heard anyone beg like that. You don't want to die, but you don't seem eager to return home."

Jinshi turned his head away sharply, swallowing thickly at her words. She was absolutely right, and he hated himself for it; he didn't want to die, but he had no desire to return to his life as the heir to an estate, every facet of his life laid out before he was even born. Even this tiny taste of freedom had made him realize how suffocated he felt with his family, though he wished he'd gained this freedom without being kidnapped and offered as a sacrifice to a fertility goddess.

"Jinshi."

Her voice was gentle, familiar in a way it shouldn't have been, and he couldn't resist the desire to look at her. When he met her gaze, her expression had softened, and it made his heart skip a beat.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You're not?"

The goddess smiled, shaking her head. "No," she assured him, "I'm not."

His knees went weak, and he barely managed to keep from collapsing. "Thank you," he breathed, nearly dizzy with relief.

"You're welcome," the goddess said. "But, Jinshi, there are other ways to be a sacrifice." There was no malice in her words, but they struck him deeply anyways.

Without giving himself the opportunity to overthink it, Jinshi sank to his knees before her; he had to look up at her from this new angle, but something about it felt right. "Whatever you want, I'll do," he said. "Anything at all."

"Anything?" the goddess asked, her smile sharpening the faintest bit.

"Anything," he confirmed. "It's the least I could do in return for sparing my life."

She reached out, brushing his bangs from his eyes just as she had before she manifested in front of him. "Would you give up your life?" she asked, "Would you stay here with me, cater to all my whims?"

"I would," he agreed, almost desperately; he was essentially exchanging one gilded cage for another, but at least here he would never have to worry about being targeted for his status or position in his family.

Her gaze sharpened to something akin to hunger. "Would you be my pet, Jinshi, my lifelong companion?"

"I would." He leaned into her faint touch, looking up at her through his lashes. "I meant it when I said anything, Your Loveliness."

Something Jinshi couldn't quite name flashed in his goddess's eyes, and she tipped his chin up with two of her fingers. "Well then, Jinshi," she mused, "I suppose I'll keep you. Welcome to your new home."

taglist:

@mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @maplewood-valley @lemonloaves

[forest-hashira]

well. this is not something i expected to be posting - let alone writing - anytime soon, considering everything else i have going on, but @zekeyeagervevo planted this worm in my brain and this was the result that exploded out of me. hopefully some of you guys enjoy lol

read on ao3 | wc: 1.8k | cw: jinshi x f!oc, non-canon setting, fertility goddess oc, kidnapping, jinshi is offered as a sacrifice, first meetings

Jinshi didn't think he'd ever been this terrified in his entire life. One moment he was enjoying the peace of his family's gardens, then next he was being jumped by two men he'd never seen before. They shoved a bag over his head, bound his wrists, and dragged him away before he could even call for help.

Everything that happened after was a blur, unfamiliar voices surrounding him, talking in hushed words about taking him to the local shrine and sacrificing him to their fertility goddess to appease her. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere, panic surging in his chest so strongly he thought he might be sick. For the first time since he'd been snatched from his home, Jinshi fought, pulling at the restraints on his wrists with all his might, thrashing his body around and struggling to get away from his captors.

"Let me go!" he shouted, kicking out blindly when he felt someone grab his shoulder to keep him from running away. "I've never done anything to you, What good will any of this do you?"

"Our goddess is angry!" someone shouted back, shoving him from behind. "Your family must be the cause of her anger, because we certainly haven't done anything against her. We have to appease her somehow, and what better way than to sacrifice the heir to the Lord who angered her?"

"This isn't my fault!" Jinshi insisted, though his blood had run cold at their words. "I haven't done anything, sacrificing me won't help you! Let me go!!"

His struggling only stopped when someone punched him in the chest, all the air forcibly pushed from his lungs quickly rendering him immobile. "You've done more to upset her than any of the rest of us have," a voice spat at him. "Now move, we're almost there."

Though he wanted to fight, continue to argue, Jinshi did as he was told, still catching his breath. He had no idea how many people were with him, but he knew he'd never be able to take all of them on with his hands bound. So he cooperated, walking blindly wherever his captors led him.

Before long, they stopped, and the bag was removed from his head. He winced at the harsh light that suddenly hit him, but once he was no longer blinded, he realized they were standing in front of a shrine. It looked a bit out of place in the landscape, clean and polished and shining in the sun, its paint standing out from brown and green of the surrounding landscape.

"Do not disrespect her," one of the men – clearly a farmer – warned, and Jinshi turned to look at him. "Just because she's going to kill you anyways doesn't mean you can treat her poorly. She deserves your respect and all of our worship."

All he managed was a nod before he was pushed forward once again, the whole group walking into the shrine in complete silence.

"Goddess," one of the farmers called out, voice far gentler and more reverent than it had been when it was directed at his kidnapping victim. "We've brought you an offering. Will you tell us if it's to your liking?" The group of men went silent again afterwards, looking around the shrine almost nervously, though whether their nerves were about being left without an answer or something else was unclear.

Jinshi had never been in the presence of a deity before, so he wasn't sure what to expect; given that he was being presented as a sacrifice, he could only assume this would be a deeply unpleasant experience.

What he definitely hadn't expected was the sudden warmth and scent of peach blossoms that filled the shrine, and the way that the farmers surrounding him instantly dropped to their knees. He looked around, searching for something to indicate the arrival of the goddess he was being sacrificed to, but there was nothing. After a moment, Jinshi realized he could see a soft breeze moving around the shrine, wind chimes and paper prayers fluttering softly in its wake. Though his heart was in his throat, he tracked the movement closely; clearly the goddess was here, but she was choosing not to reveal herself. When the breeze reached him, he startled, caught off guard by the way it brushed his hair from his eyes, as gentle and solid as a hand.

"Your sacrifice is accepted. Leave us."

The voice resonated through the whole shrine, but it was soft, the murmur of wind over rice fields. Wordlessly, the farmers left the temple, their eyes locked on the ground and hats pulled low as they hurried away.

Despite the shuffling around him, Jinshi's gaze never left the spot in front of him, where the breeze that had moved his hair seemed to linger. Once the sound of retreating footsteps completely disappeared, the air shimmered, a human form appeared before him.

She was shorter than he'd expected for a goddess, her body softer, but that did nothing to diminish the gravity of her presence. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders in gentle waves, brown like the rich soil the farmers depended on for their crops, and her eyes glittered like sunrise on the river. The way she stared at him, unblinking and analytical, was unsettling, but Jinshi did his best not to squirm.

"You've never worked in the fields," she said; it was a statement, not a question, but he felt compelled to answer anyways.

"I have not."

"You've never even been to a farm, have you?"

A sudden wave of shame washed over him. "No," he confirmed, face burning. "I haven't."

The only response he received with a hum. She circled him slowly, wordlessly, and he felt her gaze on the back of his neck. He dared not move as she looked him over, though every instinct screamed at him to bolt.

She stopped in front of him again a moment later, her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him. "What is your name?"

"…Huh?"

"Your name," she repeated. "I need to know what to call you."

Why would she need to know my name if she's just going to kill me? he thought, hesitating for a beat as he debated whether he should lie.

"Don't lie to me," the goddess said, a knowing smile tugging the corner of her lips. "I'll know if you're lying. You humans are awful at disguising it."

He dropped his gaze, embarrassed that he had underestimated her, even if it was only for a moment. "Jinshi," he said quietly. "They call me Jinshi."

"Is that what I should call you?" The teasing list to her voice was almost unnerving, though it was outweighed by how soft her tone was.

"You can call me whatever you'd like, Your Holiness."

The goddess laughed suddenly at that, bright and tinkling like the glass wind chimes around the shrine. "Your Holiness," she laughed – giggled, really – and grinned up at him. "That's certainly a new one."

A cold panic rushed down his spine. "I– wh… what do people usually call you?"

"'Goddess', mostly," she said. "Though I do enjoy the few of the farmers' daughters who call me 'Your Loveliness', if I'm being honest." She took a step closer to him then, closer than any woman besides his mother had ever stood. "But you, Jinshi, can call me Dai Lu. Or at least I hope you will one day."

The goddess dropped her gaze to the bindings on his wrists, and with a wave of her hand, the fibers disintegrated, leaving behind nothing more than the red marks from his struggles to escape them when he was being dragged to the shrine.

A moment later, her words finally clicked with him. "Someday…?" Jinshi asked, confused, rubbing lightly at the skin of his wrists. "You told the farmers you accepted their sacrifice, so I thought—" His jaw snapped shut when she looked up at him again, worried that if he argued or pushed for an answer things would not go well for him.

"I heard the way you begged them to let you live," she replied. "I've never heard anyone beg like that. You don't want to die, but you don't seem eager to return home."

Jinshi turned his head away sharply, swallowing thickly at her words. She was absolutely right, and he hated himself for it; he didn't want to die, but he had no desire to return to his life as the heir to an estate, every facet of his life laid out before he was even born. Even this tiny taste of freedom had made him realize how suffocated he felt with his family, though he wished he'd gained this freedom without being kidnapped and offered as a sacrifice to a fertility goddess.

"Jinshi."

Her voice was gentle, familiar in a way it shouldn't have been, and he couldn't resist the desire to look at her. When he met her gaze, her expression had softened, and it made his heart skip a beat.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You're not?"

The goddess smiled, shaking her head. "No," she assured him, "I'm not."

His knees went weak, and he barely managed to keep from collapsing. "Thank you," he breathed, nearly dizzy with relief.

"You're welcome," the goddess said. "But, Jinshi, there are other ways to be a sacrifice." There was no malice in her words, but they struck him deeply anyways.

Without giving himself the opportunity to overthink it, Jinshi sank to his knees before her; he had to look up at her from this new angle, but something about it felt right. "Whatever you want, I'll do," he said. "Anything at all."

"Anything?" the goddess asked, her smile sharpening the faintest bit.

"Anything," he confirmed. "It's the least I could do in return for sparing my life."

She reached out, brushing his bangs from his eyes just as she had before she manifested in front of him. "Would you give up your life?" she asked, "Would you stay here with me, cater to all my whims?"

"I would," he agreed, almost desperately; he was essentially exchanging one gilded cage for another, but at least here he would never have to worry about being targeted for his status or position in his family.

Her gaze sharpened to something akin to hunger. "Would you be my pet, Jinshi, my lifelong companion?"

"I would." He leaned into her faint touch, looking up at her through his lashes. "I meant it when I said anything, Your Loveliness."

Something Jinshi couldn't quite name flashed in his goddess's eyes, and she tipped his chin up with two of her fingers. "Well then, Jinshi," she mused, "I suppose I'll keep you. Welcome to your new home."

taglist:

@mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @maplewood-valley @lemonloaves

[shigure]

i'm sorry i never did your tag game. i love you

[mitsuristoleme]

guys is jjk modulo worth it